Unexpected: Chapter 35

“FUCKING HELL, AMELIA.”

Drumming anxiously against the steering wheel, I focus on the road ahead, refusing to meet the somewhat shell-shocked gazes of my friends. Even Jackson—always the stoic, impartial third party—is staring at me like I ran over his puppy. Or maybe he’s staring at me like I’m the puppy that got run over. I can’t tell.

“Did Lynn hit her? I bet she hit her.”

A pained screech echoes from the back of the car as Kate twists in the passenger seat and reaches behind her to pinch Luna. “Ow! What the hell?”

“Seriously Lu? That’s your first question?” Kate glares, enraged on my behalf but honestly, I’m stifling a laugh. Luna almost hit the nail on the head; a handful more disrespectful comments from Diane and the answer to her question would’ve been a resounding hell yeah.

Before the two can erupt into their usual bickering, I clear my throat loudly, flashing them—or more specifically Luna—imploring, pleading eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Can we not talk about it?”

It’s for their sake more than mine; there’s no telling what will set me off these days and I’m sick of snapping at people I care out.

Luna pouts but she keeps her inquisitive lips shut, even though it blatantly pains her to do so.

Small miracles.

I knew when I agreed to collect Luna and Jackson from the airport—she shocked us all again by toting the boy home for Christmas—I’d have to spill the beans sooner or later. What I didn’t expect; Luna announcing something was definitely wrong with me within four seconds of reuniting. I swear, she can smell drama.

At the risk of experiencing severe consequences if I dare to withhold information, I told her, with Jackson present and all because he already knows most of the nitty-gritty details of my life; there’s no harm in him being privy to one more. And, as announced by the man himself, he knows about Nick and me.

The whole damn time, he’s known, and Luna swears up and down she didn’t tell. At his own admission, he figured it out himself, and he’s so damn nice that he never breathed a word. I reckon he would’ve kept it to himself until the end of time if I hadn’t accidentally tripped over my words when mentioning Nick and cast panicking eyes at his reflection in the rear-view mirror and he’d simply nodded and uttered a quiet, “I know.”

See—nice.

“So did Nicky fuck the sadness out of you?”

“Jesus Christ, Lu!”

“What? I’m changing the subject! Hey, stop hitting me!” The latter shriek is aimed at Kate who, when I give her the nod, whacks a palm across Luna’s thighs.

You see, in my retelling of the turbulent Christmas holidays, while I included Nick’s sweet gift-giving, I may have skimmed over the part of the story that involved me blowing up at him. And the part where I fled the state without so much as a goodbye. And the part where he came to my apartment, sweet and worried, and I told him to leave. And the part where he actually left so I bundled myself up in bed and cried my freaking eyes out.

He apologized. He genuinely apologized and the one apology that should’ve been so easy to accept, that I could trust the man issuing it enough to accept, I stomped all over. I had to audacity to feel sad when he left, to expect him to stay even though I told him to do the opposite.

Pathetic.

Although I haven’t breathed a word, I suspect Kate knows more than she’s letting on. When she got home from Sydney’s this morning, she actually knocked on my bedroom door before coming in. Privacy isn’t really a thing in our apartment; the only time we ever knock is when someone’s had an overnight guest.

The look of surprise on her face when she found me in bed alone said it all; she knew he was coming over. So, she knew something happened. And she expected us to have made up.

I don’t know how to feel about the disappointment that clouded her expression when her expectations weren’t met.

Luna, however, is blissfully ignorant, as proven by the way she stares at me with big, gossip-hungry eyes. “No,” I sigh, a hand scraping over my flushed cheeks as if I can rub the blush away. “He did not… do that.”

He could’ve if I’d let him. Whatever comfort I needed, he would’ve provided, I know that. What I don’t know is why I pushed him away so viciously. I wasn’t angry anymore, not at him. The second I got on that plane, my annoyance with him fizzled out. My head cleared and I realized my outburst was a product of overreactions and miscommunication. But for some fucked up reason, I ignored him, and the only explanation is that I was scared. I am scared.

Because if I let him in and he bails, it will fucking ruin me. I know it will.

And I’m not sure a Nicolas Silva heartbreak is something I can recover from.

I’m deep in a pit of wallowing when my bedroom door creaks open and a head peeks around the edge. However, it’s not any of the heads I’d expect.

“Hey.” Jackson smiles softly, a little awkwardly. “Can I come in?”

Smoothing away my instinctive frown, I nod—Gilmore Girls reruns can wait a couple of minutes. Jackson inches into my room, leaving the door ajar behind him before stiffly taking the seat at my desk.

I fidget as I scoot upright, equal parts intrigued and concerned at his sudden want for a private conversation. He’s a great guy and definitely a good friend—he proved that yesterday when he admitted to keeping his mouth shut about me and Nick—don’t get me wrong, and practically a roommate at this point, but it’s not like we talk. Except for now, apparently.

“You know my mom left when I was a kid too, right?”

Well, shit.

I’m not sure what I was expecting but it definitely wasn’t that. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Oh.” Jackson fiddles with the ends of his long hair, and my gut tells me he assumed a certain rowdy blonde spilled the beans. “Well, she did. When I was twelve. My dad wasn’t around either so my younger sisters and I got dumped with our grandparents.”

“Shit, Jackson, I had no idea.” God, I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like; at least I was young enough to not really remember the woman who left me, and I always had my dad. I never had younger siblings to worry about. Judging by his tone when he mentions his grandparents, it doesn’t sound like Jackson really had anyone.

“It’s okay.” He waves off my concern. “I’m over it. Only good thing that woman ever did was leave.”

Yeah, I know the feeling.

“I, uh, wanted to tell you. In case you need someone to talk to who gets it, you know.”

Okay. Yeah. If I were Luna, I’d give up my wild ways for this man too. “Thank you, Jackson. Seriously.”

Jackson shrugs—clearly his favorite form of communication—off my thanks, standing and heading for the door, silently conveying that the swift conversation is over.

My fingers hover over the keys of my laptop, ready to hit play as soon as Jackson vacates the room. Except, he doesn’t.

Because at the last minute, I break. “Hey, have you talked to Nick?” Jackson stops in his track, and something about the look on his face sends dread plummeting in my stomach. He looks like he’s been caught in a lie, in a secret, and he doesn’t need to say a thing. “He didn’t come home last night, did he?”

The shake of his head only confirms what I already know.

“Oh.” The single utterance is pathetically dejected, even to my own ears. “And the night before?”

“I’m sorry, Mils, I haven’t seen him since I got back.”

“Has anyone?” Because I’m starting to panic a little, beyond the selfish fear that he might’ve spent a night in a bed other than his own or mine. A day without anyone hearing from him? That’s cause for concern, right?

As if sensing my rising anxiety, Jackson’s brown eyes go wide, a frantic hand going to his pocket and whipping out his phone. “He probably crashed at a friend’s place. I’ll ask Ben.”

Right. Crashed at a friend’s place. God, sometimes I forget that people outside our friend group exist.

They’re embarrassingly agonizing, the few minutes that pass where the only sound is my heavy breathing. My heart jumps into my throat when a text tone sounds. Jackson’s sigh of relief is like music to my ears. “He’s home.”

Thank fuck. 

I huff my own breath of relief, a sheepish snicker escaping. However, it gets caught in my throat when I notice Jackson frowning at his phone, the screen not-so-discreetly turned away from me.

My gaze darts between him and whatever he’s doing a crap job at hiding from me. “What?”

“Nothing,” is his too-quick reply.

Sighing, I cock my head at him. “You really want me to get Luna in here?”

As suspected, he folds like a cheap lawn chair. A wince crinkling his features, he reluctantly hands his phone over.

It takes four reads before the words sink in.

Oh. Okay. Guess I deserve that.

“Amelia…”

Shoving Jackson’s phone back at him, I force a smile. “It’s fine.”

His expression reeks of doubt but that’s fine too. I wouldn’t believe me either, not with the way my hands are shaking and my voice is cracking.

It’s my own fault, though. He told me I was hurting him and I hurt him again so what did I expect? This whole time, I’ve been pushing him away, unconsciously or not, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be surprised that I finally succeeded.

“Are you sure?” The words are careful, slow, as though Jackson already knows the answer and he’s preparing for the fallout.

I nod stiffly. “We were messing around. No strings attached and all that.” Which is true. That’s what we decided. That’s what I decided.

Why the fuck did I decide that again?

In a soft, gentle voice, Jackson asks, “Do you seriously believe that, Amelia?”

No, I yell internally.

“Yes,” I lie aloud.

Because that’s what I do best, evidently. I lie and avoid my feelings, uncaring that I hurt people in the process because at least I don’t get hurt.

Except right now, sitting on my bed with Ben’s text seared in my mind and hot tears in my eyes, it really doesn’t feel like I’m not getting hurt.

There’s a man in my bedroom. I can make out his outline as he sneaks in the doorway, the light from my laptop illuminating him eerily. He’s walking on his tip-toes, like one of those cartoon burglars, and I have to resist the urge to laugh at the absurd picture my young friend is creating. “Ben?”

A strangled panicked noise escapes his throat as he jumps about a foot in the air, hand flying to his chest. “Holy shit, Tiny. You scared me.”

Snorting, I prop myself up on an elbow. “I scared you?”

“Kate said you were asleep.” Shrugging off his jacket, he chucks it on my desk, kicking his shoes off too.

“And what, you decided to watch? Very Edward Cullen of you.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.” Without any invitation, Ben flops onto my bed, wriggling under he’s tucked under the sheets beside me, almost knocking my laptop off the bed in the process. “I wanted to check on you,” he explains, busying himself setting my almost ruined electronic carefully on the floor.

When pity flashes in his eyes, I groan loudly, slamming my face into my pillow. “Cass told you?”

Wrestling the pillow from my grasp, Ben tucks it behind his head so I’m left defenseless, forced to take his concern. “He tried. I’m not fluent in ‘distraught big brother’ yet. I heard the words ‘Amelia’, ‘mother’, and ‘shitshow’ and kind of put the pieces together.”

Groaning again, I let Ben jostle us around until he’s got his arms wrapped around me, hugging me tightly to his chest as his hands rub my back, reminding me of different hands on other occasions, and my chest squeezes painfully.

“So, did you punch her?”

My barked laugh is muffled in his chest. What, was everyone hoping for a nice holiday brawl? “No. I wanted to, though.”

A huff of disappointment blows warm air on the top of my head. “Damn. I bet Jackson ten bucks you punched her.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Ben makes a dismissive noise, his arms tightening around me. After a few moments of silence, he starts humming a soft tune, something I can’t quite place but it acts like a lullaby, soothing me into a drowsy state until my eyes flutter closed.

“Hey, Tiny?” Ben whispers into the quiet darkness. “I’m sorry your mom’s a twat but I love you, if that makes you feel better.”

Forcing my eyes open, I tilt my head and offer Ben a sleepy smile. “I love you too, kid.”

“Love me like ‘friends’ love me or love me like you’ll be my surrogate one day? Because I think our genes would create very beautiful babies. Very pale babies, with very green eyes.”

“Find a man who can put up with you and we have a deal.”

He scoffs. “What if I want to be a single parent?”

“There is no way in hell I’m letting you take care of a baby by yourself.” Pretty sure that falls somewhere under child endangerment. Ben can barely take care of himself. I watched him eat dry ramen last week because he was too lazy to boil water.

“Yeah, probably a good call.” Ben’s chin finds my head, hands still stroking me to sleep. “I’m really glad you kicked me out of Greenie’s that one day.”

“Me too, Benny. Me fucking too.”