Page 63 of XO

The first screen that pops up in his recent call list, Mr. Reign the last number dialed. I look at the time.

“You rang my dad at two in the morning?”

Jacob clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I was just letting him know you were with me and safe. He, ah… asked me to call him so he knew you were okay.”

I smile, my heart warming to my father’s overprotectiveness. “I think he’s getting used to you. I think he sees how good you are for me.”

Jacob continues staring out the window, one hand on the wheel, the other hand’s index finger sliding back and forth under his bottom lip. I’ve lost him to his train of thought once again.

“Jacob?”

“Yep?”

“I said I really think my father sees how good you are for me.”

He nods. “Your father is a good man. More of a man than my father is and ever will be.”

I gently brush his cheek with the back of my knuckles, and he turns to kiss my hand. Scrolling through his music, I opt to play a song on YouTube my father’s been listening to the last few months. ‘Yer Blues’ by The Beatles. Not usually my cup of tea, but it has some soulful grungy vibes I’m currently digging.

~

An hour later, we pull off the highway and park outside a store that looks like we can find everything we need for our trip, plus end-of-the-world gear in case it comes to that. Jacob drapes an arm over my shoulders, and I notice the further we get away from home, the more relaxed he’s becoming.

“Here, babe,” he says, handing me a wad of bills. “That should be enough to get what you need.”

I don’t want to ask why he’s already carrying such a hefty amount of cash around since this road trip is supposedly a spur-of-the-moment decision. If only I knew what had happened in the hours I was asleep, I’d be more understanding of his bizarre behavior.

The double doors slide open, and the clerk greets us with a smile since we’re the first customers of the day. While I feel her eye up our disheveled attire, she makes no remark and allow us to get on with our shopping. Wheeling a cart through the aisles, I head to toiletries first because I desperately need to wash my face and brush my teeth. Jacob carries a basket and meanders through the men’s section, grabbing things like deodorant, a toothbrush and paste.

It’s only after I’ve grabbed some food supplies that I make my way over to clothing. Grabbing some pairs of shorts, tops and undies, I search for any relatively nice-looking sundresses. Glancing over the clothes rack, I search for Jacob. He’s no longer in the men’s section. Wheeling the cart back the way I came, I continue scanning until I see him with his cell pressed against his ear. The glass double doors sliding open every time he paces in front of them.

I pause a moment, taking in his body language.

He’s angry, frustrated. Then the call ends. He closes his eyes for a long moment before they slowly open and he turns to face the store, his gaze meeting mine.

There’s a deep-seated sadness that passes between us before they become fearful and urgent.

‘I’m sorry,’ is all he mouths before he turns and runs to his car.

“Jacob! Jacob, wait,” I yell, weaving my way through the store, the clerk’s watching on in shock. By the time I run through the double doors, Jacob’s Dodge is violently rounding the turn and heading back the way we came.

He’s left.

The asshole has left me stranded in the middle of place I never even knew existed.

“Sweetie, is everything all right?” the once smiley clerk inquires, observing my trembling body. My mouth is dry, making swallowing the hard lump in my throat near impossible.

“No,” I barely manage, embarrassment heating my cheeks. “Everything is far from all right.”

~

I end the fifth phone call in an attempt to get a hold of my dad. It simply rings out, and this whole situation feels as empty as my heart.

Letting my head loll against the head seat, I watch the scenery flash by as the cab driver takes me back home. Because we were so far out of town, I had to wait almost forty minutes before a cab came and picked my ass up off the curb. The sympathetic store clerk checked on me every few minutes, offering words of comfort and an office in case I wanted to wait inside.

I wipe angrily at the tears that fall because I hate the weakness. No boy or man should ever make me cry, and if they do, they don’t deserve me. I should have listened to Dad when he spoke his words of wisdom.

Despite the rage bubbling under the surface, my eyes managed to close, and I only wake again when the cab driver asks if this is my street.

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