In My Rearview Mirror, JACK.HUGHES

SEVENTEEN

Morgan's pov

The cold marble tiles underneath me jolt me awake, and as my eyes adjust, I find Jack slouched against the door, seemingly asleep. The fragments of memories begin to coalesce, leaving a strange taste in my mouth. It's like the aftermath of a sandstorm in the Sahara, dry and unsettling. My stomach protests, a tumultuous sensation that refuses to be ignored.

Despite my attempts to will away the nausea, it persists, a relentless presence. I cast a glance at the makeshift bed Jack arranged next to the bathroom.

As I gingerly sit up, the frigid tiles send a chill through me. The taste in my mouth becomes more pronounced, a bitter reminder of a night that now feels like a distant mirage. The scenes from the sports bar, the clinking of glasses, and the laughter all blur into a disorienting fog. I struggle to connect the dots, sensing that crucial pieces of the puzzle are missing.

Only the thought of sitting here makes me uncomfortable. In this unappealing hotel bathroom, the lack of attention to detail and a general air of neglect creates an environment that is far from inviting. 

There's a glass of water right beside me that calls my name. As soon as the refreshing taste of water touches my tongue, I moan with satisfaction causing Jack to wake up. 

"I'm sorry, I came back from the dead," I say as I wipe off my mouth. Jack rubs his eyes, reminiscent of a baby waking up, before letting out a yawn. I watch him get up, and I take the glass in my hand. As I see him pouring me a second glass of water, he smiles at me softly through the mirror.

"You need more," he says, handing me the water. I accept, and he returns in his earlier position against the door. "If you want to go sleep in your bed, you can," I tell him. I close my eyes, but as soon as I do, I feel my head turning, and I open them immediately.

"No, it's way too comfortable here," he jokes.

I look at my hands, and unconsciously, I rub my left ring finger. Today marks one year since I ended my engagement, and even though I should be crying, I've never felt this much relief.

"When was the wedding?" Jack asks, glancing at my finger. I take a deep breath, raising my shoulders, not knowing what to answer. "The wedding wasn't planned yet. I knew it wouldn't happen," I say. Jack nods, seemingly satisfied with my response.

Everyone is getting married now, Jamie and Aubrey..." Jack lists everyone he knows who's getting married in the next few months. "Oh, and Quinn is getting married in June," he adds, shaking his head. I smile because I'm beyond happy to hear the news.

"And here I am, far from getting married. I guess I missed my shot," he says with a small laugh.

"Jack, life is so unpredictable. Look, a year ago I was engaged, and if somebody would've told me that I would be here sitting with you on a crusty hotel bathroom floor, I would've laughed. Well, here I am, laughing as hard as I ever did. We're just characters in its unpredictable script," I joke positively, throwing him the little wet towel that I had on my head earlier.

"Laughing makes me feel like the happiest guy in the world, you know," he says as he throws me the towel back. We laugh for a bit, and I realize that my nausea has been gone for a couple of minutes because he changed my mood.

"Can we keep talking, Jack?"

"Of course."

In the midst of our conversation, Jack takes a moment to reflect, "It feels good to be here, talking like this." His admission warms my heart, and I nod in agreement, "Yes, no more bitterness, just acceptance."