Burn Into Me (Into Me Series Book Two)

Chapter Nine - Rooftop

Jet's POV

A shiver rolls over me as I lean back against the roof, watching a raccoon dig through our trash can at the curb. It finds an apple core, clearly ecstatic, and takes off across the street and under the porch of our neighbor's house. I snicker, shaking my head.

"I love raccoons," I tell him. He hums in agreement. "Something about their little thumbs and their stupid little faces gets me," I explain further, making tiny motions with my own hands that mimic the raccoon's.
"Trash pandas," Riley states, nodding. "Did you know the black around their eyes works as an anti-glare device by deflecting the sun's rays?"
"Huh. That's cool, I just thought it was to make them cuter," I muse, glancing over at him as he too leans on my roof next to me.
"It is also believed that the dark spots enhance their night-vision as well," Riley finishes, taking a swig from his White Claw (mango, of course).
"How cool would it be to have night-vision?" I propose, mimicking Riley's movement and taking a swig of my White Claw (black cherry, of course).
"Lights would be obsolete," he replies.
"Hmm, you're right. Imagine how much electricity that would save," I respond.

Comfortable silence drags out between us as we take sips of our seltzers. I shift my gaze to the sky, marveling at the beauty of the universe. Billions of stars shine back on us, a stark difference from the darkness of the sky. The shingles beneath my shoulders dig into my skin, tiny twinges of pain dancing across my skin from where the two meet. I turn my head to the right to look at Riley who clenches his jaw and swallows hard as he stares up at the sky. His arms are wrapped around his torso. His biceps and triceps are practically bulging from how hard he's holding himself.

"So... we just gonna sit here or are we going to talk?" I start.
His eyes close as he sighs heavily, "I don't know."

He sounds so fucking defeated.

My heart shatters in my chest. This isn't fair to him. He doesn't deserve this.

This isn't the Riley you know. This isn't the Riley from nearly three years ago. He's no longer that wide eyed, bushy tailed, hopeful, and optimistic kid. Life has kicked his ass recently and he's slowly losing his light. He reminds me of me before I met Jackson. No light in his eyes, no energy in his movements, he is not the person he thinks he is.

"If it's eating you up this bad, you should talk about it," I tell him.
He turns his head to look at me, "I don't know if I can. None of it makes sense."
"It doesn't matter if it makes sense, the thing that matters is that you talk about it," I explain. I reach my hand up to wipe a tear from under his left eye.
"Well, if that's your rule, then why aren't we talking about the fact that you're most likely infertile officially?" he counters.

Now it's my turn to look back at the sky, clench my jaw, and swallow hard as I wrap my arms around myself. Another negative test this morning. 11 months. Infertility is technically diagnosed at one year of attempting for a pregnancy without success. I haven't talked about it because I don't want to believe that it's real. Well, that and the fact that I really don't want to have to do IVF.

"I'll talk about it when it's a reality, not just a possibility," I explain, trying to swallow the growing lump in my throat.
"So you're avoiding it?" he accuses.
"Hey, you have no room to talk," I argue, feeling a bit defensive, "You're the one that texted me asking to come over so you could talk some stuff out with me. You came over, so talk your shit out."
"It's hard for me to talk about it," he admits.
"If I go first, will it make it easier?" I offer.
"Yeah."

I let out a shaking breath, focused on the Big Dipper up in the sky, "Every time I get a negative test I feel like I make Jackson hate me more and more. I feel like it makes him realize that I'm broken goods and that he should've never married me."