Page 47 of Jump

“Maybe not. But it still would have hurt when you heard they were discussing intent.”

“I don’t want to talk about the Oriane fire.” I turn my head and pin her with a glare. “I want to sit here with you and not feel guilty for liking it. And I don’t want to think about Ainsley while I’m looking at you. Is that so much to ask?”

Her jaw clenches, and her eyes beat against mine. “I think you’re still suffering a lot, Matt.”

I drop my head back and stare up at the ceiling. Wrong fucking answer.

“I think you’re grieving in a way that makes it impossible to heal,” she continues, “and while you’re doing it your way, locking your friends out from helping you, you’re only causing yourself harm.”

“I think you’re sticking your nose into something that has nothing to do with you,” I bite out.

Already, I hate myself for snapping. I hate that my words are like a physical blow to the woman I’d like to lock myself away with again. Hit pause on the world and simply… feel. Because Vivian Doyalson has the power to make everything better, if only for a night.

But it only works when the world outside of us is on pause. When we’re Ana and Jump.

And that’s not what I get. Because I see the cruelty in this community. I see the bad, when she so desperately searches for the good.

We’re not the same.

And for as long as Vivian wants me to face my demons head-on, the world Ana created for us sits in my peripherals, burning mercilessly to the ground.

Mourning what could have been a good evening, I push up to stand and look down at the woman I feel something for. I have no clue what it is; I have no clue if it can sustain Matt and Viv, or if it’s just for Jump and Ana, but whatever it is, it hurts more now that she went and tossed Ainsley in the middle.

“I’m going to bed,” I grunt. Then I soften my voice. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

She looks down at her lap. Shamed… or sad. Or shy. She’s feeling something, but she robs me of the chance to see it in her eyes. “I’m sorry I took a fun discussion and made it something you didn’t want.”

“It’s cool.” It’s not cool at all. But it is the exact outcome I’ve come to expect when people try to talk to me. So I keep hold of my beer and half-turn away. “I’m probably gonna take a two-minute shower. Get this sweat off me. I’ll be fast, and out of your hair before you even finish your wine.”

“Take your time,” she sighs. Sitting back on the couch, she rests her head against the cushions and nibbles on her bottom lip. “I’m good for a while yet.”

But before I can leave, she lifts her head and looks my way. Longing and beautiful. “Hey, Matt… Do you have another book for me?”

My heart jumps, and my lips twitch, despite the gloominess pulsing in my blood. “Do you have a book for me?”

She nods, soft and seductive enough to tempt me back to the couch. Almost. “I’ll find you one that has no firefighters at all.”

I exhale in relief and tap the doorframe on my left. “Pick something for me. I’ll pick one for you. I’m back on shift Monday morning for another twenty-four, so we can exchange reviews after that.”

Vivian

IT’S A BALANCING ACT

I walk into my apartment a few nights later, after the world’s longest day.

Misty had her puppies, but four of the seven died, even under close veterinary care. Mom was malnourished for too long during her pregnancy; she was abused too significantly. So it’s really no surprise that the tiny pups in her belly were too weak for the outside world.

But that means that what should have been a day of celebration turned into a sadness so deeply felt, my legs shake from exhaustion and my heart aches from grief.

For puppies I didn’t even know!

I peel my coat off and hang it by the door so sleet and rain dribble along the waterproof material and drip onto the floors.

I’ll probably slip on that later and break my arm. But for now, I’m too tired to give a shit.

My home smells like garlic and delicious sauce that has my nose perking up, if only for a moment, and the thermostat is set in here so my fingers thaw out and my lips stop aching.

Small mercies, I suppose.

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