“Something’s definitely wrong,” I tell Jet.
“Yeah.” Jet’s gaze has narrowed. “I’ve been hard since we entered the kitchen and he hasn’t even mentioned it.”
Joel blinks. “The hell?”
“You need to talk to your parents, man,” Jet says. “It’s been eating at you. See how you reacted to Candy’s parents. You freaked out like a motherfucker.”
“Fuck off, Jet.” This time he shoves at Jet and manages to get to his feet. “I don’t need to talk to my fucking parents. I got nothing to tell them.”
I scramble off the couch and start after him, but hesitate. I turn to Jet who’s still sprawled on the sofa, rubbing at his eyes with this knuckles. “You really think this is what’s troubling him? This thing with his parents?”
He shrugs, broad shoulders rising and falling. “It’s stressing him. He pretends he doesn’t give a damn, but he hasn’t told them.”
“Hasn’t told them what?”
“About us.”
I shake my head, lost, and glance again helplessly at the kitchen where Joel is shoving the apple pie into the oven. “What do you mean?”
“His parents don’t know he’s with us. They don’t know he’s in any relationship, let alone with a girl and a guy.”
“Crap.” I thought Joel had told his parents something about us. I thought he hadn’t discussed it, hadn’t forced them to accept it, that he’d, I don’t know, left a message, or sent an email, or just called and told them.
I hadn’t realized he simply hadn’t mentioned it to them.
“They don’t even know he resigned from his previous job,” Jet says. “Last time he spoke with them was before my dad went apeshit and tried to fucking… kill me.”
The pause has me turning my full attention back on Jet. He’s rubbing a hand over his chest, the gesture familiar, and I sit back down, taking a good look at his face.
He’s still recovering from his dad’s attack. The terrible gauntness of the days after the hospital is long past, but his scar still hurts sometimes, and often when I wake up a
t night or in the early morning, he’s not in bed with us, and I find him drawing, or drinking coffee and staring at nothing.
“And what about you?” I draw his hand down from his chest and rub his palm with my fingertips. “Are you okay? J’s not the only one who won’t talk.”
Jet always says he’s fine when I ask, but I know better.
This time he doesn’t say he’s fine, though. He lets his head drop back and closes his eyes. “I’m not sure.”
A band tightens around my ribs, constricting my breath. “What’s wrong?”
His lashes lift. “We should go talk to J.”
“In a minute.”
“Candy…” He gazes at me, his pretty dark eyes full of something I can’t name.
Though it looks a lot like fear.
Then it’s gone as if it had never been there and he grins, reaching for me.
“We should talk,” I mumble, but he’s already standing up, pulling me up to his side. “Did something happen? Did—?”
“Nothing happened, Sugar Pop. Let’s go ambush J. He deserves it.”
The thought is distracting. “What do you have in mind?”
“Maple syrup.” He winks down at me. “And I think I saw some whipped cream.”