Beneath the Surface, page 6
Before he can put his thoughts out there, I change the subject. “I really should get to bed.”
He doesn’t protest as I slip my hand from his and back to the game controller.
“Good night,” I tell him as I move away to stand up.
His eyes are still on me as I put my controller on the charger.
Jax turns away, pressing his back into the headboard. He clicks his controller to start another game despite knowing that his mom is going to get on him. “Night,” he says without looking at me.
I walk downstairs and say good night to Mrs. Reynolds, who’s mopping the kitchen floor even though it’s late. I don’t see Mr. Reynolds, but that’s not unusual.
After I brush my teeth and wash my face, I head to the guest bedroom and change into my pajamas. I crawl under the warm quilt and recall how I was so nervous to stay over that first night several years ago. I never would have imagined the friendship I’d find in Jax or how this room would feel like my home away from home.
I yawn and glance at the alarm clock, noticing it’s 11:22 p.m., way past my bedtime. Feeling content and safe, I close my eyes, knowing I will probably dream about Jax and how his warm cheek felt beneath the palm of my hand.
The next morning, I’m surprised to find Jax already awake, eating a plate of scrambled eggs at the kitchen table. Usually, I’m up before he is.
I greet Jax with a smile as I enter the kitchen, but he immediately looks down at his plate and takes another bite of his breakfast.
Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
Although, based on the dark circles around his eyes, I doubt he slept at all.
Jax is no stranger to mood swings. I know that. The only difference is, he usually reserves those bad moods for everyone except me.
“Your dad told me you made straight A’s this semester,” Mrs. Reynolds says to me as I pull a plate out of the cabinet.
I feel a little embarrassed. I hate when Dad brags about me. “Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s great!” Her tone is sincere and encouraging, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s a passive-aggressive dig at Jax to get him to bring his grades up.
He’s really been struggling this year, and despite my best attempts to get him to focus, he continues to slack on doing his homework.
“You have a great work ethic,” she continues. “That will really help you get ahead in life. I wish I had been that dedicated when I was your age.”
I don’t know how to respond to her, so I just smile politely as I scoop eggs from the frying pan to my plate. After grabbing an orange out of the fruit bowl, I take my usual seat next to Jax. He doesn’t bother to look up or even acknowledge me at all.
Mr. Reynolds trudges into the kitchen, and he appears even crankier than Jax. He shoots Mrs. Reynolds a dirty look before picking up a coffee mug that she set on the counter. Coffee drips onto the counter as he pours himself a cup. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because he doesn’t bother to clean it up. Mrs. Reynolds, however, notices right away and immediately wipes it up with a dish towel.
Jax looks up from his breakfast long enough to lock eyes with his dad. Although they say nothing to each other, the tension is thick, and it makes me uneasy.
Something is going on.
Jax breaks eye contact first and turns his focus back on his plate. Mr. Reynolds takes his coffee and retreats to the living room.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Jax in a whisper, assuming whatever it is, he doesn’t want his parents to overhear. Because I suspect it’s something with his dad, I’m fairly certain he won’t want to talk about it, but I wish he would.
“Nothing,” he replies too quickly, and I know he’s lying.
I eat my breakfast, hoping Jax will open up to me after, but once he’s finished, he gets up, loads his plate into the dishwasher, and leaves the room.
I’m about to follow him when the doorbell rings. Assuming it’s Dad coming to pick me up, I quickly eat the last of my eggs, put my uneaten orange back into the fruit bowl, and put my plate in the dishwasher.
“There’s my Banana,” Dad says as he enters the kitchen with Mrs. Reynolds right behind him.
I blush, embarrassed when he calls me that. I’m not a little kid anymore. Still, I don’t have the heart to tell him to stop.
He walks over and pulls me into a side hug. “Ready to go?”
“Sure,” I reply, torn between being happy to see him and confused about what could be wrong with Jax. “I just need to grab my stuff and say goodbye to Jax.”
Dad remains in the kitchen with Mrs. Reynolds while I dart upstairs. I stop at the door to Jax’s room. It’s closed, and music is blaring inside. His odd behavior makes me hesitate. In all the times I’ve stayed at his house, Jax has never once given me the cold shoulder during breakfast or not been present to say goodbye to me. Between the shut door and the music, it feels like he’s avoiding me.
A part of me thinks I’m probably being paranoid. I stand there for a moment, contemplating trying the door to see if it’s locked, but ultimately, I decide to just let his mood pass. Whatever is going on with him can’t last forever.
When Monday morning rolls around, I’m dressed and ready for school earlier than usual. I can’t wait to get there and see Jax.
I haven’t spoken to him since I left his house Saturday morning. I’ve tried calling and texting him a few times, but he hasn’t responded.
All weekend, I replayed Friday evening in my head, trying to figure out what I could’ve done to make him mad. Other than general banter, we’ve never had an actual fight before. Regardless, even if I ticked him off on Friday, I’m certain he’ll be over it by now.
When Dad drops me off at school, I practically leap out of the car and head to my locker. This is our usual meeting spot in the mornings, so I stay and wait until the bell rings.
Maybe he’s running late.
During homeroom, I half listen to the morning announcements as I watch the door, waiting for Jax to walk through it. As the clock ticks away, closer to first period, I realize either he’s running late this morning, even more than usual, or he isn’t coming to school today at all.
I keep an eye out for him all day, but he never shows. He must be sick. That would explain his absence and why he was acting so strangely on Saturday morning. I decide to send him another text message as soon as school lets out.
Me: Hey, slacker. You missed your History test.
I wait for a response that doesn’t come.
Me: Feeling OK?
No response.
There’s never been a time in our friendship when Jax didn’t return my messages. An uneasy feeling settles in my gut, and although I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, I know something is deeply and terribly wrong.
NINE
Jax | Present
The alarm clock sounds too early, and I groan in response. I’ve never been a morning person. Mom claims that even as a baby, I slept significantly more than Cassidy did, and I would pitch a fit whenever she woke me from a nap.
The second I slide out of bed, I hear pans clanking in the kitchen, and I know it’s Miguel making breakfast. He’s an early bird, and he’s probably been awake for at least two hours.
I walk out of my room and see him in the kitchen, already dressed in a red performance T-shirt and black shorts, cracking an egg into a frying pan. “Fried eggs?” I ask, surprised.
“I made an egg white omelet for myself,” he replies. When he notices my disgust, he adds, “These fried eggs are for you. I figured you’d be less cranky this morning if I fed you.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking a seat on the barstool.
As far as friends and roommates go, Miguel is hard to top. He’s considerate, crazy smart, and levelheaded. For the life of me though, I can’t figure out why he wants to hang around someone like me.
“How’s the assignment going with Hannah?” he asks after tossing the eggshells into the trash can.
I rake my hand over my face. “It’s going.”
Miguel waits patiently, as if he can sense my inner turmoil.
“I don’t hate her,” I say, “even though I know I act like I do.”
“Yeah, I could’ve told you that.”
He flips my eggs and picks up a flyer and shoves it in front of me. I lift it up and recognize it’s an advertisement for an on-campus concert happening tonight. The band is Seven Tethers, an up-and-coming pop rock band, and they aren’t half bad.
“You should invite Hannah to go.”
“Are you taking Alyssa?” I ask, hoping to take the heat off myself for a second.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”
I have to say I’m impressed. Miguel has liked Alyssa for at least six months now and has been afraid she’d reject him if he asked her out. I’m glad he finally got up the courage to make a move.
My phone chimes, and I lift it off the counter to check it. It’s Hannah, texting me about meeting up today to finish our assignment. She admits she hasn’t come up with an activity for us yet, and I’m not surprised. She’s never been great at making decisions, especially ones that impact other people. Instead, she suggests we meet at her on-campus apartment and go from there. She sends me the address, although I don’t need it. I already figured out where she lived in our first year at Beaufort University so I’d know which building to avoid.
Traffic is light, and the drive over the bridge to campus is smooth, allowing me to arrive right on time.
After I park, I get out of the car and find Hannah outside her apartment, waiting for me. She’s looking down at her phone, and she doesn’t immediately notice me approaching, so I take the opportunity to look her over. She’s wearing a royal-blue button-down shirt that I know will make her eyes appear even prettier than they normally are and a pair of jeans that fit her curves perfectly.
“Hey,” I say, diverting my eyes, not wanting her to catch me checking her out.
She looks up, and although I brace myself for her usual stoic expression, she surprises me with a smile.
“I was just researching options of things to do today,” she says when I reach her.
“And?”
“I’ve got nothing.” She crinkles her nose. “Maybe we should just go for a walk and something will dawn on me?”
“Okay, but I’m not letting you off the hook. Fair is fair,” I say, shooting her a playful grin.
“Just walk. I’ll figure something out.”
We walk in the direction of the Student Center.
“Activity aside, do you think you have enough to write your paper?” I don’t ask because I’m trying to get out of the assignment. I’m genuinely curious to know where she’s at.
She nods thoughtfully. “Yes, I think so.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What are your observations? Aside from me being exceptionally unhealthy and dysfunctional.”
Her face is pink as she lifts her hand and runs it through her hair. The scent of her shampoo once again fills my nostrils, and I know it’ll follow me the rest of the day.
“I’ll admit, that was a bit harsh,” she replies. “But at the time, you acted that way.”
“Touché.”
“Based on my most recent observations, I’d say you seem confident, self-reliant, and protective—especially of Immy,” she says.
I nod, feeling a sense of relief that she doesn’t think I’m a complete monster.
“Don’t get cocky though. You’re still a work in progress, Jax Reynolds.” She smiles with amusement. “But then again, aren’t we all?”
I glance down at her, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask.
She fidgets with her necklace—a gold one with a pendant that has her first initial on it. “I’m just trying to process all of this. Me and you. Our past. Where we are now in our lives, how they’ve intersected this way. It’s a little overwhelming.”
I appreciate her honesty and how she’s able to express herself in a gentle, nonabrasive way—unlike me. I enter most conversations by swinging a verbal wrecking ball.
We pass the Student Center and approach the sports practice fields. None of the teams are practicing today, but a group of students is using one of the fields to play touch football. I can’t make out who they are, but I can tell it’s a mixture of guys and girls.
Aside from the sports fields, there’s nothing else down this way, so I’m about to suggest we turn around when someone on the field waves at us. It’s not until they run closer toward us that I realize it’s Chase.
I can’t get away from this guy.
Chase stops in front of us while his friends take a time-out to sip water and socialize. Chase grins ear to ear as he greets Hannah. I peek down at her, and although she’s smiling politely, her enthusiasm doesn’t match his.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, kissing her on the cheek and lingering a little too long.
Hannah takes a step back, putting some distance between them, and I stifle a chuckle. I’m certain Chase’s ego doesn’t like that.
Chase notices the smirk on my face. “This assignment must feel like it’s dragging out forever,” he says to Hannah.
“Today’s our final day,” she replies, innocently oblivious to the fact that it was a dig at me. “We just need to figure out what to do for our activity today.”
Chase beams. “Well, it’s your lucky day. I’ve got just the thing. You can join our game. My friends would love to have you.”
He throws a resentful glare in my direction, and I know he wishes I weren’t here so he could have Hannah all to himself.
Hannah immediately shakes her head. “Oh, no, that’s okay. I don’t play football.”
As competitive as Hannah is, she’s never liked group sports. At least, not the kind you play in person. If it’s a video game sport though, she completely dominates.
Chase refuses to back down. “That’s not a problem. No one over there normally plays either.”
Hannah hesitates. “I don’t know …”
“You need an activity, right? And you’re already here.” Chase is one step away from flat-out begging.
Hannah looks up at me, and I can’t tell if she wants to stay or if she wants to go. Not only is she bad about making quick decisions, but she’s even worse at saying no, especially when someone like Chase is being so persistent.
“It’ll be fun,” Chase insists. He reaches out and grabs Hannah by the hand. “Come on.”
She goes with him, but I still haven’t heard her say yes.
“Hold up,” I say, moving in front of Chase.
When he acts like he’s going to just maneuver around me, I step with him and push my hand to his chest to stop him from walking further. His nostrils flare, but I ignore him and look at Hannah instead. Her opinion is the only one that matters.
“Do you want to play football? Because we’ll go if you don’t.”
She simply shakes her head, and I can tell she’s flustered.
Chase huffs. “She wants to play.” He tries again to move forward with her hand still in his, but I push harder, stopping him from gaining ground. “What’s your problem?”
He’s close to dropping the good-boy act and showing his true colors. It’s written all over his face.
For once in my life, I feel determined to keep my cool. “My problem is that you’re trying to pressure her into something she clearly doesn’t want to do.” Although I’m aware that we’re merely talking about a football game, I suspect this isn’t the only thing he’d try to pressure Hannah into if given the chance, and the thought makes my blood boil.
Chase drops Hannah’s hand and steps back, breaking my hold on him. “You’re a joke,” he says to me. “You know that, right?”
I keep my feet planted where they are in spite of wanting to charge at him.
“If it wasn’t for your rich daddy bailing you out, you wouldn’t even be here,” he continues, clearly furious that I haven’t given in to habit and lunged for him yet. “Everyone knows it.”
I clench my fists, using all my willpower not to make a move.
This only infuriates Chase more, and he’s the one storming toward me. I brace myself to let him throw the first punch, and then it’s on.
Hannah jumps in between us. “Stop it,” she says pointedly to Chase.
He ignores her. “I see. You’re all talk, but you can’t back it up.”
He tries to sidestep around Hannah, but she keeps using herself as a human barrier. The fact that he’s bumping into her in the process feeds the rage building inside me.
“Hannah, move.” I want to plant my fist into his face, but I can’t with her in the way. Unlike Chase, I don’t want to risk hurting her in the process.
In true Hannah fashion, she doesn’t listen. Instead, she turns toward me. “Let’s go. This isn’t worth it.”
Chase still lurks behind her, wearing a smug expression. I’m seething, wanting nothing more than to wipe it from his face.
“Do it,” Chase says, as if he knows what I’m thinking. “I dare you.”
My heart pounds in my chest, and I’m seeing red.
“Jax, look at me,” Hannah says calmly.
It takes me a second to peel my eyes off Chase, but when I do, it registers just how close she is to me.
Her wide blue eyes plead with mine. “Just walk away. Please. You don’t have to do this.”
Her proximity sobers me, and although the anger is still there, it’s subsided enough to allow me to think rationally again.
She’s right. Without a doubt, hitting Chase would be satisfying, but the price would be expulsion. It would be the last straw that would send me packing. Not even Paul could fix it, and I’m pretty sure that’s what Chase is betting on.
I take a deep, ragged breath and step away.
“I knew you were a coward,” Chase says, still trying to antagonize me.
Although I hear him, I tune out the power of his words, focusing only on Hannah.
