by JA Huss
“I took responsibility. Jordan was in law school, was about to graduate, about to take the bar exam and join his father back here in Colorado to carry the torch and all that bullshit.
“The point being… Jordan had a future. And yeah, I’d do anything for the guy back then. I loved him in my own way. He’s been my best friend since we were little kids. Partners in crime, we used to joke. Never knowing it’d really turn into that twenty-some years later.
“You can’t be a lawyer if you have a felony record. He didn’t ask me to do it. I just felt compelled. I feel compelled a lot. It’s why I am where I am and… and it’s partly my fault, anyway. Because I lied to everyone. To Augustine, mostly. But everyone. So fuck it, right? Fuck it. Bad choices lead to bad outcomes and fuck it.”
He pauses again. Maybe to collect himself. Because I can hear the hard swallow like we’re just inches apart.
“You should stay away, Evangeline. Play your show, live your life, and forget I ever happened. Trust me, it’s for the best.”
Chapter Forty-Six - Ixion
This time I’m not drunk. I hear the rotors of the helicopter landing outside. The jail in this town is pretty small. Just a substation, really. And the only dude on duty is, of course, my friend Sheriff Gramps. He’s been grinnin’ at me all day. Like somethin’ bad’s coming.
And he’s here. Because that helicopter outside doesn’t belong to the Wyoming law.
It’s Jordan.
Again.
Comin’ to save me from myself, I suppose.
The front door swings open—I can see it from my cell, which isn’t even locked—and Jordan Wells walks in wearing a navy-blue peacoat, three-thousand-dollar shoes, and a watch that probably costs more than Gramps makes in a year.
He brings a bitter winter wind in with him that sweeps into the little building like a vortex, twirling loose papers around and lowering the temperature by ten degrees immediately.
He slams the door closed behind him and the bits of papers settle on the floor.
Gramps looks pissed off about that.
I watch through one cracked eye as Jordan takes the place in, tracking everything like he’s a goddamned detective or somethin’, and then his gaze rests on me.
“Can you give us a minute, Jake?”
Gramps, who must go by the name of Jake, nods, shrugs on his coat, grabs a pack of smokes off his desk, takes a package from Jordan as he heads out the door—probably a bribe—once again, evoking the wind that stirs things up before it settles them down.
“Why am I such a fuckup?” I say, not even bothering to sit up as Jordan enters my cell. “Just my natural talent, I guess.”
“You bashed that guy’s new truck in? Again?”
“No,” I correct him. “This is the first I’ve bashed in the new new one.” I laugh at my joke.
“It’s not fuckin’ funny, asshole. He’s not letting you off this time. Gonna press charges. Why the fuck do you do this shit?”
“Because,” I say. “When I got home from Denver I remembered why I did it the first time.”
“And why was that?” Jordan is seething with anger. Nobody asked him to come up here, so I don’t really give a fuck.
“Because he beats the fuck out of his wife,” I say. “And this time he did it in public. In front of me. And no one in that stupid town wanted to interfere because he employs most of them out at the feedlot he owns. That asshole only stopped hitting her when I bashed in his brand-new headlights on his brand-new truck. So fuck him, he got what he deserved. And if he wants to press charges, well, I’m more than happy to testify how she ended up at Thermopolis General Hospital last night after he knocked her unconscious.”
Jordan blinks at me. “What?”
“It’s a long story that starts with Rachel, the woman’s sister, hiring me to kick her brother-in-law’s ass that night I got drunk a few weeks back. I was already in the bar. Already pretty fucked up. And she had the bat with her, just in case I didn’t have a gun. Which I did, but took the bat anyway. I got more common sense than that. And it ends with me bashing in his new truck instead of his face. You know, because I’d probably have killed the guy and murder’s a long stretch in the pen.”
Jordan blinks again.
“Too long, really.” I sigh. “I mean, I’m looking for a vacation, ya know? Not a permanent stay.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” he says, finally finding his voice.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “That’s what they say. Ixion was the original bad boy of Greek mythology, right?” I smile at Jordan’s expression, which is a cross between disgust and respect. “Might as well live up to the name.”
“You tricked her,” he says, referring to Evangeline now.
“I gave her what she needed.”
“You pretended to be me. Don’t bother denying it, she fuckin’ told me the whole story.”
“I let her see what she wanted to see.”
“You’re lying.”
I hold out my hands, a mea culpa gesture. “Hey, that’s what I do best, right? Get you outta trouble. Maybe I should’ve gone into law?”
“I didn’t ask you to take responsibility for what I did.”
“You didn’t have to, Jordan.” His name comes out of my mouth with a hiss. “You didn’t have to.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. How many fuckin’ times can I say it?”
“As many as it takes to mean it.”
He huffs out a breath of air that’s half laugh, half loathing. “I did mean it.”
I stand up so fast, have my hands around his throat so firm, get my face right up in his so quick the shocked expression is lost on me because we are…
Eye. To. Eye.
“You’re the liar,” I seethe. “You wanted me because Augustine wanted me. Not you. Me.”
He pushes me back so hard, I stumble and crash into the wall. “I made a mistake,” he says. “I would’ve taken responsibility for it.”
“It was a fuckin’ felony!” I yell.
“So what!” he yells back. “So what? I never asked you—“
“I was your fucking glue, Wells. I held you two together. She never wanted you. She wanted Alexander.”
“Yeah.” He laughs. “And look what that got her. Look where she is now.”
“Oh, I know exactly where she is now, asshole. Chella called me two nights before I left Denver. And you know what she told me?”
Jordan shakes his head. “That’s not why I brought you home.”
“Bull. Shit!” I fuckin’ scream it. I point my finger in his face, using every ounce of self-control I have not to choke the life out of my former best friend. “You’ve been playing a game with me since we were kids. You don’t know how to stop. You’re a fuckin’ addict, Jordan. And your drug is deceit.”
He swallows hard. Unable to deny it. Which just pisses me off even more.
“You came here to bail me out why?”
“That’s not why,” he says.
“Why?”
“I didn’t know she was in Denver until you were already back.”
“You’re a fucking liar. You can’t stop. You’re lying to yourself now. You knew Augustine was in Denver. That she was looking for me! She told Chella. She looked you up the first day she got there. You two had lunch. She asked about me and—“
“You’d already moved in the house when that happened, Ixion. Ask Augustine yourself if you don’t believe me.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Fuck her. And fuck you.”
“It’s not her fault.”
“No,” I say. “It’s not. It’s my fault for lying to her about you. It’s my fault for covering your tracks. For taking your fall. You wanted us, right? Me, and you, and her. And you thought everything was gonna be great. Until you realized she was only there because of me.”
“That’s not—“
“She wanted Alexander for his stability, and she wanted me because the love we have—had—“ I correct, “—was pure. You
were just part of the game, Jordan. Just another player. And it drove you crazy when she said she was going back to Alexander. So you put those cameras up in my apartment. You filmed us. And then you got caught. And instead of telling her it was you, you let me take the blame.”
“I never asked you—“
“YOU NEVER HAD TO!” I yell it so loud, my head begins to throb. “You’d have been charged with a felony. And then what, Jordan? What law degree? What career? What life would you have had?”
He just stands there, unsure if he should argue his point further. But then he gives up and shakes his head. “I only came here to beg you to go to Evangeline’s show. That’s all. I haven’t even talked to Augustine since that first day she contacted me. Evangeline asked me to talk you. She asked for your phone number, but I didn’t want to give it—“
“Without my consent,” I sneer. And then I laugh. “You know what the worst part is?” I ask him.
“I’m fucking sorry, OK?”
“That crash that killed my family? That crash that made me richer than God because I was the only one left to inherit the family money?”
“Ixion,” he whispers.
But I keep going, because there’s no stopping me now. I’ve been holding this in for years. “That crash happened before I could tell my father the truth. So my entire family—my mother, my father, my baby sister—they all died thinking I was a sick fucking voyeur. That I made a sex tape with Augustine without her consent and then sent it to Alexander to try to break him and Augustine up for good.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again. “I’m fuckin’ sorry.”
“I didn’t even get to go to the funeral because I was in jail.” I’m not screaming now. It hurts too much to do anything more than whisper that last part. “She only dropped the charges because she felt sorry for me.”
“Just tell me how I can fix it, Ix.”
“Fix it?” I laugh. “You can’t bring people back from the dead, Jordan. There is no do-over for death. And you know what the most ironic part about all this shit is? Alexander knew, you dumbass. He knew what we were doing, so your plan made no sense. She just… she just never loved you.”
“I know that,” he says. “I don’t know why I did it.”
“You did it because you still believe that bullshit. Total Exposure, right? That’s the little nickname you gave Evangeline’s game?” It’s such a brass-balls move. A slap in the face. All I can do is laugh. “Get the fuck out of here and don’t ever look me up again.”
Jordan lets out a long breath of air. Defeat. I think that was him admitting defeat.
Good.
He lost his fuckin’ game. Finally. He’s getting exactly what he deserves.
He turns away, his back to me, but stands there for a few seconds, just shaking his head. “You saved her,” he says.
“Yeah,” I growl. “I did. Not your stupid game. It was me who saved Evangeline. I was the one who helped her, not you.”
He glances over his shoulder at me. Eyes narrowed. Frowning. “And who the fuck… do you think… sent you to her, Ixion?”
What?
“Me,” he says. “I’m not what you think.”
He leaves my cell, crosses the small sheriff’s station, opens the door, lets the wind in, and then walks out of my life.
Gramps, AKA Jake, enters a few minutes later, stirring up the room one more time. But instead of going back to his desk, he comes into my cell and hands me…
The book.
“Where’d you get this?” I ask, staring at the black cover in his outstretched hand.
He nods his head to the door. Indicating Jordan. “He slipped it to me when I left you two alone.” And then he sets it down on the cot. “Ya know,” he says, sighing deeply, like he’s been doing this job way too long. “You’re not even under arrest, son. Dude’s getting charged with attempted murder this time. You can just go home. You played your part, Ixion. We’ll handle it from here.”
I played my part, all right.
The low thrum of helicopter rotors shakes the ceiling. Gramps and I stare at each other until the noise fades. And then he says, “Go to the show.”
“What?”
He nods at the book. “I was bored outside, so I read it.”
“What? You asshole!”
“She needs you,” he says. Then he shrugs one last time before turning his back to me. “And you need her too.”
I stare at the book, then give in because there’s not a chance in hell I wouldn’t read what she has to say. I pick it up, settle back down on the cot, and open it up to the last entry.
Have you ever felt adored?
Not for your talent, but because you struck a chord
that resonated like light in the night?
Held in the gaze of a stranger
totally exposed, completely enclosed
tightly embracing the danger
one feels when they are loved?
But through it all you find
that you are more than they defined
and there is something bright
like light in the night
for the years ahead.
I have felt adored, Ixion.
And of all the people on this earth, only you were able to do that.
That’s why I’m here.
Jordan has added something to the book as well.
A VIP pass to Evangeline’s show tonight.
Chapter Forty-Seven - Evangeline
Mei Ling Chao is standing in my living room.
I am due to leave for my first performance since I was a teenager in twenty minutes, but I don’t care if I’m late. Mei Ling Chao is standing in my living room.
“Can I get you some tea?” I ask. She looks ill. I know she has cancer, so that’s probably most of it. But she looks nervous too. “And please,” I say, motioning to the nearest chair. “Sit.”
She has a large package with her, which she holds onto tightly. Almost lovingly. But she lowers herself into the chair and smiles at me, keeping the package in her lap. “Yes, I’d love some tea. Thank you.”
“One sec, OK?” I say. I’m reluctant to leave her. Like… if I take my eyes off her she might wither away to nothing.
“I’m fine, dear,” she says in her old, grandmotherly voice. “Go. Make the tea. I’ll still be here.”
“OK,” I say, wiping my sweaty hands on my dress, then immediately regretting that decision, since this is what I’m wearing on stage in less than an hour. “I’ll be right back.”
My whole body hums like it’s been charged with electricity as I make my way into the kitchen. My heart is racing and I feel a little out of breath. A little bit like the old days when I’d start to get a panic attack, but that’s not what this is. I’m not panicking. I’m nervous for the performance and excited too, because ever since that night I played for Ixion, the music has returned. It came home to me that night and filled me up, and changed my life. Again.
My hands shake as I make tea, wondering what this new feeling really is.
Then I realize… it’s awe.
Mei Ling Chao is in my home.
When I’ve got the tea pot and cups on a serving tray, I take them back out to the living room and set it down on the coffee table. I smile at her as I pour her cup, and she helps herself to honey and milk as I pour one for myself too.
When was the last time I had a guest in my house?
God, I don’t even remember. Maybe never. And Lucinda pounding on my door demanding entry doesn’t count.
“You’re my first guest ever,” I tell her as I take my seat on the couch
“Am I?” She laughs. “Well, it’s an honor, my dear.”
I don’t know why I feel like crying, but I’m very close to tears. “No,” I say. “I’m the one who’s honored. Truly. This is the best moment of my life. Just seeing you. And right before I take this huge leap back into the life I thought was over… It’s…” I shake my head and can’t continue.
“You
’re going to be spectacular tonight,” she whispers.
I nod and then the tears are there. Welling up in my eyes and threatening to break through.
“I have a seat right up front.”
“You do?” I ask. Mei Ling, practically on her death bed, has travelled a thousand miles to see me play. Something she can do just as well as I can, and she came anyway. She’s here for me.
“I bought my ticket the moment they went on sale,” she says. “I had my nephew on the internet, ready to purchase at midnight.” Tears are welling up in her eyes now too. “I always knew you’d be back, Evangeline. And that’s why I’ve been keeping this for you.”
She holds up the package in her arms and presents it to me.
I take it out of instinct. Pulling it into my lap and just… staring at her. Unable to understand what’s happening.
“It’s missed you,” she says.
And that’s when I realize what this is. What I’m holding. Before I even rip the paper off, before I open the case and see my most prized possession for the first time since I sold it all those years ago. The one thing that saved me when I was living through my darkest moment, desperate for money, and freedom.
My Stradivarius.
I shake my head, tears flowing freely down my cheeks now.
“I spent almost all my money on it. But it was worth it. I knew you’d be back.”
I take the violin out. Carefully. So very, very carefully. And then I realize what she just said. “I can’t possibly take this,” I say. “I can’t pay you for it. I’m broke too. You should sell it,” I say. “It’s worth… it’s… it’s priceless, Mei Ling.”
She laughs. It’s a sweet laugh. One I wish I had heard more. “It’s already been paid for,” she says.
“What?” I whisper. “Who? Who bought it?”
“It was bought for you, dear. It was an anonymous sale. I don’t know who actually paid for it. And I wouldn’t have sold it to anyone if they hadn’t mentioned it was a gift and I could present it to you myself. But it’s been paid for, so don’t you worry about me. I’ve already set up trusts for my sisters and their families with the money. They will all be taken care of after I’m gone thanks to your secret benefactor.”