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This was such a great chapter, my god, the dialogue is so real:
“What can we talk about after that?” Ennis asked, his own voice rough and strained. “The weather? Football? What to have for breakfast?”
Jack smiled. “All right. Maybe we don’t need to talk tonight. Let’s just drink.” He passed the bottle to Ennis, his eye snagged by the blood smeared across Ennis’s fingers.
“Christ, Ennis, what happened to your hand?” Jack sat forward, trying to get a better look in the weak, milky white moonlight. He reached out, his finger passing gently over Ennis’s bruised and swollen knuckles. He wished things between them were different, so he could hold Ennis’s hand, use his mouth to kiss away the pain.
Ennis didn’t answer, just tipped his head back and slugged down a throat full of whiskey. Jack could see the tell-tale scratches on Ennis’s knuckles, knew you didn’t get abrasions like that from hitting a person. Ennis’s fist had gotten up close and personal with something hard and inanimate, Ennis looking to hurt himself, not someone else.
Jack slouched back in his seat with a sigh. “Are we ever going to talk about what happened the other night?” he asked quietly. “Or are we going to keep talking around that kiss?”
I love what you're doing with this story!
