It’s not Shitty’s awful, banged-up Prius that pulls up at the curb. It’s a black SUV, and even in the dark, through the heavy sheets of rain pouring down, Bitty can tell it’s in perfect condition.
The driver’s window slides down just enough for Bitty to see a glimpse of a furrowed forehead and thick brows. “Bittle. Get in.”
The rain is pelting down so hard that Bitty’s soaked wet in the fifteen feet between the train station’s doors and the car. The soles of his shoes drip water all over the floor mats as he hastily climbs into the passenger’s seat, and he winces, presses his calves together tightly to limit the growing puddle.
“I c-called Shitty,” he says senselessly, shivering all over.
“His car wouldn’t start,” Jack replies gruffly, and turns them onto the main road.
There’s nothing to see out the window except black skies and rivulets blurring over the glass, so there’s nothing to distract Bitty from the uncomfortable silence. He’s no good at silences. He always ends up talking too much to fill them, and he knows from experience that Jack doesn’t like that.
But there’s only so long that he can bite his tongue, and the misty road ahead of them seems never-ending. “Doesn’t Lardo let Shitty borrow her car when his acts up?”
Jack doesn’t even glance in his direction, but surprisingly doesn’t choose to ignore him. “Yeah.”
Bitty blinks. A drop of rainwater slides off his eyelashes and down his check. “...So why’d he ask you to come?”
The muscles in Jack’s jaw shift while Bitty stares at him, waiting. He’s in sweatpants and a fleece, his hair tousled, like he’s headed to bed or maybe like he just got out of it. It’s two in the morning. Shitty made Bitty think of Jack as the sort of person to be asleep by ten, but maybe he had it wrong. He doesn’t know Jack all that well – though not for a lack of trying.
A passing car flashes by them, its headlights blinding. When it passes, Jack unexpectedly speaks. “He said you – that things didn’t work out. With that guy you went to visit.”
“...Oh.” The lingering embarrassment from tonight is suddenly thick in Bitty’s throat, but Lord help him, he will not tear up in Jack Zimmermann’s car. He turns his head away and tucks his cold hands under his arms, wet fabric sticking to his skin. “I just – had to leave. And the trains ran out.”
“Right.” It’s silent for a moment, just water splashing under tires and thunder cracking in the distance, and Bitty almost thinks he prefers it to the painful conversation. “So I said I could come get you.”
Bitty swivels his head, eyes wide. He thought – he’s not sure what he thought, really, but – maybe that Shitty had to beg, or cash in a favor. That Lardo strong-armed Jack into making the drive. Anything, probably, other than Jack volunteering to do it. “You offered to drive in the middle of the night to pick me up? Why?”
Jack frowns. “You just said the trains ran out. Did you want to wait there until morning?”
“No, but – ” The shock is enough to make Bitty’s tongue loose, and the words are out before he can stop them. “But you hate me.”
For the first time since Bitty got in the car, Jack turns his look away from the road and fixes those sharp, blue eyes right on Bitty’s.
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