In My Rearview Mirror, JACK.HUGHES

FIFTEEN

"For God's sake, turn that off," Jack grunts, leading me to wake up. Fuck, it's 7 am.

I stop my alarm, and I hear Jack on the sofa sigh. I shoot out of bed upon noticing missed calls from Braden.

"Shit, Jack, I've got to go," I declare, hastily throwing on last night's outfit. Jack, visibly burdened by remorse, slumps on the sofa with his head in his hands. "I messed up. We drank too much last night," he confesses, seeking redemption. I pay little attention, preoccupied with the realization that my alcohol-fueled escapades are the least of my worries at that moment.

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! What am I going to say to Braden?" I mutter frantically, perching on the edge of the bed.

Jack gets up and crack his back. "I don't see where the problem is. Just don't tell him, like you said, he's not your boyfriend," he suggested with a casual tone, attempting to downplay the situation.

True, Braden wasn't my boyfriend, but he had introduced me as his girl, and I found myself tangled between someone else's legs. Our relationship might lack official labels, but the lines between us had blurred into a semblance of couplehood. 

Despite the moral discord, there was an undeniable allure to the spontaneity of the previous night, the intimacy shared with Jack feeling oddly right, his presence and our connection drowning out the noise of judgment and regret.

"Do you regret yester—" I began, but Jack swiftly interrupted, his tone assertive. "I said what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," he declared, pausing to meet my gaze. "I don't think we should talk about it again. We stay friends, just like yesterday at the club. Like nothing happened."

As he makes his way to the bathroom, turning on the shower, I struggle to reconcile his nonchalant attitude. Jack seems unaffected, as if such encounters were routine for him. Perhaps, it is not for me.

I'm not angry with Jack; instead, embarrassment weighs heavily on me. What transpired between us the previous night is undeniably wrong. The truth stings as I admit it to myself – I have slept with my ex. The realization lingers, casting a shadow over the room, and I can't shake the discomfort that clings to me like a persistent regret.

He glances at me as I grab my purse, and I hurriedly exit his room, wishing him a perfunctory "good day."

Rushing to my own door, I knock with an urgency that mirrors the turmoil within me. Grateful that I hear Brad unlocking the door from the other side, I anxiously wait. As he swings the door open, his face lights up with a palpable sense of relief.

He welcomes me inside, enveloping me in a tight hug that, in contrast to Jack's embrace, feels somewhat unfamiliar. His concern is evident as he holds my face in his hands, searching for an explanation. "Where were you? I woke up at 4 am and realized you weren't back. I totally panicked," he questions, his eyes reflecting a mix of worry and relief.

The truth lingers on the tip of my tongue, an awkward admission that I had been with his new teammate, Jack. The weight of guilt intensifies, overshadowing any justification I could conjure up.

"I was, uh, back at 2 am, and I forgot my key," I stammer, pausing to gesture towards the key still lying on the drawer where I had left it the day before. "I went downstairs to get a new one, but they wouldn't give me one for safety reasons. So, I had to pay for another room," I fabricate, weaving a tale to mask the reality of the night.

Before I can continue, he gently cuts me off with a raised hand, a gesture that mirrors the morning's recurring interruptions. "I believe you, don't worry. I just got scared," he reassures, leaning in to kiss my forehead. The touch, though comforting, only intensifies the internal struggle of concealing the truth.