Talk about surreal.
A groan floats from the bathroom, and it shakes me out of my reverie. I climb down from the bed and venture to look in on him. Jason is bent over the toilet, his forehead pressed into his arm, which rests across the seat.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He doesn’t look up, just moans, and I can’t help thinking of what he told me about his dad’s alcoholism. And connecting it to Nathan’s drug and alcohol addiction. My brother spent a lot of time on the bathroom floor when he was on tour—I got the full story from his drummer a few months before I left for Korea.
I sit down on the tiled floor next to Jason and rest my hand on his back. He flinches at my touch but doesn’t pull away, then empties the rest of his stomach. I swallow a gag of my own, rubbing my hand up and down his back like Momma did when I was sick as a kid—one of the few memories I have of her being maternal.
He pushes away from the toilet and leans back against the wall. “I’m sorry,” he says in a hoarse whisper.
“Don’t worry. You can clean it up in the morning.” Even I hear the strain in my forced levity.
He slumps onto the floor, his head resting on the mat. With a sigh, I scoot closer and put his head in my lap. He tenses, but I brush my fingers through his hair and his muscles relax.
“I’m totally using this as blackmail one day, just so you know,” I say.
He chuckles softly, taking my other hand and threading our fingers together. My heartbeat sputters, but I keep the butterflies under control.
“Don’t leave me, okay?” he mumbles.
“Okay,” I say around the lump in my throat.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
A shiver ripples down my spine, and I can’t deny it anymore.
I’m in love with this boy.
I love his hair that swooshes across his forehead, the jeans and colorful sneakers, and the way he sometimes cynically responds to life, like it’s something to be endured instead of enjoyed. But, more than that, I love him.
It’s not a crush. It’s not me just kind of liking him the way I liked Isaac.
It’s the L-word.
And that scares me more than anything I can imagine.
I lean back against the wall and marvel at this situation. It seems ridiculous, but I know this is where I’m supposed to be. Maybe it’s crazy. Maybe I’m attracted to him out of some twisted desire for a redo, to help him where I couldn’t help Nathan.
But what if Jason just gets worse? What if I let myself get close to him, and he self-destructs? Could I handle losing someone like that again?
But despite the fear, there’s no way I’m staying out of his life. I can’t leave him. I have to help.
Because that’s what you do for people you love.
“You may be trying to ruin your life, but I won’t let you,” I say, more to myself than to him. “I’m not going to let you turn into your dad.” I think back to the picture he picked up earlier, and my voice falls to a whisper. “I’m not letting you become like my brother, either. I promise. You and me? We’re pulling you out of this.”
And maybe when all this drama with the band is over, when Sophie’s forgiven him and life returns to the ordinary—when he’s not broken—we can be together. Maybe we can be normal.
Chapter Twenty
The next morning, I wake up before Jason and throw on some clothes and brush my teeth before shaking him awake. I couldn’t sleep last night, waking up every hour to peek down from Sophie’s bed to check on him. But he slept under my pink sheets through the night.
“Hey, wake up.” I nudge his shoulder.
He turns away from me, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. I try not to notice how adorable he looks hugging the pillow to his chest.
“Jason.” I shake him. “Wake up.”
He bolts upright and knocks his head against the top bunk. Crying out something in Korean—probably a curse—he rubs at his forehead, then notices me laughing at him. He startles and glances down at the bed.
“Did I sleep here last night?” he asks.
“Obviously.”
The blood drains from his face.
“Get up.” I slap his arm before we can veer into awkward territory. “We’re going out for coffee, because you’re going to have a wicked hangover.”
He crawls out of bed and looks down at his rumpled clothes.
“Go get your RA to let you into your room, then take a shower. Change your clothes. I’ll meet you in front of your building in an hour.” I toss his shoes to him.
Avoiding eye contact, he slips on his sneakers and exits. I stand in the middle of the room and stare at the door, an emptiness settling in my chest in his absence. But I shake off any dark thoughts and spend the rest of the time getting ready.
Before heading out, I strip my bed. I poke my nose into the sheets and recognize a familiar smell—Jason’s cologne. My stomach somersaults.
My bed.
Smells.
Like Jason.
I have to wad up the blankets and stuff them into my laundry basket to curb my rambling thoughts.
I find Jason waiting for me, sitting on the steps of his building. He stands when I approach, and I smile at the anxious look on his face. I can’t remember him ever being this embarrassed around me before.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
He nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets and falling into step beside me. We head straight for the coffee in the dining hall.
We choose a table in a quiet corner, and he sips his coffee in silence, though I can tell by the way he winces when people talk too loud that he’s not feeling great. I slip a couple ibuprofens across the table, and he takes them with a weary smile.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he says.
“Don’t worry about it. No big deal.”
He grimaces. “Yes, it is. It was incredibly irresponsible of me.”
“Yeah, it was.” I shrug. “But that’s okay. Now you owe me.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “I do?”
“Yup, and I’m cashing in now.”
His face melts into a smile. “What do you want?”