Lila is humming from the kitchen as she makes dinner, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as Ian sneaks up behind her, throwing his arms around her waist and leaning down to whisper something in her ear that makes her giggle. They’re adorable, really, but it sort of makes me nauseous to watch them, if only because what they have is something I don’t think is ever in the cards for me.
I’m too wary, too mistrusting, too…irritable, really, to find someone who would look at me like that.
Ian notices me at the coffee table when he turns back toward the living room, grinning.
“Working hard?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Trying to.”
“How’s school, anyway?”
“It’s going,” I tell him. “I’m ready to be done, that’s for sure.”
“Big fancy psychologist,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice.
Lila chuckles from the kitchen, turning to look over her shoulder. “Maybe she can help Jack.”
I tense at the mention of his name, thinking of Jack’s offer last week. I’ve been trying not to, but it’s hard, considering a room to myself is incredibly tempting.
I shake it off.
“I don’t think a team of psychologists can fix Jack,” I snark.
“He’s all bluster,” Lila says, wiping her hands on a towel before putting her dish in the oven. “Besides, he had plenty of that when we were kids. Didn’t exactly take to them.”
This gives me pause. “Jack’s been in therapy?”
“Child therapy,” she amends. “We both were. After…”
I wince, suddenly feeling like shit. I know Jack and Lila lost their parents when Jack was twelve and Lila was seven, and even knowing what a dirtbag my dad turned out to be, at least I still had my mom for most of my childhood. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for them.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“It’s fine.” She waves me off. “It was a long time ago.”
Ian drops down on the end of the couch opposite me. “Is Jack coming to dinner?”
“I invited him,” she says, “but he said something about getting some practice in.”
Ian shakes his head. “He’s going to fuck his arm up even more.”
“I told you that we should have said something to Coach,” she says sternly.
Ian throws up his hands. “And have him hate us both for God knows how long? You heard him. He’s adamant about continuing to play.”
“He could really mess up his arm if he keeps this up,” Lila points out.
Ian nods. “But he’s an adult. We can’t make those decisions for him.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Lila mutters.
“I know,” Ian sighs, letting his head thump against the back of the couch. “But he’s a big boy. He has to make those decisions for himself.”
“You’re right,” Lila agrees, not sounding happy about it. “Even if he acts like a teenager, heisan adult.”
I watch all this curiously. I’ve noticed that everyone in Jack’s life seems to regard him with the same level of fond exasperation, like there’s truly no one in his life who thinks he can take care of himself. It’s odd, what that thought does to me. I don’t have any particular love for Jack, and he reallycanbe an idiot sometimes, but he’s still managed to make it this far. Maybe it’s my own irritability over constantly being handled like I’m made of glass that has me feeling sympathetic.
“Why do you think he’s so hell-bent on continuing to play?” I ask.