Since Jackson had met Jasmine's parents, he hadn't spoken with her. Well, it was more like she hadn't spoken to him. Either her parents had gotten rid of her phone completely, or blocked his number on everything, because she wasn't returning texts, calls, or DMs.
Even when he saw her at school, fleetingly between classes, or when she was in the cafeteria for a brief moment, she never stuck around long enough for a chat, nor even let him get close enough for one. If he called out to her she acted deaf and continued on her way. She wasn't even eating with her friends at lunch. She just… vanished to some unimaginable corner.
He wasn't to the point of chasing her down and forcing her to talk to him, but he was getting to it.
'Bad idea, brochacho,' Tommy said, leaning close so his voice would be heard over the loud music spreading out from the amphitheatre. 'Never run after a girl.'
Jackson sighed. Both boys were sitting on the far edge of the amphitheatre's lawn, sipping on soda. A lively, if small, crowd was jumping about and singing along to the scratchy wails that normally would've hit just the right itch in Jackson. Despite that, he didn't feel like dancing or singing along to anything at that moment.
Sure, Tommy said "never run after her," and it sounded like good advice, but their dad had said the exact opposite. "Always run after the girl, Jackie. It's romantic."
Personally, Jackson sided more with Tommy's view, but his dad was the one who'd married his dream girl, whereas the brothers were both dateless.
They weren't the only ones that night, but that didn't make Jackson feel any better. Hearts in Plaid were another "local" band, and by the turnout, were popular enough. Despite Jasmine being non-contact with him, he'd invited her to the event, knowing she loved these guys, and would've never normally missed a chance to see them.
While it was unlikely she'd see any such message from him, he'd also mustered enough courage to confront her friends during lunch and asked them to pass on his invite if they could. Luckily, they'd seemed to share his concern for her, rather than looking at him with the venom he'd expected; if anyone other than Jasmine's parents were to blame for her strange behaviour, it was Jackson himself.
'I don't know what else I can do,' he said.
'We should go back to her house and talk to her parents. Dad and I can back you up.'
'No! That's the LAST thing we should do.'
'Why not? They can't stop you from seeing her, and we've got a right to be concerned for her safety! Why do you think she's not talking to you? Obviously because they threatened her with something, and even then, who knows what other messed up crap they're doing to her. If they don't let you see her we should report them or something, 'cause it'd mean they're hiding something.'
'Christ. Do you hear yourself?' Jackson groaned. 'I never should've told you.'
He shook his head, looking around. His cola was warm, and the paper straw was disintegrating. He was in no mood to enjoy the music either. All it was doing was giving him a headache.
'Can we just leave?' he asked. 'She's not coming, so there's no point waiting around.'
'Alright, alright.' Tommy's agitation dropped away immediately, replaced by sympathy. 'Sorry you couldn't have a good night, and sorry I didn't make it any better.'
'You don't have to apologise.'
The two brothers got up and took their leave; Jackson rubbed at the marker stamped onto the back of his hand; he needed no memento of this night.
They left, but didn't head straight back home. Instead Tommy drove aimlessly. With the windows down they raced away from the music and their troubles. Leaving the radio off they enjoyed the quiet of twilight for a while.
Tommy didn't know if it helped Jackson much, but it allowed him to cool down, and gave him time to think. Unfortunately, thinking was the last thing Jackson needed.
***
Arriving home, they were greeted warmly by the rest of the family who were sitting around the living room. Tommy waved off an offer of leftovers, saving what he knew would be a delicious lasagna for another day—he and Jackson had gotten takeout on the way home, which they'd finished in the drive so could throw the trash into the bins and avoid Chrissy knowing about it. If she knew they'd had some, she'd throw a fit she didn't get any.
When Jackson climbed up to his room, Tommy followed, still knocking and waiting at the empty door to be invited in. 'Can we finish our talk?'
Jackson flopped onto his bed, his voice still muffled when he said, 'We hadn't?'
'Well, I've got some more to say. Another… temporary solution… to offer.'
Jackson shifted, turning his head to look at Tommy with one inquisitive eye. Tommy moved into the room, sitting on the edge of Jackson's bed.
'First off, I wanna apologise for the stuff I said back there, mainly with Jasmine's parents. I'm sure she's fine, and I was way out of line. I shouldn't have let my emotions get the best of me with that.'
Jackson turned over and sat up properly. 'Quite the apology… and it wasn't even really needed, you were just voicing your opinion.'
'I could've said it better.'
'You could've, but… this stuff is frustrating.'
'Hah.' Tommy ruffled Jackson's hair. 'And you know what you need to do when something's frustrating you? Take a step back'—Tommy held up a hand to stave off a question—'Now, before you ask, I already know what you're gonna say: "But how do I do that when I can't stop thinking about her?" Which is simple—you have to distract yourself.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Don't give me that look.'
'I don't sound like that by the way.'
Tommy smirked. 'Either way. You can't come up with the right thing to say or do to fix this Jasmine issue you're having, and the reason you can't do that is because your mind is fixating on how HOPELESS the situation seems. In turn—because the brain is a susceptible thing—you're actually convincing yourself that it IS hopeless, therefore your mind can't come up with any sort of solution, because it believes there ISN'T one.'
Tommy sat back, looking satisfied with himself. Jackson sat in quiet contemplation. 'I didn't know you were studying psychology.'
Tommy laughed. 'This is the kind of stuff you pick up on when you pick up a book and read.'
Jackson rolled his eyes. 'Oh, that's what you've been doing when you've been riding the bench, huh?'
'Oh, you little—' Tommy lunged forward, snagging Jackson in a headlock, running his knuckles along his little brother's scalp rapidly.
Jackson thumped at Tommy's ribs, squirming free before launching an attack of his own, trying to catch Tommy in a headlock. The brothers struggled, giggling and grinning, even as they tumbled from the bed and crashed to the floor.
It was only a few seconds later that their mom's concerned voice called from the bottom of the stairs. 'Are you boys alright up there?'
'Yes, Mom!' they shouted back.
'Good! Then keep it down. Your sister's going to bed.'
'Sorry, Mom!'
The brothers helped each other to their feet, still grinning widely. 'Speaking of football,' Tommy said, his voice noticeably quieter, 'why don't the two of us hit up the gym tomorrow—JUST the two of us—for some super special sibling training.'
'Yes, but only if you never call it that again.'
'Oh, come on! What's wrong with triple S-rank training? That's the best kind there is.'
'That's not what triple "S" means.'
'What does it mean, then?'
'I don't know, but definitely not THAT.'
Tommy thumped Jackson on the shoulder, but was smiling as he said goodnight, and let Jackson be.
***
They started their workout with some stretches, of course, then Tommy took Jackson to the Stair Master, wanting them to work up a sweat, and get their blood pumping before they moved into the actual workout.
As Tommy had said, it was just the two of them that day—and the other random gym-goers. Jackson glanced around as their warmup on the Stair Master reached the stage where they gradually dropped speed until they stopped completely.
The brothers' seclusion was another bit of reinforcement to Jackson's belief that no matter how much of a team the Titans were, Jackson blazed his own trail, one the others could take, sure, but only if they were following behind him; if he was going to be the greatest, he couldn't be a follower.
When they were done with the stairs, Tommy guided Jackson over to the cable machines, adjusting the weight, resistance, and distance. Jackson watched him with restrained curiosity, and when Tommy had finished adjusting it, he turned to his little brother with a grin.
'Alright, today we're going to be focusing on your arms. Mainly your grip, which means these'—he grabbed Jackson by the forearm—'are gonna be sore as heck in the morning. A lot of your grip strength comes from here. How can you make a catch in traffic? How can you keep the ball when so many other hands are reaching for it? How can you tear it away from someone else, and make sure they never tear it away from you? All the answers come back to here.'
Tommy squeezed Jackson's arm, tightening his grip the longer his monologue went on. Jackson's eyes were gripped as much as his arm. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to. Tommy wasn't the biggest guy, but his forearm and hand had transformed into a sleek, unforgiving, iron gauntlet. There was a great sinewy strength, with each tendon and muscle straining. Tommy's power was clearly defined, starting from his fingers and stretching up the rest of his arm.
'I get it,' Jackson said. 'To be the strongest, you have to tear it away from someone else, and to hold onto it, you have to make sure no-one can tear it away from you.'
'Right. So let's get started.'
They were all tough, and different than anything Jackson had tried before. The closest thing that was somewhat familiar was the last "cool down" exercise Tommy showed him, which didn't involve the cable machine at all. Instead, it used a pair of heavy dumbbells. They held these up and twisted their wrists back and forth one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. It sounded simple, but it was hell for Jackson to keep his arm straight and steady each set.
Yet somehow that was the least torturous exercise of the entire workout. Others involved wrist curls. With no other movement but the bending of their wrists they had to pull the cables taut and lift the heavy weights… well, they felt heavy, but when Jackson checked it was only fifteen pounds.
Doing the same but behind his back was even worse, though Tommy assured him it was hitting a different set of muscles. Jackson didn't even know there were different sets of muscles in his forearms.
And it didn't get any easier. No matter the leverage or the positioning, or which way he pulled or twisted, Jackson had to pull those weights with just his wrist and forearm, and the weights didn't get any lighter throughout the workout.
Once they were done, Tommy jokingly challenged Jackson to another arm-wrestling match. All thoughts of leverage had left Jackson's exhausted mind by then, and he was easily bested before either of them could blink.
By the end of the it all, Jackson's arms felt as if they'd fallen off at his elbow. There was only a vague, throbbing sensation coming from below that point, and his fingers were entirely numb. Tommy patted him on the head, ruffling his hair.
'You did good today, little bro. Let's go home.'
With Tommy's help Jackson slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed his brother out. On the drive back, they stopped off to get some steak sandwiches, enjoying them on the ride home.
But waiting for them was something neither of them could've expected. With her own car parked against the curb in front of the house, stood Stephanie, leaning against the hood.
Tommy pulled into the drive carefully, glancing at his brother. Steph pushed off her car when they stopped, though she only watched them. She looked… anxious of all things. Maybe she wasn't here to kill him on Jasmine's behalf like Jackson had first worried.
'You head inside, Tommy,' Jackson said. 'I don't think I'll be long.'
Tommy nodded, and said he'd be a shout away if Jackson needed him, but left the two to discuss whatever it was Steph needed.
After getting out of Tommy's car, Jackson headed straight for Stephanie's. His old fracture was itching so badly it was burning up the inside of his leg.
He didn't need to ask what was wrong, or why Steph was there. She met him halfway, looking conflicted and restless.
'I don't know what's happened, but Jazz isn't talking to me anymore. She's stopped showing up to practice, and no matter what I can't get a hold of her. She didn't say why, didn't say goodbye, nothing. So what did you do?'
Jackson was almost offended she'd immediately blame him, but he wasn't surprised. However, she was partially right to lay the blame on him. Despite that, her accusation had lacked heat and conviction. He sighed.
'All I did was meet her parents.'
Stephanie's face dropped as if he'd told her he'd killed Jasmine. 'Oh… fuck.'