by Joy Eileen
D hadn’t turned eighteen yet, so he was still considered a ward of the state, and, by law, couldn't leave. Van was a fucking mess the next day, telling me he couldn’t abandon D. He shouldered his duffle bags and took off, saying he’d call me later.
In less than an hour, he was back, his parents refused to let him into the house. In their eyes he was no longer a member of their family.
For the second day in a row, I opened my door and moved back so he could walk in. This time he had tears streaming down his face. Jet came over later, and Van recounted the whole situation to him. Jet being Jet piled us into his truck and drove us to Grandma B’s house.
She sat us down at her battered kitchen table and started dinner. Van garnered most of Grandma B’s attention. After several minutes of goading and tempting him with baked goods, he finally broke down and told her everything.
Grandma B was visibly upset as she listened intently, stirring the pot on the stove like she was on a mission.
She placed heaping plates of food in front of us before leaving the room. We stared in the direction she’d disappeared, not sure what to do. Jet finally told us to eat because she would be upset if we didn’t.
When Grandma B came back, her face was red and her eyes filled with unshed tears. She kissed Van on the top of the head telling him she would keep an eye on D until the time was right.
She made us promise to come over for dinner at least once a week. It had been a tradition. She called us her boys and treated us like we were her own, giving us support, advice-and lectures when we needed them.
One day, she called Van's dad a jackhole for the way he treated Van, explaining it was a combination of jackass and asshole without the ass. That was the first day since my grandparents' death I actually laughed.
Instead of once a week, we were at Grandma B's almost everyday. She provided us updates on D as she piled food in front of us. She became even more involved in the church so she could recount how D was doing, easing Van’s mind. She was amazing, and when we took her out in public she would stand in the middle of us with her head held high, smiling like she was the luckiest person in the world.
One day, she slipped on a ladder at the church, breaking her hip and most of her ribs, and fracturing her arm.
We sobbed like babies in the waiting room, begging her to be stubborn and not leave us. Thankfully, we got our wish.
We watched her every move to make sure she wasn’t lying to us about needing more pain medication. She finally asked us to sing to her to get us to stop hovering. We spent hours around her faded brown couch playing whatever song she requested. Van would drum on her coffee table, while Jet and I played our guitars and sang.
One day, while we’d been in her living room doing a jam session, there was a knock on the door. Grandma B’s eyes were lit up like she was on too many pain pills clapping her good hand gently on her lap telling Van he should answer the door.
Whatever Van was expecting, I promise it wasn't the delivery man from the local music shop delivering a brand new drum set.
Grandma B instructed the delivery man to remove the coffee table, explaining the drums were more important than any piece of furniture. She was giddy when they were set up, commanding Van to get his butt behind them and play something for her.
Over time, Grandma B developed an infection in her hip, and although she was pumped with regular doses of antibiotics, she wasn't getting any better. Even in pain, she made us carry her to the couch and play for her daily.
When she stopped eating because of the pain, the doctors admitted her into the hospital. She must have known her time was coming to an end. She called us in one at a time. Van went in first. When he finally came out, he had tears in his eyes. He hugged us both and told us he would be out in the waiting room. I was next.
I didn’t want to go in the room. In my gut, I was certain this would be her final good-bye. I’d stubbornly thought if I refused to enter the room, it would force her to stay alive. Jet had figured out what I was thinking and put his hand on my shoulder, telling me if I kept her waiting she’d be pissed and probably come after me.
Knowing he was right, I took a deep breath and went into her room, closing the door behind me. When I sat down and took her hand, her eyes fluttered open and locked onto mine.
She looked so tiny under the blanket. I was barely able to make out her outline. She squeezed my hand to get my attention. "Killian, those boys need you. They look up to you, and you need to be strong for them."
I wanted to protest, but even in her weakened state, there was no arguing with Grandma B.
"You are my boys, and I love you so much. You'll get them through this. All Jet's life he has been searching for the love and support you boys provide him. You can do this. I'm counting on you."
She shook her head as I pleaded with her to stay. When her words of wisdom were given, I kissed her on the head and summoned Jet to her room.
I ran to my car, seeking refuge from what was to come. The only parental figure I had left was being ripped away from me. I slammed my fists repeatedly onto my steering wheel, accepting the pain that accompanied every blast.
Van found me later, spent and leaning on the steering wheel. He opened my door and pulled me into his arms. Jet came out soon after. We were powerless to stop what was about to happen.
Grandma B died that night in the hospital with us surrounding her.
Van drummed on the night table while Jet and I played our guitars quietly next to her bed. We’d snuck them in, knowing the music would soothe us just as much as it would her. She passed away while we played, Sweet Dreams, Jet’s favorite lullaby.
Grandma B had been very specific in her final days that we were to be front and center in the church. The three of us had sat next to each other—all orphan’s in different definitions, but orphans, nonetheless.
This was also the first time Van saw his parents since they had kicked him out. His holier-than-thou, piece-of-shit dad hadn’t even spared him a passing glance. D had been nowhere to be seen. I guess they’d been afraid Van would try to corrupt him from his pew.
I couldn't understand how Van's parents could treat him like that. As representatives of a church, they saw death all the time, shouldn’t they want to latch onto their son for as long as they could?
At the end of the day, we found ourselves on the couch in Grandma B’s house. Jet had finally broken down, saying he didn’t want to stay there any longer. When I asked him if he wanted to come and live with Van and me, he jumped up and grabbed his pre-packed bags. Before leaving the house, we had one last jam session in the living room, dedicated to Grandma B.
Later in the week, we had to meet with Grandma B’s lawyer for the reading of the will. She left everything to the four of us, stipulating that as soon as D was of legal age, we’d add him into our family, because he would need us.
When we left the lawyer, both Van and I told Jet we didn’t want anything from her and it was all his. Jet declined with a huge smile, saying Grandma B had known what she’d been doing, and he didn’t expect anything different.
With Grandma B gone, we lost our regular updates on D, and it drove Van mad. Jet and I had bargained with him that on D’s eighteenth birthday we would help him get D and his stuff out of his parents’ house.
On D’s eighteenth birthday, Van hauled us out of bed at the ass crack of dawn. It finally penetrated his thick skull that showing up at a decent hour might keep the drama down to a minimum.
Jet parked his truck in front of the house, and we sat there staring at it, letting Van take the lead. It was funny how anxious he had been to get there, but when we finally arrived at the house, he stalled. I never thought anything could intimidate someone like Van. He always carried himself with confidence, except when it came to his parents, he was like a Rottweiler convinced he was a Chihuahua.
My nerves were on high as Jet and I followed Van to his parents’ front door. I wasn't sure how D would fit in with our little misfit group, but
it was important to Van, so it had become important to me.
Van’s dad opened the door before he could even knock. Van dwarfed him in both size and height, but when faced with his father, Van had seemed to shrink.
Van was amazingly calm when he explained we’d had come for D. His dad screamed that we weren’t getting anywhere near D. He had one son who was going to make him proud, and it obviously was not Van. I had to hold Jet back from punching the fucker out, and I really wanted to let my hands slip.
Van convinced his father to let D come down and tell him in person he didn’t want anything to do with him.
As we waited, Van wanted to leave, explaining he couldn't handle another person he loved pushing him away. Without Grandma B's updates we were clueless of D's mental state and we could tell Van was terrified.
When D emerged from the house, he was skin and bones, his eyes glassy–he looked like shit. Van's parents were totally ignoring the fact that D was strung out on drugs and barely lucid.
Van took one look at him, and told him he was coming with us, determined to get him clean. D had gone through too much shit in his life to throw it away on drugs like his useless mother.
Van pleaded with his parents, begging them to see that D was so hopped up on drugs he was probably seeing little green Martians in front of him instead of his brother. They’d scoffed, saying they only had one drug-addicted son.
The ironic thing was Van had never done drugs. He wanted his parent’s approval. He craved it. Apparently, he would have been able to hide drug use easier than the tattoos, and piercings that condemned him from his ignorant parents’ love.
Van picked D up and slammed him on the side of the house. They went nose to nose and Van whispered to D, not that anything could have been overheard over his screeching parents. Van pushed something into D's hand, clamping his fist around it before turning to leave. He hadn’t bothered to give his parents a passing glance.
Jet, unable to pass up the opportunity to be a smartass, looked at Van’s parents as they helped D off of the ground and told them how nice it had been to see them again.
Van never told us what he’d said to D, but it must have been something powerful, because the next day D knocked on our door looking worn-down. Van pulled him in the house and hugged him tightly while D just cried, telling him over and over again how sorry he was and that he would never do drugs again.
Jet and I carried all of D’s stuff into his room, the three of us went through everything to make sure he hadn’t smuggled anything into the house. The next couple of days were hell while D detoxed, but he’d remained strong, telling us he didn’t want to be like his mom and he would never let us down.
A little over two weeks into D's detox we were in the garage playing around when D came in and asked if he could join us. He explained that one of his mom’s many boyfriends taught him how to play the bass, and it had been one of his better memories before he went into foster care.
It was healing for all of us to play together in the garage, letting the music take away our frustrations and anger and the different demons we were battling. D told us he needed to keep busy, and we ended up making him our unspoken manager. He took the job to heart and immediately began booking gigs. None of us wanted to tell him we were just doing it for cathartic purposes, so we went along with it, knowing this was part of his healing process.
I guess we were pretty good at it, because the gigs kept rolling in.
"And that's how the JackholeS were formed." I exhaled, feeling lighter after telling Faith my story.
Chapter 3
Faith
Say something Faith, my mind screamed. I’d been so lost in Kill's story I was having a difficult time absorbing everything. My heart was having a tug-a-war with the conflicting emotions of heartbreak and happiness at the perseverance the boys had shown.
I wanted to say something profound, to let him know how much his story affected me, but all my brain could come up with was, “Really? You're going to be humble now? You know you guys are better than pretty good.”
“Oh, yeah, is that so?”
He pulled me up, so he could meet my lips again. My heart sped up, circulating the emotions I had for Kill until it was all I could sense. Before he could pull me in for another mind-drugging kiss, where I would lose all coherent thoughts, I moved away.
“Of course, you guys are fucking fantastic, which is why I'm going to end up with a badass car soon," I responded smugly, not letting him forget his promise. When the JackholeS hit it big, he would give me his Mustang. He pinky-promised, so I was secure he wouldn't renege.
He smiled before crushing his lips to mine. I didn’t fight him, wanting to taste him more than I wanted my next peanut butter fix. This kiss could only be described as hard and demanding, both of us wanting to get as close as we could. I let him take as much as he needed to expel the demons of the past I’d just made him dredge up.
He traced his tongue across my bottom lip, while he held it in place with his teeth. Heat shot straight between my thighs, and my eyes opened in surprise at the burning desire such a tiny movement created. Our gazes locked and his eyes filled with lust, causing more heat to flood through me. We both froze, our lips still pressed together. My body was on top of his as we stared at each other. I felt his mouth slide into a smile under mine.
“What are you smiling at?” I asked, my voice breathless.
My words made my lips brush over his. He winked at me, but didn't pull back.
“You'll figure it out,” he whispered back. He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, settling me back onto his side.
“You confuse the hell out of me, Killer,” I grumbled, causing him to laugh.
“You know, Slick, for being such a smart girl sometimes, you're clueless, but I think I like it that way.”
I playfully shoved him as he continued to laugh. “You are so lucky you're cute, because the obnoxious statements you like to make would annoy a saint.”
“You think I’m cute?” he asked, the grin evident in his voice.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed the remote off the bed to find something on TV.
“Hey, what do you think you're doing?” he asked, snatching it away from me. "I just told you my story. I want to know yours. You’ve mentioned some parts of your life, but I think I deserve more information since I just spilled my innermost secrets.”
I laughed at him, moving so I was laying on my side in order to look at him. He held the remote out of my reach, showing me how serious he was in his request. He wore a half-smile, but his eyes searched my face waiting to hear about my childhood.
“I hope the story about how you met your bandmates isn’t your innermost secret, because then you wouldn’t be mysterious anymore. And since you really aren’t as cute as I thought you were, with no mystery you're pretty useless.”
The smile dropped from his face, and he turned serious. “I promise there're still secrets you're not privy to. The mystery will stand, for now. There is some things you don't know.” He gave me his half smile, the intensity of his words causing me to shiver.
“Okay,” I said in a shaky voice, turning his half grin into a full blown smile.
I shook my head, knowing that if I was going to tell him about my mom, I wouldn’t be able to look at him. I was afraid I’d start blubbering while spilling my guts, or kiss him senseless. The latter didn't sound too bad.
I returned to my comfortable position, draping myself over him, and told him about my childhood. The lump in my throat made it hard to talk as I detailed my fourth birthday, the day my mom decided she couldn't handle being a mother and left my father and I for good.
We were still entangled in each other when we heard someone coming up the stairs. I went still and tried to make my breath quieter than it was, making Kill laugh softly.
“Don’t worry, Slick. They have no idea. It isn’t like they do nightly bed checks to make sure we're all in our designated spots.”
“I know,” I
whispered back. “I just don’t want to hear it from them; you know how many people have warned me to stay away from you.”
“Who?”
I could tell his jaw was clenched just from the tone of his voice, and I would bet my next pair of shoes his dimples were flashing on and off his cheeks. Before I could answer him, there was a light knock at my door.
I looked up at Kill in panic. D called my name, and I rushed over to ensure he didn’t open my door and catch Kill lounging on my bed.
After I made sure everything crucial was covered, I opened the door just enough to wiggle out into the hallway and stand before a very confused D. I blushed, realizing how guilty my maneuver must have looked.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, trying to cover up the awkwardness of the whole situation.
D’s face turned just as red as mine felt. He looked down at the carpet his dark-brown hair hanging around his face and hiding some of his features. D shuffled his feet nervously, refusing to look me in the face. His long, lean body seemed tense as he studied his shoes.
“Uhmm... I just wanted to check on you.” He finally looked up from the floor, the intensity in his hazel eyes I had never seen before.
I looked at him cocking my head, even more confused than when I walked out into the hallway. My heart sank in my chest hoping Kill's theory about D having a crush on me was wrong. With losing the battle to stay away from Kill, and my crazy ex roaming the streets without the protection of a restraining order, I didn't think I could take anymore emotional baggage.
“Yeah, I’m fine, D. I was just about to go to sleep. So, I guess I'll see you later?” I asked, turning to go back into my room uncertain what this whole thing was about.
“Wait, Faith,” he said, grabbing my arm.