“He’s not,” Jax replies, pulling out a box of crackers.
“Jax! Tell him!” I shift on the couch, my leg throbbing in protest.
“He’s here to make you company. He’s gotta stay until dinner. Or after. He stays untill I say otherwise.”
“Jax?!”
“Look,” he says, hands up like he’s doing us a favor. “You two are friends. I’ll make you guys a nice drink?—”
“I thought you said I can’t drink,” I cut in.
Jax shrugs, rinsing his hands in the sink. “One is fine.”
“Oh, is it?”
Lou raises both hands. “Wait, are we pretending this isn’t a felony? Should I blink twice if I want to be rescued?”
“You’re fine,” Jax says, drying his hands on a rag. “You’re safe. You’re here. She needs company.”
He sets a box of crackers down on the table like it’s some kind of peace offering.
Lou looks at the box then at me, then sighs. “I guess if there are snacks.”
“Drinks?” Jax says, already heading for the door again.
“Yes,” Lou says, perking up. “I’ll have a Sidecar. Extra citrus. Garnish optional but emotionally necessary.”
I shoot him a look.
He shrugs. “What? I need a drink if I’m gonna relax.”
Jax leaves without another word.
Lou waits until the door clicks shut behind him, then turns to me slowly.
“If I die in this apartment, please make sure someone burns that couch. It needs to go.”
I snort and finally ease down beside him, crutches squeaking as I settle. “You good?”
He nods. “Good enough to play therapist-slash-human shield for a few hours.”
I lean back, staring at the door Jax just vanished through. “You really gonna stay?”
He shrugs. “Do you want me to?”
I look at him. The dust in the air. My leg. “I really really do.”
Twenty-Seven
THEN | JAX
Ivan and I are both in the back seat, which already tells me everything. Who the hell sits in the back of their own dad’s car? Only two reasons: fear or hate. My money’s on the second one.
I glance over at him, noting that his palms are sweaty and his knees are moving up and down in a nervous tick.
“So,” I say, loud enough to make sure they both hear me. “Did you ever find your dog, Ivan?”
He chokes. Literally chokes. A single, pathetic cough turns into another, then another, until he’s having a full-blown wheezing fit, face turning a nice shade of purple.