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He shook his head and kind of half-shrugged. "I thought I should say something before you meet her. You can be insecure sometimes and I don't want you thinking I'm keeping secrets."
My head swirled, trying to separate the comments from my fear and put them together as I struggled to stay and talk to him. I wanted to run away, but that wouldn't solve anything.
He'd just played my rewritten song. And now . . . what?
"So, in the interest of honesty you're making sure that I know she's an excellent guitarist. And that she's very cool . . . and good-looking-no you said 'hot.' She's hot." My throat bulged. "Hot enough that Max and Andrew want to bag her."
I thought very carefully before asking my question, but asked anyway. "Do you?"
Jakes' eyebrows drew together at my serious expression. He took to his feet and walked around the table. Taking my hand, he bent onto the linoleum and looked me in the eye. "I'm telling you because she's the better of the two guitar players, because if I don't get my way she will end up in my band. That means I'll have to spend time with her. That means travelling, practice and gigs. That affects us."
It was hard to miss the way he skirted my question. "Do you, Jake?"
His eyes seemed to shine. "No. I mean . . . I don't think so." He turned quiet and thoughtful. "No. Not yet, at least."
I ripped my hands away from him, shoving back so fast the chair clattered to the floor behind me. My thoughts raced down the hallway and into the safety of my room. I wanted to shrink away.
"My turn to be honest: that's a shitty reassurance."
He came at me with both hands, grasping. I pushed him, tearing myself out and away. "Go home, Jake."
I was heading to my room, aiming to dive into my safe-place. My closet. And curl up into a tiny ball where I could cry until everything disappeared. But Jake caught me in the hallway, banding his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. My back pressed against him. He buried his face in my neck. The hot feeling of his breath and strength of his arms gave me such a deep comfort. My resentment crumbled, leaving only the raw hurt.
"'Not yet'?" I couldn't keep my voice from trembling. "You expect to?"
"That's not what I meant."
"That's what you said!"
"It just-baby, it came out wrong. I love you. Please, don't make me go. I'm sorry." Jake held me closer, tightening his hold until I could barely breathe.
Outwardly, I stilled. Inside, his confession ripped at my gut. Those two words felt like a tiny little monster, with huge fangs had crawled into my chest to devour my heart.
I thought about pushing him away, what that would be like for me: to feel him loosen his grip, to no longer touch him. And desperation lodged in my throat. I couldn't take it, not even the idea of it. I considered how it would make Jake feel. He'd said he wanted to stay. Who was I kidding, anyway? When it came to resisting him, I never had a shot. For both our sakes, I bottled my tears and told him he could stay.
I felt his body relax against mine as he turned me in his arms. His eyes glistened in the dim light of the hallway as he lifted and carried me to my room. For the rest of that night, Jake lavished me with his passionate remorse, trying to reassure me. But his kisses felt desperate. Mine probably did, too.
The radio fed the low sounds of Warrant into the dark surrounding us. Janie Lane was oozing over heaven and I was sure I'd gotten a peek into hell with those two words that seemed to cancel out everything else.
"Not yet."
He held my body, but my mind was beyond reach, thinking of that girl, wondering what she'd done to him to make him say that. What did she look like? Where was she from? But I also knew I would never ask him about her. I really didn't want answers. I just wanted to hold onto him as long as I could, because I had lived without Jake for fifteen years. Now that I had him, I couldn't imagine what my life would look like without him, or that there would ever be a time when I wouldn't desperately need him.
"Not yet."
14
-Angel
Garfield had it right when he suggested getting rid of Mondays. That whole weekend stunk. Friday afternoon with my shrink had gotten the stink-ball going. Then Jake and his confusing visit.
"Not yet."
I've suffered migraines since I was five. Nothing I can do about it, but they come more often when I'm upset or worried. And Jakes' painful admission that night-"Not yet"-had me stressed to the max. The pain came on early Saturday morning, just before he left.
I didn't do a thing for two whole days except lay in my room and writhe. Jake had felt bad, of course. He wanted to take me with him to visit his mom and little brother, Henry. There was nothing he could do for me, though. So, he went by himself and then picked up some extra shifts at work on Sunday.
And Avery was sick with a flu or something. She'd called a few times, but I told her to stay away. The only thing that could help was silence. Austen looked in on me when Deanna was gone. He brought me water and my pills. On Sunday morning he made special brownies, but wouldn't let me have any. Deanna brought me soup, but I couldn't touch it.
