Page 88 of Last Call at the Local

Jack is quiet for a moment. “That’s really generous of you,” he says. “But you have everything you need, and you’ve done everything I hoped you’d do here. I don’t want to hold you back. It would be selfish of me to have you stay when there’s nothing keeping you here anymore.” His hand drifts up and down my arm as he speaks. “You’ve got to make up for all the adventures you missed while you were stuck here in this silly pub with me.”

“I don’t know. I think I can count being stuck here with you as one of my adventures.”

“I hope it’s been a good one,” he says.

“One of the best.”

I think about my new travel case and MIDI keyboard and microphone. I think about my new street amp and backpack and phone charger. I think about my old guitar and foot tambourine. I have my life back. I should be happy about it, and... I am happy. I’m excited to see new places and meet new people. I’m excited to get back to music. I’ve missed never knowing what the next week will bring.

I want him to ask me to stay, because I want him towantme to stay. But I alsodon’twant him to ask, because I know I can’t. I love the pub, but I don’t want to work at it forever. I love Cobh, and the Local,and Jack, but I can’t give up traveling. I can’t imagine settling into a normal life. What if I stay and come to resent this place I love? To resent him?

I don’t think I could bear it.

“Clara’s flight back to Boston leaves Monday afternoon,” I say. “So I guess I’ll head out the week after that.”

“Okay,” he says.

We fall quiet again. I trace each of his tattoos, first the outline, then the details.

“How many tattoos do you have?” I ask.

He hums to himself in thought for a moment. “I have no idea. I lost count.”

A tattoo of a light switch on his thigh catches my attention. It’s a lot more faded than the others. The lines aren’t as clean.

I trace the banner at the bottom of the light switch. “Fuck off,” I mutter, reading the words that stretch across it.

When I raise my gaze to Jack’s, he’s watching me thoughtfully.

“That’s my first tattoo,” he says. “I did it myself with one of my mum’s sewing needles when I was fourteen. Fecking stupid. It’s a miracle it didn’t get infected. If Shauna ever knew about that, I doubt she’d have given me an apprenticeship. Hell, she’d be pissed off if she knew about it now.” He narrows his eyes at me. “So you better not tell Róisín.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” I say.

He laughs, then turns to face me. “I can’t believe I was ever capable of something like that. Now I can’t even tattoo with all the proper sanitation. I can’t tattoo even with over-the-top sanitation.”

“Did you do it because of the light switch compulsion?”

“Thought it would feel good to tell the thoughts to fuck off.” He sighs. “It did feel good, you know.”

My eyes drift to the tattoo of a pair of scissors on his forearm,then to the dagger on his neck. “Is that why you have the scissors and the dagger?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “It is. It felt like taking control, but...” He pauses to run a hand through his hair. “Martina, my therapist, she’d say that what I actually need to do is accept I don’t have any control, and that’s okay.”

“She sounds like a smart therapist,” I say.

“She is.” He looks away, eyes on his finger as he traces my collarbone. “I’ve decided to start seeing her again, actually.”

“Jack, that’s great.”

“You make it easier.”

I laugh. “Me? How doImake seeing your therapist easier?”

He takes my hand and kisses it, then laces his fingers through mine and holds my hand to his chest. “You make it feel okay.”

“Because it is okay.”

“It is, but...” He sighs. “Not everyone makes it feel that way. Nina and Ollie... if they knew how bad things were, they’d badger me about therapy until I give in, whether I’m actually ready for it or not. They’d make my relapse this big thing. And yeah, it’s a big thing, I guess, but it’smybig thing. It’s also just... part of my life. It’s not normal, but it’s normal forme.And you make it feel completely normal.”

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