talking to the asshole. But it might have been Grams talking to him all the same.
“Yes,” he agreed. And hunched his shoulders. Felt sorry for her. And Grams. He hated knowing he was no different from the asshole.
Aurelia’s scream of shock made him jerk up. It was a second, a moment. It happened so suddenly that he nearly shouted too. He saw first that she was tearing off her heels, throwing them down on the sidewalk like a madwoman. Then he saw the man, running like a damn quail—a skinny, waddler of a man in running pants and a faded Aerosmith T-shirt—and Jack saw a flash of red in his hand. He understood at once.
Without so much as a thought in his head, Jack took off after the man. He ignored Aurelia’s pleas and shouted at her to stay back. He saw it all as he slowly caught up to the quail. Just a couple at the railing in the fading light. Not another soul in the vicinity. And a free phone he could sell, just lying on the ground.
Jack had heard Aurelia’s scream. He wasn’t the smartest freshman in lit class, but he had read Wuthering Heights and all that crap. He knew Aurelia was going to forgive that guy, the asshole who didn’t deserve her. And stupidly, that phone was her lifeline to him. And even more stupidly (or heroically? tragically?), Jack was going to save it—him—for her.
He was on the man’s heels now. And they were one block away from the park, running down a deserted street on a Sunday evening. Traffic here and there, but no one on the street. What the hell was he going to do when he caught up to the quail? Take him down? Dang, this guy was a fast little bird.
Jack grabbed a hold of the quail’s shirt. Damn thing stunk of sweat and fear. And then they were down, tumbling, scraping along the pavement. He felt the scratches on his arms, his chin, his palms. He thought he much preferred watching this sort of street tackle on TV. It was a little less unpleasant when it was somebody else’s blood.
Then he lost his air.
He heard a scream somewhere, ricocheting off the buildings, slamming him with a fear that seemed to originate outside of him, though he was sure he should be feeling a bit more of that now that he really couldn’t breathe. It felt like his lungs were collapsing in on him, like they were about to drop to the ground underneath him and spill out into the gravel and dust. He couldn’t move at all. He heard the clatter of that damn phone, painfully loud as it fell next to his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man’s running shoes making off again, down another street, his quail legs moving like the wind.
Then he looked up at the night through the buildings and pressed his palm to his chest. But he felt something there, something foreign, something hard and cold. You’ve got to be kidding, he thought. And if he had had any breath, he’d have a good laugh.
“Don’t touch it!” Aurelia whispered, and then she was hovering over him.
And he rather liked that it was him now, not some TV actor faking it. Because he’d done it, hadn’t he? Done a bit of good. The phone was safe. Aurelia was safe. He said he’d do anything for her. Or rather thought it—but it was the same thing really.
“You shouldn’t have done that. It’s probably broken anyway. And—why’d you do it?”
The Proclaimers’ song lyrics ran through his head then, as the breaths came slower and slower and the fire in his chest burned hotter and hotter. This was it and he knew it, that moment of triumph or regret. His hands and feet were turning to ice.
“Don’t—don’t go back . . . to him.” Damn, it was hard to talk.
She took up his hand, and he felt her warm fingers curling around his sweaty ones. He actually saw tears fill up her eyes. He’d never even seen her cry for the asshole. “I won’t. I won’t.” She shook her head, tried to say something. Stopped.
He closed his eyes, tried to focus on his breathing. This really hurt bad. He wasn’t sure he liked it after all. All he could hear was his own breathing. His vision started to get cloudy. The taste of blood started to come up through his mouth.
He had to say it or it would be too late. “Wanted to show you we’re not all like that. Loved you all this year, you know. Wanted . . . to show you.”
She bit her lip hard, and he saw the smudge of lipstick again. He wasn’t afraid now. He reached up, though his arm felt like lead, and touched away the color.
“I don’t even know your name.”
He felt the left corner of his mouth rise up. “It’s Jack.”
“But I’m not worth this—this—”
“You are. To me.”
Aurelia shook her head.
He was having trouble keeping his eyes open now. And the fire was much too hot. And the blood—it felt sticky, soaking through his T-shirt. He could really use a shower.
He heard Gram’s words again . . . Aurelia’s words. “One day you’ll wish you had.”
He took a last breath. “No regrets now.”
Aurelia smiled and touched his cheek.
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