Chapter 44: Chapter 44

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A nauseating mix of worry, pity, and shock pooled deep in her gut. What he said just halted her breathing. Her guess was not far from the truth at all.

But how did his mother die in that psychiatric facility? Nobody told her that Mrs. Roiz had been critically ill. And Darren didn't mention anything over the phone.

"I'm sorry." Jessi sat close to her tightlipped boss. "Sorry about your mom."

Would he mind if she hugged him again? How should she console him? By apologizing for not knowing anything about his mother's condition?

The shock gradually turned into pure sympathy for his emotional state. She should've been more attentive to him. She should've asked if he wanted company, before she let him step out of his truck to see his mom.

Jessi swore inwardly. She'd stupidly assumed it was just a random visit. "Is that why you... Why d'you have bloodstains on your shirt?"

"It's her blood." Jenson snuffled and kept his head down. His left hand clutched the bloodstained sleeve of his sweatshirt. Grief clouded his features.

"Did they tell you what happened to her?"

"Yeah. When I got there."

"I-I thought, they told you over the phone."

"She's schizophrenic," he murmured, eyes still glinting, nostrils flaring. "They said it was suicide." He grimaced and hid his face behind his hand. "Again."

What? Again? Shit. His mother had tried to kill herself before?

"Third time's a charm." He scoffed and smirked for a second.

"Sorry."

"They tried to revive her. Twice."

Oh no.

"But, I just couldn't..." His shoulders shook. Jenson kept his head down, muffling his breathy sobs with his palm.

Jessi stayed put. Her core felt like someone just stabbed her multiple times.

"I just... I-I couldn't look at her anymore." He sniveled. His voice faltered again. "Just too weak. Tired of living. Suffering like that."

"I'm sorry, babe."

"Just ran out of the room. Before they pronounced her dead. Like a useless fucking coward."

As his hate-filled words gripped her chest, she tried to keep still, just waiting for more details, even though her knees already felt weak from all the pain he was trying to process. Seeing him this emotional just...

He was never a whiner or a crier. Jenson was the type to keep his frustrations to himself. And like clockwork, the bindings eventually snapped. The dam broke. Now the tears wouldn't stop coming.

She had to stop pushing.

Clearly the last thing he wanted to do was go into detail about his mother's ordeal. Too much pain. Sadness. Grief.

Any more questions might just worsen the confusion he must be trying to hide.

With bated breath, Jessi leaned in, hesitating to touch his arm. She wanted to give him a long, comforting hug, but her qualms took over.

That was shock, denial, and blistering anger she witnessed back in the parking lot.

He wasn't ready to grieve for his mother. Not yet. No part of him expected to receive that phone call. His mother passing away was the last thing he expected to hear today.

"You need anything?"

"Fuck. I need another drink," he muttered. Jenson got up from the couch.

"No." She followed him to the kitchen.

He walked on and focused on her fridge.

"Hey. No more. You drank a lot, Joss."

"I'm not drunk." Jenson ignored her and opened her fridge. He grabbed another beer can, opened it, then just gulped down the drink. The can was empty in mere seconds.

She could only gawk. "Jeez. You barely breathed."

"I need it," he mumbled, hurling the beer can into the trash bin near the fridge.

Did he really?

"To sleep through the night."

"What? No." Her gut twitched when the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Just drink water."

He glanced at her, his face turning beet red now. Jenson nibbled on his lower lip. No longer fighting back tears, he looked down and cussed in his native tongue.

"Sorry. What?"

"I need a cold shower."

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By now the alcohol in his system must be swimming freely in abundance. It could be impairing his focus and common sense. Not really the best time for a shower. Yet he insisted that he needed it "to sober up".

After internally debating with her conscience, Jessi eventually conceded. No use arguing with a taller, muscular, and way more stubborn drunk guy who paid her bills and helped her keep a roof over her head. "Careful. You might slip." His wobbly, tentative steps almost made her wince. Muttering a quick prayer under her breath, she approached the shower area with a fresh bunch of negative thoughts and a clean towel for him.

The guy leaned against the tiles, slouching, lips pursed, his jaw set. Jenson gazed at her under his dark lashes. His heavy lids were giving in to gravity; he could be seeing double now.

Although the bathroom wasn't too dark, she turned on the lights above the sink just to be sure. "Here. New and clean." She handed him the towel.

"Thanks." His fingers touched her hand when he grabbed the towel, his skin almost feverish.

"You okay?"

"No." He stepped into the bathing area and turned on the showerhead. "But I'll be fine."

"Don't take long."

"Yeah."

She was about to exit the bathroom when he slipped and fell to his knees below the silver knobs. "Shit." Jessi rushed back to his aid.

Why did he have to insist on such an unsafe idea of sobering up?

"Careful," she said louder. She stood next to him and tried to look impassive. "You okay?"

Jenson grinned, cheeks still pinkish. The lukewarm water drenched his clothes. He didn't seem to mind.

"Come on. Up." Jessi leaned over to grab his arm and helped him up.

He clasped her wrist until he was back on his feet. He pulled her close and smirked, droopy eyes sizing her up.

They stood in the shower area. The bathroom stayed dim and cold. It bothered her as much as her thrashing heart, but she should keep calm. It was just the alcohol taking control of his brain—no need to panic.

"Take off your clothes now so you can, um, wash up properly. I'll put them in the washer."

"Dollface," he murmured with a coy smile. He snickered when she only stared. Jenson pulled her in to hug her. "You're like an antidepressant, in human form."

Shit. Just trying to be funny? Or was he actually hitting on her?

While her breathing hitched, Jessi tried to pull away. Her heartbeat only sped up when his embrace tightened.

His warm face pressed onto her cheek, his hand lightly squeezing her hip while his beard scraped her skin. Jenson wouldn't let go, his thighs now touching hers. It felt like he was kissing her neck.

Her loud thoughts turned disturbing. Her breathing grew shallow as his calm breaths nearly lit her face on fire.

Moments like this only worsened her intense attraction to him. The flirty jokes, small smiles, his furtive glances, and his unusually sweet gestures lately...

She was in deep trouble. Shit.

What now? Tell him off? Push him away? Force him to sober up? But how?

He shouldn't be here. Drunk and alone with her. Jenson pulled away to stare at her again, his skin glossy, his beautiful lips pouting. "Why can't you just stay?"

Oh no. This conversation didn't have to happen again. This had to stop now. All of it.

Except...part of her loved the feel of his tight embrace, the softness of his lips on her bare skin, the almost possessive way he held her as if...

"Joss, let go," she muttered, blindly adjusting the water temperature. The back of her dress was already damp.

A dull sigh was his response. Jenson didn't move an inch.

"Take off your clothes so you can wash up. Then go to bed." She tried a stern tone. When he didn't let go, she pulled away to look him in the eyes. She gripped his shoulder to shake him lightly. "Hey."

"You're letting me sleep in your bed?"

Did it really seem weird? "You're too tall for my couch."

"But what about..." The guy wrapped his strong arms tight around her waist and back, keeping her chest and stomach pressed onto his warmth. Not the first time he hugged her this way, but, right now, every part of her felt much more sensitive to his touch. Was he plainly teasing her? Or the alcohol was solely to blame. Probably.

"What?"

"Your bed's not big enough for us." He grinned. Now his calloused palms cupped her face.

"Definitely not." She bit on her lip to contain her laugh. Despite what her morals dictated, her just-a-harmless-crush feelings had already morphed into a pesky longing to be this close to him. It shouldn't have. But it happened.

He just wouldn't let go of her. Why? On the bright side, he seemed to be in a much better mood.

"Didn't think you'd be a happy drunk."

"Not really." Jenson got rid of his smirk and drew his lip between his teeth. His lashes fluttered. His brows and forehead wrinkled. Another sigh escaped his beer-smelling mouth. "You just make me feel better."

Oh no. Was that a pick-up line or what? Was he joking? Or deliberately teasing her now?

"I'll step out now so you can—" Jessi backed off, slowly pulling his hands away from her face. When he frowned, she averted her eyes and held in a sigh of frustration. A paralyzing mix of pity and indecision diluted her courage.

Jenson pulled her closer every time she tried to back off, as if he didn't want her to leave him alone in here. His shirt was already soaked. He took it off and just dumped it on the floor.

She nearly gawked at it. Her breath caught at the mere sight of him, standing too close to her, all wet and half-naked. "Joss..." She moved her head away from his face when he pulled her sleeves down to bare her shoulders.

"Shit." He sighed, as if bothered by what he saw. His warm hands clasped the top of her arms. Though his eyes looked ready for bed, the inebriated look on his face gradually faded. His thumb traced the curve of her neck and shoulder, his touch both gentle and eager. "Why are you so fucking beautiful?"

“Jenson—”

"What?" he muttered with another sigh. "You want me to stop?" He touched her chin. His other hand pressed against the wall, perhaps to keep himself from swaying. Then he swiftly unbuttoned his pants without taking his eyes off her. Not at all acting drunk or playing with her. Otherwise he wouldn’t let it get this far.

Although difficult, she tried her best to ignore his nudity. She turned off the showerhead. "Be quick. Then go to bed. It's late." She fixed her dress to hide her damp shoulders. Her breath hitched again when he gripped her arm before she could take another step.

Was he stopping her from leaving?

He pulled her to him again. Jenson made her lean against the wall, trapping her with his muscular arms and bare legs, barefoot as she was, now only covered up by his boxer briefs. The black fabric clung to his muscular thighs.

Drenched like her dress. She drew in a deep breath when he leaned in till his nose touched her cheek. Every bit of her coiled. Her pulse and heartbeat went wild as his gaze focused on her mouth, then her bare neck, down to her clothes that stuck to her body.

The skin of his neck moved. Jenson kept staring, as though it was all he wanted to do all night.

“Hey. Quick shower. Then get some sleep. Okay? The bed's yours.” She tried to wiggle her arm out of his grip, even though a bigger part of her begged to stay trapped in his embrace.

But he still wouldn't let go of her. Jenson shut and locked the shower door. Did he think it would stop her from leaving him alone in here?

Shoot. It was getting out of control. It wasn't even the slightest bit funny anymore.  "Shut this down now before you crossed a line you shouldn't," her common sense dictated.

But her heart didn't think the same. Jessi took a deep breath, the second thoughts only ruining her attempt to seem levelheaded. Unaffected. Cold and practical. "If you wanna go home, I’ll call a cab in a few."

"No." He gripped the sides of her hips and pressed his soft lips on her shoulder. "I wanna stay here with you."

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