Write Your Own Song

Chapter 18

Jack glared at Bobby. His head was pounding and he was feeling vaguely nauseous. That wasn't what was making him irritable him, though. No, it was the fact that his brother was lying to him and doing a pretty lousy job of it, too.

They were in some roadside diner – one of those places with shiny walls and dime jukeboxes on each table. Normally, he'd be flipping through the songs over and over again until Bobby told him to stop. Today, however, all he could manage was the glare, and even that took some effort.

The place was packed with truckers and people traveling through, everyone grabbing a quick breakfast before getting back on the highway. Jack suddenly realized he didn't even know what state they were in. Nothing had made much sense since he woke up in the car that morning and he was beginning to wonder if Oz looked something like a truck stop.

"Remy was pissed at you?" he asked slowly, wincing as the sound of clattering silverware carried over the chatter. "And because you made her mad, we had to leave in the middle of the night?"

"Morning," Bobby corrected quickly and Jack sighed.

"You think that makes sense?" Jack was still having trouble wrapping his head around everything and part of him was convinced he was still back in Chicago in bed, sound asleep – not in some ass backwards town in the middle of nowhere.

Bobby shrugged. "She was really pissed."

The waitress appeared, carrying a coffee pot and Jack turned his cup over without taking his eyes off his brother, looking for a sign that something was up. He nodded his thanks to the waitress after she finished pouring. They both ordered, though Jack wasn't sure he could actually stomach food at the moment. Coffee might be pushing it as it was.

"Pissed. Right," Jack said, shaking his head as he poured a steady stream of sugar into his cup.

Bobby sat up straighter in the booth and Jack could tell he was getting angry at him, that he was pushing buttons he should just leave alone. Somehow, having a hangover had given him courage and he just couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut. He figured he should take advantage of it while he had the chance.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Bobby asked sharply and Jack gave a half-hearted laugh.

"Nothing, man. Just that you always drop everything and disappear, only you're draggin' me along with you this time." Jack kept his head down as he stirred his coffee, but he could tell that Bobby was giving him his patented "I'm going to beat the fucking shit out of you" look. Bobby didn't like it when people tried to figure him out, tried to explain why he did the things he did, why he was the way he was. The only person he would ever let talk to him like that was their mother, and even she'd had him blow up in her face more than a couple of times over it.

"Ma always hated it when you did that, you know - left without warning," Jack said quietly, remembering how Evelyn would call up the stairs in the morning for Bobby to come down for breakfast and how her expression would change on those mornings he didn't appear. The corners of her mouth would drop a little and her eyes would grow sad. Not like she'd cry or anything, just look a little defeated. She'd keep the smile for Jack so he wouldn't catch on that she was worried or upset, but he could tell.

Nine times out of ten, Bobby didn't show for breakfast because he was still wasted from the night before or nursing some new injury, but every so often it would be because he had up and left in the middle of the night. There was never any note or warning, just a random phone call that he'd finally remember to make a day or two later, letting Evelyn know he was still alive.

Bobby leaned back in his seat, the pink leather creaking as he moved. He crossed his arms over his chest. "She understood why I had to leave."

Jack shook his head. "No, she wanted you to think she understood, but she didn't, not really."