Page 12 of Before I Deserved You
Before I can say anything, he gives me a strained smile and pushes past me with a stony expression. I turn and stare after him, curious as to what had him so distracted during our brief conversation. It doesn’t take me long to find the cause, and I watch as Jake approaches Mr. Nelson, who’s in the process of knocking back a tumbler of what appears to be whiskey. He’s barely swallowed its contents before he goes for a refill.
Jake stops next to his father, pries the glass from his fingers, and sets it down on the table. However, when he attempts to steer the older man toward a vacant armchair, Mr. Nelson violently jerks his arm free. He shoots his son a scathing look, snatches the half-empty bottle off the serving cart, and staggers out the patio door, leaving his responsibilities behind.
Jake gives the room a cursory glance, most likely checking who may have witnessed the interaction. The way his chin wobbles for a split-second before he sniffs and pulls himself together makes my blood boil. Suddenly, I find it hard to feel sympathetic toward a man who’d rather seek comfort at the bottom of abottle than in the arms of the children who so obviously need him. I can only hope his self-destructive behavior is only a phase.
Eight
Tessa
Six days. Six long, agonizing days. That’s how long it took for Jake to reach out and put me out of my misery. He hasn’t attended school since the accident, and none of us had heard from him after the funeral. So, when the phone finally rings, and I hear his familiar voice spill down the line, I breathe an audible sigh of relief.
“Hey, it’s me. Are you busy?”
“No.” I don’t even have to think about my answer. “And even if I were, I’d drop anything to make time for you. How are you doing?”
“Can I come over?” he asks, ignoring my question. “I need to get out of the house for a bit. He’s driving me insane.”
There’s no need to explain further. We both know who he’s referring to.
“Of course. I’ll be here.”
Less than ten minutes later, a knock startles me into action, and I swing the door wide. Jake instantly reaches for me, pulling me into his arms and holding on like I’m his lifeline. When he releases me, he wordlessly leads the way up to my room, where he drops onto my bed and emits a tired sigh. He looks like hell, and my heart aches at the sight of the dark circles under his eyes.
“How are you doing?” I ask again and crawl onto the mattress to prop myself up against the headboard beside him.
“Not great,” he says simply, never one to beat around the bush. “Things are unbearable at home. Dad’s been hitting the bottle pretty hard and hasn’t been at work all week. I think he’s losing it. One minute, he’s sobbing; the next, he’s shouting and trashing the house. He hasn’t talked to me at all. Barely acknowledges my existence. He cuddled with Anna yesterday, so I guess that’s something. She’s the only one he seems to tolerate. Jude and I just try to stay out of his way.” He blows out a breath and stares at the ceiling for so long that I’m beginning to think he’s done talking. Then, he turns his head my way and I’m met with an expression I’m not used to seeing on him. Tortured. Broken. Hopeless. “It’s been hard trying to be there for the little ones,” he admits. “I know they’re young and need someone to help them through this, but fuck, I just want five minutes to catch my breath. But someone has to make sure they’re fed and taken care of. Someone has to put them to bed and be coherent enough to calm Anna when she wakes up screaming in the middle of the night. I try to be there for them as best I can, but all I want to do is tell them to go away, so I can deal with my own shit. Then I feel like an asshole for being so selfish. They’re so little, and they’ve just lost their mother. She’d want me to step up and be strong for them.”
I pull his hand into my lap and interlace our fingers, offering him my support before saying, “Your father is the one who should be strong for all of you. You may be the oldest, but you’re still his child. It’s not your job to take care of everyone.”
Jake drops his head back and squeezes his eyes shut.
“I still can’t believe she’s gone. I miss her so much, it hurts.” As if to empathize his statement, he presses the palm of his hand to the center of his chest, sniffing back the tears that seem long overdue, and I wonder if he’s allowed himself to cry yet. I can practically feel the tension radiating off him when I lean into his side to rest my head on his shoulder.
“I wish there was something I could say to make this easier for you. It’s just so awful. Where are Anna and Jude?”
“Mary offered to take them to give me and my dad a break.”
Mary Johnson was Jake’s mother’s best friend, so it makes sense for her to offer a helping hand in their time of need. It doesn’t hurt that her children are around the same age as the younger Nelson siblings. Anna and Tina Johnson have been friends since they were babies, and Jude gets along well with their oldest, Garrett. Jake catches my eyes, and there’s so much pain and misery in his gaze that I have to swallow back my emotion. The last thing he needs is for me to have a breakdown.
“I don’t know how to get through this. Dad’s always been a bit of a dick, but he was crazy about Mom. All she had to do was give him a look, and he’d reign in his temper. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but it’s pretty fucking obvious the man hates my guts. It’ll be hell, living under one roof without her there to intervene.”
“It’ll be alright. Your dad is devastated right now, and he’s hurting. Once he’s had some time to grieve, he’ll get better. Things will get better. I know it sounds like a terrible cliché, but you have to believe that.”
Jake shakes his head in despair.
“I just can’t believe this is happening. It’s been over a week, and every morning, I wake up, and for a split-second, I ask myself, was it just a bad dream? And then reality sinks in, and I want to scream and put my fucking fist through the wall.” Jake swallows hard, his eyes flashing with fire. “I’m just so angry. That piece of shit ran her off the road and didn’t even stop to check on her. Just drove off and left her there to die alone. He got wasted, chose to get behind the wheel, and killed an innocent woman. A goddamn mother. And he gets out of that car without so much as a fucking scratch. Where’s the justice in that?”
I don’t have an answer. Life isn’t fair. Terrible things happen to good people for no apparent reason, and I’m doing a piss-poor job at consoling him. Whenhe needed a friend to talk to, I was the one he chose to call. And yet, here I am, unable to find the right words. Do they even exist?
Nothing I say will make this right, so I end up simply holding him, rocking him back and forth like a small child until his breathing evens out and he seems to calm. When he pulls away and flashes me the saddest, most heartbreaking smile I’ve ever seen, I act on impulse. I lunge forward and clumsily press my lips to his. He doesn’t react. Just sits there, stiff as a board.
When I pull back, he stares at me with the sort of dumbstruck expression that would be comical under different circumstances. And even though I’m really questioning my choices right now, I also know I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. So when he doesn’t say anything to discourage me, I lean in once more. I let myself linger a little longer. Press into him a little harder. After what feels like a small eternity, all the tension leaves his body, and he melts into me. He groans into my mouth and takes control just long enough for me to get a taste of what it could be. Then he rears back and shakes his head from side to side.
“We shouldn’t,” he says in a raw whisper. My heart gives a painful squeeze when he can’t seem to meet my eyes.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not thinking straight right now, and you’re only doing this because you feel sorry for me.”
