"Make me," I challenged.
Later, when I was sober, I'd retrace my steps and find that this was the exact moment everything got complicated.
Jack gave me a look that screamed 'you shouldn't have said that' before crossing over to my side of the cement. We came together like magnets, and what small amount of self-control I still had left dwindled even further the moment his warm lips collided with mine. He kissed me as though his next breath depended on it, and I struggled with my conscience for all of a second before giving in.
~ CHAPTER EIGHT ~
My eyes were riveted to the armrest attached to the passenger side door, which I clung to like my life depended on it. My inebriation aside, I couldn't stop thinking about the little roadside make out session I'd just participated in with Jack. My guilt was already beginning to chew its way through me, and the fact that he was driving at a warped speed certainly wasn't helping matters any. "Can you slow down a little bit?" I asked, rubbing the tension from my temples. "All the jerking is making me sick."
Jack didn't bother responding, but he did ease off the gas pedal a bit. I slumped against the window once he did, allowing the cool air leaking through the crack to soothe my clammy skin. The whirring of the tires against the road whenever he changed lanes was oddly comforting. If it weren't for the noise, I definitely would have thought I was experiencing some sort of prelude to a nightmare.
Jack pulled into my driveway a few minutes later, parking near the very end of it and cutting the ignition. He pulled the keys out and hesitated, clearly waiting for me to invite him in.
"We're over," I said, feeling my voice waver. "Right?"
Jack swallowed hard, refusing to grace me with a response.
"Why didn't you ever write me?" I blurted out, refusing to take his silence for what it was.
Jack frowned. "What?"
"After the miscarriage," I clarified, glancing back out at the night sky. "You said you'd write me, but you never did … "
Jack sighed and wracked his fingers through his hair. It was obvious that I'd hit a sore spot, but I didn't care. I needed answers, and I wasn't about to let him leave until I got them. "It's the past," he admonished, his voice low. "Can't we just leave it there?"
"No," I said, looking over at him again. "We can't."
Jack held my gaze for what felt like an eternity before dropping it back down to the steering wheel, which he was gripping so hard his knuckles had drained of color. "I wrote you every week for almost a year," he said, his breath clinging to the window in white patches. "I stopped when I got a letter from your mom saying you'd moved on."
What the hell?
"No," I said, speaking more to myself than to him. "She would have forwarded them to me at Hampton … "
Jack stared at me in the darkness, his expression morphing from one of sadness into anger. He looked down at his lap and clenched his jaw. "Well it's not really all that shocking, is it?" he said, his voice heavy with irritation. "She was never exactly my biggest fan..."
He had a point.
We looked away from each other at the same time, neither one of us making a move to get out of the car. Me because my legs suddenly felt as though they were made out of cement, and him because he so clearly wasn't ready to let this conversation die.
"What did they say?" I finally mustered up the courage to ask. "The letters, I mean."
Jack shrugged. "About what you'd expect … "
It was about as undetailed of a response as he could give me. "Come on," I said, opening my door. I wanted answers. If he wasn't going to give them to me, I had to go to the only other person who could. Unfortunately, my mind moved faster than my body, causing me to trip over a planter on my way up the walkway.
Jack hastened out of the car to help me to my feet, crouching onto the ground to help me search for my keys. He handed them over to me once he found them, following me to my front door and inside the house.
"Wait, who are you calling?" Jack asked when I turned on the living room light and grabbed the phone off its platform.
"Who do you think?" I said, taking a seat on the couch. "My mom."
Jack looked at me like I was crazy. "It's almost two a.m.," he said, verifying the time on his watch. "Shouldn't you at least wait until morning?"
"Nah, now's fine," I said, dialing her number. "She's become quite the night owl since you knew her."
"I don't know … " Jack trailed off, still trying to stall me.
I looked up at him for a moment. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable being cornered like this, but I didn't care. I had a right to know what was in those letters. I started to tell him this, but I stopped short when my phone call was answered.
"Chantel?" Mom questioned, her voice heavy and groggy. Apparently I had caught her on one of the rare nights where she made it to bed before sunrise. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"I know, I just need to ask you something real quick," I said, watching as Jack paced across the hardwood.
Mom sighed. "What?"
"Why didn't you give me the letters Jack sent me?" I blurted out, opting on the straightforward approach. "I don't get it. You knew how miserable I was after the miscarriage. Why would you let me believe he didn't care?"
Mom was quiet for what felt like an entire lifetime. "Are you drunk?" she finally questioned, completely ignoring everything I'd just said to her.
"Don't do that," I said, fighting to keep my tone in check. "Don't make this into a conversation about me. You're the one in the wrong here and you know it."
"Fine," Mom said after a moment of hesitation. "You're right. I kept the letters from you, but I'm not about to apologize for it. You wouldn't have become who you are today had I not."
Unbelievable.
"Yeah, well, that wasn't your decision to make," I said, no longer capable of controlling my anger. I started to lay into her about just how much damage she'd done, but I was cutoff in mid sentence by the dial tone. If I wasn't already pissed enough, the fact that she'd hung up in my face certainly wasn't helping matters any.
A string of expletives flooded from my mouth as I slammed the phone back down in its cradle. I looked over at Jack when he took a seat beside me on the couch, this time through a different lens. "I'm hungry," I announced when the silence became too much for me to bare, getting up and heading towards the kitchen.
Jack appeared to be in a state of confusion as he followed me. He stood in front of the island, watching as I grabbed some leftover Thai food from the refrigerator and reheated it. I dove into it as soon as the microwave beeped to let me know that it was done, scooping his serving onto my plate when he said he didn't want any.
"What?" I said when a full minute passed without him saying anything, lifting my gaze from my pad Thai to look at him. "I can tell you're thinking something. You're doing that thing with your eyebrows."
Jack let out a soft laugh. "Can we sit?" he asked, gesturing towards the table.
I nodded and grabbed my food, following him over to it and taking a seat. All the alcohol I'd consumed had me feeling somewhat detached from reality, but I knew a killer hangover was looming on the horizon. Therefore, I needed all the carbs I could get.
What I also needed was a good night's rest, but I wasn't about to miss out on the opportunity to clear the air with Jack. He needed to know that our little make out session was a mistake, and that letters or no letters, I was still nothing more than his wedding planner now.
"I wanted her," Jack blurted out. "I was scared at first, I'll admit, but I don't want you to think for even a second that I was relieved about what happened..."
I didn't have to ask what he was referring to. "Why didn't you tell me that then?" I asked, fighting to hold back my tears.
"I did," Jack said, keeping his gaze riveted to the ground. "It was in the letters..."
I'd prepared myself for a fight, but I lost all momentum as soon as he said that. This was a lot of information for me to process drunk, but when I looked at Jack, I no longer saw the guy who'd abandoned me when I needed him the most. I saw the man I first fell for.