“Good news.” Her face is all smiles and expectation when I turn. “We’re working up your discharge paperwork. Now would be a good time to inform your ride that you’re ready.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be taking a cab.”
Her smile falters, fades into… pity.
Don’t! Don’t look at me like you understand why. Like suddenly it all makes sense.
“Okay. Well, you have the information from the social workers. Sure you won’t consider checking into a program?”
I answer with a return to my window, and the door clicks shut after a few seconds of silence.
Discharged. Maybe I’d be relieved if I had anything to go back to.
“I’m glad you’re okay, love, but I’m returning to my flat in New York.”
Arctic gaze heavy with pain. Elegant fingers clasped in a tight knot.
“I desperately want for you to get well. Please seek help. But I can’t do this, Jesse. You’re not living; you’re functioning, and quite honestly, sometimes you’re not even doing that.”
Deep breaths do nothing in a vacuum. A void so dark the fires of hell couldn’t spark a flicker.
“After we fulfill our commitment to Smother, our relationship ends, both personally and professionally.”
Ends.
Forever this time, her tears said. Glacial melting dripped down her cheeks and collected on smooth skin I’d lost the right to touch. Her gaze brushed over me, lingered on my eyes, pleading. She waited. Five, ten, fifteen seconds for another promise we both knew I’d break. Just a few simple words to save the fairytale we’d built. It was right there. The golden path to life, legend, and love.
God, she loved me. She’d never said it, how could she, but we both knew it. That I loved her too, needed her, and we belonged together in a way that only cosmic jokes can invent.
I needed her so much I couldn’t do it to her again, so I let the silence speak.
I’m a promise-breaker, Mila. I’m a fraud.
Somewhere in her delusion of hope she’d always known that. She’d known the truth about the Philly boy who’d let fate sucker-punch him. But she’d been cursed with hope. With success and a history of making her dreams come true. And that’s all I am. A dream. A ghost. Her demon.
She believed I was more than I am.
Wasted talent is the name of the game… means bugger all if you can’t handle your own gift.
My spark of life.
Over.
And.
Out.
∞∞∞
The house is dark when I go inside. No note, no text. I figured as much. The guys are beyond shattered that I blew their second chance.
Because you’re not worth the pain.
Because you are the little shit they said you were.
Because.
Because.
YOU!
I sink into my mattress and close my eyes just as the tears come. Hot, agonizing lava flows down my face.
Why did you think you could be anything?
What joke were you playing?
The music is laughing. Hear it? Laughing!
You’re nothing.
No one wants you.
No one.
No one.
Do the world a favor and…
STOP!
Broken sobs echo through the darkness. They have to be mine. I press my fists against my face. To block them? But they echo louder in my head.
Yes, Jesse. Just… stop. Stop before you do any more damage. Before you break them for good. You should be alone. You’re poison. That’s why they leave. You’re cancer. You’re the traitor. The overrated promise-breaker rearranger of truth. Composer of lies! Author of failure, sobbing little shit—that’s you, Jesse Everett. That’s you.
That’s you.
That’s you.
“Hello?”
My eyes snap open, heart racing.
“Jesse? Parker? Anyone?”
Did I not lock the door?
Footsteps clap toward me.
Thump, thump, thump.
Closer now. Doors swing open and close again.
“Jesse?”
I shake my head. Sink lower into my sheets.
“Jesse, are you here? The hospital said—”
He stops. Stares. Watches the pain flooding from my eyes. His own expression melts, and I can’t look.
I clench my eyes shut.
You don’t deserve.
Life.
Legend.
Love.
“Jesse.” His voice is soft as it drifts closer. “Hey, it’s okay.”
Arms pull me up, wrap around, and settle me against a chest I’ve never felt before.
“God, Jess, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice breaks with his own tears. I turn into the scent of detergent. The smell of clean.
“They left,” I breathe, pressing against a warm heartbeat. The one that stayed.
His grip tightens around me. “This is my fault, son. I did this to you.”
I shake my head again, and he stills it to his chest.
“It is my fault, but what you do with that truth is up to you.”
No!
My throat closes, crushing my voice.
“It’s too late, Dad,” I force out. “I’m already broken.”
The gasp of his sob rustles my hair.
Dad.
Is that what he is? What do you call the man who destroys you, then insists on stitching you back together?
“No, son. You’re not! You’re a fighter. You’ve survived so much. You’re stronger than—”
“You don’t know what I’ve survived.” Instinct spits the words, starts to pull me away. That’s what’s real. I tug and they let me go. They run, escape, like they should. Like he will, but… no. He holds tighter?
“I do, Jess. I know. And I also know that if a fuck-up like me can find his way back, a warrior like you definitely can.”
You can’t know that.
You can’t.
“You know how I know?” His voice firms through the tremor of tears. “I know because I’m not giving up. Never again, son. I will never leave you again.”
∞∞∞
Jonas makes coffee now. The real kind, with a French press and everything. Eggs too, apparently, and I wonder what other firsts I’ll experience before the day is through.
I rest my head on my arms as I watch the strange scene from the table. Even after ten minutes of sifting through memories, I can’t remember that man at a stove. Meals were always a scavenging event for Parker and me. Sometimes it was fun to use our combined ingenuity to cobble together a full stomach. More often it was brutal when we couldn’t. Eventually we negotiated a deal with Old Lady June in the neighboring apartment to keep an extra box of granola bars on hand if we came up too short for too long. She was responsible for Jonas’ first strike with the state.
“Do you have any bacon?” he asks.
I shrug. “No idea. Three roommates, remember?”
He smiles and pulls open the fridge. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black is fine.”
“That’s my boy.”
I flinch, and his smile fades.
“Sorry, Jess.”
He turns away to fill two mugs and two plates. Two. Such an odd number when it involves Jonas Everett. He slides one of each to me and takes a seat across the table.
“Thanks.” I inhale the aroma and stare at my reflection in the small ripples.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” he says, carefully arranging eggs on his fork.
I push my own around the plate. “Not really.”
He quiets, and I almost feel a twinge of regret.
“Where are you living now?” I ask.
“I have a place in lower Bucks.”
“Really? A house?”
He nods. “It’s not fancy, but I wanted space to set up a decent studio.”
I lower my fork. “For live recording too?”
&nb
sp; “Working on it. The contractors are still finishing up, but hopefully, in a month or two I’d be able to do it all in-house.”
“Wow. You think you’ll have enough artists to support that?”
“I already do. Seamless has been sending more work than I can handle. I could do more if I didn’t have to travel so much.”
“Maybe we can be your first official in-house project,” I joke too fast for the words to register. Shit.
His eyes change. “I’d love that, Jess.”
The coffee in my mouth drains down my throat. I take another swallow so my lips don’t do something stupid like smile.
“What did you think of my work on ‘Jonas’?”
If he’s hurt that he inspired such an ode to resentment, he hides it well. “It was dope.”
His lips turn up behind his mug. “Yeah? Well, you know where to find me if you want to move forward with it.”
“What really happened to Mom?” I blurt out. He wants to play? Well, game on.
He squirms under the weight of our past, and his voice sounds distant when he finally responds. “Honestly? I don’t know. I never heard from her after she ran off.”
“Why didn’t she take us with her?”
“I don’t know. She was—”
“Is that why you started using?”
“That’s when it got out of control.”
“Did you know that what happened on Halloween when I was twelve left permanent scars?”
Strike two. The old marks burn through my shirt as I watch his face shatter.
“Jesse, I—”
“Do you know what happens to third degree burns that don’t get treated?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did you know I was the one who found you when you OD’d for Strike Three? I thought you were dead. I wished it too until they sent me to NEC and I learned there are worse things than having a junkie father.”
“Jess—”
“Did you know they used to beat the shit out of me and lock me in the basement? Do you know what a starving kid is willing to do for something to eat? To get out of a basement? Do you?”
His eyes clench shut, head shaking in tortured arcs.
“Answer me, Jonas. Do you know?”
I hadn’t even realized I was crying until the molten drops land on my skin. The air is saturated with our breaths. Me, on my feet, leaning forward with fists tightened around the edge of the table. Him, looking as broken as I’ve ever seen a man.
My voice falters almost to a whisper. “Do you have any idea how much I wanted to love you? How little it would have taken for that to happen? One look. One touch. One fucking moment of feeling like I mattered.”
I collapse to the chair and lock my hands in my hair.
“The answer is no, Jess,” he says quietly. “I don’t know, but I do know I don’t deserve another chance.”
“I gave you another chance!” I fire at him. “I let you back in, and what did you do?”
Fucked me over, his look says, but his confession brings no comfort.
“I’m working two jobs so I can give you every penny I earn from producing. I swear to you, I will keep burning the candle at both ends until I pay back every cent I stole from you.”
Candle.
Light.
It’s all right…
Not bright enough to see my scars.
God, they hurt so much. Candle flames burn too. Did you know that, Jonas?
“Have you heard from Parker?” I snap.
“Jess—”
“Have you? Are they coming back?”
He studies me closely, searching for something. “They’re in Manhattan,” he says finally.
“Manhattan?” Air rushes from the room again. “With Mila?” Just saying her name guts me.
He nods.
“What could they have to discuss with her? I thought she was dropping us.”
His expression falls, and I know he’s fighting between loyalty to each of his sons. He owes me way more than Parker.
“She’s agreed to help them explore options for moving forward without you.”
Wham! Oxygen blasts from my lungs. Painful. So horrendously logical.
“I’m sorry, Jesse,” he says as I stare at my uneaten food.
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you blow second chances.” I push myself up from the table.
“It’s not over. You can’t look at this as the end.”
“Yeah? What is it then?”
“Rock bottom.”
Another blow. This one harder, deeper.
His eyes soften. “Don’t let this moment be the end. Make it the starting line. Today can be the beginning.”
He waits. I look away and drag myself up from the chair.
“I’m tired.”
∞∞∞
I wake to warm, soft arms. Peace. Relief.
“Mila?” Heat burns through me as I turn toward that flawless smile. My heart, oh god. I pull her close, crush her against my chest.
“I’m sorry. So so sorry,” I whisper against her neck. Her arms tighten around me.
“Me too, Jess.” Is she crying?
“We have to figure this out. Please don’t leave me again. Please.” A sob escapes my lips as I press them against her hair. “I’ll do anything.”
“Good, because I sent your songs to some people I know and they’re beyond excited. It’s happening, Jess. Everything you ever wanted. Life, legend. Love.”
Her mouth reaches for mine, hungry. My body is already charged, tensing with every press of her fingers. She grips the edge of my shirt, and I roll back. Ready, waiting, wholly hers.
“I love you,” I say, searching those brilliant eyes.
“Shut up, you little shit.”
I jerk up. “What?”
“You heard me. Fuck you, junkie.”
Stunned, I cry out at the sudden pain in my chest. I crane my neck to find the handle of a knife protruding from my skin.
“How does that feel?” she hisses. “Strike one.”
Paralyzed, I can only stare in horror as a second blade hovers above me.
“Mila! Please—”
I gasp as another searing pain floods through my abdomen.
“Strike two.”
“Parker!”
I scream to my brother who ducks through the doorway. But instead of subduing Mila, he accepts the dagger she hands him.
His lips curl in a grotesque twist, teeth white in the sudden darkness. Only a small candle illuminates the room. Just enough to see the glint of metal as it rushes toward me.
This time I have no air left for protests.
“Strike three, you overrated piece of shit,” he growls.
“Four.”
“Five.”
“Six.”
Jesse. Jess! Wake up! Jess!
I gasp and open my eyes. Sunlight streams through the windows. My hands fly to my chest as I search for blood, gaping wounds. The pain. The pain is too real.
“Hey,” a voice says.
I draw back in alarm, pushing as far away from the intruder as possible.
“Don’t. No more. I’m sorry!” I scream, holding up my hands to block the knife. Seven, eight? I’m dead! Why are my eyes open?
Why are his eyes open?
Other details slowly bleed through the veil. My messy desk. The pile of dirty clothes in the corner. And…
No Parker.
No music.
No Mila.
No future.
The pain is deeper than a knife cut.
I choke on the words in my throat. “I lost everything. There’s nothing left.” This time the arms that tighten around me are hard. Strong. Drenched with a sense of permanence.
“So did I, Jess.”
I shudder at his tone, tender and deliberate at the same time.
“I want it back, Dad,” I whisper.
Dad…
There’s something new in the way he bolsters me against him.
&nb
sp; “Then we get it back, son. We go get it back.”
∞∞∞
“Getting it back” feels impossible until we break it down into a list I can see.
I stare at the page in my notebook as Dad makes us coffee.
1. Work with Counselor Seth to deal with the mental shit.
2. Attend group with Dad.
3. Accept Chris’ offer for one-on-one mentorship and accountability.
4. Investigate inpatient and outpatient rehab programs.
“You’re going to be able to do this, Jess,” he says, placing a mug in front of me. “Trust me.”
I swallow the rising panic in my chest.
Trust me.
What about the music?
Trust me.
Who am I, what am I if the music doesn’t come anymore?
“What’s going on in that head?”
I flinch and hide behind the cup.
“Nothing. Just trying to figure shit out.”
He leans back in his chair, gaze reflective. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you and I are a lot alike. It seems as though our art is in the darkness.”
“Isn’t it?” I grunt.
“Maybe. But I promise you’ll learn to access it in a healthier way. Parker told me the music wrecks you when it comes. Wouldn’t you like to be the one in control?”
I’d do anything to breathe when the words come.
I’m sure Dad has more in the arsenal but he’s cut off by the clamor of returning roommates. The ruckus skids to a halt when they see us. Their faces slide from surprise to guilt.
My violent dream floods back, this time as a lie. Parker wouldn’t stab me; I stab him.
“Jesse. Hey, man. Welcome home,” he says.
“Thanks. You too.”
His gaze ducks away. “Look, about New York and not picking you up—”
“Don’t. I get it.”
Four sets of eyes follow me from the table to the fridge. I rip the page from my notebook and slap it on the door with a magnet.
“And now we’re getting our future back.”
25: GETTING IT BACK
This time when I meet Chris at the coffee shop there are no awkward stranger ambushes or red hats. She smiles when I enter and waves me over to a table.
“Good to see you, Jesse,” she says, pushing a cup toward me.
“You too.” I raise a brow at the surprise gift.
“I remembered what you ordered last time. Hope that’s okay.”
“It’s great. Thanks.” I take the seat across from her and wrap my hands around the giant mug.
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