Page 20 of Forever Wild
We sit in silence until Jack finally emerges. He pauses, looking between us. John places both hands on his thighs and stands.
“I best be getting back to the bar.”
“Thank you,” Jack says to him.
“Don’t owe me any thanks. Sorry you had to drive all the way down here.” His gaze cuts to me. “Though I’m glad I got to meet this one. He never brings anyone around for me to meet.”
“I wonder why.” Jack runs a hand through his hair, but a small smile creeps into his expression. It’s gone almost as quickly as it appears. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, Coach.”
“Looking forward to it. Take care of that knee.”
Coach gives us his back as he heads off to his truck. I slowly get to my feet.
“All good?” I ask, then wince inwardly. Of course he isn’t all good. “I mean, are you ready?”
“You can take my SUV back. I’m going to stay the night, and I’ll grab a ride home tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
“I just need to grab my phone.” I’m still processing when he starts for his SUV. His limping is more pronounced, and his brow is creased with pain or frustration, probably both. He opens the passenger door, retrieves his phone, and heads back.
“Look, I know you’re going to hate this idea, but I think I should stay too. I can help.”
He opens his mouth with what is sure to be a protest, but I’ve had enough of his bullshit.
“Let me fucking help you.”
His brows rise in surprise. “Thank you for today, Ev, but this isn’t your mess to clean up.”
“And it’s yours?”
His clenched jaw is my answer.
“I’m not going back without you.”
He mutters something. The only word I catch is stubborn. Like he’s one to talk.
I march past him into the house, but because I’m not a jerk, I hold the door open for him. Now that I’ve made the decision to stay, I’m second-guessing myself. I don’t know what to do in this scenario. I’ve dealt with plenty of drunk girlfriends, getting them home and putting them to bed with a glass of water and Advil. I doubt that’s the play here.
“How can I help?” I ask.
“He’s sleeping it off. He’ll be fine.” Jack walks into the living room and I follow.
He blows out a breath that puffs out his cheeks as he looks around the mess. He reaches for a couple of empty bottles.
“I got this,” I say, falling in beside him and taking the bottles fromhim. “You should sit and elevate your leg.”
He must be in a lot of pain because he listens. Gingerly dropping down in a chair opposite the couch where his dad is snoring, he says, “You don’t need to clean up. I can do it later.”
“I don’t mind.” I’m holding as many bottles as I can in both hands. I turn to the opening of the living room. “Which way is the kitchen?”
“Take a right, end of the hall.”
When I find it, I set the bottles on the counter and then sigh as I look around. The kitchen is also a mess. I get to work cleaning. It’s nice to turn off my brain and accomplish something. I don’t love to clean under normal circumstances, but a good stress clean always makes me feel better.
It actually isn’t as bad as I thought originally. The bottles and cans go in the recycling. I put a few empty cups and dishes into the dishwasher and start it and then wipe down the counters.
As I’m finishing up, I go to the fridge. There’s a newspaper clipping hanging from a magnet. The paper is yellowed and curls at the edges around a young Jack. He’s wearing a Wildcat jersey and hat. The headline reads: Number 1 Draft Pick, Jack Wyld, Signs with Wildcats.
