Limelight (NSB Book 4)

by Alyson Santos

  “Stop! I’m here!” My cries are drowned out by the blast of a whistle, the thunder of engines and countless wheels. Chug-chug. The train rockets forward with relentless speed. What’s missing is the squeal of breaks, any desperate attempt to alter its course.

  The conductor doesn’t see me.

  “I’m here! Stop, I’m here!”

  Tears burn down my cheeks as my body lurches into a frenzied explosion of violence against the ropes.

  Stop! Stop! I’m here!

  The rumble is a growl now, reverberating through my pores with each decaying second. Suddenly, the ropes tighten, pulling my wrists and legs into bone-crushing alignment with the side rails. This scream is from pain, but the conductor can’t hear that either. No one hears me. No one sees me. No one even knows…

  This is my death.

  “I’m here.” My voice is only a whisper, the tears streaking into my hair as I still.

  No one hears.

  No one sees.

  No one cares.

  No one even knows.

  No one.

  “Jesse! Wake up. Jess!”

  My eyes snap open. I shoot up from the bed as oxygen plunges into my chest with a deep gasp. Heart racing, my gaze shifts in terror around the room. A hand moves to my back, rubs gentle circles over the etches of train tracks. I hold up my wrists and squint through the dim light. No bloody wrings, so why does my skin throb?

  “I’m fine,” I lie, forcing my legs over the side of the bed. I lean my elbows on my knees and fight for consciousness, the return of order.

  It’s all right in the candlelight.

  It’s all right.

  It’s all right.

  “Another dream about the basement?”

  I shake my head and run a hand through my damp hair. “I’ll be right back.”

  I make it to the bathroom in time to throw up.

  ∞∞∞

  More “great” news awaits me in the morning. Jonas sent over what he came up with for our song, and it’s fucking good. Like, out-of-this-world-the-guys-are-flipping-out good.

  Parker replays the track, and Derrick does his teeth clenched over fisted knuckles happy dance around the room. Mila leans against the doorframe, eyes locked on me as I concentrate hard on the worn throw rug. I feel her stare, Parker’s too, because as much as he says he’d go on without me, we all know he won’t. He can’t, and he wants me to love this collaboration as much as I hate that I do. Jonas may be a dick father but he’s a damn good producer.

  “That synth line though,” Derrick squeals, clapping like a hyperactive seal.

  Even Reece is bursting at the seams to contain his delight over the brutal drops and rich layering of bass for a killer dubstep vibe. I don’t know why I’m surprised that the man who manufactured my DNA would get our music so intensely. Worse than that, he took it to a place I hadn’t even considered.

  A place you couldn’t have gone.

  You need him.

  “It’s good,” I breathe into the silence when the track clicks off.

  Derrick fist-pumps the air. “Hells yeah!”

  “We need to get him into the studio with us and do this for real,” Reece says.

  He’s right. They’re all right. I bury the nausea ripping through me.

  “Shut up, you little fucker!”

  “Stop crying!”

  Thump.

  “Things will be better this time. I promise, Jess.”

  Traitor. Promise-breaker.

  Earth-shaker.

  Fuck!

  I scrub my face with my palm. “I need a drink.”

  Pushing up from the couch, I make my way to the kitchen. Mila follows at my heels, probably because drink isn’t ambiguous enough for her comfort.

  “Jesse…”

  “What?” The tequila bottle is getting low now that I’m hitting it harder than usual. One shot. I clench my eyes shut and enjoy the burn sliding down my throat and coating my stomach. Two shots.

  “Jesse!”

  I slam the glass on the counter and glare over at her. “What?!”

  Her gaze narrows into Manager Mila: firm, frustrated, fucking judgmental.

  Shot three.

  Shot four, and the bottle is wrenched from my hand.

  My glare can cut glass too. “What do you want from me?”

  “You know.”

  I shove away from the island and storm to my room.

  Door locked.

  Mic dropped.

  Gun cocked.

  Forgot what I came for.

  Shell shocked.

  Head blocked

  Can’t stop

  The sound of failure.

  No no no. Not now! I shake the words from my brain.

  Stop

  The sound of failure.

  I drop to the bed and press my palms over my ears. I can’t. I can’t!

  No knock.

  Scene dark.

  Don’t start!

  With a frustrated cry, I slam the first thing I find against the wall. Brochures flutter through the air, debris from the lame-ass folder Counselor Seth forced on me.

  You’re still running.

  Seth didn’t say that. Seth didn’t say much because I gave him nothing at our first meeting.

  Box checked.

  Regrets?

  Maybe. No. No!

  Li has minimums.

  My body goes cold, then hot.

  Li has minimums!

  I rush for the bag hidden in the pocket of a hoodie at the back of my closet.

  You promised, phantom Mila warns me. Phantom Mila who’s fully present just a few yards away. I glance at the door.

  You promised.

  A promise I already broke. I’m already a liar.

  A fraud. A…

  Promise-breaker.

  No better than him. Worse than him?

  Liquid burns in my eyes, sears down my cheeks.

  Stop running.

  I tried. God knows how hard I tried. I want to. I can’t. I have to. I won’t. Everyone knows I won’t.

  I glance back at the door.

  Dropped.

  Cocked.

  Forgot.

  Shocked.

  Blocked.

  Knocked.

  Can’t stop can’t stop can’t stop can’t stop.

  You’re already a failure.

  I empty the bag into my hand.

  24: DECISIONS

  I stare out the giant glass window, studying the toy cars weaving through the maze of parked vehicles below. Small human ants crawl among them. In, out, up, down. There’s something unsettling about the fact that I can study them and they’ll never know my name. Never even know we had this moment together and they starred in the thoughts of a desperate stranger.

  A quick knock taps my door, and a nurse pokes her head in.

  “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?”

  “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.”
<
br />   “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.