chocolate 21. pride
chocolate 21. pride
story: second chances ; rodeo summer . wordcount: 1800. rating: pg13.
"Yes. I want to punch you in the face. Get out of the truck." Mike and Jerry...settle their differences. But like not you'd think.
notes: other rodeo summer stuff might provide context. for the summer challenge, +1.5k for team me & shayna!
The folding chair creaks along the porch slats as Susie takes a seat. "Hey," she says, setting a dirty boot against the rail. She pops her can of soda open, then presses its chilly aluminum against her forehead.
"Hey," Mike says. "Are you done?"
"Oh yeah. Calling it a day." Susie's eyes are closed. She hums. "I think I've been out in the sun too long."
Mike glances down at his own soda can, still half full-but growing warm in his hand. He sets it down by their feet.
"Can I ask you something?"
Susie opens an eye. "Shoot."
"Is Jerry always like this?"
Susie laughs, takes a swig of her soda. "Yeah. Kind of."
"Kind of?"
"Well...he's been in a mood lately or something," she says. Another drink of soda, then she grimaces, baring her teeth. "This is worse than usual."
Mike dips his head and frowns at his shoes. "Maybe he just really hates me."
"No, it's not you. He's been like that since before you showed up. I don't know what his problem is. I heard Peter chew him out for being distracted yesterday."
"Really? What do you think his problem is?"
"I don't. Think about it, I mean. I find it easier to just avoid him when he's like this."
"Yeah and...you're not rooming with him."
Her nose wrinkles when she smiles. "That helps, yeah," she says. "Lucky you."
Right, Mike thinks, lucky me. The odds of making peace with Jerry are revealing themselves to be very low.
He watches the sun glint off Susie's soda can as she drains the rest in one swallow. And he tries not to think about Jerry.
"Let's go." Jerry is impatient, drumming his palms against the steering wheel.
Mike doesn't answer him or put down his phone. The last of the voicemail messages are spooling in his ear, making him feel a little homesick or maybe just queasy. It's so weird to hear from Lonnie of all people-out here in Wyoming, where there's only cell reception in town. Where communication is a luxury.
He's still looking at the phone as he climbs into the truck and Jerry revs the engine; for a second it seems like he's going to take off before Mike's all the way inside. Shooting him a dirty look, Mike pulls his legs into the cab and shuts the door. "Sorry," he says without meaning it, "didn't realize we were in such a hurry."
Jerry doesn't answer, just steers the truck over the speed bumps of the parking lot with a jerk of the wheel. Mike grabs for his unfastened seat belt, raising his voice over the din of the engine. "Hey! What's your problem?"
When Jerry doesn't answer, Mike sighs loudly and thumps his fist against the door. Steeling himself for a half hour of silence as the truck barrels back towards the ranch.
It's weird really: no snide remarks or lightly veiled insults for the entire ride.
This is worse than usual, Susie had said. Well, let's hope so.
When Jerry pulls through the ranch's gates, he slams on the brakes. "Get out," he says.
Mike flips the lock on his door. "Gladly."
"I'll unload the supplies by myself," Jerry says, but Mike's already grabbed one of the plastic Wal-Mart bags, so he makes a swipe for it. "I said I'll get it!"
Mike yanks it back but Jerry's fist catches the plastic and the bag tears between them, depositing a bag of flour in Mike's lap which also bursts, showering him with powder.
"What's your fucking problem?" Mike demands, shoving the torn bag away.
Jerry throws up his hands, letting out a sound of disgust. "I told you to let me get it," he snaps, lip pulling back in a sneer. He grabs ripped shopping bag away before Mike can touch it.
"Hey, that was your fault-"
"Look, you've done enough damage, okay? Why don't you go fag it up somewhere else?"
"What?"
Throwing open the door, Mike leaps from the cab and circles the truck, stopping at the drivers side door. He can't remember ever being so pissed as he shrugs off his flour-covered shirt. Tossing it in a ball on the ground, he reaches for the door and yanks it open. "Get out of the truck."
Jerry sits there frozen, one hand still gripping the wheel. "What? Why?"
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mike realizes he hasn't thought this one through but, really, he can't make himself care.
"Because I'm going to kick your ass," he says.
Jerry's still not not moving; even his mouth is frozen in an 'O'. "What?" he says finally, again.
"Get out of the truck."
"What do you mean?" Jerry laughs weirdly, like it's catching in his throat. "You mean like...you want to fight?"
"Yes. I want to punch you in the face. Get out of the truck."
Jerry's expression changes suddenly and Mike feels his anger slide back into confusion. For a second, Jerry looks like he's about to cry or something, biting his lip as he tightens his fist around the steering wheel. "I don't-" he starts, then cuts himself off. "I...okay, sorry. I'm sorry. Okay?"
Mike's turn to be stunned into silence; he stands by the truck, letting his arms fall back to his sides. "You're..."
"Sorry," Jerry repeats. "Really. I didn't mean it."
"Oh..." Out of all the scenarios Mike ran through his head, this is not one of them. He's not sure what he's supposed to say. He settles on, "Okay."
Jerry dips his head, expression unreadable. He swallows hard and his voice sounds strained when he says, "Would...would you go in the house already?"
In a haze of confusion, Mike goes.
Jerry doesn't say much during dinner, and then he disappears.
Mike tries not to notice he's gone. After the dinner dishes are taken care of, Peter starts a fire in the pit outside and Mike brings out coffee for himself and his father, and takes a seat in the circle. He's tired, but he appreciates the moment-listening to Peter and his dad talk shop and watching the flecks of burning embers dance up into the night sky. He doesn't tell his father that he tried to take his advice. He's not going to dwell on Jerry.
Soon, the metal coffee cups are empty and Mike uses the excuse say goodnight and take them inside.
Jerry's in the kitchen now, where Joyce is rolling out a pie crust. He's perched on one of the bar, peeling an apple with bored, mechanical knife strokes. He barely looks up.
"I'm going to bed," Mike says.
"Good night, dear," says Joyce.
Jerry lets the peeled apple roll into the bowl on the counter and reaches for another one.
Mike goes up to the loft and falls asleep before ten.
Hey, are you awake?
Hey, Mike, are you awake?
At first, Mike thinks he's still asleep, half-hopes he's just dreaming, but then he isn't. His head jerks up from the pillow. Jerry's sitting up on his bed, blocking the thin light from the window.
"You awake?" Jerry asks again.
"What?" Mike says; he wants to sound annoyed but he just sounds groggy. Yes, he's awake. Now.
Jerry makes a sort of hesitant um sound. He swallows. Says nothing.
Jesus. Mike considers chucking his pillow at Jerry's head, but that would leave him without a pillow. He might start to fantasize about pushing Jerry over the edge of the loft. "What? Why did you wake me up?"
Jerry swallows again, loud in the silence of the house. "What happened with your, um...ex?"
Okay, Mike thinks, on second thought maybe he is actually dreaming. The best answer he can fathom is an articulate, "Huh?"
"With your ex," Jerry repeats. "What happened? Was it bad?"
Silently, Mike reaches out to pull the cord on the night-stand lamp. He squints when the light comes on, and Jerry immediately twists away. He turns his face from the light, but Mike catches a glimpse of it-pale, except for the skin around his eyes.
"Were you...crying?" Mike asks.
"No." Jerry wipes at his face with his sleeve. His cell phone is in his hand. And there's no reception out here. Mike's too bleary to make sense of that.
"What happened, Jerry?" he asks.
"Are you going to answer my question?"
Mike sighs, scrubbing at his eyes with his palms. "Okay, fine. It wasn't that bad. It was mutual. Sort of. I don't know. Why are you asking me?"
Jerry balls one of his hands into a fist and presses it against his mouth. He's staring down into a dark corner of the floor and frowning so hard he looks like he's about to hurt himself. Mike watches his shoulders hitch and fall and he wants to ask Are you crying now? but it seems like a bad time to be cynical even if he thinks he's entitled.
"Are you okay?" he asks instead.
Jerry hides his face in his hand. "Shari was cheating on me."
"Your...girlfriend?" Any previous knowledge here would have been helpful.
"She dumped me," Jerry says. "She...she was seeing this other guy.
Yeah, that sounds like cheating.
"And so she broke it off," Jerry continues. "Texted me to let me know."
Rubbing his eyes again, Mike sits up. "I'm...sorry," he says. "Do you...want to talk about it?"
"No," Jerry says quickly. He sniffs, swiping his nose. "I just... I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
Mike tries not to make a face. Advice-giving probably isn't his strong suit anyway, not when he's groggy, not when this is the first he's heard of the whole situation.
Not when it's Jerry.
A tiny part of him wants to be vindictive, to quip, well, karma and go back to sleep but he actually feels bad now. Stupid Jerry.
Mike sighs again. "You're not supposed to do anything," he says finally. "You just...keep going. And you get over it. Eventually."
And finally, Jerry turns his face back towards the light; he still looks pained, but calmer now. "Sorry," he says quietly, "I didn't mean to bother you."
Mike doesn't know if he means tonight or the past week, but he finds himself saying, "It's okay."
When he's just about to drift off, Jerry's voice stirs him awake again.
"So your break-up or whatever...it really wasn't that bad?"
This time, Mike feels entitled to pretend he's asleep.
YEAH THIS WAS A LONG TIME COMING.
Also if you're like "damn, why doesn't Mike hang out with Susie more? she seems so much cooler than Jerry" it's because she's not on the ranch all that often. IDK why I just shared that since it's probably obvious. Derp. I'll drink more wine now.
story: second chances ; rodeo summer . wordcount: 1800. rating: pg13.
"Yes. I want to punch you in the face. Get out of the truck." Mike and Jerry...settle their differences. But like not you'd think.
notes: other rodeo summer stuff might provide context. for the summer challenge, +1.5k for team me & shayna!
The folding chair creaks along the porch slats as Susie takes a seat. "Hey," she says, setting a dirty boot against the rail. She pops her can of soda open, then presses its chilly aluminum against her forehead.
"Hey," Mike says. "Are you done?"
"Oh yeah. Calling it a day." Susie's eyes are closed. She hums. "I think I've been out in the sun too long."
Mike glances down at his own soda can, still half full-but growing warm in his hand. He sets it down by their feet.
"Can I ask you something?"
Susie opens an eye. "Shoot."
"Is Jerry always like this?"
Susie laughs, takes a swig of her soda. "Yeah. Kind of."
"Kind of?"
"Well...he's been in a mood lately or something," she says. Another drink of soda, then she grimaces, baring her teeth. "This is worse than usual."
Mike dips his head and frowns at his shoes. "Maybe he just really hates me."
"No, it's not you. He's been like that since before you showed up. I don't know what his problem is. I heard Peter chew him out for being distracted yesterday."
"Really? What do you think his problem is?"
"I don't. Think about it, I mean. I find it easier to just avoid him when he's like this."
"Yeah and...you're not rooming with him."
Her nose wrinkles when she smiles. "That helps, yeah," she says. "Lucky you."
Right, Mike thinks, lucky me. The odds of making peace with Jerry are revealing themselves to be very low.
He watches the sun glint off Susie's soda can as she drains the rest in one swallow. And he tries not to think about Jerry.
"Let's go." Jerry is impatient, drumming his palms against the steering wheel.
Mike doesn't answer him or put down his phone. The last of the voicemail messages are spooling in his ear, making him feel a little homesick or maybe just queasy. It's so weird to hear from Lonnie of all people-out here in Wyoming, where there's only cell reception in town. Where communication is a luxury.
He's still looking at the phone as he climbs into the truck and Jerry revs the engine; for a second it seems like he's going to take off before Mike's all the way inside. Shooting him a dirty look, Mike pulls his legs into the cab and shuts the door. "Sorry," he says without meaning it, "didn't realize we were in such a hurry."
Jerry doesn't answer, just steers the truck over the speed bumps of the parking lot with a jerk of the wheel. Mike grabs for his unfastened seat belt, raising his voice over the din of the engine. "Hey! What's your problem?"
When Jerry doesn't answer, Mike sighs loudly and thumps his fist against the door. Steeling himself for a half hour of silence as the truck barrels back towards the ranch.
It's weird really: no snide remarks or lightly veiled insults for the entire ride.
This is worse than usual, Susie had said. Well, let's hope so.
When Jerry pulls through the ranch's gates, he slams on the brakes. "Get out," he says.
Mike flips the lock on his door. "Gladly."
"I'll unload the supplies by myself," Jerry says, but Mike's already grabbed one of the plastic Wal-Mart bags, so he makes a swipe for it. "I said I'll get it!"
Mike yanks it back but Jerry's fist catches the plastic and the bag tears between them, depositing a bag of flour in Mike's lap which also bursts, showering him with powder.
"What's your fucking problem?" Mike demands, shoving the torn bag away.
Jerry throws up his hands, letting out a sound of disgust. "I told you to let me get it," he snaps, lip pulling back in a sneer. He grabs ripped shopping bag away before Mike can touch it.
"Hey, that was your fault-"
"Look, you've done enough damage, okay? Why don't you go fag it up somewhere else?"
"What?"
Throwing open the door, Mike leaps from the cab and circles the truck, stopping at the drivers side door. He can't remember ever being so pissed as he shrugs off his flour-covered shirt. Tossing it in a ball on the ground, he reaches for the door and yanks it open. "Get out of the truck."
Jerry sits there frozen, one hand still gripping the wheel. "What? Why?"
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mike realizes he hasn't thought this one through but, really, he can't make himself care.
"Because I'm going to kick your ass," he says.
Jerry's still not not moving; even his mouth is frozen in an 'O'. "What?" he says finally, again.
"Get out of the truck."
"What do you mean?" Jerry laughs weirdly, like it's catching in his throat. "You mean like...you want to fight?"
"Yes. I want to punch you in the face. Get out of the truck."
Jerry's expression changes suddenly and Mike feels his anger slide back into confusion. For a second, Jerry looks like he's about to cry or something, biting his lip as he tightens his fist around the steering wheel. "I don't-" he starts, then cuts himself off. "I...okay, sorry. I'm sorry. Okay?"
Mike's turn to be stunned into silence; he stands by the truck, letting his arms fall back to his sides. "You're..."
"Sorry," Jerry repeats. "Really. I didn't mean it."
"Oh..." Out of all the scenarios Mike ran through his head, this is not one of them. He's not sure what he's supposed to say. He settles on, "Okay."
Jerry dips his head, expression unreadable. He swallows hard and his voice sounds strained when he says, "Would...would you go in the house already?"
In a haze of confusion, Mike goes.
Jerry doesn't say much during dinner, and then he disappears.
Mike tries not to notice he's gone. After the dinner dishes are taken care of, Peter starts a fire in the pit outside and Mike brings out coffee for himself and his father, and takes a seat in the circle. He's tired, but he appreciates the moment-listening to Peter and his dad talk shop and watching the flecks of burning embers dance up into the night sky. He doesn't tell his father that he tried to take his advice. He's not going to dwell on Jerry.
Soon, the metal coffee cups are empty and Mike uses the excuse say goodnight and take them inside.
Jerry's in the kitchen now, where Joyce is rolling out a pie crust. He's perched on one of the bar, peeling an apple with bored, mechanical knife strokes. He barely looks up.
"I'm going to bed," Mike says.
"Good night, dear," says Joyce.
Jerry lets the peeled apple roll into the bowl on the counter and reaches for another one.
Mike goes up to the loft and falls asleep before ten.
Hey, are you awake?
Hey, Mike, are you awake?
At first, Mike thinks he's still asleep, half-hopes he's just dreaming, but then he isn't. His head jerks up from the pillow. Jerry's sitting up on his bed, blocking the thin light from the window.
"You awake?" Jerry asks again.
"What?" Mike says; he wants to sound annoyed but he just sounds groggy. Yes, he's awake. Now.
Jerry makes a sort of hesitant um sound. He swallows. Says nothing.
Jesus. Mike considers chucking his pillow at Jerry's head, but that would leave him without a pillow. He might start to fantasize about pushing Jerry over the edge of the loft. "What? Why did you wake me up?"
Jerry swallows again, loud in the silence of the house. "What happened with your, um...ex?"
Okay, Mike thinks, on second thought maybe he is actually dreaming. The best answer he can fathom is an articulate, "Huh?"
"With your ex," Jerry repeats. "What happened? Was it bad?"
Silently, Mike reaches out to pull the cord on the night-stand lamp. He squints when the light comes on, and Jerry immediately twists away. He turns his face from the light, but Mike catches a glimpse of it-pale, except for the skin around his eyes.
"Were you...crying?" Mike asks.
"No." Jerry wipes at his face with his sleeve. His cell phone is in his hand. And there's no reception out here. Mike's too bleary to make sense of that.
"What happened, Jerry?" he asks.
"Are you going to answer my question?"
Mike sighs, scrubbing at his eyes with his palms. "Okay, fine. It wasn't that bad. It was mutual. Sort of. I don't know. Why are you asking me?"
Jerry balls one of his hands into a fist and presses it against his mouth. He's staring down into a dark corner of the floor and frowning so hard he looks like he's about to hurt himself. Mike watches his shoulders hitch and fall and he wants to ask Are you crying now? but it seems like a bad time to be cynical even if he thinks he's entitled.
"Are you okay?" he asks instead.
Jerry hides his face in his hand. "Shari was cheating on me."
"Your...girlfriend?" Any previous knowledge here would have been helpful.
"She dumped me," Jerry says. "She...she was seeing this other guy.
Yeah, that sounds like cheating.
"And so she broke it off," Jerry continues. "Texted me to let me know."
Rubbing his eyes again, Mike sits up. "I'm...sorry," he says. "Do you...want to talk about it?"
"No," Jerry says quickly. He sniffs, swiping his nose. "I just... I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
Mike tries not to make a face. Advice-giving probably isn't his strong suit anyway, not when he's groggy, not when this is the first he's heard of the whole situation.
Not when it's Jerry.
A tiny part of him wants to be vindictive, to quip, well, karma and go back to sleep but he actually feels bad now. Stupid Jerry.
Mike sighs again. "You're not supposed to do anything," he says finally. "You just...keep going. And you get over it. Eventually."
And finally, Jerry turns his face back towards the light; he still looks pained, but calmer now. "Sorry," he says quietly, "I didn't mean to bother you."
Mike doesn't know if he means tonight or the past week, but he finds himself saying, "It's okay."
When he's just about to drift off, Jerry's voice stirs him awake again.
"So your break-up or whatever...it really wasn't that bad?"
This time, Mike feels entitled to pretend he's asleep.
YEAH THIS WAS A LONG TIME COMING.
Also if you're like "damn, why doesn't Mike hang out with Susie more? she seems so much cooler than Jerry" it's because she's not on the ranch all that often. IDK why I just shared that since it's probably obvious. Derp. I'll drink more wine now.