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James runs his fingers over Juliet’s spine, smiling at the soft sigh she lets out against his chest.
“I gotta get a gift for Claire,” he tells her.
“Mmm.”
He leans his face deeper into her hair, mumbling, “Still don’t know what to get.”
“She’ll love anything.”
“True. She’s one of those ‘it’s the thought that counts’ kinda gals.”
There’s silence for a moment, nothing but the ceiling fan, and then she says, “James?”
“Yeah?”
“Jack’s coming back.”
He blinks, watching the spinning above him. The words sit there, and then they hit and it knocks the wind out of him.
“What?”
She sits up a little so she can look at him. “For her birthday. Claire told me.”
His throat is dry, and it takes him a moment to remember how to speak. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
She runs her hand down his chest. “She didn’t know how you’d feel.”
His lungs mustn't be working, because why else would it be so hard to breathe. He sits up, pushing his hair back off his face.
“Hey,” Juliet says, putting her hand on his bicep.
He doesn’t say anything, but he slowly regains control over his breathing.
“How are you feeling?” she asks hesitantly.
“Just peachy,” he mumbles, pressing the back of his thumbs against his eyes hard enough that he can see stars.
She leans her head against his shoulder and he lets her. His throat feels tight again and now he’s thinking about those hazel eyes that used to feel like home.
“He gets here Thursday night.”
He looks down at her, and she’s looking up at him. Her eyes are round and soft and so blue and that feels like home.
He kisses her forehead. “Ok.”
“You should go see him.”
He pushes a stray curl off her forehead. “I don’t know.” Even though he knows he will. He runs his thumb down her cheek and says, “You know I love you, right?”
“I know.”
Maybe it was him he needed to remind.
“You should play.” He doesn’t even look up when Juliet sits down beside him in the stands. “If you’re going to be at every practice.”
He flips the page of his book. “Not really a baseball guy.” He looks up, but he doesn’t recognize the guy hitting so he goes back to Salinger. “Why’re you always here?”
“Because you’re my ride.”
He nods; he knows that. She doesn’t have a car and Rachel took hers with her to college.
“He’s up,” she says, so he puts the book down.
He leans forward and rests his arms on his knees, watching Jack step up to the plate and admiring how he looks in those tight pants. He misses the first pitch, and the second, but he hits the third. It doesn’t go far but he makes it to first base.
When he stops, he looks over and meets James’ eyes. They share a smile and then he goes back to the game.
“How long is this?”
“Goes till 4:30.”
She sighs and reaches into her backpack, pulling out her homework.
“He studies at my house,” he reminds her.
“I know you guys make out in the driveway.”
He smirks but doesn’t say anything. It’s true. Who’s he to argue?
He slows in front of the house, looking into the backseat. “Beat it.”
She rolls her eyes, grabbing her backpack. “I’ll tell Rose you were mean to me.”
“Beat it, ma’am.”
“Much better,” she deadpans. “See you guys later.”
She gets out of the car and he watches her walk up to her front door. Then, he shifts his eyes to the passenger seat.
“You coming over?”
“Yeah,” Jack says, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. "To study."
He smiles and drives a few feet forward so he can pull into the driveway next door. He parks the car and then puts a hand up, leaning across Jack’s body and finding Juliet’s face in her kitchen window. He flips her off and she smiles slyly, shutting the curtains.
He leans back. “Finally alone.”
Jack smiles and leans forward. James meets him halfway, putting a hand on the back of his neck and smiling against his lips. This is his favorite part of the day.
When he runs his tongue against his bottom lip, Jack pulls away. “I actually do have to study.”
He can’t resist a grin. “‘Course you do.”
“You should try harder,” he tells him, grabbing his backpack and opening the door. “You’re smart.”
“Eh. Reading ain’t fun when you gotta analyze it. And the rest of it’s boring.” He gets out and they meet again in front of the car. “‘Sides. I like watching you.”
Jack shakes his head. “You could get good grades if you tried.”
James just shrugs. This isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation; with Jack, with teachers, with his foster parents.
“C’mon,” he says, putting a hand on his back. “Gotta get away from L.B. Jefferies.”
“I really do have work to do.”
“Mhm.”
It doesn’t really matter to him. He just likes being with him, even if his nose is in textbooks the whole time.
James stands in front of the door to the hotel room. He just stands there, like he’s stupid or something, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and pushing his hair back. Finally, he just steps forward and knocks.
The door opens and it’s like being punched in the gut.
“James,” he says a little breathlessly.
“Hey. I didn’t mean to . . . I don’t know intrude. But Claire gave me your room number and I was hoping you’d wanna come get lunch with me.”
He smiles, and it’s exactly like he remembers. “You could’ve called.”
“It’s been three years. You could’ve called.”
His face shifts, and suddenly James worries he’ll shut the door and it’ll be another three before he sees him again.
“Alright. Just give me a second.” And then he shuts the door.
It feels like forever, but then it opens again and he’s pulled on a sweatshirt. He doesn’t recognize it, and he hates himself for thinking he would.
They walk to the elevator and then ride down all in silence. James doesn't understand how there can be this space between them. How he can be a stranger when he once knew every inch of him, inside and out?
He eyes the chain around his neck and wants to pull it out from under his shirt. But then the elevator opens and they’re walking out of the lobby.
“Where did you park?”
“I walked.”
“Oh.”
They hover there, staring at each other, and then James starts to go down the sidewalk and Jack follows.
“So,” he says, because he can’t stand the quiet. He’s been waiting for so long for this moment, for him to come home. Now he has no idea what to say. “How’ve you been?”
“Alright. I got my license. It's good.”
“That’s great.” He thinks about him in a white coat in some fancy, window-filled hospital. It doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t feel wrong. He doesn’t know where this new Jack belongs.
“What about you?”
He thinks about himself, and all that comes to mind is the blonde bedhead he woke up to this morning. Most days he feels she’s the only reason he gets up at all.
“Well, uh . . . Juliet and I–”
“Claire told me.”
He doesn’t realize how nervous he was to say it until the relief hits him. And then comes the reminder that just because Jack left his life doesn’t mean he left everyone's. Claire’s his sister, of course they talk. And yet it still makes his chest ache, just a little bit.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “I guess I always thought she was like your sister.”
He wrinkles his nose. He’s never thought of her like that. He took her to every dance in high school, and they made out a couple of times behind the bleachers and on her bed. It usually happened when he was angry at Jack, but it wasn’t technically cheating when they weren’t technically in a relationship.
“Not really.”
They fall back into silence. There had been plenty of times when they sat together for hours not talking, but it was never like this.
He takes to studying him. He looks older; of course he does. His stubble is more apparent, but his hair is shorter than it used to be.
“We’ve missed you.” Jack looks at him, and he thinks he looks tired. “It ain’t the same.”
The corner of his lip turns up in a small smile, but it’s sad. He shakes his head. “Things weren’t the same. They were never going to be. Not after everything.”
James frowns. He tries not to think about it. All it does is cause pain. (He’d gone almost a year without nightmares until last night when he woke up to Juliet’s concerned eyes.)
You could’ve stayed. But he doesn’t say it, because he doesn’t want him to leave again.
“Where are we going?” he finally asks.
James finally smiles. “Sunny Side.” It’s the cafe they used to go to when his dad was being a dick or when he needed to keep studying but wanted a change of scenery. They’d go and order two black coffees and a croissant to share and then James would watch him.
He wonders if Jack specifically chose a hotel near it, but he doesn’t seem all too perked up by the answer so he assumes not.
“What’ve you been doing?” he asks, desperately trying to revive the conversation. “‘Sides surgeries and stuff.”
He sighs, deep and long. “Sleeping, I guess.” James laughs but he doesn’t. “I’ve been . . . I’ve been going to church.”
James lets out a sound halfway between a chuckle and a scoff. But Jack looks offended, and it makes his stomach cave inward.
“What’s funny?”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes, James.”
He stares in disbelief. He could’ve said he started dealing drugs, or auditioned for some foreign singing show and it would’ve been less of a shock to him. It just reaffirms the sickening knowledge that this man is a stranger to him.
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Really?” Jack widens his eyes in expectancy, and he shakes his head. “I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’ve spent your whole life talking shit about your Catholic parents.”
“My parents are assholes. But it’s not because they’re religious. They just . . . they use it as an excuse.”
James reaches over and hooks the chain on his finger, pulling it out of his shirt and letting the cross rest on his sweater. He glances up and they stare at each other for a long moment, some unspoken weight passing through them.
“I meant it when I said we missed you,” he says. Because it’s true. Because he doesn’t think Jack realizes how much he used to cry. How still sometimes he’ll sob in the shower because there's an empty space inside of him. “I missed you.”
He brings his hand to the cross around his neck like it’s some bad habit. James used to know all of those.
“I know.” But he doesn’t believe it, because he hasn’t said that he missed him too. That he missed any of this.
He’s pictured Jack’s return a million times in a thousand different ways. Once, a long time ago, those dreams had ended a lot differently. Now, he thinks about opening the door to that face and pulling him into a tight hug. He would smell the same and look exactly like he used to, and God he’s an idiot for thinking that things would be the like that. But it hurts. There’s no way around that.
He’s looking at his shoes, feeling it’s the safest option. But then Jack stops as they turn the corner, and he looks up to see what halted him.
“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, and it feels like his skin has tightened around his body. He hasn’t been down here in forever. He forgot they had to pass the cemetery on their way.
He looks at Jack and he’s staring at it with vacant eyes, like he’s somewhere else.
“We can go the long way,” James suggests, because his stomach churns when he looks at the graves beyond the fence.
But Jack shakes his head. “You can’t avoid it, James.”
He doesn’t need Jack to tell him that. He knows. He knows when he drives on the interstate and Juliet tells him he’s gripping the wheel too tight. He knows when he wakes up screaming. He knows every time he thinks of Jack’s face and now seeing this place again.
“I know.”
But Jack looks at him like he doesn’t.
James doesn’t like funerals. He didn’t like them when he was eight years old watching them bury his parents and he doesn’t like them now, standing in the back shoulder to shoulder with Jack.
He doesn’t think they should be here at all. But Jack wanted to come and he wouldn’t let him go alone.
He grabs his hand and squeezes it tightly, but he pulls away, shoving his hands in his pockets instead. James frowns, but shrugs it off. They’re still recovering from what happened, and he’s never liked touching in public anyway.
He doesn’t say anything when his eyes tear up and he screws up his face like he does when he’s trying not to cry. He stays stoic. He’s felt nothing but numbness for the last three weeks.
They leave before it’s over, not wanting to have to face any of the few grieving folks by the newly dug grave.
“Your hands are shaking,” Jack tells him, later when they’re in the car.
He looks down and sees that he’s right. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, returning his focus to the road.
“I don’t know how you can drive. I can barely sit here.”
“Not really another option.”
Jack’s breathing is shaky. “Did you know he was a doctor?” James glances over at him. “He just got his license.”
He doesn’t ask how he knows that. He knows that he reads all the articles in the papers about what happened.
“He hit us,” he reminds him. “It isn’t our fault.”
“We were drunk.”
“So was he.” His voice comes out harder than he intended it to. But he doesn’t regret it, because maybe if he keeps saying it Jack will believe him.
Yes, they’d been drinking. Yes, he probably shouldn’t have been driving. But he can handle himself, and he knew he was fine. It isn’t their fault that the other guy was drunk, and that he hit them. It isn’t their fault he died.
“We should’ve just stayed.”
He doesn’t say that it was Jack who insisted they leave the party. He doesn’t say anything.
Minutes later, he pulls in front of Jack’s apartment.
“I don’t want to be alone.” His voice is quiet.
James knows how it feels to be alone. He doesn’t want that either.
“Okay.”
He parks and they ride the elevator up. When they get to his place and the door is shut, Jack wraps his arms around James and buries his face in his shoulder. James holds him as tight as he can, letting his eyes slip shut.
When Jack presses their lips together, he lets him. He lets him pull his shirt off and drop it on the floor and when he asks him to help him forget, just for a little bit, he does. He touches the dark purple bruises on his chest from where the seatbelt dug into his skin and kisses the fresh scar on his forehead.
He loves him. He always has.
This is nothing new.
Jack orders orange juice and a muffin. James still gets his black coffee and a croissant, though he eats it himself.
“What are you doing?”
James looks up. “What?”
“With your life, James.”
He chews slowly, and then swallows. “I’m writing a book.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t tell him that he’s been writing it for two years now, and that he still can’t figure out the ending. (He doesn’t tell him, either, that the main character is inspired by him.)
“You’re not still working at–”
“Barnes and Noble.”
He narrows his eyes, smiling in a somewhat patronizing way. It makes him feel smaller than he has in a long time.
“Why?”
He shrugs. “It’s a good job. I like books.”
“You always hated it.”
He shrugs again. “I do. It’s fine.” Jack’s eyes hold something that almost looks like pity, and he despises it just like he always has. “Juliet works at the clinic downtown. She’s got her license too.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yeah. She wanted to see you, but she said she’d wait till the party.”
Jack doesn't look at him. “I don’t know if I’m going to that.”
He scoffs. “That’s the whole reason you’re here.”
“Parties aren’t my thing.”
They never have been. “It’s not really a party. There’s like . . . eight of us at most. And one of ‘em’s a baby.”
“I don’t know.”
He looks so tired. He wants to reach over and smooth the wrinkle between his eyebrows.
“Where’d you go, Jack?”
He frowns in confusion. “LA. You know–”
He shakes his head. “You were doing school here.”
He laughs, and it’s almost bitter but mostly just sad. “I couldn’t stay here.”
“I did.”
“Yeah.”
He scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing, James.” He picks at the pastry in front of him, and then looks up. “You know I’m sober.”
“Congrats,” James says, and he means it.
“Three years. Just last month.”
He takes a sip of his coffee and it burns the roof of his mouth. “You weren’t an alcoholic, Jack. We were in college. Everyone drank.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m proud of you,” he still says, and he still means it. He doesn’t tell him that he rarely drinks anymore; that when they go out to dinner and Juliet orders wine he gets Pepsi.
He’s still playing with his food. “I needed to leave. I’ve . . . I’ve changed. It was good for me.”
James doesn’t say anything, even though he feels like a hole’s being burned through his chest. What was good for him, to leave this place or to leave him?
“You found Jesus.”
Jack stares blankly. “Everyone needs something to believe in.”
He can’t argue with that, not when it’s true. Jack fell into the arms of the fucking holy spirit and James turned to Juliet.
“You should come to the party,” James says again. “We’d love to see you.”
He nods. “I’ll think about it.”
Some things never change, and James isn’t an optimist.
James is a light sleeper. He wakes up the minute Jack tries to slide out of his arms.
“Where’re you going?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
Jack hesitates, and then says, “I was gonna leave.”
“This is your place.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
He rolls over so he can look at him. “Well now I’m up.”
He works his jaw, staring at the floor. “Then . . . I guess you can go.”
James frowns. “Why?”
Jack doesn’t say anything.
He sits up, grabbing his pants from the floor and pulling them on. “Getting kicked out,” he mutters.
“It’s not you.”
“‘Course it isn’t.”
He furrows his brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know, Jack.” He walks over and picks up his shirt, pulling it on and working on the buttons. He knows he could just leave and give Jack the space he needs. But he doesn't want to. Maybe Jack is what he needs; why isn't it his choice? “Y’know I read once that shared trauma makes relationships stronger.”
He laughs bitterly. “Shared trauma. Is that what this is?”
That's exactly what it is, though he doesn't say it. “I thought you didn’t want to be alone.”
“I didn’t! And now I do. I feel like I’m going fucking insane, James, so I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
James puts a hand on his face. “I wanna help you.”
He shoves his arm away. “I don’t want your help.”
James stares at his face, screwed up in anger. He pushes his hair back and smiles. “Okay, Jack. Whatever you want.”
And then he turns and leaves.
Later on, he wondered if things would’ve turned out differently if he’d stayed.
“How was he?”
He looks up at Juliet, who’s eyeing him expectantly. He shrugs. “Fine. He looked . . .”
“Older?” she asks with a dry smile.
“Different.”
“It’s been three years, James. People change.”
He huffs a laugh. “Hell yeah they do. He goes to fucking church.”
Her eyes widen. “Jack?”
“No, Johnny down the street.”
She shakes her head a little bit, focused on twirling her pasta around the fork. “I never would’ve called that one.”
“He wears a cross around his neck.”
“Sometimes that happens. After trauma.”
He scoffs. “Trauma.” Shaking his head, he adds, “He’s sober. And he got his license.”
“Good for him.”
“Yeah.”
They fall into silence, but it’s not deafening like it was with Jack. It’s just quiet.
Then, she asks, “Was it weird?”
There’s nothing but honesty in his voice when he admits, “More than you know.” He looks at his food and suddenly feels the urge to cry. “It was like . . . he was a stranger.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“He was my best friend.” He loved him. He loves him.
She gets up from her chair and walks around the table to where he is. She bends down so she’s closer to his level, and uses a hand to push back his hair.
“I know how much he means to you.”
“You grew up with him too.”
She smiles sadly. They both know it isn’t the same.
He shakes his head. “He isn’t the person I’ve been missing.”
She stays silent, but she leans over and presses a tender kiss to his forehead. When she goes to leave, he grabs her hand.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He doesn’t let go, though, running his finger over her knuckles.
“You think . . .?”
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.” He drops her hand and grabs his fork again, taking careful bites of the pasta.
Do you think there’s something wrong with me?
The way Jack looked at him. It was just like when they were kids and he’d tell him to try harder at school.
You’re smart. You could get good grades if you tried.
It’s all the same, pity-soaked words weighing him down. Jack’s always been able to get to him.
After dinner, while Juliet’s reading in their bed, he grabs the box of cigarettes that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet and wipes the layer of dust off of them, going out to the sidewalk and working through them.
He hasn’t smoked in so long. But every time he finishes one Jack’s face comes back to mind and he has no control over the hand grabbing the next one.
He considers what would happen if he went to his hotel room right now. He wonders if he’d be met with the Jack who can’t be alone or the one who craves it.
When he finishes the pack he goes back up to the apartment and kisses Juliet hard, knowing she can taste the nicotine on his lips. She lets him pull off her shirt and she presses her lips to his collarbone and it feels all too familiar.
James is worried about Jack. He knows him, and he knows that he closes himself off. He expected it after what happened. But he’s called him fifteen times over the past two weeks and he hasn’t gotten a single response.
So when he shows up at his apartment only to find his living room full of boxes, he can’t help the panic that bubbles up in his chest.
“The fuck’s going on?”
Jack blinks, and then looks back at the boxes, and then back at James. “I’m leaving.”
“What?” And he says it with poison on his tongue because if he didn’t he’d cry. “You’re in med school. You’re just dropping out?”
“I’m transferring.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m starting at UCLA next semester.”
His stomach drops. “UCLA like in California.”
“Yeah.”
James has never had a panic attack but he thinks this may be what it feels like. He can’t breathe, his throat tight like someone has their hands around his neck.
“And you were just gonna leave without telling me?” He steps closer to him.
“I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know what to say.”
“Maybe that you’re dropping everything and moving across the country. That you’re leaving me!”
“Leaving you? You’re twenty-three years old, James. You can handle yourself.”
He doesn’t feel twenty-three when he shoves him, watching him stumble back. “Why are you doing this?” And he hates how his voice breaks.
“I can’t stay here.” He shakes his head. “I should’ve left right when I graduated. And after what happened . . .”
“It was a car crash, Jack. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means everything!” He throws his hands up, face red. “I am going to die in this town and I can’t take it anymore! I need to get out of here.”
“I could go with you,” he says quietly. “We could get out together.”
He shakes his head, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “No we can’t James.”
And he thinks he understands what he’s saying. That James is part of what he can’t take. That he’s part of the reason he needs to get out of here.
“You’re my best friend,” Jack tells him.
“I love you,” James responds. It isn’t the first time he’s said it.
But it is only the third time, in the eight years they’ve known each other, that Jack replies with, “I love you. I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you.”
“Then why can’t you stay?”
“Because. We aren’t sixteen anymore.”
And then James kisses him. He grabs his face and he shoves their mouths together, hoping if he pours enough of himself into it he can convince him to unpack every box.
But he pushes him away.
“I’m sorry, James.”
When a sob breaks free from his throat, Jack holds him close, lets him stain his t-shirt with his tears.
James doesn’t cry. But Jack’s always brought out the unexpected in him.
James sighs, flipping the page in his book. His head’s killing him, but he refuses to wear his glasses at work. And God forbid he ever tries contacts. The plot’s getting slow, too, so the only thing motivating him to keep reading is the fact that it’s a distraction. And anything’s better than sitting with his thoughts.
He hears footsteps and looks up. He does have a job to do, after all, and he really doesn’t need to get fired.
But his heart jolts when he sees who the feet belong to.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he says, straightening his back. “Funny seeing you here.”
He shrugs, setting his book on the counter. “Figured I’d come. I’d been wanting to read this anyway.”
He looks at the cover, and the image of a cross is all he needs to know. He glances back up and puts on a smile. “It’s a far way from your hotel.”
“I got a cab.”
James doesn’t know what that means, that he put so much effort into coming to see him. He remembers all the times he would come and browse the shelves while he was working, or sit at one of the tables in the cafe and write essays or whatever. Sometimes he’d buy books and then give them to James. Said they made him think of him.
He scans the book. “It’s gonna be $15.23.”
He nods and swipes his credit card, shoving it back in his wallet when he’s done.
“You want a bag?”
“I’m fine.”
He nods and hands it to him, careful not to let their fingers brush. He expects him to leave, but he doesn’t.
“You never told me what your book was about.”
“Oh, yeah.” He’s looking at him, and he suddenly seems interested in rekindling their friendship, so he tells him, “It’s about a plane crash.”
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with interest. “A plane crash?”
“Yeah. I mean, there’s a lot more than that. There’s time travel.”
“Interesting.” He considers it, and then asks, “Does the plane travel through time?”
“Nope.” But he doesn’t clarify what does. It would take all day to explain.
He nods. “Well, maybe one day I’ll get to read it.”
“Yeah.” Even though Juliet’s only read a scene or two and he doubts he’ll ever finish it.
He almost tells him about Matt, the main character. The suited surgeon with a terrible father who wants to save the day and looks coincidentally like the man in front of him.
But he doesn’t.
“You decided if you’re coming tonight?”
“I don’t know. I hung out with Claire last night.”
“You see Aaron?”
He nods. “Yeah. He’s so much bigger than last time I saw him.”
He’d forgotten about that, that Claire brought the baby to LA right after he was born. James had complained to Juliet for days about how Jack was ‘too much of a coward to come back home.’
“Juliet and I almost came and visited you.”
“I didn’t know.”
“How would you?” He glances down and James sighs. “The flights were expensive.”
“Yeah, they are.”
An older woman steps up behind Jack and he looks back, stepping aside, giving her a polite sorry. He watches James ring her up, putting on the cheery persona that’s like a second skin to him by now.
“I’m always surprised by your customer service skills,” Jack says.
“What, I ain’t usually charming?”
He shakes his head. “No, you are.”
They stare at each other and just for a moment things feel so incredibly normal. Like he’s about to drive him home and he’ll go up to his apartment and argue about movies for an hour before settling on something they’ve seen a million times.
“I should go,” he says, and he crashes back into reality.
He worries that Jack won’t show up to the party and he’ll get on a flight and go back to LA and he won’t see him for another three years.
But all he says is, “See ya.” And he watches him go.
There’s nothing he can do. And if Jack doesn’t care enough to come, then maybe he shouldn’t care this much about seeing him.
But he’s always cared too much. And all it's ever done is get him hurt.
James’ shoulder is warm where Jack’s is pressed against it. The room is quiet, filled with nothing but their soft breaths and the aching of James’ chest. He doesn't think Jack can tell, but he’s dying right there on his bed.
Eight hours. That’s all that’s left until Jack gets on a plane and disappears.
One hour. That’s how long they’ve been lying there, not doing anything, not talking, just lying with their shoulders pressed together and listening to each other breathe.
“I used to hate you.”
Jack turns, looking at him. James turns too, and then they’re lying there on their sides facing each other.
“I know you did,” Jack says.
“No you don’t. I used to hope you’d crash on your way to school.”
His eyes widen just a little bit. “That’s extreme.” His gaze is soft, when he asks, “What changed?”
“It didn’t happen overnight,” he whispers, as if someone could hear them.
Jack smiles like he can’t help it. “You used to glare at me a lot during basketball practice.”
“That why you quit the team?”
“I wanted to focus on school.”
“Ah.” He thinks about Jack, fifteen years old and baby-faced. He thinks about the first time he saw him out of his bedroom window, sitting with Juliet on her back porch. “The first time I thought ‘a you as something other than a prick was this one time I saw you in the library. Think you were studying. But you kept muttering insults under your breath. Like, towards the textbook. It was fucking hilarious.”
Jack’s face turned red. “I don’t remember that.”
“‘Course you don’t. But it was the first time I saw you as more than just some perfect, golden boy.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve never been perfect.”
“Sure seemed like you were.”
He can feel the heat radiating from his body. They’re so close and yet he can already feel the miles of distance between them.
He leans forward and rests his forehead against Jack’s shoulder. Jack wraps his arms around his body, holding him close.
He doesn’t say he’ll miss him, because Jack already knows. He doesn’t tell him he loves him, because he knows that too. He doesn’t ask him to stay, because James knows what he’ll say. He doesn’t cry, because he has nothing left inside of him.
He just feels Jack’s heart beating and listens to him breathe and tries to memorize every detail. He thinks about how he can barely remember his mother’s voice, or the shade of her eyes, or how she looked when she smiled, and swears to himself that he will never let Jack fade like that.
He can’t. He can’t do it.
Jack’s a piece of him, a limb, and he doesn’t remember who he is without him.
And God, he doesn’t how someone can willingly leave that behind.
“You gotta teach your baby some manners.” James frowns down at the little guy sitting in Juliet’s lap. “He’s chewing on my finger.”
Claire chuckles from the kitchen. “Well, maybe your finger tastes good. You ever thought about that?”
“Sure it does. But you don’t see anyone else putting it in their mouths.” He tries to gently pull it away, but Aaron’s baby hands are surprisingly strong.
“I got him,” Charlie says, and James scowls just a little bit when he picks him up out of Juliet’s lap. He doesn’t know what Claire sees in him, the short, British, wannabe rockstar.
He wonders for a moment what Jack thinks of him, but then realizes they’ve probably never met. He’s only heard Claire’s ravings.
“We argued about what to put on for an hour. Why aren’t we watching it?” Kate asks from where she’s slumped on the couch beside Juliet.
“‘Cause this movie sucks.” No one ever agrees with him on these things.
Claire comes back from the kitchen and grabs a babbling Aaron from Charlie. “No, it doesn’t. You’re just picky.”
“Am not.”
“Are too,” Juliet says.
He gasps dramatically. “Betrayed by my own woman.”
She chuckles and gives him a kiss on the cheek, resting her head on his shoulder and looking at the movie. He sighs and tries to figure out what’s going on in it. (It isn’t hard. Rom-coms are formulaic.)
After stomaching an awkward, fade-to-black sex scene, he asks, “Why ain't Miles here, again?” Usually there’s at least one person he can get to agree with him on things.
“He had work,” Claire says. “Now hush.”
He groans and leans his head back. He loves them, but God he needs to get some new friends.
The doorbell rings and he immediately stands up. “I’ll get it.” He knows it’s probably just the pizza guy. But he can’t help the hope that bubbles up inside of him as he walks over, thinking about those brown eyes.
And he isn’t an optimist, but maybe he should be. Because when he opens the door, they’re right there.
“Hey,” James says, a little breathless.
He nods. “Hey.”
He stares, taking him in, and then Claire’s voice cuts through the moment.
“Do they have the garlic knots?”
He shakes his head even though she can’t see him. “No, it’s . . . Jack’s here.” And then he hears the movie pause.
He steps back to let him in, and Claire’s the first one to reach him while he’s taking off his shoes.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” she says, hugging him tightly. Charlie must have the baby.
He shuts his eyes when he hugs her. “I changed my mind.”
Sometimes James forgets that it’s hard for her too. He’s her brother. (It’s hard for all of them. Jack mattered to more than just him.)
Juliet rests her hand on his back as she approaches.
“Jack,” she says sweetly, her eyes glistening.
He smiles, “Hey.”
She steps over to give him a hug and James feels awkward standing in the middle of all the reunions.
“I’ve missed you,” she says.
“I missed you too.”
He bristles just a little bit, thinking about how he said it to her and not him. But he’s always been more honest with James, and maybe that hurts the most.
James sneaks away, busying himself with looking out the window. He knows Jack hates all the attention. He’s surprised he came at all. But God is he glad, just to see him for a moment more.
He doesn’t know how to work through his feelings; he never has. He grew up around Jack in the way ivy grows around a stone building. He spent eight years of his life hopelessly in love with him like some protagonist in a Jane Austen novel. He thinks he’ll always love him. He owns a part of his heart, the piece that’ll never heal quite properly.
But he isn’t that Jack anymore. Maybe he hasn’t been for a long time. And now James is in love with Juliet. It isn’t lesser, or some sort of substitute for what was. It’s just another piece of himself he’s given away.
But that small part of him still yearns for Jack, even this stranger. (Or maybe, he yearns for what he once had. He yearns for the person he used to be. He can’t tell.)
The group slowly trickles back into the living room, and James waits. Juliet catches his eye before sitting down on the couch, smiling and nodding, and his heart aches with love for her.
“What’s on?” Jack asks, staring at the TV.
James shakes his head. “Don’t even. Unless you’re interested in some made-for-television crap.”
“Excuse me, these are respectable actors,” Kate says.
James rolls his eyes. “You want something to drink?” And it’s totally not a ploy to spend more time with him.
He shrugs and follows him into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and stares at the beer. He then shifts his eyes to the next shelf.
“She’s got orange juice. I know you were drinking that earlier.”
“That’s fine.”
He pulls the carton out and then grabs two cups.
“You’re not drinking.”
He glances up as he finishes pouring. “I’m not.” He hands him the glass and then takes a sip of his.
They stare at each other and James remembers when he used to be able to read his mind.
“I’m going to go see what the movie’s all about.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
He lets him walk away first and then follows behind. Jack sits next to Claire and he sits next to Juliet, who leans into him like she always does.
He hopes Jack sees, and knows that he’s happy. And he hates that, deep down, he hopes he’s jealous. Just a little bit.
“Jack Shephard! Fancy seeing you here.”
He turns, and he looks even more out of place now that he can see his face. His frown quickly fades into realization.
“Oh. Hey.”
James walks over and pats him on the back a little too harshly. “You don’t seem like a party guy.”
“Well I was here with my friend, but . . .” He looks behind him and then sighs. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Ah, the old bringing a friend and ditching them. Classic.” He shifts his eyes away, realizing he may have been staring too long. His brown eyes were warm and almost golden in the dim light, and they made his heart flutter in his chest.
He has finally gotten past the months of glaring at Jack for no good reason. Maybe it was all the camaraderie shit that being on the same basketball team brought, but he wasn’t too bad a guy. And he was nice to look at, even if James kept reminding himself he had to stop thinking like that.
“Follow me.”
He walks away before he gets a confirmation, but he hears the footsteps behind him. They go to the kitchen and he refills his cup and then fills another one, handing it to Jack.
“I don’t drink.”
He looks at him curiously, smiling. “It’s punch. It’s barely spiked.”
He considers it, and then grabs the cup, taking a tentative sip. Unable to sit still, James keeps walking, and the footsteps stay behind him. They end up on the back porch, surprisingly alone.
“Why’re we out here?”
James shrugs. “Didn’t peg you as the dancing type.”
He doesn’t say anything, so they stay in silence. James sits down, stretching his legs out, and Jack sits beside him.
“Is Juliet here?” Jack asks.
“No way. She hates these things.” He smiles at him. “Kinda like you.”
Jack’s swirling his drink around. “Are you going to try out for baseball in the spring?”
“Never been a baseball fan.”
“I was just asking.”
“And I was just answering.”
The music from inside is making the walls shake, and James wouldn’t be shocked if the cops showed up soon.
“You helped out the team a lot,” Jack says. “Basketball. We won more games this year.”
He shrugs. “I ain’t that good.” He takes a long sip of the punch and then glances over at him. The moonlight is making the edges of his dark hair glisten. “You don’t really seem like a sports guy.”
“You’ve been making a lot of assumptions.”
James grins. “Think most of ‘em have been right.”
Jack looks like he can’t resist a smile. “I don’t know. They’re fine. It feels kind of . . . necessary. Like something I have to do.”
“You don’t gotta do anything.”
Jack’s eyes are intense when he looks at him like that. He has to turn away.
“Are you and Juliet–”
“We’re friends,” James says. It isn’t the first time he’s been asked.
Jack nods. “That’s good. I think she needed one.”
He frowns. “She’s got friends.”
Jack’s face doesn’t change, and there’s no malice in his tone when he says, “Not really. Not like you.”
James doesn’t know what that means. He stares at his punch, the pink looking red in the darkness.
“I don’t know how those things work,” Jack says hesitantly, picking at the wood beneath his legs. “But, uh, how long are you gonna be here?”
When James’ face falls, he immediately shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just–”
“I know what you mean.” He downs the last of his drink. Of course he does. It’s what keeps him up at night. “And I don’t know. This is the longest I’ve been in one place.”
“It hasn’t even been a year.”
“Yeah.”
Jack’s eyes get sad, and James can’t take the pity. It’s all people ever look at him with.
“Well I hope you can stay.”
That surprises him, and he can’t help his eyes widening. Sure Jack and him cross paths, but he’d never think to call him a friend. And yet, very few people in his life have treated him with kindness like this.
“Me too,” he says.
Part of him worries that the closer he gets, one more person there’ll be to miss when he’s gone. But even though he’s not an optimist, something about this feels right.
Something about Jack feels right.
James stands in the doorway of Claire’s bedroom, staring at Jack’s back on the small balcony. He left the door open, and that’s what he uses to convince himself he’s not really intruding.
“For it being Claire’s birthday,” he says as he steps beside him. “You ain’t really spending much time with her.”
“And I assume you are.”
He shakes his head, wearing just the hint of a smile. “Ya got me there.”
The cars on the street below are loud, startling him every time one passes by.
“It must be weird,” he says. “Being back.”
He nods. “I passed Harrison. Driving from the airport.”
“Shit.” He tells himself he’d go back to the school and it would look the same, but that’s a lie. “It feels like it was yesterday.”
Jack just smiles, almost sadly. “Everything’s so different.”
James frowns, because is it? He feels like he could blink and he’d be twenty again. Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen.
Jack looks over at him. “Are you going to stay here forever?”
“What?”
He shakes his head. “It’s like . . . it’s like you're still twenty-one.”
He puts his defenses up, though he didn’t come prepared. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say–”
“James, take a look around. You’ve lived in this place for eleven years. You’re dating your best friend from when you were fifteen. You’re working the same job you’ve been at since college. You’re the only thing in this place that hasn’t changed.”
He scoffs, because what else is he supposed to do. He didn’t come out here to have his life shit on. “I’m happy. And if you needed to go and get some fancy job in Los Angeles, and create some life for yourself to feel that. Fine. But I’m just perfect right here.”
“How?” he asks, and the sharpness of it breaks through his armor. “The minute that car hit us . . . my life changed, James. It needed to. I don’t understand how yours didn’t.”
Suddenly, he’s back in Jack’s bed, too numb to cry but scraped raw to the bone.
He wants to scream. He isn’t the same. Maybe Jack’s life changed when their car got rammed off the side of the interstate, but James’ did when Jack’s plane left. And yeah, just being in a car makes his heart rate spike. And he takes back roads because he hates the highway and he almost had a panic attack and had to pull over once when he saw a crash on the side of the road. But he also refuses to watch baseball because all it does is remind him of Jack.
“I ain’t the same, Jack. And if you can’t tell, then you aren’t looking hard enough.” He stares at the chain around his neck, carefully tucked into his shirt.
“I’m sorry.”
There are a million things he could be sorry for. James forgives him for every one.
“I know.”
A car honks below them. The voices from the living room travel to the balcony. They’re waiting on them for cake.
How can someone’s other half just disappear? How can he come back and not fit in his old spot?
Jack turns to leave and James grabs his arm. He looks like he’s steeling himself for another argument, but all James says is, “It isn’t your fault.”
The crash, and the man who died. The fact that he left; that things are different.
Jack smiles, just a little bit and James almost kisses him, just to see if he still tastes the same. But he doesn't. It would be something completely new and he doesn’t think he wants to discover what it would be.
With one last nod, he walks out of the room and James stands there for a moment. A car passes below and he looks up at the starless sky.
It’s sad.
But that’s okay. And he hopes that one day, whenever he finally gets the guts to give her the ring he’s been holding onto, that Jack will be there at his wedding. And one day he’ll be at his, if he has one. And he’ll send him a Christmas card each year, addressed to a fancy apartment in LA, and he’ll think about everything he once had.
But it won’t be sad anymore.
And he can’t wait for that.