by Cara Dee
Friends. I sneered at that word. I didn’t have any friends out there.
"I'm sure as shit not gonna shack up with Ade," I told him. Had he lost his ever-loving mind?
"I didn’t say that," he defended. "You're gonna have to live somewhere, though. Why not on their street or nearby? It's a crap neighborhood, so no one would come looking for you there, and it wouldn’t kill Adeline to have another pair of eyes around the youngest. Abel seems like a rambunctious kid. Kinda like you, actually."
I blanched at that name. Abel. I knew the name, didn’t I? Of fucking course I did.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, reining in my temper. Holy fuck, she better not have… "Is she—" I cleared my throat. "Does she live with Morgan?"
"Who?"
"Fuck." I sucked in a breath and tried to clear my head. Motherfucker should've kept his mouth shut. "Is she living with a guy named Morgan?" I bit out. "His sons' names are Abel and James or something."
"Jesse," he corrected. "I think. I don’t know any Morgan, but it rings a bell. There was another guy there whose name started with M. But none of this matters, Lincoln. I want you to think about what I've said. It's gonna be a stressful time when you get out, and I don’t—"
"Want me to be alone, yeah, I got that," I snapped. Gnashing my teeth together, I rubbed a hand roughly over my jaw and took another deep breath. I'd never be able to put this shit behind me if I didn’t know what was going on. It was eating at me.
Something had to give, and I feared it would involve facing Ade once and for all and actually listening to what she had to say.
The line went dead, letting me know my pop wasn’t accepting some hissy fit from me.
"Fuck my life," I whispered to myself.
How could I see her, though? I could barely count last time. I'd spent nine years building up a front, which turned out to be thick enough to protect me for twenty minutes. If I faced her now, I'd be under no illusions. I was stuck in the nineties, and since then, I'd only learned another universe. The minute I stepped back into hers, what would I have? Fuck-all.
Some memories had faded, obviously. Others hadn't, and several had resurfaced. Among them were a few of the most painful ones.
* * *
1998
Was she using already? I side-eyed her as we got on the bus. She was cheerful and energetic. When I asked her earlier why the bright mood, she shrugged and said she was excited to see Miami. I didn’t buy it. No one who claimed to hate mornings was that thrilled at the crack of dawn.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
"Sure." She smiled up at me.
I ushered her to the sleeping quarters and told the guys to get the fuck out for a moment.
Ade assumed I was gonna screw her, though having an audience hadn't been an issue before. She started undressing, and I stopped her.
"Look at me." I lifted her chin, and I had to admit, it hurt. I hadn't given her anything today. "Are you high?"
Don't lie to me, baby.
Her smile turned into one of confusion. "What? No."
Either she took me for a fool, or she didn’t know how obvious it was. Her pupils were dilated, and her gaze flickered. She was jumpy, almost. Christ, we hadn't even had breakfast yet. Was she losing weight, too?
"This ain't all right, Ade."
She laughed softly and locked her hands behind my neck. "My sweet, sexy rock star, I haven't taken anything. I swear on my life."
I frowned and removed her hands from me. I swear on my life. And how much was that worth?
"Can you swear on mine?" I wondered.
Something dimmed in her eyes, and her smile fell slightly. "Of course." Standing up on her toes, she kissed my chin, and I lowered my mouth to hers in reflex, all while my chest constricted.
It wasn’t fun and games anymore.
Somewhere in the South, things had changed. I'd introduced her to my father. I was beginning to want her alone, all to myself, away from parties. Hidden away in hotel rooms with her, I was the most content.
"You gotta be careful, tiny dancer," I whispered against her lips. "If you won't let me look out for you, you gotta do it yourself."
She promised me, which was another lie.
*
The used condom ended up on the floor.
"Feel." Ade collapsed against the mattress and placed my hand on her chest. "You make my heart race."
I chuckled, out of breath and spent, and nuzzled her neck as I cupped her breast. "A hard fuck will do that."
"No—" She giggled breathlessly and swallowed. "No, it's more, Lincoln. You don’t understand."
I think I do.
Another morning, another hotel suite, another moment I wished wouldn’t end. The sun was about to rise, and we hadn't crashed yet. Judging by how physically clingy she was being, she was still high.
"We should go again," she whispered.
I dragged myself half on top of her and kissed her. "Gimme ten minutes."
Her eyes sparked with mischief. "Or we could take something, and you'd be ready right away…?"
Yeah, that was losing its appeal.
"Nice try," I murmured.
"But I need you." She went for seductive. She bit her lip, gave me an indecent look, and kissed me hungrily. "Please, Lincoln…"
I groaned under my breath and screwed my eyes shut, angry with myself. Her bullshit wasn’t supposed to work on me. I wasn’t blind. I could see right through her. Seducing me for drugs…? Cheap. I was falling for cheap.
"I'm right here," I replied huskily.
She nibbled on my earlobe as her hand found my cock. "You make me forget."
"Forget what?"
"All the bad things." She nudged me off her and followed, straddling me once my head hit the pillow. Her hair fell down like a curtain. "When we're like this…I believe in love."
Fuck.
I sat up and cupped the back of her neck, then kissed her until my lungs burned. "You're awfully honest this morning."
She grinned lazily and rolled her hips over my cock. "Sometimes, I'm honest. Do you like it?"
"Yeah." 'Cause I wanted to know what the hell had happened to her. "If you tell me, I could help."
"You already are."
I could argue that. "You're partying too hard." I stroked her cheek and tucked some hair behind her ear. "You know you have a problem, right?"
She had to know. I'd learned from experience. My one and only stint in rehab was three years ago, and since then, I'd learned—somewhat—to stick with what I knew I could handle. The end of each tour was still a fucking pain with withdrawals. I wasn’t that strong. I caved plenty, but I drew the line at after parties. It was my version of being a weekend warrior. I got fucked up at parties; that was it. Sometimes before a show.
"It's only a problem if I want to stop." She was making light of it, and it pissed me off.
"Oh, yeah?" I leaned back against the headboard, hardly turned on anymore. I reached for my smokes and lit one up. "So what's the plan, Adeline? You'll always crave more. Maybe get into speedballing and sell yourself for the next fix?"
Her shoulders sagged, and she leaned forward to press her forehead to mine. "I'll probably find a quicker death."
"Fuck you," I spat out. Instantly furious, I made a move to get her off me, but she wrapped her arms around my neck and held on. "Lemme go."
"No!" The bitch was grinning. "Can't you see it's romantic? I want to be the girl you write songs about when I'm long gone."
I swore my chest fucking cracked. "That’s…" I swallowed past a bout of nausea and put out my smoke in a glass of water. How deep did her issues run? She spoke of dying young as if it were a sure thing. "That’s tragic."
That softened her. Her mirth faded, leaving room for sadness in her eyes. "My life is kind of tragic, Lincoln."
"So let me help you," I growled.
She wouldn’t, though.
Chapter 14
Adeline Ivey
> 1998
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I slid down along the bathroom door and ended up on the floor, sobs threatening to escape.
"We have to intervene, man," I heard Morgan say.
"I'm handling it," Lincoln snapped.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I should leave, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t walk away from him. I couldn’t walk away from the temporary fixes, either.
"Where is she now?" Morgan lowered his voice.
"Taking a bath."
I lifted the fluffy hotel towel and buried my face in it. It muffled the sounds of my cries.
We were getting closer and closer to Baltimore, initially a destination I never thought I'd reach. So much had happened that I never saw coming. Like falling in love, like seeing so many places, like wanting to die.
I was ready.
Screw Baltimore. It'd been an idle idea. I had a cousin there who'd told me I could visit anytime. We hadn't spoken in over a year, so I supposed it showed how desperate I'd been to leave LA. In truth, I had no plans whatsoever. No final destination, no place to go.
"I'm afraid to let her outta my sight," Lincoln said tiredly.
"Was that why you didn’t show up at the interview yesterday?" Morgan asked.
"Yeah."
I was in the way. I was causing grief for Lincoln. I whimpered into the towel, a fresh round of tears soaking the fabric. Why couldn’t I be strong? Why couldn’t I get over everything that'd happened?
"Daddy wants to play a little. Remember what you're good for?"
"Nothing."
"That’s right, little whore. Spread your legs."
I gagged then dove for my makeup case.
My fingers trembled, and I accidentally tore the baggie. Coke dusted the floor, the sight making me cry harder. Get it. You useless little bitch, get it. I got it. As sobs broke free, I gathered as much of the powder as I could and snorted it.
* * *
2008
"Maybe this is a good thing." Madigan tried to be uplifting.
I blinked back my emotions and filled a glass of water. "Yeah, I always love being rejected because I used to be a junkie."
That was the last time I looked for work at a hospital. What'd I been thinking? I should've known better. My chances of getting hired at a place where I'd be near prescription meds were close to zero if I didn’t even get an interview.
"I'm serious, hon." Madigan sat down at the table and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "You don’t have to slave away at a hundred different places anymore. I'm not going anywhere."
So he kept saying. It terrified me to let go of a job, though. Besides, it was just two. The clinic and the hotel. I wanted to quit the former one; Dr. Houston's advances were starting to get creepier, and I was getting the feeling I wasn’t the only single mother who struggled with him. In the three months I'd answered the phone there, I'd seen more than one woman looking sickened.
"You could go to school, you know," Madigan suggested.
I shook my head. "If anyone's going to school, it's Jesse."
I didn’t even know if there was anything I wanted to do. I had no passion, no interests. I had no special skills, either. I'd never stood out.
I envied people like Madigan and Lincoln for their artistic brilliance.
Gross. Enough with the pity party.
"So tell him to apply for next semester," Madigan told me. "He can work some nights and weekends to keep that rusty truck of yours running. Our incomes will cover the rest."
It sounded too good to be true. "Are you really staying permanently?"
"If I'm leaving, it'll be with you guys," he answered firmly. "I'm not the biggest fan of Detroit, but I've got my priorities in order. Besides—" he smirked "—if Lincoln moves into the neighborhood, I'll be your chaperone."
I laughed at that. Too funny. "Wouldn’t that be something?"
Mr. Hayes's concerns were less amusing. I felt for Lincoln's dad. When he stopped by last month, I could tell how frazzled he was about Lincoln's upcoming parole. He wanted his son to have a good environment to take his first steps back into society—before eventually leaving the state—but Mr. Hayes clearly didn’t know how much Lincoln hated me.
"I wish there was something I could do." I stared at the floor, thinking of ways to help. It brought back anger to think about him too much, though. Over the years, I'd alternated between wanting to scream and hit him, to pleading his case and taking the fall. As if the system worked that way.
For ten years, I'd wondered why. Why did he do it?
Madigan sobered. "Has he changed?"
I nodded slowly, remembering the short visit at the prison last winter. "He was…stone-faced. Hardened." I recalled puking twice before I saw him, I was so nervous. Lifting my gaze, I smiled wanly. "I'm his biggest regret, Madigan."
"Hey, don’t fucking say that," he replied irritably. "He made his choices."
Didn’t matter. If it weren't for me, his life would've looked a lot better.
I had to do something for him. Even if I did it from a distance where he didn’t have to see me, I owed him. Maybe…maybe I could do something that made the transition easier? For his release, I meant. Living in this neighborhood, I wasn’t a stranger to cautionary tales and harsh reality. Martha, my next-door neighbor, was a tough old lady who'd seen all her of three boys in and out of prison for years. She probably would have some advice on what to expect, and then I could share that with Lincoln's dad.
*
The last week of April brought an unusual heat wave, and we celebrated my twenty-ninth birthday in the front yard. Jesse had spent the morning mowing the lawn and picking weeds, and Abel used an entire roll of wrapping paper for whatever gift the boys had bought for me. Really, all I'd asked for was the mowing.
"I come bearing cake!" Madigan boomed as he entered the kitchen. "Fuckers misspelled your name at first. I handled it."
"My hero." I pretended to swoon. "Dinner's almost ready."
"Cool. Did you call in sick from work?"
Um, no. I busied myself with the salad before checking to see if the hot dogs were ready. Madigan had wanted to buy a grill, and I'd put my foot down. I was eternally grateful for everything he did for us, but I didn’t like accepting too many gifts. Which I knew was fucking stupid. It was a grill, not a diamond necklace.
I was trying my hardest—or harder than hardest—these days. Madigan's talk of school refused to be forgotten. Because the truth of the matter was, without education, I'd never score a job that paid well enough for me to get us out of this situation. So, lately, I'd been looking into night classes, all while taking on as many shifts at the hotel as I could get my hands on. Tonight was one of them.
"Ade, for chrissakes, are you serious?"
When I turned, Madigan was giving me his sternest expression, complete with hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.
"I asked for one night," he said. "It's your fucking birthday, and you've been working yourself into an early grave the past few weeks. If we were married, I wouldn’t be putting out tonight."
I snorted and then fell into a fit of giggles.
"Mom!" Abel shouted from upstairs. "I need more tape, this isn't w-working!"
"Can you help him, please?" I wasn’t the only one who heard the distress in Abel's voice; anything could trigger his anxiety. Thankfully, Madigan nodded and left the kitchen.
In the meantime, I plated the hot dogs and gathered all the fixings on a tray. Jesse was outside, leaning on the fence, and I caught a smile on his face. He was on the phone, probably talking to a girl. It made me happy.
Speaking of phones.
The house phone rang, and I closed the fridge before answering.
"Adeline speaking," I said. Then I fumbled at the voice that replied and nearly dropped the phone when someone asked if I was agreeing to accept a call from the prison where Lincoln was. Holy shit. I clutched my chest and righted the phone. "S-Sure, I accept."
What the hell, why, how, what was wrong, was he really calling—
"Ade?" His rich whiskey voice filtered through the receiver, and I leaned back against the counter for support.
"Lincoln, is that you?" Stupidest question of the century. I knew it was him.
"No, it's that other inmate you know from here," he deadpanned.
"Smartass," I responded shakily. "Hi. How—how are you?"
My eyes welled up. The man didn’t even know my birthday, and even if he was calling to tell me I was the dumbest person to ever walk on this planet, he'd just made my day.
"I'm all right." He cleared his throat. "Listen, do you have time to visit soon? I hear you've been talking to my pop, and I gotta get my shit in order." He paused, and I heard someone yelling in the background. "They've put me in some fucking therapy that’s supposed to help me deal with the parole bullshit, and we keep coming back to that I've stuck my head in the sand and missed a bunch. I, uh—" Another throat clearing or half cough. "I never read your letters, the first ones… I just read those goddamn chapters."
"I can visit." I rushed out the words before I could even process what he'd said. "I have time next week if that’s okay? Am I still on the list?" Then I tilted my head, confused. "What chapters?"
"Next week's all right," he said. I noticed his voice was flat, like it'd been when I saw him last year. "Yeah, the chapters from your fucking book." He sounded bitter. "You sent me five chapters."
"Um." I blanched. "No, I didn’t." Oh God, oh God, oh God, what was happening? "I was going to send them to you. I prepared a letter… Oh, God." A sickening sensation crawled up my throat. "I threw them out," I whispered, mostly to myself. I threw them out. When Jesse told me he hadn't seen them and I couldn’t find them, I assumed I'd forgotten I'd thrown them out already. "Oh, God."
"Are you fucking religious now?" he snapped. "I got the letters. I don’t know what you're talking about."
"I'll be there next Saturday when visiting hours start," I choked out. "Excuse me, I have someone to hunt down." The second I hung up the phone, I scrambled out of the kitchen and into the hallway where the front door was open. My hands balled into fists at my sides. "Jesse!"
At my furious tone, it was his turn to almost drop his phone. He recovered quickly, told whomever that he'd call back, and then pushed off the fence.