In My Rearview Mirror, JACK.HUGHES

SEVENTEEN

"I feel like somewhere deep down in you, there's the old Jack," I observe.

"I'm the old Jack. Fame comes with its own set of rules, and you have to play the game. It's hard to be the real me when everyone asks to see the other me," he says, scratching the back of his head. "Our conversation will always be genuine, though," he adds, tilting his head to the side.

We sit there for almost two hours talking about his life and mine. Our conversation becomes a blend of shared interests, laughter, and the comfort that comes from familiarity.  As we continue to explore our nostalgia, we keep dancing between past and present.

We're both realizing that we don't know each other anymore. Our mind are both delusional and attached to something that doesn't exists anymore. We're nourishing ourselves with old core memories that seems like yesterday. The reality is that a bulldozer passed on us and destroyed everything, the only thing left is dust. 

With dawn approaching, we decide it's time for me to return to my own room, preparing for the flight awaiting me at noon. Our hug is gentle, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities we've navigated in a few short hours. I express my gratitude for his care, but Jack quickly interjects, downplaying his role.

"Oh, wait, I almost forgot, eh," he exclaims, rushing to his suitcase. My curiosity piqued, I watch as he retrieves a small piece of black fabric. The shock hits me when I recognize my forgotten thong. "Omg, how did I forget that," I exclaim, a mix of embarrassment and amusement washing over me.

"Well, Eva found it with Trevor yesterday," Jack awkwardly confesses, his words tumbling out quickly. "But don't worry, I didn't tell them it was yours." I wave off the incident with a chuckle, acknowledging the unexpected twist to an already eventful night. As I walk away, the door closes on the remnants of a shared past, and I head toward a new day with a flight to catch and lessons learned in an unlikely place — a hotel bathroom floor.

...

As I enter the room, I notice that Braden is not in bed. The closed bathroom door and the light seeping through underneath suggest he's in there. The sound of the shower indicates that he's about to take one.

Feeling the need to apologize, I decide to join him. I undress and enter the bathroom, expecting him to be surprised. However, when I pull back the curtain, he doesn't react. His muscular back faces me, and his head is slightly tilted forward.

The water, hot and almost burning my skin, provides a comforting sensation. The atmosphere in the bathroom is heavy with unspoken tension, and the droplets cascade down, creating a moment suspended in time.

The sound of his groan resonates in the bathroom as my small hands gently touch his back. In this intimate moment, I convey my affection without words, using the language of touch. I wash his body tenderly, aware that he appreciates the attention as his skin erupts in goosebumps.

When I finish, he turns to face me, and it's his turn to reciprocate. The soap-covered caresses on my body create a connection that goes beyond words, a silent understanding in the midst of the cascading water.

His dark brown eyes speak volumes, revealing a hint of hurt that he chooses to keep silent for now. Guilt washes over me as I recall having friend-zoned him just yesterday. Despite that, he remains calm and sweet—a trait I've always admired. I've never witnessed him lose his temper except on the ice, a moment that strangely added to his appeal.

"I'm sorry, Brad," I begin, but he silences me by pressing his lips to mine. "You don't need to be sorry. Nothing happened," he reassures, turning off the shower. He reaches for a towel, delicately wrapping it around me, a gesture both protective and caring.