Real Bad Things(31)

He didn’t ask any follow-up questions when she mentioned the loss of a job and a girlfriend and the discovery of Warren’s body all in one month. There was no sarcastic exclamation of That sucks! Only a lifted eyebrow and a knowing nod. Taps on his phone screen to check the time—and presumably messages from other people besides her he chose to ignore. Jane’s friends and exes had large families, siblings with whom they shared laughter and life details—or at least funny stories about how much they hated each other.

“What happened between you and Diane?” she asked, trying to be nonchalant so he wouldn’t shut down. “Why’d you stop coming around?”

“Been busy.” He focused on chewing but then added, “I left shortly after you.”

“When?”

“After your release. Went to live with a friend in another town. His parents kept a camper trailer in the backyard. They let me stay there as long as I paid a little rent.” He must’ve seen the question on her face. “I took on your shifts at Family Fun.”

Jason had had this whole other life she didn’t know about. He had never told her. She felt like she’d suddenly lost a limb, part of her literally missing.

“Why’d you leave home?”

“Well,” he said, considering, “it wasn’t exactly pleasant there. We killed the one she wanted to keep.” The way he said the words—his use of we—chilled her.

Jason didn’t offer any additional thoughts, leaving her to consider what life must’ve been like for him after she’d left. At least he’d had a friend and a place to stay. And a job. And Angie. Why hadn’t Jane stayed? She could’ve gotten an apartment. Taken care of him. But she’d been too freaked out by it all, that nickname following her around, people staring at her, watching her every move.

Finally, she worked up the nerve to ask the question that nagged her. “Are you avoiding me? Because you think I might—”

“No,” he laughed—nervously, it seemed. “No, of course not. I’ve been busy. There’s this project at work.” He checked his phone again. “You know how it is.”

She did. But she also thought that he might extend a bit more courtesy toward her, understand the weight of what she faced on his behalf and put down his phone.

While waiting for his brush-off to stop stoking her anger, she noticed one of the cemetery workers who waited to put the casket in the ground kept shifting his position from behind a tree to get a better look at them. He walked toward them now, and her adrenaline hit overdrive, thinking the guy meant to start some shit.

“Excuse me,” the guy said to Jason. Anxiety rushed through her. She hated conversation with strangers. Unplanned visitors. Random people who walked up out of nowhere in a cemetery. She liked to consume her drama from afar, or her couch. She guessed she couldn’t expect any of that now. “Are you Jason Tran?”

Jason’s face lit up in a way Jane hadn’t seen, ever. He held out his hand and the guy broke into a giant smile. She only caught a few of the words they spoke: match, Fayetteville, favorite, awesome. When the guy left—after he’d taken a selfie with Jason, in a cemetery—the guy’s words sunk in.

“Jason Tran?” she asked, confused. “Is that why I can’t find you online?”

That charming smile dissolved, and he focused on his energy beans. “Why do you need to look me up online?” More nervous laughter followed. “You have my phone number.”

Her nose started to bleed again, so she wiped it on her shirt. At least it was black. He dug around in his pocket and offered her his handkerchief. She declined.

“Which you barely answer.” She slipped a hand in his pocket to steal his energy beans, sneaking his candy like when they were kids. But he blocked her hand with his arm.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” he said, possibly remembering she’d just been pummeled.

“Dang,” she laughed. “You never used to catch me.”

“Yes, I did. You’re thinking of Angie.”

“No, that was you.” He gave her a look. Had she mistaken them? “Anyway. What was that about? A match? What kind of match?”

“MMA.” She must’ve made a face because he clarified. “Mixed martial arts.”

That explained the block. No wonder he ate amped-up jelly beans. He’d be much better off in prison than her. “Hmm. Martial arts?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” One of her exes had always joke complained about how white people assumed she knew kung fu. “Is that, like, your stage name?”

“No.” He quickly poured the rest of the energy beans into his mouth. Hoarding them before she got a chance to steal more. There he was. Her little brother. Ensuring no one touched his food. Just like her. “It’s my name.”

“No, you’re Jason Mooney.”

“No,” he said, a note of irritation layered onto the lilt in his voice. “That’s your last name. Not mine.”

“Why would you change your name?”

“To honor my father.” He raised an eyebrow and gave her a look. “Don’t roll your eyes.”

“I didn’t.” She had. They were fatherless, the both of them. Together. “You don’t even know him.”