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It’s unbearable, watching him part the crowd like it’s the Red Sea. It’s always been like that with him, acting as if he owns the place even if there’s no place he calls home. Not anymore, anyway. Maybe there never was.
He’s in his civvies, a bounce to his strut and a looseness to his shoulders that doesn’t exactly scream “fake” but it certainly screams “practised”.
Jake grits his teeth. He knows him like the back of his hand, can see right through Bradshaw’s bullshit. He has not changed a tad since they last saw each other.
Trace pokes him with her cue stick and Jake knows it’s because Rooster failed to keep in touch with her again.
He smiles at her, Jake observes from afar, one of his puppy-eyed smiles and he knows it will soften Phoenix up, just like it did that time when she was half-sitting, half-lying on the sofa in their living room, her bare feet tucked under her thighs, mad that Rooster spilled red wine on her favorite dress. He never even liked red wine, Jake remembers, they bought it ‘cause they wanted to celebrate something. Jake doesn’t remember what. They used to celebrate many things.
He takes a deep breath and puts on his best smile, approaches the man like a wild animal approaches its prey, but it all goes to shit immediately after he decides to strike. He may know where Rooster’s underbelly is the softest but he misses again ‘cause Rooster knows him too. The early grave jab stings like a knife twisted between his ribs, right under his heart, blunt and rusty and tetanus-causing.
Jake bites back because he always will, will always fight against Rooster’s shit, but even he feels how weak his comeback is.
There’s a fine line between being the winner and being the loser when it comes to the two of them.
He fucks off somewhere else, somewhere Rooster’s just a mere presence in his peripheral vision, and the only thing that’s important is the ball to the end of his cue stick ratio.
I’ma tell the world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine… rings in Jake’s ears and he suddenly feels a bolt of anger rush through him.
He reaches for his wedding ring to have something to hold on to but it’s not there, of course, so he fishes out a toothpick instead.
They have been broken up for three years and seven months, and married for five and a half years. They don’t talk, don’t live together, live separate lives, and yet, for some reason, they never finalized a divorce. Not even once brought it up. Jake likes to tell himself it’s for the tax relief but he isn’t so sure.
You’re mine, and one day, the whole world will know. It used to be a promise between the two of them. Now, it’s become a threat, Jake has found out, and as empty as it may be, it makes Jake furious.
He doesn’t let his anger show, swiftly redirects his attention to the ship bell ringing. He plasters on a faux smile, puts the cue away and makes for the bar, eager to see what daredevil was stupid enough to break Penny’s rules.
He avoids his husband for the rest of the night.