Page 140 of Demo
Actually, it was probably way too late for that. I had no idea what time it was.
“I’ll tell her I needed it for supplies for a side job. That’s why I took the money out.”
I turned and looked at Knox, who was driving with his right hand, with his left elbow resting against the window and his head propped up on his fist. Blood was drying on his bottom lip and a bruise was already forming above his eye. “What are you going to tell her about your face?”
He sighed, “I’ll tell her me and Gino got into it at the jobsite.”
I turned back and looked forward when I spoke again. “I’m not going to ask you not to hate me, but I hope one day you can forgive me. And, I swear to God, Knox—I mean this—I will never be in this situation again … Knox?”
He wouldn’t look at me.
“Knox, please. Tell me you hate me if you have to, but please just look at me.” He sighed, and I yelled at him. “Knox! Look at me!”
He did. He looked at me, and then back at the road, and then back at me as he spoke. “Jenny, I don’t hate you. I hate that this is your life. And I’m sad for you. But I’m also just over it. And what happened tonight … It’s just so fucked up.”
I started sobbing and dropped my head in my hands as the reality of all of it all set in. He was right. I was such a fuckup.
“Jenny, it’s … Just, take a breath, OK? None of this is all right.” I felt his hand rubbing my back as the truck made another turn, then I heard his voice again. “Jenny? Jenny, look at me. Come on, look at me.” I raised my head and wiped away my tears to look at Knox through swollen eyes. “I don’t hate you,” he said, and before I could thank him, something caught my eye—a flash of red hair—and I turned my head to look out the windshield and saw a figure.
“Knox!” I shouted. “Stop!” But before the word was even out, I heard and felt the impact as the front of the truck struck something, which slid up the hood and was thrown into the air and off to the side. The truck came to a screeching halt in the road.
“Oh God! Fuck!” Knox shouted as he struggled with his seatbelt before he got it off and threw the door open. It took me longer to undo my seatbelt but as soon as I was able, I jumped out and went around the truck. Knox was kneeling over a young woman.
“Call 9-1-1!” he barked as he moved his hands over her like he wanted to help her, but he was afraid to touch her. “Jenny! JENNY!”
Finally, I snapped to and saw him staring at me. “Jenny,” he began again, calmly. “Get your phone out of your pocket. Call 9-1-1. Tell them someone has been hit by a car. Tell them to come quickly.”
I nodded as I patted down my pockets and pulled my phone out. It took me a few tries with shaky hands to unlock the screen, and the numbers were blurry thanks to my high, but I eventually made the call.
“What street are we on?” I asked Knox, as an operator answered. He and I were both craning our necks looking for a street sign. I spotted one at the corner, only a house down, so I jogged over there as I was telling the operator what happened, the world tilting this way and that, and then gave the operator the street address.
It wasn’t long before we heard sirens.
Chapter 39
KNOX
WhenIpullupto the flickering neon lights of the bar and cut the engine, I wait a good ten minutes before going in. I don’t even know why I’m here. Old habits die hard, I guess.
This isn’t a trendy bar where the college coeds come, so there are only a few patrons inside—a couple sharing a pitcher at a table, a young gun at the jukebox, an old guy hunched over the bar.
I head over to the opposite end and slip onto a stool just as a guy in a gray V-neck tee with tattooed forearms, and salt-and-pepper hair peeking out from under a red bandana greets me on the other side.
I would consider this guy “middle-aged,” but then again, he looks like he could be my age. And there’s no way I’m “middle-aged.”
“Whiskey. Neat,” I say before he even asks for my order. He nods and turns around to pour my drink.
Am I middle-aged?I’m thirty-five, double that is seventy. I’m gonna make it past seventy, right? That means I’m not in the middle of my life.
I slide a bill over the bar as the bartender places my drink on a coaster. “No change,” I say, and he nods in response.
What if I am in the middle of my life?Jesus. Elbows on the bar, I run a hand down my face as I eye the bourbon I have no intention of drinking. It’s not even the reason I’m here. I spot at least three people I could probably score from.
But I won't. I just like knowing I could, and that I chose to walk away.
I keep thinking … I haven’t spent half my life with Lizzie. We’ve been together ten years. That’s only, like, a third of my life.
A third of my life with a woman I want to burn in the goddamn fiery pits of hell.That fucking bitch. How could she say that about my mom and what she’d think of me? She knew that would cut me deep. She watched me bleed out as she said it, and she showed no remorse. Even after everything, how she could wound me like that is unbelievable.
