But they’d driven past the zoo and kept going until they’d reached a neglected farmhouse on a large lot. When they’d stepped out of their car, people outside the farmhouse had greeted her father like a conquering hero, calling him the prophet and shouting about how the Earth would be returned to the blessed. “The comet will save us all,” they’d chanted, which even to her young ears had sounded delusional.
Jenny returned her focus to the road. Technically it was her day off, but everything she’d done so far today was work related. Not that she minded. She’d always figured you were winning at life if you could do a job you loved and that society valued enough to pay you for doing it. Attending the networking breakfast for group-home leaders, during which several speakers had talked about professional development commitments, had been a no-brainer. Given its proximity to the Superstore on Weston Road, which thankfully had a gas station close by, she could tick a few more things off her list—gas, groceries for the group home, and some supplies for herself.
Running a group home had been her only objective when she’d finally graduated from high school, and now it was a reality. It had been heartbreaking to leave the group home for which she’d been the assistant manager in Ottawa, where she’d lived for the last eight years, but as much as Ottawa had been good to her, it had never quite felt like home the way Toronto had. She’d missed it so much that when the home had been forced to make cuts, she’d volunteered, partly to save her coworkers from losing their jobs, but also so that she could relocate with a little severance money in her pocket. When she’d moved back four weeks ago, she hadn’t had a job waiting for her, so she’d been thrilled when one of her former coworkers told her that a group home with a very special place in Jenny’s heart was looking for somebody temporarily. She’d jumped at the chance to act as a substitute for Ellen, the current head of the home. Jenny knew her well from her own past and had been crushed to see the always-active Ellen with her leg in a cast. Ellen had brushed aside Jenny’s concern, joking that she’d always thought an angry parent would be her demise rather than the misplaced laundry basket she’d tripped over. With her broken leg, she would need considerable recovery time after her surgeries, leaving the city no choice but to find a stand-in for her.
This would be Jenny’s chance to prove that she could run a home. Do it right, impress her bosses, and the city might even find her a house manager role in another home when her temporary contract ended.
She turned into the grocery store’s underground parking lot and pulled into an empty space. She killed the engine and looked over at her the mail sitting on the passenger seat that she’d collected on her way out of the apartment that morning. She recognized her father’s handwriting on the envelope at the top of the stack.
Better get it over with.
Before indecision could take over again, she ripped open the envelope her lawyer had forwarded, an envelope that been sent to his office from the secure unit in which her father was currently imprisoned.
Dear Starburst,
God, she hated that name. She hated any reference at all to the night sky. The cult had based all their actions on the patterns of stars. Their collective suicide attempt had even been focused around the appearance of a new comet.
I used to think that the time it takes the Earth to orbit around the Sun was an impossible concept for a human to grasp. The precision of it—the extra six hours, forty-five minutes, and forty-eight seconds that everyone forgets to add when they say 365 days—seemed so abstract. But after having witnessed this phenomenon nearly seventeen times since I last saw you, I now think of each rotation only as a painful reminder of the time and distance between us.
While I myself have been very aware of it for some time, it has been decided by the court that I am now well enough to serve the rest of my sentence with the general prison population. I am aware, too, that an apology to you is long overdue, one I would like to make in person.
Even the courts and judges of Ontario now realize I am not the man I once was, and I desperately need the opportunity to convince you of this, too.
If I could make the trip to see you, I would do it in a heartbeat. But as I can’t, please would you reconsider your decision and please, please, come and see me?
Dad
Jenny balled up the paper and threw it into the footwell of the car. Damn him. He had no right. Not when he’d been the one to mix the poison with the apple juice to make it more palatable to the children of the compound, leaving six of them dead. Not when he’d been the one to give the commencement speech before all his followers were to die, explaining how the comet would save them all and that death was the only way to shed their physical skins and enter the next world. Not when he’d told them that God would know who failed him if they didn’t drink the poison in the order her father told them to. Not when he’d made her mom go first to show their joint commitment to their cause. Goddamn him.
Jenny shivered and stepped out of her car. A crisp coolness danced in the early November air, so she quickly fastened the buttons of her light jacket. It was her favorite time of year and she refused to let it be ruined by a stupid letter from her father. Growing up in care, this season had somehow felt tainted. Thanksgiving had felt forced, Halloween had been a logistical disaster masked by cheap costumes, and Christmas—though it had been the best effort the home could provide—rarely had been touched by the magic she’d imagined existed in a real home.
Now, she embraced them all.
As she hurried into the store and did her shopping, searching for deals to stretch the food budget as far as it could go, she thought about the boys and teenagers currently living at Ellen’s. Albi, at twelve, was the youngest of the bunch, and from Ellen’s comments he sounded like the most at risk. Seventeen-year-old Leon, the oldest, shouldered the most baggage and anger. Quiet Mark was still coming to terms with the deaths of seven members of his family in a car accident. Ravi was excited to be in the home because it was a respite from the brutal beatings he’d received at the hand of his father. Two other boys had been reunited with their now-clean mom the previous weekend, and she expected their places to be filled any day now.
Ketchup was on sale, so Jenny pulled four bottles off the shelf. When kids were around, you could never have too much ketchup.
She continued to run through the boys, their backgrounds, their social workers’ files, constantly reworking and rethinking her plans for activities that would help them individually while forcing them to work together. And yet, at the same time, she needed to be realistic about their differences and limitations. It would be wrong, for instance, to assume someone happy and good like Ravi could somehow “save” Albi—or to make it his responsibility to do so.
Her thoughts consumed her as she filled her cart. Juice on sale three for the price of two, bags of milk, loaf after loaf of bread. When she had everything she needed, she hurried to the check-out lane.
She tapped her fingers on the handle of the shopping cart as she hummed the new Adele song that had been playing on the radio earlier. The lady two places ahead of her in line waved her flier around, pointing to items she was certain hadn’t checked out at the right price. Jenny couldn’t complain—she’d be doing the exact same thing when it was her turn. Plus, she’d be using the fistful of coupons she’d collected. Every penny she could save on groceries could be put to better use to provide for the boys in her care.
On her first visit to meet with Ellen, who had hobbled around on crutches as best she could while bringing Jenny up to speed, everything about the house and yard had bombarded her with memories. The tire swing that Nik had hung in the back garden. The initials of all the boys written into the driveway concrete that had been poured on a steamy August day while Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” had blasted from a truck radio. The front porch where Nik had first kissed her, buoyed by the arrival of a secondhand electric guitar and amp from his social worker, Maisey.
Nik’s group home had been everything hers hadn’t been. Wh
ile Nik had Ellen and Maisey, who cared deeply about creating waves of boys who thought of each other as brothers, her home had been nothing more than a place to sleep at night. When she’d finally escaped the clutches of the cult where she’d been isolated because of who her father was, she’d imagined she’d be sent somewhere warm, and loving. To a family who loved children. To somewhere she’d feel connected to those around her. She’d dreamed about it. Sat in the bunk room she shared with other young girls and day-dreamed about it. But the reality had been so different. In her group home, there was no Ellen, and her concerns and fear had been dealt with clinically and professionally, rather than caringly and compassionately.
She glanced at the magazines on the rack in front of her and sighed, wishing that she hadn’t. The cover of one at eye level proudly proclaimed something she already knew: Nikan Monture was great in bed. Jenny sighed loudly and stepped forward as the line moved. For eight years, she’d managed to keep thoughts of him at bay, but in the less than a month she’d been back in the city, he seemed to be everywhere.
“Nik Strummed Me All Night Long”
Jenny blanched at the headline. What had once been special between the two of them as they’d fumbled around their first time had become something he would share with anyone—while the whole world watched. Her heart felt just as wrecked as it had the day she’d found out that Nik had cheated on her.
She’d heard from Ellen that the band still supported the home, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to face Nik during her brief assignment. That would be too damn hard.
The belt began to empty as the cashier rang out the items for the lady ahead of her, and Jenny turned away from the rack. As she loaded up the belt with the bulk paper towels, multipacks of chicken thighs, and other items, she tried to bury the burning she felt in her chest. Even though she wasn’t in any of Nik’s videos, their relationship having predated the worst of cellphone sexting and voyeurism, she felt the pain of the women who had been violated by the leak. She knew Nikan well enough, or at least she had once, to assume that the videos had been recorded consensually, but did there have to be so damn many of them?
During her time in Ottawa, she hadn’t been celibate. She’d dated and had even had year-long periods where she had been in relationships, but between her own hang-ups and the fact that she seemed to be a magnet for men who couldn’t keep it in their pants, they had all failed. Plus, deep in her heart, she knew it was because they weren’t Nik—and they never could be. She could either spend her life alone or settle for second best—and second best sucked.
Once everything was on the belt, she hurried to the other side of the checkout to load it all into the reusable bags in her shopping cart. She put all the cold stuff together and shoved the paper towel onto the shelf below.
“That’ll be two hundred and eight dollars and sixty-eight cents,” the cashier said.
Jenny handed her the coupons. “I have these,” she said. Her own experience of care meant that she had always been the uncool kid at school. While others had been kicking around in high-end sneakers, she’d worn a pair of second-hand Converse she’d picked up at Goodwill instead of the unbranded white sneakers she’d been given.
The cashier huffed. They always did. And she’d probably huff again when Jenny went through her receipt line by line to check that all the flyer discounts had gone through.
Jenny shook her head and glanced down at her phone. A little after noon. Even though it was her day off, her weekly meeting with Albi’s social worker had been rescheduled for one o’clock because of a last-minute emergency the previous day, and it would take her half an hour to drive to the group home.
Damn.
How had the day gotten away from her?
* * *
Nik drove slowly in front of the Rogers Centre, eyes peeled for Albi, grateful that he’d caught the reporters outside the house off guard with his rubber-burning exit from his driveway.
Traffic was always busy, so he’d slapped on his hazards and crawled along the curb. A horn sounded behind him, and Nik spared a glance into his rearview. The guy driving the van behind him was gesticulating for him to get out of the way. Nik flipped him the bird and continued to look for Albi’s black curls.
“Dial Albi,” Nik said, and the car did the work. The ringing vibrated through the car.
“Nik,” Albi whispered.
“Where are you? I’m in front of the stadium.”
There was a pause, some shouting, and a mumbled “I ain’t fucking scared.” “I’m up the steps past gate six.”
What the hell would Albi be scared of? Nik slammed on his brakes and pulled to a stop, ignoring all the signs clearly telling him parking wasn’t allowed. “I’m coming to get you.” Leaving his warning lights flashing, he got out of the car and jogged across the concourse and up the first set of steps. Sure, a diligent traffic warden might come ticket his car, but hopefully he’d be back before it was towed. Either way, he had no choice but to leave it there.
Albi needed his help.
He remembered what it felt like, to be young and stupid. Trying to fit in, to be cool. He’d not been a saint in his teens. And hell, he’d derailed himself for most of his early twenties. Until he’d realized that, just like him, his brothers, his band, had needed stability. And he’d assumed the mantle.
He shook his head as loud voices caught his attention, but he couldn’t see where they were coming from.
“Do it, motherfucker,” said one.
“Bitch, do it.”
“I’m gonna do it,” he heard Albi shout.
From his spot at the bottom of the second set of steps, he saw an elderly lady approaching the top. She looked repeatedly over her shoulder and moved unsteadily toward the first step. Fear was etched into the lines of her features, and she gripped the strap of her purse with her hand. His heart moved to his mouth as he saw Albi looming behind her. A group of boys older than Albi but still clearly in their early to mid-teens fanned out behind him, one of them pantomiming a pushing gesture while three more pointed phones straight at the woman, ready to film what happened next.
“Just get on with it, prospect,” shouted a guy who looked at least twenty.
Prospect. Like a wannabe member of a biker gang? Who the fuck talked that way to a group of school-age kids? Shit. With a burst of adrenaline, he pounded up the stairs. What did they want Albi to do? Steal her purse? Push her down the steps?
“Yo, Albi, we gotta go,” he shouted, his calm tone belying his sheer terror. He ran straight up toward the woman, fearing for her safety if the gang followed through on whatever it was Albi didn’t do. He wasn’t sure he could prevent her from being hurt, but he could break her fall.
The older lady moved over to the left and gripped the handrail, and Nik felt shitty that she was so obviously terrified.
The boys around Albi took a step back. One of them ran away.
“Albi, we gotta go,” the ringleader said in a singsong voice that gave Nik the urge to punch him the vocal chords to shut him up. It was too late to pretend they were just hanging out doing nothing.
Instead, he reached the top of the stairs and squared up against the guy. “You got a problem?” he asked.
Once they stood toe to toe, it became clear to the guy that Nik had him pegged when it came to size. Nik’s six-foot-two frame had always had its advantages, and the martial arts Ellen had made him take up as a kid to help him deal with what had happened to him had become a passion he practiced regularly. The fact that there were five guys made no difference; if any one of them made a move to hurt the old lady or Albi, he’d take the motherfuckers down, minors or not.
“Get out of my face.” The punk’s words might have been full of attitude, but the dilated pupils and beads of sweat on his forehead showed Nik that he was talking to a shit-scared young adult. Having been one once himself, he felt a small wave of empathy.
“Holy shit,” one of the other kids said. “Are you Nik from Preload?”
N
ik ignored him.
“Look, kid,” he said, his voice softer than before. “This is a really bad fucking choice. There’s no coming back from this kind of shit. Encouraging minors to pull stunts like this, you go to prison for that kind of thing.”
“You know nothing,” the kid scoffed.
“I know a lot more than you. I know that you stupidly picked a spot to pull this shit that’s in the full glare of the stadium security cameras. Evidence,” he said, pointing up to the exterior of the building. “I know that tat on your neck tells me which gang you belong to and which neighborhood in Toronto you live in. And I know that the pass sticking out of your pocket says you ride transit a lot and that you had to enter your address to get it. I’m going to follow up on all of it, kid. I’ll know who you are by the end of the day. You want me to forget about you after I do that, you stay the fuck away from Albi. You don’t, and I’ll be all over you like a rash.”
“Come on,” the guy finally said to the younger ones around him, but none of them moved. “What are you waiting for? I said let’s go.”
Nik pulled out his wallet. “Fifty bucks each and fare for a cab ride back to school if you stay.”
None of them moved.
“You’re going to pay for this,” the guy said before turning on his heels and running away.
Nikan Rebuilt--A steamy, emotional rockstar romance Page 2