It is. I know it. I don’t even have to look.
“Well, if I didn’t know any better,” I say, “I’d say you were gloating about how much money you’re making now.”
“Who, me?” he says, feigning innocence.
“Nobody likes a braggart, Cunningham. It’s unattractive.”
“Is it?” He leans closer, tilting his head. “Does it turn you off, Garfield, hearing about my success?”
I dramatically roll my eyes as I shove his face away. “Ugh.”
Laughing, he grabs my hand and pulls it down, yanking me to him, snatching me right off of the counter, but his body pins me there, flush up against him. He kisses me, teasingly, again and again, whispering against my lips, “I think you’re in denial.”
“Am not,” I say, pulling my arm from his grasp.
“I think you like it. I think you’re proud.”
“And I think you’re full of yourself,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him back. Deep. Rough. Passionate. It doesn’t last long, though, just a few seconds, before a loud gasp rocks through the kitchen. Jonathan breaks the kiss, pushing away, leaving me breathless.
Maddie stands in the doorway, staring at us, her eyes wide and jaw slack. “Did you kiss my mommy?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says. “I did.”
“Are you gonna take her on dates now?” she asks.
“Sure, if she wants,” he says, cutting his eyes at me before turning back to her and saying, “I mean, if that’s okay?”
Maddie’s face splits with a wide grin. “Okay, but only if you see when she gets all pretty, ‘cuz sometimes people don’t see.”
“She’s always pretty,” he says.
“But you gotta tell her, and maybe pick her some flowers, too, ‘cuz it makes her happy when I do that,” she says, strutting over to him and grabbing his hand, trying to pull him with her out of the kitchen.
“Where are we going?” he asks, brow furrowing.
“To get ready, duh. You can’t date with no shirt.”
I laugh, hopping off the counter. “We’re not going tonight, sweetheart. Daddy’s a little busy right now. He’s cooking dinner.”
“Oh shit,” he says, pulling his hand from Maddie’s as he bolts for the stove, turning off burners and shifting pans around, groaning. “I hope you like your chicken extra crispy.”
“I do!” Maddie says. “That’s how Mommy makes it.”
Chapter 20
JONATHAN
It’s strange how easy it is to fall into a routine, how simple it is to find a sense of normalcy. It’s almost instinct.
Kennedy goes to work. Madison goes to school. I sit around, and well… I wait for them to get home. The apartment is small, but it isn’t as cramped as that first one we lived in together. I get restless, yeah, but it’s not unbearable. I distract myself by cooking, and I call Jack whenever I’m feeling antsy. I’m starting to think I might be cut out for small-town domestic life.
Okay, okay, so it’s only been three days, but they’re some of the best days I’ve had in years.
There’s a knock on the apartment door. Three o’clock on Friday. Kennedy and Madison won’t be home for another hour.
Quietly stepping over to the door, I look out the peephole, to see who’s knocking, when I spot the familiar, crotchety lady. Son of a bitch. Opening it, I come face-to-face with McKleski, standing on the doorstep, holding a duffel bag.
My duffel bag.
Before I can greet her, she drops it at my feet.
I stare down at it. “You evicting me?”
“Thought you might want your things,” she says, emphasizing that word, like whatever is in the bag might be scandalous, but it’s just clothes. “You haven’t been to your room in days. Days! I’m all alone out there!”
“Yeah, uh, sorry about that.”
She scoffs. “You’re not sorry.”
She’s right. I’m not. “So, you’ve missed me?”
“Like an alcoholic misses Happy Hour.”
That might’ve been meant to offend, but it makes me laugh. “Will it make it better if I promise to visit?”
She makes a face at that.
“I’m re-renting your room, so don’t come crawling back,” she says, matter-of-fact. “And I’m keeping the money you paid for it. No refunds.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less.”
She waves toward me flippantly as she turns to leave. “Good luck with all this. Don’t run out on them like you abandoned me.”
Ouch. That jab does sting a bit, but I suck it up and grab the duffel bag, closing the door again.
I shower and put on a fresh pair of clothes, the best thing I have with me—black slacks, blue button down, black shoes. I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror after I’m dressed. It’s been about a month since the accident, so the bruises have all faded, the scrapes and cuts all gone. Except for the cast, it’s almost like it didn’t happen. Almost.
But I still see it, sometimes, when I close my eyes. The flash of headlights. The blood. I still hear it, even when it’s quiet. The screech of tires. The screams. The pain might be gone, but the memory is embedded inside of me.