A/N: Sorry for the delay - hope you all like the chapter!
Green-Eyed Monster
True to Hopper's prediction, word about he and I being official seems to fly around the town. Lord knows how - we told maybe 5 people collectively, but c'est la vie. I don't mind, not at first, at least. I like people knowing that Hopper is serious about me and that I'm serious about him. The downside is that now people seem like they think they can talk about this with me. Most of the regular clientele knows better, but there are a few who press me for details every time they come in. I usually shrug off the attention and evade their questions, and but it's getting on my nerves.
The one upside is that with Jim and I officially together, there isn't much cause for us to stay away from each other in public. So, when Jim comes into the bar with a friend for a mid-afternoon game of pool, I slide away from the bar for a minute to plant a quick kiss on his lips.
"Hey there, handsome," I tell him while pulling away. He wraps one of his arms around me as we walk to the pool table.
"Hey there, gorgeous," he replies with a grin.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" I ask him and his friend.
"Heineken for me," his friend says.
"I'll take a Stella," Hopper answers. I've noticed he's been shying away from hard liquor, at least in the day, and it makes me smile. I've barely even hinted that his heavy drinking concerns me, but he's either picked up on it or assumes, and has been reducing his intake. Which means more to me than I think he realizes. As much as I loathe to leave Hopper's presence, I need to attend the other customers as well, so once I bring them their orders, I return to the bar.
It's a relatively slow day, so I get a multitude of opportunities to admire Hopper's form as he plays. Every now and then, he'll catch me looking from across the room, and our eyes will meet in a heated gaze. I always look away first, blushing. He makes very scandalous thoughts run through my head. Especially when he fixes me with that stupid grin of his. Even now, as I wiping down the bar, I can't help but smile to myself at the thought of him. I shake my head - I've fallen so damn hard. But how could I not?
These past three weeks, things have been phenomenal between us. We've seen each other a few times each week - making dinner together, grabbing a few drinks, or going to the movies, just regular couple stuff. I love spending time with him - learning about his day, how he sees the world, what he thinks about the latest gossip to rock the town. And every night that we see each other, he always takes me to his bed and makes me feel like the luckiest woman alive. A rush of hot pleasure travels through me as flashes of memories from the last time we saw each other run through my mind - mouths on mouths and hands in hair and his cock in my...I have to stop that train of thought before I get too flustered.
I steal another glance at Hopper - who is significantly more intoxicated each time I look over. Two more men have joined his game, and they're regularly ordering drinks. They're getting somewhat rambunctious, but I don't mind. I'd rather he drink here - where I can cut him off or take his keys - than somewhere else. It's busy enough that I can't justify hanging around their party, but it's not so busy that I'm preoccupied, so I take out my notepad and fit in some sketching.
My head snaps up at the sound of a sudden commotion for the pool table - louder than the background noise they were generating - and I'm horrified to see the four men attacking each other! Punches are flying, pool cues are being used as weapons, and they're tossing each other against the wall - knocking over tables, chairs, empty bottles, and knocking down picture frames. I don't know if I should try to break up the fight or call the police, but in the time it takes me to decide, Hopper and his friend manage to knock out their opponents. However, his friend is looking worse for wear, and he sways to the ground.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter in the now silent bar. I hurry over to the scene while conversation slowly resumes. Everyone paused their conversations to watch the fight and assess the damage. It's quieter for longer than is typical after a bar fight - I imagine people are curious to see how I will react and handle the situation. So, I remind myself to treat this incident like I would if it involved anyone else.
"What was that about?" I ask Hopper harshly. He shrugs nonchalantly and leans heavily against the table. He's got a cut on his eye and his knuckles are bleeding, and I have to fight every instinct not to fuss over him. If anyone else caused trouble in my bar, I wouldn't be nearly so forgiving. So I can't be for Hopper. "Jim," I add, letting my annoyance at this disturbance bleed into my voice. Fights are a pain in the ass to deal with - deciding whether to call the cops, dealing with the cops if they show up, cleaning up broken glasses and anything else that was disturbed. I've complained about it multiple times to Hopper when they've happened, so I'm pretty annoyed he would start - or not try harder to prevent - one.
"They were being assholes," he finally grumbles.
"What does that mean?" I ask while kneeling down to inspect the unconscious men. I'm trying to assess if they need an ambulance - checking for a pulse, seeing if their pupils contract when exposed to light. I think they'll be okay, but if they're not stirring in a few minutes, I'll reassess. "Were they cheating?" I ask. He shakes his head. "Were they threatening you?"
"No," he says, voice guarded. "They were just being assholes."
"I'm debating whether I need to call some of your coworkers down here. Give me a reason not to," I tell him in an undertone. He swallows hard at that. "A reason that is unrelated to our relationship," I add as he opens his mouth.
"They were insulting a woman of my acquaintance. And they were being very rude." Oh. Everything makes more sense now. I bet those men made some crude remark about me, and Hopper was defending my honor. He's drunk enough that he would think that's a good idea and wouldn't consider the consequences. And he probably didn't want to reveal that's why they fought since he didn't want to admit to such stereotypical, somewhat chauvinistic, behavior. Once again, my irritation with Hopper all but disappears.
"Alright." The other men start stirring, and I reluctantly help them to their feet. "Gentlemen, I think it's best you leave," I firmly tell the two instigators. With some grumbling and snide comments, they stagger their way to the door. To Hopper's friend, I offer another drink and some basic first aid, but he turns me down in favor of heading home to lie down for a while.
"Can I patch you up in the back?" I ask Jim quietly as his friend heads for the door. He nods subtly. "Alright, give me five minutes, and then I'll get Marge to cover the front while I take my break. He sits down at an empty table while he waits for me to attend to all the orders people waited to give me while I handled the fall out from the fight.
Though it's not much longer than five minutes, it feels like an eternity until I am able to catch up on orders and get Marge to cover for me. I slip into the kitchen with Jim and take him to the management office in the back. We've got a basic first aid kit in there for kitchen injuries and incidents like this.
"I wish you hadn't fought," I tell him while I clean his wounds.
"I know. I'm sorry that I did. But I felt compelled to."
"What did they say?" I ask with some dread. Lucy and my mother warned me that going out with Hopper would give me a reputation; I know it's only a matter of time before people start using words like slut to describe me. Maybe that's what happened here.
"They had said that someone I know, a former friend, wasn't fit to be out in society." That catches me off guard. So...this wasn't about me? My pulse picks up in a way that is decidedly unpleasant.
"That sounds pretty rude...but was that really worth getting into a violent fight over?" I try to keep my tone neutral. I don't want him to know how irrationally out of sorts I feel right now.
"Yes. It was." He sits back and closes his eyes while I leave to get bags of ice for his eye and knuckles. As I grab them, my anger simmers. How dare he cause so much trouble for me over something so minor! By the time I'm back, I'm ready to boil over.
"Here," I say, tossing the bags toward him. He catches them in time, just barely. I put away the medicine kit, taking care to be as loud as possible. He says nothing and just lights up a cigarette. "You can't stay here for long," I tell him with a clipped tone.
"Fine," he says back, nonplussed, putting his feet up on my manager's desk. I knock them off as I head back to the bar. I hear the thuds as he props them up again. "Can you bring me back another beer?" he calls. I take a deep breath to steady myself and slowly turn around.
"No. In fact, maybe you should just go."
"What, why?" he asks, feet falling to the floor.
"Because you're acting like an entitled ass right now, and I'm not in the mood to deal with it," I snap.
"Would you think I was being an entitled ass if it was your honor I was defending?" he asks cooly.
"I know you're not in the habit of considering the consequences of your actions, but maybe if you stopped thinking that everything revolved around you for even one minute, you'd see that your recklessness and impulsiveness has created more work for me, more stress, and damage to the bar. So to answer your question, yes. Now get out." I order, shoving my way through the kitchen doors. Marge stays at the bar, tending to the customers, while I grab a broom to clean up the broken bottles and glasses from Hopper's fight.
Hopper heads out of the bar, cigarette in hand, without so much as a backward glance, never mind a thank you for patching him up or an offer to help clean up the mess he helped create. I shake my head with irritation as I clean up. What the hell was he thinking? This situation doesn't add up. Either he is more careless than I realized, which I don't think is likely, or there is something he isn't telling me. Both options raise my blood pressure - the latter even more so.
The longer I spend cleaning the mess, the more irritated I am. No doubt this female former friend is someone he used to sleep with. Why else he would attack someone over insulting her. Granted, I thought his whole thing was emotionless one-night stands. Could this have been the girlfriend he said he had after his divorce and he feels indebted to her for his ill-treatment? Whoever she is, the fact that her "honor" was more important than his current girlfriend's time really pisses me off. And makes me concerned he may still have feelings for her. I sulk the rest of the day, my anger with Hopper flaring every time I think of this mystery woman who matters so much to him. I suppose I don't exactly have the right to be mad at him for holding on to feelings for someone he knew before me, but it fills me with the most unpleasant feeling of dread and disgust.
The responsible thing to do would be to be honest with Hopper about why I'm so upset and discuss my concerns. But every time I consider doing that, my impetuous side holds me back. Three days pass before I calm down enough to miss him. More than once in that time, I wonder if this is it - if my anger at his callous and uncaring behavior will end our relationship practically as soon as it started.
It's a full week before I consider reaching out to him. He really upset me - and this is definitely his fault. Doesn't that mean he should apologize? But my anger has finally faded enough to be the bigger person - though my annoyance with the pattern of having to take the initiative to repair things between us keeps my temper sharp.
On the next evening I have off, I bring the phone into my room for privacy and dial Hopper's number.
"Hello?" he answers gruffly on the third ring.
"Hey, it's me," I say simply.
"Oh. Hey." His voice brightens momentarily before falling back to the monotone he answered with.
"How have you been?"
"Fine." There's a short pause. "What about you?" I hesitate a beat before I'm brave enough to be honest with him.
"I've been a little upset." He's quiet for a while, but it doesn't feel like a hostile silence. Though I do get the sense that he bit back a retort.
"I'm sorry to hear that. And I'm sorry that I upset you," he says sincerely. I was hoping he'd apologize for fighting as well, but I'll take what I can get.
"Thank you. That means a lot. I'm sorry that I was so upset about you fighting. I'm not trying to control you or smother you, but it was pretty inconvenient for me."
"I realize that now. I'm sorry - I should have been more considerate about that." I feel the tension melt off me as his apology finally addresses my true concerns.
"Yeah...helping clean up would have been appreciated, too," I add softly. I hear him grumble in a way that indicates he's kicking himself.
"You're right. I should have helped you. I wasn't thinking - I was just pissed off and...I had wanted you to be more understanding. I guess that wouldn't have really been fair, but I just...before we started dating, if I had done something like that, you probably wouldn't have even bothered to question me about what happened and just assumed that I was in the right." His statement - its implications and its accuracy - startle me into a laugh.
"Shit - you're probably right."
"I didn't anticipate this consequence of making things official," he teases.
"Understandable. I didn't realize I was so," smitten, I stop myself from saying, "that I gave you so much leeway."
"Yeah. It was really great," he says with a chuckle. There's a comfortable pause. "Do you want to talk about what's really bothering you?" I sigh. Sometimes I forget just how damn perceptive he is.
"We should," I answer, the cheer gone from my voice. "The 'acquaintance' that those men insulted that provoked you into fighting...who is she?" I twist the phone cord in my fingers as I await his response.
"Her name is Joyce Byers." His voice is heavy. "During high school, she and I dated."
"Oh," I answer, my stomach dropping. It's exactly what I feared. "And you still have feelings for her."
"No," he's quick to answer. "Well...not exactly." I feel like my chest is being constricted. "We have a history. She'll always be...important to me." I shut my eyes as if that would help me not hear those painful words.
"Look, Jim, you don't have to explain. I know you don't like me prying, and I don't want to push you-"
"You're not. I want you to know. I don't still want to be with her - she's not a threat to you. But she is important to me, and you should know that aspect of me."
"Alright." I keep those words in mind as he tells me of his friendship and romance with Joyce. It helps soften the sting of hearing about a past love.
"Joyce and I met in sophomore English class - we sat next to each other, and she just...she was stunning. She thought I was just a dumb jock, but I eventually managed to charm her, and we became friends. I had a crush on her from the start, but by the time I finally worked up the courage to ask her out, she liked me too." If this tale was about anyone other than Jim - my Jim - I would find it endearing. As is, I just listen and try not to feel cut too deeply.
"We dated for a while - and we were inseparable - but this new guy moved to town - Lonnie, I nicknamed him. He thought himself a real bad boy, and he set his sights on Joyce. I was young, and impulsive," that makes me laugh - as if he is not still impulsive. He adds a, "alright, yeah," understanding without a word of explanation why I am laughing. "Anyways, I got real possessive over Joyce - that more than anything else drove her away from me. And we ended up sort of drifting apart and broke up. We stayed friends, but it wasn't quite the same."
"As you know, after I graduated, I went into the military. That really drove us apart because she was always a pacifist, very non-confrontational, usually. We still wrote to each other when I was away, but by the time I came back from my tour of duty, she had been married. To no other than that jerk Lonnie." I suck in a breath sharply at the pain that no doubt caused Hopper.
"I'm sorry." I can almost hear him trying to shrug off the dark feelings.
"That's life. They didn't work out anyways. He was a piece of work to her during their marriage - total deadbeat, always on her case. When she finally managed to separate from him, he left town - and their two sons. Barely sees them anymore."
"That's sad," I add.
"Yeah, I guess. They're good kids. And they're better off without him, if you ask me." He sighs. "Anyways, she and I see each other now and then in passing. Sometimes it feels like old times - there's a long history there, ya know. But she and I are friends, nothing more," he finishes.
"Do you...do you ever wish you were more than just friends?" I ask in a small voice.
"Not since I've been with you," he answers definitively. I hum non committedly. "I promise," he adds. That helps.
"Thank you for telling me about this and for explaining."
"You're welcome." There's a comfortable pause. "Can I see you again - sometime soon?"
"Yes. I'd like that very much." We set a date for next week - dinner at Benny's - and say goodnight. So, this is what it's like to date a man with baggage. I sigh, staring at the phone, wishing there was an easier solution than to learn to live with the fact that Hopper has had other loves. I dated other guys, and we seemed serious at the time, but none of them come close to what I have with Jim. Part of me will probably always wish that what we have was unique to him, too.