“I like him,” she says quietly.
And there I go, smiling again. “Good. He’s a good guy.” Even if I wish she preferred me, I can’t begrudge him this. I lean my head back against the cushions and sigh. I shouldn’t like her so much on top of wanting her. Hell.
“You’re a good guy, too, Joel.”
“Nah.” I glance around the tidy shelves filled with books. “Did anything else happen before he left the store? Did anything upset him?”
“Donna—our boss—came asking for his diploma.”
“Fuck.” I rub my eyes with my fist. Figures this would happen. I should try calling him again.
“Why? What’s the problem?”
“Nothing. Look, gotta go. I’ll let you know when he comes in, okay? I bet he’s just fine.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t sound convinced, but it’s the best I can do. “Take care, J.”
She hangs up, and I sprawl there for a long moment, thinking. So he probably freaked out about not having finished his GED. Probably took a long walk to let out the tension.
He should have come running with me. Best anti-stress method ever. But I bet he wanted to be alone for a bit.
And do what? He said he’s working on getting his GED, but that’s not done in a day. He wanted this job because of Candy. He’d told me about this girl he’d met at the concert and how she gave him the business card to the shop.
Told me later he had no idea it was nerdy girl. I mean, yeah, how could he know?
This is fucked up.
And I can’t help him unless he comes back and talks to me. Not sure I can help him, in fact. But at least I can see if he needs help with the lessons and if he needs to talk about anything. Sometimes he does. I hope he didn’t go out to get shitfaced on his own.
He’d better come back soon before I start working on getting drunk myself.
***
I’m slightly buzzed by the time the key turns in the lock. It’s late. I mute the sound on the TV and raise my whiskey glass at Jet, who staggers inside, blinking owlishly at me.
“S’up, mate?” he slurs, dropping his keys on the table and plopping down beside me. He slings an arm over my shoulders and grins widely, his eyes half-closing. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”
“I was waiting for you.” Looks like he started drinking without me. His breath smells lightly of alcohol.
“What for?”
“You left work early.”
He pulls away, his grin slipping. “You’re not my dad, J.”
And then he gives a violent shudder and pushes off the couch, swaying on his feet.
I stare at him. I’ve never met Jet’s parents. Not even when we were in school. Whenever I asked about his family, he gave me some vague reply.
“I’m gonna turn in,” he says, his back stiff and shoulders hunched. “Next time don’t wait up.”
“Dammit.” I get up, a little unsteadily, banging my glass on the coffee table. “Jet.”
He doesn’t reply, and I follow him to his bedroom where he’s pulling off his T-shirt and unbuckling his belt while rummaging for something in his closet.
I tap him on the shoulder. “Jet?”
He jumps back, slamming his elbow into my stomach and shoving me backward. “Fuck!”