Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
It didn’t matter because the book already existed. As his editor, Hailey, had said on her Post-it, soon it would be out in the world. And the fact that Davis had turned out to be a shit, that the way Jack had thought his life would go had shifted in the space of an email, that chances were he’d never see Davis again...none of that mattered either. Not really.
Jack realized with a joyful twist of shock that he could still have all of it. All the research and the conversation, the talking about ideas. Of course he could. It was wanting to do both the writing and the illustrations that had sparked Davis’ betrayal in the first place. Jack had already been on the edge of trying it. He’d just gotten derailed.
And there were other people he could talk about ideas with. He pictured telling Simon about the layout of a page he was working on as they walked the pack in the evening. Simon would have great insight about layout from a graphic design standpoint. He would ask thoughtful questions. He would never dismiss ideas out of hand. Draw Puddles making cookies.
He imagined walking the pack with Simon every night, talking about everything. They’d roam for miles, then come home calm and tired and fall into bed to tire themselves out even more. They’d wake and walk the pack in the cool morning air before each turning to their work for the day. When Simon needed a break, he’d wander into Jack’s office and rest his chin on Jack’s shoulder. When Jack needed a break he’d chop wood for the fire and then lure Simon into a shower with him.
Fuck, it sounded like heaven.
He was startled out of his daydreams about Simon by Simon himself. The animals all perked up at the sound of the car pulling up and Jack sprang carefully to his feet.
When Simon opened the door and saw Jack standing there, he smiled instantly.
“Notice anything different?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow. He was giddy with excitement and relief and something that felt like possibility. “Look, Ma, no cast.”
“Wow—”
Simon hardly got the word out before Jack grabbed him in a hug and then spun him around, added weight on his leg be damned. He felt as unstoppable as a goddamn superhero.
Simon clung to his shoulders when Jack set him down, looking a little dizzy, then he grinned.
“Your leg’s okay?”
“Yup. Good as new.”
Well, it would be.
He towed Simon over to the couch and plopped down. The animals settled back down. Simon rested a hand lightly on his previously casted shin, the first time he’d ever felt Simon’s touch there.
“You look so happy,” Simon said.
“I am.” Jack couldn’t stop smiling. He flopped back on the couch. “It’s been driving me fucking crazy not to be able to do all the things I usually do. Grocery shopping and going to get a pizza and going for runs. Picking things up off the damn floor. I haven’t felt like myself, you know? And now we can actually do things. We won’t have to be trapped inside this damn house.”
Simon patted his leg tentatively.
“And, man, I can’t wait to walk the dogs and Pirate again. It’s been so long. And you know what else I can’t wait for?” Jack dropped his voice and pushed himself closer to Simon.
“Hm?”
“I can’t wait to fuck you on every surface of the house.”
“Eep” was what came out of Simon’s mouth, which usually portended good things where sex was concerned. But now Simon’s jaw was clenched, his skin pale. He was staring straight ahead blankly.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked. “You okay?”
Simon stood up, every movement stiff and controlled. He opened his mouth, then closed it, and Jack could practically see all the words warring to get out. But the trap of Simon’s throat got them.
“Are you sick?” Jack stood too and reached out a hand, but for the first time, Simon didn’t take it.
Simon shook his head but he’d gone pale.
Jack knew he didn’t understand what Simon went through. He knew that even when he was pretty sure he was getting it he was not getting it. But he thought he did a fairly good job of giving Simon the space to feel however he felt and know Jack would still be there. But these moments—when Simon felt a thousand miles away, when Simon seemed in danger from his own mind and body, when Simon didn’t reach out to him—left Jack unmoored.
“Do you want to text?” he asked.
Simon just blinked, like the words made no sense.
“Wanna write it down?”
Jack grabbed his sketchbook and pen and held them out to Simon. Simon didn’t take them, but he also didn’t leave.
“Do you just need some time?” Jack asked.
When Simon still didn’t answer, Jack talked to himself instead.
He’s not doing this on purpose. He’s not ignoring you. This isn’t about you.