Page 7 of Double Trouble
“It’s just because I didn’t pull it out,” Jake said.
My gaze was on the booth that the other half of the table was. “Would you mind if I sat over here?”
“Knock yourself out,” Owen said, quickly positioning himself on the booth, being sure to leave a space for me.
As I sat down, Jake huffed his displeasure loudly. Although when he sat across from me, he was sure to position his feet right next to mine.
I turned my gaze to Owen. “Has he always been like this?”
“Cocky?” he asked. “No. But he’s always been the bigger asshole. Being more responsible when you’re the older brother comes with the territory.”
Jake slid a pepper shaker Owen’s way. “A regular martyr, my ‘big’ bro,” he said, using his fingers to make air quotations around the word ‘big’.
His gaze softened. “Seriously though, I owe this guy a lot. When he hurt his hand, I thought that was it for him being involved in boxing. Instead, he became my manager and things went from good to hell-yeah great.”
Owen gave his head an uncomfortable shake, but Jake wouldn’t be put off. “Seriously man. Don’t downplay it. The whole managing business world is a big fat mystery to me, but you somehow figured it out.”
“What happened to your hand?” I asked Owen. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
He placed his right hand on the table ahead of him, gazing at it as if the memories were etched on its very knuckles.
“Boxing accident. Some guy had a grill, I didn’t know and ended up shattering all the bones in it. I needed plates and I can’t box anymore, but it works pretty ok at least.” He flexed it.
There was something rehearsed about the way he said the words, as if he’d said them a hundred times by now.
“So you were both boxers?” I asked.
“Yeah, in the Army,” Owen answered.
“Both soldiers too? That’s impressive. No wonder you have such a strong sense of decency. Like when you punched that asshole Paul out in the bar for messing with my drink.”
“Yeah, well not everyone thinks us joining up was so impressive,” Jake said with a scowl.
I wanted to ask what he meant by that – was it a girlfriend, a family member – but I knew if I dug too far, I might be asked to divulge more about myself than I was ready to in reciprocation. So I kept my curiosity to myself.
As if reading my thoughts, Jake’s laser-focused gaze trained on me. “What about you – what’s your story?”
“What do you mean?”
He lips quirked to the side, his gaze not moving. “I don’t know. I feel like you know a lot more about us than we know about you.”
“I can be a pretty private person,” I admitted.
“In other words, screw off,” Owen translated for him.
We laughed, then I said. “I don’t know. I’ve been a nurse for five years now. I’ve got an older sister, great parents. I don’t like hyacinths as much as my mother apparently does.”
They blinked at me for a second before they cracked up.
“Well, this is awkward,” Owen said, reaching into his suit pocket.
When he produced the pendant, Jake threw back his head and guffawed. “What is this, second grade?”
“You gave pendants to girls in second grade?” I asked him.
Although my attention was on the little necklace Owen had pressed into my palm. Sure enough, the embossed silver was in the shape of a hyacinth.
“I don’t hate hyacinths,” I clarified quickly, although he was already smiling ruefully. “It’s just that I guess I don’t like the reason I was named it.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s kind of a dumb story, but yeah. My mom said it was my dad who’d named me. Apparently, he took one look at my four-pound body and said, “She’s so fragile, like a little hyacinth.”
“Your dad knew what a hyacinth was?” Jake asked, genuinely perplexed.
“Yeah, I thought that part was weird too. But apparently he did.” I shifted in my seat. “Anyway, the thing I don’t like about it is the whole fragile part.”
“What’s wrong with being fragile?” Owen asked.
“If you’re fragile, there’s always the possibility you’ll break,” I said quietly.
It occurred to me that I was being morbid and dragging down what was supposed to be Jake’s celebration dinner, so I flashed them a smile. “Drinks are on me, if you boys are up for it.”
“Oh, we’re up for it,” Jake said, grinning. Under the table, his leg found mine, and lightly rested against it. “But drinks are on us – or on the Shore Club, remember?”
Owen signaled to our waiter and ordered us some drinks. I was glad for the distraction. Once again, I’d been too close to telling them about the car accident. And that was one tale I wanted to put off as long as humanly possible. I’d already had enough pity to last me the rest of my life, not to mention that talking about it still hurt.
