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She follows my guidance, walking pretty steadily now.
“That sounds like the event of the season,” I tell her. “But it still doesn’t tell me how you all happened to end up in this situation.”
“Well, Amber and I were having coffee, and your mom came in,” Rachel begins, and I nod.
“This all sounds familiar, as that’s what she was going out to do. Like, six hours ago.”
“Jackson Charles Anderson, I am a grown woman. I can go out and do what I want.” Mom sinks into the sofa as soon as we enter her formal sitting room. “Now be a dear and get your mom some ibuprofen, please.”
I make sure Rachel is settled in the armchair before going to the hall bathroom for ibuprofen. I’ll be honest, I’m a bit miffed at the way my mother addressed me like I’m a child. Then again, I have been talking to her as if she were one. Maybe I need to watch myself a little bit. Regardless, it’s nice to see her letting loose. I grab the medicine and fill a cup of water for her before heading back to the sitting room, where I find my mother passed out.
“She wore herself out tonight.” Rachel grins up at me, then nods toward my mom. “She’s super cool, Jack. You never told me how awesome she is. I always thought—”
“She was a stuck-up rich housewife? Well, in a way she was.” I offer her the medicine. “How’s your head?”
“Oh, I’m a bit giggly, but I’m fine.” She waves me away. “I’ve been a lot worse off, promise.”
Something in the way she says that both piques my curiosity and concerns me. But I don’t ask for more details. If she wanted me to know them, she’d tell me. And I’ve spent the past few months being nothing but cordial to her. Sure, we talk in passing, but nothing more thanHave a good nightorDid you shut off the lights in the barn?
I set the medicine and the water onto the glass table near Mom’s head. I can sleep on the armchair when Rachel heads home, and if Mom wakes up sometime tonight, I’ll make sure she takes it.
“So, I guess we need to see about getting you home.” I glance at my watch. “Olivia is probably still up. I’ll have her come sit with Mom, and I’ll drive you—”
My sentence is interrupted by the obnoxiously loud snore that erupts from Rachel’s nose. Oh my god. It’s just one, but it startles me, and if I’m not mistaken, my mom jumps a bit as well. But now Rachel’s passed out cold, her head slumped over, and it looks extremely uncomfortable. She’s still so beautiful, and now that she’s asleep, I can appreciate her appearance fully. While we’re working, I try not to look at her for a long time—I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.
There’s a fancy chest in our sitting room that holds spare blankets and pillows. I grab two of each. First, I get Mom settled since she’s already lying down. I squeeze the pillow under her head an inch at a time, hoping not to wake her. Is this what it felt like for her when I’d fall asleep in the car and she had to carefully maneuver me to bed? I’m sure it’s similar. I spread one of the blankets over her, then survey her for a moment.
Satisfied with my work, I turn to Rachel, unsure of what to do with her. I rack my brain. If I move her too much, she might get sick, and I don’t want to be in the line of fire for that. It would be better to bring a flat surface to her. There’s another couch in the den, so I head in there and drag the piece of furniture back to where the two most frustrating women I’ve ever known are. Ironically, they’re arguably the most important women in my life. Well… Rachelwasone of the most important women in my life. Past tense.
I scoot the couch as close to Rachel’s chair as I can and maneuver her around until she’s standing but leaning on me. I turn to the side slightly, easing her body onto the couch, but she has her arms wrapped around my neck and won’t let go. She’s holding onto me as if her life depends on it, and I have to reach behind me and pull her hands apart. When her arms slip off me, I admit it makes me sad. How tightly she grabbed on, how natural it felt to have her in my arms again…
But I clear my throat and refocus, grabbing her pillow and blanket and settling her in as well. After glancing at both of them, I sink into the armchair. The couch is so close to me that if Rachel stretches her hand, it would brush my knees. I close my eyes and hope I can get a little bit of sleep.
NINE
When I wake up, I know I’m in a strange spot before I’ve even opened my eyes. This doesn’t feel like my bed—I don’t have my weighted blanket, and I’m still wearing my jeans. How in the hell did I sleep in jeans? It must be the end of the world. Immediately, I want to jump up and strip them off, but when I open my eyes, I’m face-to-face with a pair of knees. A nice pair of knees, sure, but after my vision focuses a bit and the sleep clears out, I take a closer look and find out they belong to Jack, so there is absolutely no way I’m jumping up to strip off my clothes. I sit up slowly, my head pounding a little but not nearly as bad as last time I went out drinking. And we won’t relive that night, that’s for sure.
Jack is fast asleep, his head thrown back and his arms folded across his chest. I have no idea how he’s still sleeping, much less how he fell asleep in this position at all. I turn my body a bit, glancing around the expensive-looking room. The previous night slowly comes flooding back, and holy fuck, I’m in Jack Anderson’s house. I slept on his couch last night. Well, it could be worse—I could have ended up in his bed. So this is definitely the best-case scenario.
“Who wants breakfast?” A cheery voice pierces through the room, and I wince before looking over to see Gwen dressed to the nines, a spatula in her hand.
“Oh, oops. I thought he was awake too. I heard moving.” An alarm sounds from her wrist, piercing my eardrums. She glances at her watch, then shakes her head fervently. “Nope, I’m not going to do any more shit. I’ve made my son breakfast.” She smacks her hand with the spatula, startling me again, and Jack jumps awake, his eyes barely cracking open.
“Did I miss the bus?” he manages to say around a large yawn, rubbing his face.
“That’s how I always used to wake him for school,” Gwen says to me before addressing her son. “I made breakfast, Jack. You all need to eat before it gets cold.” She disappears through the door that I now assume is the kitchen, leaving me with a curious Jack.
“What did you do to my mother last night?”
“What do you mean? We just had fun.”
“She’s never made me breakfast.” His voice cracks, and without thinking, I reach out and touch his hand. But he doesn’t jerk away—he folds his over mine.
I stand up, pulling him to his feet, and lead him to the kitchen. He stops suddenly but hangs onto my hand, pulling me back toward him. I nearly collide into his chest but catch myself right before.
“How did you do it?”
“Do what?”
