The Keys to Jericho (65 page)

Standing, I go around, making sure everything is turned off, and nothing that is needed gets left behind.

I check my messages as I set down my suitcase near the front door. Noticing her suitcase, but not her, I hang up my phone. I go to the balcony door and see her sitting on the cement floor with her knees bent.

Going outside, I stand over her, but she doesn’t acknowledge my presence. Sighing, I squat in front of her, and she eventually looks up at me, her eyes wet and bleak. We again look at each other, but neither of us can hold the gaze long, unlike earlier.

Why is
she
the one looking miserable? She’s the one who rejected me; doesn’t want me. Yet, here I am, watching her practically curled into a ball on the floor of a balcony. Suddenly, I want to tell her things, not all good, so I keep my mouth shut, but we’d be talking again, at least.

Unconsciously, I lean against her legs, bowing my head over her. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t stay away from her when she doesn’t even want me. Fucking masochist. No lie.

Her hand goes into my hair and I close my eyes as she strokes her fingers through it, and I hate that I enjoy it. I hate that I feel so fucking much with her, though she thinks I feel nothing. Just as
I
thought I felt nothing.

It’s what has been driving me insane. For years.

Blinking my eyes open, we’re caught, staring into the depths of one another’s souls once again, but I won’t give up anything. I’m good at keeping secrets. However, what secrets does she hold that I don’t know?

Most likely, it’s better that I don’t know.

Numbly, I offer my hand to help her up, being above leaving
her
low, like she did to me.

Tentatively, she takes my hand, and I pull her up as I stand, and again, she hugs me, but I don’t hug her back. I gave her all the bullshit I have left to give on my living room couch. The one place I’ll never sit again.

When she releases me, we go inside and I lock the balcony door before grabbing my Colts hat, wallet, and keys. Holding the front door open for her, she exits and we head to the elevator. We walk near each other, but don’t touch. Don’t speak. Don’t make eye contact. I feel like I’m dying, but I’m not supposed to feel that, right?

The elevator ride is deathly quiet with the luggage between us, which is very unlike the ride up to my apartment, where we were joking and kissing.

The ride home is even worse. Since she’s so quiet and unfocused, there’s no way she should be behind the wheel, so I do the driving.

With 20 minutes left of our drive, still nothing has been said between us since before…

She looks out her window almost the entire time. The radio is even irrelevant. It’s the worst drive ever. I don’t feel like talking, and if I did, I wouldn’t know what to say. If there’s anything left to say.

Resting my hand on the gearshift at a red light, since I usually have my hand on the stick in my car, I think nothing of it until my hand is picked up. My gaze falls from the windshield to her fingers sliding between mine. I cautiously look at her, but she’s looking out the window, and I stare at her purple hair.

From the corner of my eye, I see the light turn green, so I look away from her. She holds my hand, squeezing it every so often. Maybe for some kind of reaction from me, but I don’t give her one.

Pulling into her driveway, I let go of her hand to put the car in park, and to go get her suitcase out of the trunk; however, before I do, she grabs my arm. Turning to look at her, she kisses me, and I don’t want to kiss her back, because it’s a precarious situation for me.

Cutting it off, I leave her hanging as I hurriedly get out of the car.

When I pull the suitcase from the trunk, she rounds the corner and stands there, almost expectantly, as if I’m supposed to make some kind of speech.

Instead, she walks closer, grabs my T-shirt and unsteadily whispers, “You call that a kiss?”

I glance over to her mother’s apartment, but she grabs my chin, forcing me to look at her. “If you’re not going to talk to me, will you please, at least, give me a proper kiss…goodbye?”

Is this goodbye?

As much as I try to hide the dismayed look on my face, even now, she adds, “I won’t see you until tomorrow, since I guess we don’t have to drive today.”

Sighing at how fucked up I am, I kiss her forehead, but she grabs my face and pulls me to her lips, and as much as I fight it… Fuck. I’m a pussy.

I can’t even fight off the first person I’ve truly ever kissed. And…

I finally scrounge the will to end our kiss and get into the car, needing to get fucking plastered at 2:14 PM.

There’s a knock at my bedroom door, and I roll my eyes. His muffled voice asks, “Can I come in?”

Between sips, I reply, “I probably can’t stop you.”

Dad walks in, looking around, assessing as usual. “I just got back from your grandparents’. How was your trip…with Kat?”

I concentrate on the beer can’s artwork. “Fine.”

“Are you sure?” I look up and see that he notices the two beer cans on the nightstand.

Lifting the can to my lips, I mumble, “Yep.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Swallowing, I scowl at his intrusion. “I just did.”

Watching me, he sighs and leans against the doorframe. “No. I mean about you and Kat.”

I peer out the window, lying, “Nothing to tell.”

I feel his gaze on me still as he asks, “Are you sure?”

I roll my eyes and lift my beer can to take a drink. “Dad… I’m busy.”

“Yes. I see that. What happened?”

Shaking my head in exasperation, and avoiding his judgmental stare, I yell at my bedspread, “Nothing happened! Can you just…? Go?”

“Jared. Something had to have transpired. You kissed her and then—”

Automatically looking up at him, I laugh. “Oh, no, no, no. She kissed
me
. So if you want to go there, get your story straight first.”

“How long?”

I frown in confusion. “Three seconds?”

He sighs again, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, Jared. I was asking how long have you been with her?”

“With her? What? Like in a bed, bouncing off each other, moaning each other’s names? That kind of
with her
?”

“Jared Adam.”

I lean my head back, saying to the ceiling, “Flipping hell.”

“You’re making jokes. This isn’t a joke, and you know it. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Getting drunk? I believe you have.”

Dad shakes his head as his disapproval mounts. “Maybe I don’t know you like I thought I did.”

Before I take another drink, I look at him and sneer, “You know nothing about me, Daddy.”

He frowns now. “Not that I haven’t tried.”

My eyes roll and I laugh. “Right.”

“I understand some of your hostility toward me, but yet, some is just uncalled for. I tried to be the best dad I could, and with what I had. God, I tried with you and Hadley. I’m so far from perfect. I know I had my issues. It was tough. I always felt like I failed at something with
you
, though. I was scared every day, Jared. I didn’t want my kids hating me. We only had each other to rely on.”

I don’t respond because I don’t know what to say. I’m not drunk yet, either.

He says, “I know it’s hard for you to connect to people on a personal level. It’s hard for me, too, but I don’t want to see you encounter the same pitfalls. You had Kat in your life years ago. She’s back.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I think she’s special to you. That’s why you’re scared.”

I glare at him. “I’m not scared of shit.”
Suck on that, Finn Wilder
.

“Did you and Kat talk in Philadelphia?”

“No, we used sign language.”

“Jared.”

I sigh, knowing he’s not going to leave me alone until I give him something. “About
what
?”

“How you’re going to stay together?”

My teeth grind in irritation from his questioning. “We are
not
together.”

“She stayed with you at your apartment. You’re adults and I’m not naïve, Jared.”

“Oh. We’re back to the bouncing and moaning
with her
, right? That’s kind of hard to do when I slept on the couch.” Part truth. I did sleep on the couch. For an hour.

He skeptically nods, and I grab my beer as my phone lights up. Looking up from the screen, I show it to him. “It’s Rio. Not some girl. He wants to go out on a date with me Friday. I guess I didn’t tell you I swing that way. Oops. God. I hope he doesn’t expect me to bounce and moan with
him
yet.” Dad frowns and I mockingly ask, “Would it be okay to go, or do I have to marry Kat that day? I forget the correct steps I should take
with her
, since she did stay at my place.”

“Fine, Jared. If you don’t want to talk to me, then I don’t know what else to say.”

I shrug. “I don’t know why you get the impression I have anything I want to talk about.”

“Because the look on your face is one I’m used to seeing in the mirror. Pain. I know it. Believe me. This time, though, it’s not pain from your mother. I’m used to seeing that kind of pain on your face. This one is different. This kind is cutting your heart into pieces.”

“Nope.” Yes. With a chainsaw.

He sighs. “If you do ever want to talk, I’m here. That’s all I can offer, but I hope you’ll take it sometime.” Not likely.

Giving up, as usual for him, he leaves my room and I return to staring at the wall while drinking my beer, and I impatiently wait for the numbness to set in.

But sometimes, the numbness isn’t enough.

In the morning, I text Dash, telling him to borrow his mom’s car or switch out his car for the Nissan to take Kat driving for an hour, and then to her class tonight. I honestly can’t do it. I have no inclination whatsoever to get out of bed. My head is pounding and my body feels like lead.

But if those were the only ailments I had, I’d still take her.

And that’s what I do. I lie on the couch, watching whatever is on TV that doesn’t remind me of what a shitty world this is.

Tuesday, I do show up at the site, but I’m soon sorry I did.

Dash says, “There you are. I was wondering what happened to you.”

As he walks with me to the van, I grumble, “I died.”

“Sorry to hear that. I tried to take Kat driving, but she wouldn’t go. She was put off that it wasn’t you. I took her to class, but she barely said a word to me.”

I nod as I yank a spool of electrical cord out of the van for Tony. Dash says, “Did you two have another fight?”

I don’t answer that as I busy myself with measuring out the amount Tony needs. Dash asks, “What happened at your apartment? She’s hiding that she’s a fucking mess.”

“Nothing happened,” I mutter.

“Did she…say something to you?”

“It’s not always about what’s said.” I tap my pencil on the table, not wanting to be here anymore.