the first one • j. hughes

22

Age 18:

"No, Kennedy," Luke said, his voice hoarse. "You can't do that. I sure as hell won't."

"I can't be here," I snapped. I wasn't angry at him. The only thing I could feel was my keys digging into my palm with how tight I was clutching them.

Like most people's eyes in the place, his eyes were puffy and red. The way he was staring down at me, practically begging me, I almost backed down. Almost. He could tell so he said, "You can. You have to be." His voice broke.

"I can't," I stated. My hand reached for his forearm. "Lu, with or without you, I can't be here any longer."

"What would—" He cut himself off and simply nodded. "He would have been the one to tell you to get out of here."

"He would, yeah."

"I'm a call away."

"I know. Me too."

He grabbed the hand on his arm and pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around me. I hugged back just as tight. Even tighter when I felt him shake and choke out a sob. I wished I could give him the comfort he needed. But we both knew neither of us could do what the other needed right then. So we let go and went our separate ways.

I was almost to the door. My escape. My exit. The bathroom door swung open and out came a disheveled Jack Hughes. Dark eye bags that would give Quinn a run for his money and all. His hair had never been messier which is saying something. Pretty sure his shirt was buttoned up wrong. But he still managed to smile ever so slightly seeing me. It was barely a turning up of the corners of his lips. It still was more than I could manage.

"You comin' with me?" I asked.

He frowned. "Where?"

"Out of here."

"What?"

"Let's get out of here," I spoke each word nearly sarcastically slow.

"I..." Jack looked past me then over his shoulder to the door. His answer was almost instant when he looked back at me. "Okay."

He held the door for me as we walked out. It was freezing and dark, as most January evenings tend to be. I knew I should have worn tights under my dress and a better jacket but I was late even without any wardrobe changes. Lucky for me, Jack swung his suit jacket over my shoulders as he followed a step or so behind to the car.

"Where's the Jeep?" He asked.

I shrugged. "Penn's dealing with it. I wanted Dad's truck."

"That car was your baby."

"Sometimes parents can't stick around with their baby."

I ignored whatever he said in response to that ugly comment and sped up to get to the driver's side of the truck. Since we'd all left for college, Dad had started to drive the favorite of his cars that were up and running: a '96 Ford F-350. He loved it because he had found one exactly like the one he had back in '96. Said it was like fate since he crashed that one and replaced it with a more family-oriented car. Only car Dad ever crashed.

The radio kicked on once I started it up. I knew the song instantly and it felt like a punch in the chest. Of course, one of Dad's favorite songs would be playing at that moment. Jack took a few seconds and then he reached forward to turn it off or something and I smacked his hand away. He retreated immediately, looking at me with wide eyes. Jack and I never really hit each other. That was a Luke and I thing.

"It needs to stay the way it is," I said.

That's when he actually looked around the cab of the car with a hefty inhale. Anyone could tell it was the exact same way Dad had left it. A few papers of printed-out directions on the dash. A half-drank Coke on the middle seat between us. Extra pair of shoes down by Jack's feet. Even the empty pill bottles in the car doors from his habit of not throwing them away when he was on his last one on the way to work.