No Two Are Alike

16 | a mulled wine drip

Chloe had never witnessed such a catastrophic clusterfuck in her entire life.

She looked down at the bouquet of red roses in her hand. The flowers were shriveling slightly, the petals curling up in a fetal position. She imagined that — on stage — Jack probably felt very similar. Poor bloke.

"Do you think we still give these to him?" she asked.

Next to her, Logan shook his head.

He was terribly pale. Almost sheet white, in fact. If Chloe didn't know any better, she would have said that he had food poisoning. He certainly hadn't been able to eat very much for lunch.

"Logan?" She nudged him. "You okay?"

He nodded weakly.

He had pulled his knees into his chest, and he was rocking back and forth slightly, like children did when they were trying to self-soothe. Chloe glanced at where the audience was now filing out, presumably rushing to meet the contestants outside the studio.

"Should we go?" she suggested.

He shook his head violently.

"Okay." Chloe swallowed. "I guess we'll just sit here, then."

She glanced at him sideways. Maybe it was a twin thing. Maybe Jack and Logan could actually feel each other's pain, and Logan was experiencing a shut down of all of his internal organs right now.

She looked down at the empty stage.

What the hell had just happened?

Jack had prepared for months for this. No, years, really. He used to make Chloe quiz him on the tube together. He had dominated all of the early rounds, slamming on the buzzer so many times that even Victor had been grudgingly impressed.

Not today though, apparently.

Poor Jack. He must be devastated.

She glanced at the doors.

"I'm going to go check on Jack," she said, patting Logan's shoulder. "You stay here, okay? We'll come back for you."

Logan just stared at the stage.

Chloe raced up the stairs, the bouquet slapping her in the thigh. Guilt made her throat tight. She should have helped Jack practice more. Offered to watch more University Challenge re-runs with popcorn. She'd been so caught up with Logan that she'd completely neglected him recently.

Well, not anymore.

She burst through the doors, scanning the lobby. There was Priya, hugging a pretty woman in a bright pink suit. And Eddie, getting sick in a bin. But where was—?

Ah.

There he was.

She approached cautiously. Jack looked up from his cozy armchair by a fireplace, shifting a backpack in his hands.

"Oh," he said flatly. "It's you."

Chloe tried not to be offended.

"How are you doing?" she asked softly.

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Like I need a strong whisky," Jack muttered. "Or an IV drip filled with mulled wine." He glared at her. "You don't need to look at me like that, Cartwright. I'm not a wounded deer. Look, can you just go? I need some time."

Chloe stared at him. She had prepared herself for tears, or histrionics, or — most likely — Jack curling up like a potato bug and refusing to speak to anyone for days. What she hadn't prepared for was this.