Two Weeks (33 page)

I try to convince him that it's all for the better, and while he's reluctant about the whole thing, he slowly starts to agree with me.

"I just need a drink," he groans.

The wine gets opened shortly after that, and we go through the first bottle pretty quickly. Jackson drinks a lot more than I do, and starts to get really goofy. He's got a lot on his mind today.

Initially, I'm apprehensive about getting totally smashed, but decide to follow his lead, at least for a while. I'm careful not to overdo it.

He eventually convinces me that we should go out for our last night, which doesn't actually mean anything other than just drinking in bars instead of in the house. I know I shouldn't let him drive in this state, but I'm still too intimidated by his huge truck.

We make an uneventful short trip down Willow Drive and park in a public lot, walking the rest of the distance to the downtown area. Jackson takes me into a bar that's exactly like O'Neil's from the other night, but this time it's called "Good Times." Although I know he's drunk, it would be hard for me to tell if I hadn't spent the last several hours watching him drink.

His words are a little slurred, but that's about it. After one drink there, we end up stumbling into another bar, this one with karaoke. We both make fools of ourselves singing classic rock songs. After fumbling through "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey and "Drive" by the Cars, we very stupidly try to do "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen—and neither of us are capable of doing it any justice.

Jackson ends up hitting more of the high notes than I expect him too, and the crowd sings along to the guitar solo with us. Even though it's a bit of a trainwreck, it feels good to let my guard down and just have fun.

The whole thing really cheers me up.

Jackson continues to drink steadily all night—I slow down early on—and eventually, we wander back outside. It's cool over by the water, the ideal amount of cool. We walk over to the public beach area, making our way out onto the docks. There are a decent amount of people wandering around, all of them appearing to be in good spirits as they enjoy this wonderful summer night.

It feels so good walking around and holding hands with Jackson. I feel so safe and protected with him, even after the unfortunate events of Saturday night. He feels like an anchor, really, an anchor that's keeping me in this old world I once abandoned.

"You know how gorgeous you are?" Jackson says, his voice low and breathy.

"I guess I'm not sure," I say. "I mean,
you
really like me at least."

We're leaned up against the railing by the water, people passing around us. The sun is starting to set. Jackson wraps me up in his arms and kisses me deeply. His drunkenness makes the kiss a bit more passionate than I'd normally be comfortable with in public, but it's our last night here, and it's unlikely that I'll ever see any of these people ever again.

However, when he starts very obviously squeezing my butt, I pull his hand away and giggle. "Jackson, not here."

I'm glad when he complies because he's, well,
drunk
and a hell of a lot stronger than I am.

He kisses me again, one hand on the nape of my neck, the other on the small of my back. I hear some commotion behind us, and I figure it's some overly ambitious bike cop, ready to send us on our way.

"That looks like Ally, doesn't it?"

I turn suddenly, breaking the kiss and the embrace. Behind us are three guys, three very familiar looking guys—
and one of them is my brother, Jeff.
The other two are old friends from high school or college that I vaguely recognize, but don't remember the names of.

My heart skips as many beats as possible without stopping permanently. There's a huge lump in my throat and my stomach is doing dramatic cartwheels. I feel like I might puke up my meal.

"Ally?" Jeff says. His countenance is haggard and angry, his posture slumped like his legs are about to give out. "You and...
Jackson Ames
?"

I can't look at him. I'm stuck, frozen. My feet won't move and my mind is stuck as well. I feel like I've fallen into freshly poured cement that's starting to harden around my legs. While the rest of me is slow, my heart has gone into overdrive.

"It's not what it looks like, Jeff," Jackson says calmly. It's like he's suddenly not drunk at all.

"What the fuck does that mean? 'It's not what it looks like?' I know what I saw," Jeff says aggressively. His sudden change of demeanor appears to startle everyone there. His eyes are so icy and cold. His skin is pallid.

I can't believe this is
Married Jeff
with the infant daughter.

"I mean, it is and it isn't."

I want to say something, but my lips won't move. I can only act as a very involved spectator.

"Is this some childish attempt to get back at me for what I did? Go after my fucking sister to hurt
me
? You're a god damn creep," he says. "That was years ago. Grow up."

The words make my brain go numb. I don't know what's going on here. Although I knew there was some risk from the start, I wasn't expecting
this
.

"Jeff, that's not what this is. Let me explain."

"You're disgusting, man. How can I un-see you with your tongue down her throat? My own sister, man. How could you? You don't fucking go there." Jeff keeps inching closer and closer to Jackson and I hope this doesn't escalate.

It's finally clear that Jeff is
very drunk
, and if he tries to pick a fight with Jackson, he's
not
going to win.

"Jeff, what the hell are you doing here?" I shout as a distraction, tears forming in my eyes. I don't have a defense for my behavior, nor do I need one at all; I'm an adult. But that doesn't suppress the associated emotions.

The discomfort is like a thick cloud in the air. Hazy.

"We come up here every summer," he says matter-of-factly. "It's a guys' week. Jackson came the first time we did it."

I look over at Jackson expecting something other than shellshock—but that's all I get. He appears to be ruminating.

"You fucking creep, I knew it," Jeff mumbles again. His voice is overflowing with rancor. I can see the muscles bulging in his neck, like tiny snakes crawling around inside his body.

"Please, man, calm down. Just let it go." One of the other two guys pats Jeff on the back and is met with an angry swat.

"Don't touch me, Travis," he snarls.

"You
need
to calm down, Jeff," I plead. "Stop. You're drunk and way too emotional."

"I can't believe this shit," Jeff says, hands at his sides. "My own sister with
you
." He points at Jackson like he's some kind of leper. His expression oozes disgust. "You can do a lot better than him, Ally. A lot fucking better. I can't believe you'd take his side over me."

"Jeff, you're being ridiculous. It's not about taking sides! I don't even know what the fuck you're talking about!" I beg, but nothing seems to work.

Jackson straightens out his posture, and comes to my rescue, which puts him a couple of inches closer to my brother. He's finally back and I couldn't be more thankful. "Jeff, let it go, man. I'm not seeking revenge. I forgive you. And this isn't half as bad as what you did to me." He remains in place, like a sentry guarding a castle. "I
like
Ally, okay? And she's not your property anyway."

The quip is enough to send Jeff into the land of unadulterated rage. Bloodlust in his eyes, he drunkenly charges at Jackson, and I'm half expecting the dock to transform into a stage, complete with a screaming audience and a thrilling announcer.

But I know it wouldn't be a fair fight.

I watch it all go down with my breath held. Jackson could easily beat the shit out of him, and although it would be totally justified—Jeff deserves it after all of this puerile hostility, frankly—I obviously don't want it to happen.

Jackson is totally ready, but he doesn't engage Jeff—no, he steps right out of the way. The railing ends right where we were standing and there's a gap that leads straight down into the water. I'm not sure if Jackson planned this or just got lucky.

Jeff flies straight off the dock. His momentum proves to be too much and that's it. I pray that no boat is directly beneath him. When I hear a huge splash from below, I'm relieved.

People start gathering around, attracted by the spectacle of Jeff's great dramatic plunge. Travis and the still-unnamed third person run over to the edge and drop to their knees. "Jeff!" they shout in unison.

I press myself up against the railing next to Jackson and look over the edge. Jeff is sloshing through the water helplessly. I'm not sure if it's just his intoxication or if he really can't swim.

"Help me!" he screams, but it sounds more like a gargle.

His "friends" both look at each other with quizzical expressions. Nobody is really sure what to do since there isn't a ladder or anything and it's too far down to reach and grab him. I'm genuinely worried that he's going to drown, which would take this situation from
totally horrible
to
hell on earth
.

"Here." By the time I turn my head to see what he wants, Jackson's already set a stack of stuff in my hands—his wallet, cell phone, and keys. He dives right off the side and swims straight to Jeff, taking him by the waist and lifting his head above the water. Everyone watches in amazement as the superhero jumps in and saves the day.

Jackson drags Jeff all the way down along the dock until they reach a ladder. Jeff grabs it and hangs on. "Somebody come help him up!" Jackson orders. "Now!"

Jeff's two friends run down the dock and meet him there, reaching down together to lift him. It's clear by his climbing troubles that he's probably beyond drunk. He hobbles up, one depressing rung at a time, almost totally losing his balance repeatedly.

They almost drop him several times, but in the end, he makes it to the top and collapses on his back. I look around—there's a good sized crowd now. One of the bike cops arrived as well.

"What's going on over here?" he asks with a hell of a lot of attitude. He's short and stocky with a crew cut. I'm as tall as he is.

"My brother accidentally fell in," I say. "He's okay now." I'm hoping this answer will satisfy him—and it doesn't.

The cop nods and walks over toward Jeff and kneels down. While I don't hear all of the details of the conversation, it's clear that the cop knows that Jeff is totally wasted and he's not happy about it. "Next time you do this in public, you'll spend a night in jail, I promise you that!"

I can't make out Jeff's slurred response, but whatever it is, it pisses the cop off even more. "All right, someone needs to deal with him
now
, or else I'm calling a car and taking him straight to the station."

I look around for Travis and the other guy, but they're gone. They bailed on him! Left him in a dripping wet, pathetic heap on the ground to fend for himself against this authority figure with a stick up his ass. Rage surges through my veins. "We'll take care of him," I say without realizing it.

Jackson finally gets to the top of the ladder and speaks briefly with the cop, explaining what happened. When the cop finally leaves, Jackson turns to me.

"So you volunteered us, huh?" He smiles wryly. Surprisingly, he doesn't seem drunk at all now. I don't know how he does it.

"I'm so sorry," I say. "I didn't know what to do."

"Well, he's
your
brother... and I think you did the right thing."

I let out a nervous laugh. This has been yet another exciting moment on this trip, one that only happened because we stayed an extra day. Mostly I'm just thankful that Jackson doesn't want to kill me for offering to take care of this drunken lunatic that I have to refer to as
family
.

I've got more questions than ever now, but first things first. "That was really incredible of you," I say. "To jump in and get him when no one else would."

He smiles. "Somebody had to do it. And I'd love to have a word with those pussy friends of his." Jackson leans down and lifts Jeff until he's upright. His neck continues to slump downward. It's clear that he won't be able to stand on his own, so Jackson wraps his arm around Jeff's back and walks with him. "
Please
don't puke on me, Jeff."

I quietly lead us back to the truck. Thankfully, we're close to home. "You haven't had much luck with drunk people lately, huh?" I say.

"They used to be my friends, but now they all want to rip my throat out. I should probably get life insurance, huh?"

"You'd be an idiot not to." I pull the truck key out of my purse and hand it to him.

This whole night I was expecting—well, more like dreading—to have to drive a drunken Jackson home. Instead,
he's
chauffeuring a passed out Jeff and me. Our short journey is quiet, because frankly, no one knows what else to say right now.

We pull into the driveway and park. "Can you take the keys and unlock the house while I deal with him?"

"Sure." I grab the key as he hops out and slams his door shut.

Jackson opens the back door and Jeff nearly flops out on the ground. Jackson catches him and wraps his arm around Jeff's waist. I close up the truck while Jackson slowly hobbles forward with Jeff.

"I don't feel so good," I hear. The next thing after that is the sound of Jeff retching and puking in the bushes and Jackson quietly chuckling.

I unlock the front door of the house and flip on the porch lights. They unsteadily enter together and approach the couch.

"Will you grab a big towel from the bathroom?" Jackson asks, holding Jeff upright. "Before I set him down. Easier than trying to get him out of these wet clothes."

"Of course." I jog into the bathroom and find a huge purple beach towel. I bring it back and spread it out across the cushions on the couch.

"Thanks," Jackson says as he lets go of Jeff's arm.

Without Jackson's support, Jeff slumps right onto the protected cushions and curls up in a fetal position. He's snoring instantly.