Jason

Five days after being back and I’m already feeling like I could hang around a little longer. Sure, Delilah has kept her distance, and I’ve kept mine, but it’s been nice working around the house during the day and kicking it at night with Billy. I haven’t felt as restless. Working with my hands has been calming on my mind. It keeps my attention focused on the task at hand instead of the million angles that someone might be playing to feed their greed.

I’ve managed to avoid Cole Cutler, thank fuck, our schedules running opposite so far. The evening starts off easy—catching up with McGilley while Billy keeps the tab open. I’ve never been one for loose lips, but the easy nature of being parked on a barstool like the guys have for the last four or five years, I find myself talking about some of my adventures, leaving the illegal parts out.

The door swings open, and I hear a few guys call his name, “Cutler.”

I’m tempted to turn and look when the conversation goes quiet, but I keep my focus on the half-full pint glass in front of me. One by one, he greets the guys and then he’s behind me. Billy says, “There’s a free stool at the other end of the bar. I reckon it would be best if you take a seat down there, Cutler.”

Cutler ignores him, his eyes already burning a hole in the back of my head. “Well. Well. Wellllll. If it ain’t the great number eight himself, Jason Koster.” His hand lands hard on my shoulder, and he squeezes.

Cracking my neck to the opposite side, I pick up my glass and down a swig or two before turning and looking back over my shoulder. “Cutler. It’s been a while.”

“Sure has.” He slides in on the other side of me and pats the bar. McGilley already has a pint ready and sets it down. “On them,” he tells him. With a fake smile plastered on his face, he leans closer. “Here to visit your mom? Your girl? What dragged your sorry ass back to town?”

“Here we go,” Billy says. “Cool it, Cutler. We’re just catching up on old times here.”

Bopping his head, he adds. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t have the girl. She’s mine.”

“Not from what I’ve gathered.”

Cutler asks, “What did you say, Koster?”

Turning to Cutler for the first time, I look him dead in the eyes. “I said, not from what I’ve gathered.”

My shoulder is shoved, but I catch myself before I fall. Billy is on his feet and pushing Cutler back against his protests. “Get off me. Fucking assholes.” He shrugs out of Billy’s hold, giving up the fight before it ever really began. Sneering at him, he spits, “Where’s your loyalty, Langston? Or are you brainwashed into bowing down to this fucker, too?”

His insults don’t hurt me. Him breaking bro code pisses me off. “Loyalty. What do you know about loyalty?”

“Let’s take this outside, Koster.”

McGilley adds, “Yes, take it outside, boys.”

After finishing my beer, I slide off the barstool and head for the door. The bell above the door rings as I walk out. Moving down the sidewalk, I hear them behind me but move to the corner before turning around. A calm I’ve come to expect washes through me. My hands fist and release. Fist and release. I’ve wondered many times if I’ve become desensitized to violence, almost looking forward to it. Release.

I have to remind myself where I am and who I’m with. These are my friends.

Well, not so much Cutler. Fuck him.

But the others . . . I look up just as Billy comes toward me. “Walk away, Jason. He’s drunk.”

Cutler comes toward me, his fists raised as if he’ll intimidate me by holding that ridiculous position. I stare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re fucking sad, you know that?”

McGilley demands, “Get him outta here, Langston.”

Billy wrangles Cutler backward as he yells, “Fuck off, Billy. This is a long time coming. Let me just kick his ass and get it over with tonight.”

I don’t lose my temper easily, but he manages to push all my anger buttons. “Fuck you.”

He comes flying around Billy. Just when he’s about to hit me, I have him by the throat and slam him to the ground. His face turns red, the veins in his neck beginning to bulge. His pulse is pounding against two of my fingers. I could end him. Right here. I could look into his eyes and watch life leave them. This asshole doesn’t deserve death. If this piece of shit doesn’t get out of my sight, he’s going to find it though, so I whisper, “The more you fight the more your throat will close on you. Relax if you want to live.”

Pushing off him, I back away and tell Billy, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cutler is gasping for air while Billy stands there in shock. My buzz is dead and I go around to the side of the bar and get on my bike.

I take the long way home.

Cutler’s not the guy I knew growing up. Something’s changed him over the years. Jealousy that grew into anger that expanded into hate? Hitting women? He’s become his father, who he regularly saw hit his mother.

Some fucking example he was.

Everyone knew what happened behind closed doors, yet his mom stayed. My mother was the only one who reached out—repeatedly—to his. Eventually that relationship ended when his father decided he didn’t care for people knowing his business. God, no wonder he’s so fucked up.

I need the dark of the night to relieve the aggression I found too easily tonight. I left that behind. Or so I thought. The cool night air clears my head, giving me the space to figure out what I’m doing because I’m not so sure anymore.

By the time I step into the house, I know I want to see Delilah again. Doesn’t have to be a big deal, just to talk, to settle the wild thundering of my heart. To put this issue with her behind us once and for all. I need to understand why she left me without any explanation. Was it for Cutler? The why. That’s what I need in order to move on. She wasn’t meant to be a part of my future, I get that. Even though she seems content to leave things be, I can’t seem to let it go. And I need to. I know I do. We’re not those same kids in love. We’re adults with problems to match.

My mom’s bedroom door cracks open, and she says, “You okay, Jase?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

“Just checking on you. And hey, I want you to come to church with me in the morning.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ma. Jesus and I aren’t that tight these days.”

“That’s exactly why you should come with me.”

She’s tired and I’m not looking to argue over this. “I’ll go. Now go back to bed.”

With a smile, she says, “Good night. Love you.”

“Love you. Good night.”

* * *

We catch the only light in town, and I come to a stop at the red. I tug at my tie, which is feeling too tight. I haven’t worn a tie in a long time. My mom is talking about what she calls the gossip girls and how they are going to lose their minds when I walk into that church. But I’m looking at this tired town, the streets nearly empty on a Sunday morning. Glancing into the rearview mirror, a familiar white pickup pulls up behind me. I know she recognizes my mom’s car. I know she’s looking everywhere to avoid looking at me or catching a glimpse of my eyes staring back at her.

I see that smile that threatens to break the frown right off her face. Delilah might have broken my heart, but sitting here, I’m wondering if she’ll do it twice. Am I willing to risk it?

I used to think she couldn’t resist me, but she had no problem earlier this week. Let’s see if she still can. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve when it comes to Ms. Noelle. “I’ll be right back.”

“What?” my mom asks, watching me get out of the car. “Where are you going? The light’s going to turn green any second.”

I keep walking.

She sees me. Even though her pretty eyes are hidden behind big sunglasses, I figure they’re probably damn wide right now. Reaching for the truck door lock, her finger pushes it down as I arrive. She can kid herself like that. She knows deep down I’ll never hurt her, but I might pressure her into giving me a little of her time.

Standing on the other side of her door, I knock. Delilah finally looks up and points at the light. It’s green. I shrug. I make the lame twist of the wrist roll-down-your-window motion with my hand because I have a feeling she might not understand if I pretend to push a button to roll it down.

“Get back in your car, Jason,” she says through the glass.

“No. Roll down your window.” To sugarcoat it, I add, “Please.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? I want to talk to you, and I don’t want to shout through the glass.”

Huffing, the glass slides down slowly. “What is it?” She keeps her hands on the steering wheel and her grip seems to tighten just a bit.

She glances my way, so I say, “I want to see you.”

“You’re seeing me, Jason, so if that’s all there is, I’ll be going no—”

The glass starts to roll up, but I clamp my palm over it. She releases the button and looks up at me. “I don’t know what happened the other day, what turned your mood so quickly, but I’d like another chance to talk.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea, actually. All you have to say is yes.”

“No.”

My smile tilts into a smirk. “You haven’t changed much.”

“Then you haven’t been paying attention.” She sighs. “Red light.”

“I’ve got three minutes to change your mind.”

“Why do you want to, Jason? Just let things lie the way they’re meant to be.”

Meant to be . . .

She and I were once meant to be. Maybe that’s why I can’t give up this notion of at least seeing if anything’s still there between us. “I want to come by this afternoon. I’ll bring you lunch.”

Shaking her head, she looks down at her lap. “I can’t.”

“Delilah.” Just me saying her name draws her attention back to me. That glass was leveled with the car again, and I rest my hands on the door. Leaning down, I say, “Let me see your eyes.”

Another car pulls up behind her car. I wave. Seems like the courteous thing to do.

Her body gives her debate away, her chest rising and lowering—her breath deepening. She gives in and moves her sunglasses to the top of her head and looks into my eyes. “What are you doing, Jason?” she whispers.

“Is that you, Jason Koster?” a woman calls, sticking her head out her car window.

“It is. Good morning, Mrs. Robertson.”

“You’re going to make us late for church if you don’t get a move on.”

“I’d love to get a move on and not be late for the Lord, but Ms. Noelle has refused me the pleasure of her company, so I thought I’d see if I could change her mind.”

Delilah’s blush spreads across her face and starts down her delicate neck. I know where it’s heading and the memories of her bare chest against mine cause me to shift. “Jason, please?”

“Please what, honeysuckle?”

“I’ve not been your honeysuckle in a long time.”

“But it was so good when you were.” She stares ahead, trying to pretend that her whole body isn’t reacting to me like mine is reacting from the close proximity to hers. Leaning even closer, I rest my arms on the door. “We can play games all damn day, but you and I have unfinished business to tend to. So how about that lunch or better yet, dinner tonight?” A car horn blares and I look back. Mrs. Robertson shrugs, but it wasn’t her honking.

A woman behind her hits her horn again and I’m surprised when I hear my mom yell, “Cool it, Karen. You’ll survive if you don’t get there in time to flirt with the choir director.”

With that out in the open, I have to look to see this Karen person. I recognize her the minute I see her. She’s one of the gossip girls my mom was talking about. When I turn back to Delilah, she looks anxious. A finger taps on her thigh.

“We’ve got quite the lineup of anxious churchgoers.”

She looks into her rearview mirror then back to me and asks, “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Nope.” I tap my watch. “The sermon starts in two minutes. Do you really want to be the cause of a church delay?”

Sighing loudly, she gives me a glare. “Dinner. One less thing I’ll have to worry about if you’re bringing it over. Seven o’clock and don’t be late.”

She should know me better than that. I’ve never been late when it came to her. Tapping the roof of the truck lightly, I smile from ear to ear. “You got it. See you at seven, honeysuckle.”

I return to my mom’s car to the sound of applause. When I sink into the seat, I check the mirror again and see Delilah smiling.

My mom says, “You sure know how to give them something to talk about. You’ve stirred up all kinds of trouble.”

She’s totally worth it. I hope.

All the cars pulling into the church parking lot late causes quite the stir. Grumbles are heard as a large part of the congregation finds seats. It’s really quite amusing. Even my mom thinks so. She struggles to hold in her laughter. At one point, she leans over and whispers, “It’s good to have you home.”

The moment Delilah walks in, the sun shines a little brighter through the stained-glass windows that line the sides of the church. I watch her move down a row and sit between two families. I can’t imagine she doesn’t know them since everyone knows everyone in this town, but she keeps to herself.

Being here in a holy place makes me recount my sins. I don’t have as many as I carry the burden of, but the few I have are major. When everyone lowers their heads to pray, I don’t. Instead, my eyes find the only other person who remains the same.

Delilah turns and looks at me across the church. A little line forms between her eyes as if I’m a puzzle she can’t figure out. Just as I raise my hand to wave to her, the minister’s throat is cleared harshly and my eyes meet his irritated ones. “Amen,” we say in unison.

Fully delighted, Delilah finally lets that beautiful smile show. With everyone listening to the minister, I lower my head this time and chuckle. After the service, I get tired of nodding, shaking hands, updating what feels like the whole town on what I’ve been up to. I toss out my regular spiel—traveling around the country working odd jobs.

Since sinning sends you to hell, sinning in church must get you a fast pass. I tell my mom I’ll meet her at the car and walk out the wide-open double doors into the sunshine. I veer left when I spot the minister ahead, but I’m not stealth enough because I hear, “So glad you could join us today, Mr. Koster.”

I stop and turn around. “I am too. How are you, Minister Polk?”

He pats me on the back as he turns us toward the church. “You can call me Stephen. You’re not a kid whose mother forced him to Sunday school anymore.”

“All right. Stephen.”

“I’ve been good, son. How about you?”

“Good.”

“We’ve seem to have lost touch with you for a few years. I’m hoping you carried God with you on your journeys.”

Anger feeds the finger that pulls the trigger. One shot to the head and I know he’s dead without having to shoot again. God wouldn’t have wanted to see that in my journey, but it was too late now.

The bodies differ in size and shape, their souls long gone. One was a friend and deserved a different ending. The other deserved worse. I don’t think. I just act. I grab the black plastic from the trunk and get to work.

Another body to hide—when did I become the expert in cleaning scenes? I need to get out of here, to leave this city, leave this life. Just because I can stomach the work doesn’t mean I should do it. It’s messing with my mind. The guilt digging deep, creating crevices in my soul. I need to leave before my soul becomes so blackened from the depravity of my actions. Maybe I’m too late.

“Jason?”

My eyes lift to find the concerned gaze of the minister. I reply, “Yeah. God.” Knowing the crimes against God I’ve committed, I can’t honestly say I carried him with me.

He pats me on the back again and says, “We should talk sometime.”

“Okay.”

“Good to have you back.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be back.” I’m an expert at giving the appropriate responses. Although this time, I’ve already found some peace being here. I’m not sure if this is where I belong, but I’m beginning to want to stay.

We go in opposite directions. Cutting through cars in the parking lot to get to my mom’s, I spy Delilah getting in her truck a few down the line. Seeing her, I’m reminded how we’re divided on opposite ends of the spectrum. She wants to leave things the way they are, and I need understanding, closure. Maybe we can meet in the middle. Guess I’ll find out in a few hours.