He goes outside. I follow and am about to get into my car when his hand presses against the window.
“I’ll drive,” he says.
I’m too emotionally spent to fight about this too, so I mutter, “Fine,” and let the keys dangle from my finger. He takes them.
I get in the passenger seat, putting my seatbelt on as he starts the car.
Memories swim through my mind of the last time I was in the passenger seat beside him. He was driving me home from Grey’s. I was drunk and threw up on him.
Ugh, I was so mortified.
But the next day when I emerged with my shame along with rubber gloves and cleaning supplies to clean up the sick I knew would be all over the middle console, I found my car squeakyclean. He not only drove me home because I was drunk, he took his vomit-soaked shirt off and carried my crying, drunk self inside and set me down in the powder room, telling me to wash my face while he poured me a glass of water and found me some headache pills.
“Sleep on your side, Kiddo. Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I puked on you, Jason.”
“Go on. Wash your face and take those.”
“You’re a good guy. The best guy.”
“Go on, Bailey.”
“The best guy ever,” I added. “I wanted to… to talk to you about something. But now’s probably not the best time.”
“I need to get back. Run home and shower, then rush back to watch Grey’s house for him. You good?”
“Oh. Um… okay.”
He could’ve left that mess for me to deal with, but he didn’t do that. That was one of the many things I used to love about Jason. How he always went above and beyond for everyone in the pack. He wasn’t doing it for me because it was me. He would do it for anyone in the pack. I knew by the smell of my car the next day that he drove it all the way to the carwash in Drowsy Hollow and cleaned it as well as vacuumed it and sprayed that spring meadow spray they sell out of the vending machine, which was infinitely better-smelling than vomit.
He was certainly annoyed that I threw up on him, but he took care of me the way he takes care of everyone around here. Because that’s who he is, who he’s always been.
All this doesn’t change where things are at now. It just leaves me all the more crushed. Because I vividly remember every singlereason why I fell in love with him. And it still doesn’t change the fact that it feels like my heart is slowly being crushed under a grinding heel.
23
JASE
There’s no conversation on the one-minute drive from the library to the Blackwood house. After I park her car, she goes straight in through the garage where she pulls a box of waffles from the garage fridge’s freezer and stuffs it in her bag. She then goes in the house and pulls a bottle of wine from the wine fridge and shoves that into her bag before she grabs a wine opener fridge magnet and stuffs it into her pocket before she wearily climbs the stairs, me on her heels.
When we get into her room, she goes straight for the attached bathroom, slams the door and locks it. She took her bag in there with her, which means she’s in there with wine, frozen waffles, and baked goods.
Sitting on her bed and thrusting my hands into my hair, I hear footsteps.
Graydon sticks his head in and surveys me for a second before asking, “Rough day?”
“I do not fuckin’ understand females,” I tell him.
He scoffs with a knowing look on his face. “Goin’ to Roxy’s for a beer. Wanna join?”
I shake my head. “Can’t do it. But thanks.”
“Right. Knew that. Still wanted to ask.”
“Raincheck?”
“Absolutely. If Carrie shows and asks, let her know I won’t be home for dinner? Don’t know where she got to.”