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“I wasn’t talking about that,” Jack cuts me off.
“Then what?”
He pauses, opening his mouth a couple times before closing it again. “Your uncle,” he says finally. “He wasn’t a good man.”
And the sky is blue. “Your point?”
“Neither is my father.”
Jack makes eye contact with me, and I see it, the familiar vulnerability that lies behind them. The fear that one day, our mistakes will turn us into the people we hate the most.
“A friend of mine died recently,” he says bluntly. “He wanted nothing to do with this life, but he died anyway.”
My blood runs cold as I connect the dots.Shit.He’s talking about Douglas Jones. I try to keep my face schooled into something neutral as the panic rises inside me. There’s no way he could have known it was me… Right?
I swallow. “Was it your fault he died?”
“Probably.” Luckily, Jack seems more concerned with a dark stain on the table than with examining me too hard.
Focus, Arnie.
“Would your father care if he’d been in your position?”
Jack thinks about this for a second. “Probably not.”
“Then you’re probably a better person, I think,” I offer as casually as I can. Hoping that Jack chalks up the strain in my voice to the uncharted territory of this surprisingly vulnerable conversation.
“You writing a self-help book or something?” Jack teases, throwing me an awkward look as if realizing this, too.
“I think I’m just tired of people assuming things about me because of my uncle,” I reply honestly before finishing my drink to disguise the shaking in my hand.
Luckily, this seemed to be all Jack needed to hear. He plasters on a carefree expression and goes to stand.
“Well… It’s been a pleasure as always.” He smirks as he grabs his jacket.
I tip my empty bottle to him. “Look after yourself.”
I watch as he walks away. Begging, hoping, pleading that he doesn’t hesitate or turn around.
“Arnie?” He throws over his shoulder.
The panic reaches my throat. “Hm?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Seriously,” I manage to get out.
He smirks, walking away with a wave as I settle back into my seat.
The floodgates open, and guilt creeps into my lungs like a parasite. For a moment, I struggle to breathe. It’s not like I’m actively trying to gain Jack’s approval, but suddenly, the thought of him finding out what I did to Douglas makes it feel like my heart is about to burst from my chest.
This is why I could never lead. Not like Connor does. I can only kill when someone else is pulling the trigger. Getting emotionally involved makes me crumble into pieces like this.
It takes me far longer than I care to admit to right myself again. Snapped out of it only by abuzzin my pocket.
I take my phone out and a message flashes up.
CONNOR: You figured out you’re an asshole then?
