Crash Into Me (Into Me Series Book One)

Chapter Twenty Two - Truth

I rest my head in my hands, rubbing my burning eyes. I wipe the tears that I managed to squeeze out and sit up, looking down at the paperwork that stares at me from my desk. I fucking hate paperwork. I chew on the cuticle of my thumb, my eyes dancing over the form in front of me.

In-Field Death Report

I slump back in my seat, sighing as my eyes stay locked on the sheet in front of me. I need to do this. My boss has been breathing down my neck about it for a few days now. But, if I fill out this form, I'll have to face the memories again. I barely made it through when Jet was there, holding me and telling me everything was okay. How the hell am I supposed to do it now, all alone in my office? I grab my chain, shoving it in between my lips. Jackson, stop. Breathe, remember who the fuck you are, and handle your shit.

I pick up my fountain pen, letting out the trapped breath I've been holding in. I can do this. Reporting officer's name? Okay, that's easy. I scribble my name on the line. Employee ID number. Another easy one. I fill in the boxes. I jump to the next section. Type of death: military, employee, civilian, bystander, or victim. My mouth dries as I stare at the word "victim."

There's a knock on my office door, forcing me to look up. "Yeah?" I yell, confused. I don't have any meetings today, no interviews for new team members, and no lunch plans. Who the fuck is that? The door opens, Connor's face peaking around the corner of it. "Hey, man. What's up?" I wonder, setting my pen down.
"Can I... talk to you about something?" he wonders, taking a few steps into my office.
"Of course," I respond, sort of confused as to why he all of a sudden needs to ask to speak with me.

I stand, walking over to my bourbon glasses. I flip two over and open my bottle of Michter's US-1 Kentucky straight bourbon (the best small distillery bourbon and no you cannot change my mind). I pour us both a drink, passing the second glass to Connor as he thanks me and sits down on the couch pressed against the wall. I sit next to him and clink our glasses, taking a sip of the smooth liquid, just the right amount of burn rolling down my throat.

"Damn, that shit always tastes so fucking good," Connor comments, setting his glass down on the coffee table in front of us.
"They just know what they're doing in Kentucky," I add, nodding. I look over to Connor, who plays with his chain, avoiding my eye contact. "What's wrong, Connor?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. He's just been off lately. I don't know how else to describe it.
He looks up from my lap and over to me, "Do you love Jet?"
"Yeah, I do," I respond, no hesitation. I don't understand what this has to do with anything.
Connor nods slowly, looking back down at his lap. "Do you..." he shakes his head. "Never mind."
"Connor, what is going on?" I press.
"Do you ever feel like running away? Just suddenly leaving. No note, no warning, just getting your shit and leaving?" he asks, finally looking at me.
"I've felt that way before, yeah. But usually, it just means I either need to eat, sleep, or get laid," I joke, smiling at him. He doesn't smile back. Honestly, that sounds fucking childish. You can't run from your problems. When you finish running from them, they will still be problems. "Come on, man. You're starting to worry me here. What is it?" I pry.
He looks around the room and finally settles back on me, "Do you remember when you got adopted for like three days but then you got brought back?" he asks.

Well... yeah? What kid would forget something like that?

I must have made a face because Connor scrambles to explain himself, "I'm not bringing this up because I want to start shit or because I want to hurt you, I promise."
"Okay..." I drag, narrowing my eyes, my fingers spinning my chain around my neck nervously. Carson's little fucking voice pops in my head that I'm "scary" though, so I relax my posture and try to chill my face out.
"Did you just have a seizure? What the fuck was that?" Connor laughs.
"I'm trying not to be so scary so you'll talk to me..." I admit.
"Why? Being scary has gotten you this far," he shrugs. He brings up a valid point. I nod in agreement, running my tongue over my teeth. "Anyways," Connor starts, "Do you remember why they brought you back to the foster home?"
"Of course. I was a 'bad' kid they said," I nod, putting adding air quotes.