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Beau moved even closer. He was almost nose to nose with Jackson, whose anger was flaring the closer Beau got. Short breaths, nostrils flaring.
“Back up, Beau.”
Jimmy stood up and shifted a little bit closer to the two of them.
“Not going to back up. I think I’ve got this now: it has something to do with Jenna. Hot or cold?”
“Cold.” Jackson could hear the lie in his voice.
Beau laughed and Jackson felt his arms tensing up, every muscle in his body taut like strings on a guitar. They were wound too tightly. Any minute he knew those strings would snap.
“Here’s what I think,” Beau said. He took off his sunglasses, so close to Jackson that his hand almost brushed his cheek. Jackson’s muscles coiled even further. “I think that you need to get back in your car, turn around, and just go home.”
“What if I don’t?”
Beau glanced back at Jimmy. “We’ll help you get back in the car.”
“No.”
“If the girl is worth it to you, you’ll get back in the car.”
“I need to go.”
“No one is ever impressed with a bully,” Beau said.
“I’m not a bully.”
“Then why are you about to get into it with Steve?”
“He was cheating on Anna.”
Beau froze. “Do you … did he—do you mean that something happened with Steve and Jenna?”
“It doesn’t matter now. Get back in your car, Beau. Don’t follow me. You too, Jimmy. I don’t need this right now.”
“We are exactly what you need, Jax. I want to stop you from doing something stupid that you’ll regret later. Let’s talk this out.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“I know you like her, but if Jenna kissed Steve, is she even worth it?”
Snap.
Before he realized what he had done, Jackson’s fist was throbbing. Beau had a hand cupped over his cheek, standing back a few feet but still standing. Jimmy right next to him with an arm on his shoulder and the other two guys out of the SUV, all facing Jackson.
All the anger and the vise-like pressure had deflated with the punch. Jackson staggered back a few feet to sit on the front bumper of his Jeep. Cool shame settled over his skin.
He had just hit his best friend in the face.
The weight of knowing this, of seeing just how fast his body reacted without forethought, sank into his chest. He put his head between his knees, panting. His eyes were hot with tears as the adrenaline began seeping out of his body, leaving him with an echoing empty feeling.
A hand touched his shoulder and he startled, knocking it away. But the hand grabbed his own. Jackson jerked his head up.
Beau, cheek already swollen, red where Jackson knew it would later be purple, stood in front of him, holding his hand. His eyes weren’t angry, but compassionate. Somehow that was worse. Jackson looked away, toward where traffic passing by was slowing to watch them.
“Do you feel better?” Someone else might have said this sarcastically. But Beau’s tone was gentle, his words kind.
“I feel horrible.” Jackson looked down at his feet, trying to pull his hand away. Beau would not let him go, but crouched down before him, boots crunching on the gravel. He forced Jackson to meet his eyes. “I can’t believe that I hit you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”