“You remember when I went to that show with Garrett?”
Jess narrows his eyes, and I take that as my answer.
“I ran into Victor there. He was a friend of my dad’s. I didn’t know it was his venue, and I may have pointed out some things I could’ve done better.”
I swear I see his lips lift at the corner into an almost-smile.
“He offered me a chance to organize my own event and put that theory to the test.”
“That’s a big deal, right? Is that what you want to do for a living?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I know I want to do something with music, so the experience can’t hurt. And Dylan’s band hasn’t had a place to play, so I figured it was a win-win situation.”
Jess nods. “When is it?”
I study him, the streetlights illuminating his sharp features. “Next Friday. Why, you suddenly a fan of my kind of music?”
“Hard pass.” He scoffs.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” He stares ahead at the dark road, one hand on the wheel. Every few seconds, the streetlights allow me a brief glimpse of his sharp profile, his jaw set hard.
“What’s next for the infamous Jesse Shepherd?” I joke, throwing in jazz hands for effect.
His grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white. “You’re looking at it.”
My smile falls. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?” He can’t possibly be content to hang around Blackbear sometimes working for the rest of his life.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know that you’re not who you want everyone to think you are.”
He looks over at me. “And who do you think I am?”
“An outsider. Like me.” I don’t mean to blurt it out, but I do and there’s no taking it back now. I don’t think anyone truly knows Jesse except for maybe Lo. How could they? He doesn’t
let anyone in. Least of all me. But somehow, I manage to see him. Maybe it’s because underneath all the bullshit, we’re the same. Two lost, closed-off kids with trust issues, pretending to have their shit together.
We lock eyes for long seconds, much too long to be considered safe when driving. Finally, he peels his gaze from me. He’s quiet for the rest of the ride home, but he’s thinking so hard I can practically hear his thoughts. Just as he pulls into the driveway, his phone flashes with an incoming call. He quickly silences it, flipping it facedown onto his jean-covered thigh.
“I’ll be there in a few,” he tells me, and I take that as my not-so-subtle hint to go inside.
“Thanks for the ride,” I mutter, grabbing my backpack before hopping out and shutting the car door none too gently. These secrets of his are driving me insane.
Once inside, I kick off my boots before plodding up the wooden stairs that feel cold underneath my tights-covered feet. I toss my backpack onto my bed and unzip the front pocket, feeling around for my phone. Unsurprisingly, there are multiple texts from my mom.
Hi, honey. Miss you!
Have you had a chance to go through your dad’s things?
Sending peace, love, and light. Xoxoxo.
I roll my eyes, huffing out a laugh at that last one. She was one hundred percent high when she sent that. And what part of “I’m not ready” does she not understand? Just the thought of sorting through my dad’s things has me on the verge of a panic attack. I can’t explain it.
Tossing my phone onto my bed, I grab my headphones, then blindly reach for a CD out of my case. I’m a mood listener—have a mix CD for every occasion—but right now, I just need something loud. Anything will do. I pop it in, snapping the lid shut before fitting the headphones around my neck.
The faint sound of Rise Against hits my ears as my curiosity has me moving toward the window that overlooks the front yard. Pulling back the curtain, I spot Jess standing outside his car, phone to his ear. He starts to pace the driveway, gesticulating wildly. I part the curtain a little more to get a better look, cocking my head to the side, transfixed with his every move. Suddenly, he stops his pacing, his bicep flexing as he drags his free hand through his hair. He angles his body toward the window and lifts his chin, then he’s looking directly at me—or at least, it seems that way.