JJ sighed and gestured towards the kitchen. He poured them both a cup of black coffee, holding up his hand to silence her while he took a few scalding gulps. She tapped her boot-clad foot against the tile but let him ingest the lighter fluid he passed off as coffee because it was Christmas, and she was feeling (kind of) generous.
“So what happened?” JJ asked as he clambered up on to the counter. He was still feeling a little nauseous, there was no way he was trusting one of those rickety stools.
“Mr. Daveyson’s stuck in Europe, bad weather,” she replied, sighing as she climbed up on to the counter beside him. “He was supposed to be home a couple of weeks ago, but this band asked him to join them for a few dates, and he agreed, so now he’s stuck.”
“Is Jack pissed?”
“Yes, but he’s buried it pretty deep. You know him, he’s too mature for his own good—talking about how he knows it’s not his dad’s fault, blah blah blah. Which, granted, it isn’t, but Jack loves Christmas. So this pretty much sucks all the way round.”
“Agreed,” JJ mumbled into his half-empty cup. “Hey, how did you know I wasn’t in Texas?”
“I saw you at the mall the other day,” Jess replied with a shrug.
“I didn’t see you.”
“Of course not, I am super stealthy. Like a spy.”
“Pretty sure you’re the only spy who rings the doorbell and pouts until someone opens the door.”
“I wasn’t pouting.”
“Yeah right,” he muttered, grinning around the rim of his cup.
“When are you going to tell Jack that you’re madly in love with him? That’d make a pretty good Christmas present, if you haven’t gotten him something already.”
She smiled when he choked on his coffee. Jessica knew that rattling JJ Keswick’s cage was no easy task, but she was no stranger to hard work. He stared at her, his dark blue eyes wide. She stared back, fighting to keep a straight face. If she giggled, it would totally undermine her point.
“Before you start to deny it,” she began, as soon as his mouth fell open. “I might be a mash up between mad scientist and pixie bassist, but that doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention to the world around me. I see the way you look at him. It looks like you’re flying and falling all at once.”
“You’re too smart for your own good, Jessica Rosenfeld,” he grumbled as he leapt down from the counter. He turned his back on her to put his mug in the sink—a welcome break from her knowing eyes.
“So I’m told,” she cackled.
“I’m not in love with him,” JJ said, shaking his head. She opened her mouth to argue, but he continued to speak.
“I like him. I like him so much that everything goes a bit blurry when he’s around, all right? And, sometimes, when I let myself think about what it would be like to date him, to be his boyfriend . . . I know that I could fall in love with him, and it would be so god damn easy.”
“But . . .”
“But I’m JJ fucking Keswick. He knows me, Jess. He knows that I drink too much and have a half dozen prescriptions. He knows that I sleep around. He knows that I’m broken,” JJ’s eyes were glittering when they met hers, but he didn’t drop his gaze.
“Yeah, he knows,” Jessica whispered, her smile bright despite the darkness that threatened to envelope them both. “And he doesn’t care, JJ. He’s not exactly an open book when it comes to his emotions. He never has been. When his mom died and his dad was itching to get back on the road, he started . . . . Well, not hiding his emotions, but started mineralizing how much he was hurting, so his dad could go out on tour without looking back. I used to think he was a bit of a dick, you know, because he’d never let me in. You learn to read him eventually, and I’m a freaking expert when it comes to Jack Daveyson.”
“So what are you saying, Jess?”
“I’m saying that he looks at you the same way you look at him. Flying and falling all at once—but someone’s gotta jump first. Spend Christmas with us.”
“Are you just saying this because you know I got you a pair of Dr. Martens for Christmas?” he asked her with a watery half smile. She laughed her bright laugh, chasing the shadows away as she slung an arm around his shoulders.
“Maybe, but there’s only one way to find out. Go get dressed. I’m gonna grab another coffee for the road.”
***
It’s hard to be miserable when Jessica is around. She doesn’t really believe in misery—apparently, it’s unproductive. I tried to retain some shred of my unhappiness when she strolled in, arm in arm with JJ (who was looking a bit warm in the ugliest Christmas sweater I’d ever seen) but it was impossible.
“Jack Daveyson, turn that frown upside down!” Jess crowed as she threw herself at me. “The gang’s all here!”
“That’s the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen.” I grinned as JJ sat down beside me with a world-weary sigh.
“I bought it as a joke. Apparently, Jess thinks it’s deadly serious.”
“She takes Christmas very seriously,” I told him with a solemn nod.
He grinned at me before ducking his head to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” he said quietly, his smile fading. “I know Christmas means a lot to you.”
“It’s okay,” I lied, hoping my shrug was as careless as I’d meant it to be. “He’s gotta work.”
“Still, it’s pretty shitty that he’s not here. Does he usually dress up as Santa? Cuz I could do that. Probably. After a lot of alcohol. How much eggnog do you have?”
“Not enough,” I replied, laughing so hard at the idea of JJ dressing up as Santa that my stomach started to hurt.
“Well, I have a gift for you anyway,” he said, unzipping the backpack he’d bought with him to pull out a small, square gift.
“Wow, thanks,” I beamed at him as he handed it over, pleased to note that the top of his ears had turned a rather alluring shade of red. JJ Keswick, blushing? It was a Christmas miracle.
“You can open it now, if you’d like,” he told me as Jessica, Ash and Dylan followed Aunt Rose into the kitchen to pound some eggnog.
I tore open the wrapping paper like a little kid, destroying the decorative bow on top. I had been expecting a pretty cool gift—JJ struck me as a great gift-giver—but when I realized what I was holding, I was so shocked that I forgot to breathe for a long moment.
“Like Phantoms, Forever”, was a rare three track My Chemical Romance EP that had been released in late 2002. Rumor had it there were only a hundred in existence, all of them hand numbered in red ink. I had never seen one in person before, but my dad had. He’d spotted a copy in a record store in New Jersey, where it was kept in a glass case. A copy had been sold on some auction site for over eight hundred dollars, back when I was young enough to believe I’d have a copy of my own one day. It was like the holy grail of EPs, the sort of thing you put on your “Items I’d buy if I won the Lotto” list.
And there a copy was, sitting in my lap, the black and white cover art staring back up at me.
“No fucking way.”
I could feel JJ smiling beside me. He was practically vibrating with glee. I thought I heard Jessica laughing, somewhere far away, in a world where I wasn’t sitting beside a gorgeous, stupidly rich boy who’d just handed me something featured in my most outrageous daydreams.
“JJ, this is . . . insane. This must have cost you a fortune . . . . How did you . . . ? Where did you . . .?”
“You’re so cute when you’re incoherent,” he laughed as I turned the CD over and over, trailing my fingertips across the plastic cover, convinced it wasn’t real.
“Really though, this is . . . amazing. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything, I’ll get embarrassed if you thank me,” he warned, leaning in to bump me with his shoulder. “I went to school with this guy who came from Jersey, and his brother had a copy that he was ready to sell. No one deserves this more than you, Jack. All I did was reunite it with its
rightful owner.”
I was blushing so hard that I was pretty sure I’d never return to room temperature. I was so glad I’d resisted Jessica’s pleas to cut my “mane”—my hair was providing a pretty great shelter. I wasn’t sure I could look JJ in the eye without grinning like a maniac or crossing our carefully constructed invisible line.
“Well . . . what do I say if I can’t say thank you?” I asked him, after taking a long moment to compose myself.
“How about Merry Christmas?” he offered, the multi-colored lights on the tree making his eyes glitter with something I was sure hadn’t been there before.
“Merry Christmas, JJ.”
“Flicker, Fade”—Taking Back Sunday
Christmas and New Year passed quietly, which was a surprise, as I spent most of my time with Jess, JJ, Ash and Dylan. We practiced a lot, hung out at the shop and generally annoyed Aunt Rose. In the biopic of our band, it would have been the montage segment, rosy and faded round the edges. We baked cupcakes (or something vaguely resembling cupcakes) for JJ’s eighteenth birthday after he insisted he didn’t want a fuss. The soft smile on his face before he blew out the candles kept me warm as the nights grew colder.
We’d fallen into a rhythm, the five of us. It was like Jessica had said—we were friends first, bandmates second. I found myself enjoying our movie nights at JJ’s house just as much as I enjoyed our weekly performance at Howie’s. The awkwardness between JJ and I seemed to have passed. I smiled at his jokes, rolled my eyes at his bragging and frowned when he fell quiet.
He kept his distance when we went back to school after the winter break, but it didn’t seem as cold as before. When we passed in the hall, he’d start whistling the intro to Fall Out Boy’s “The Kids Aren’t Alright,” and I’d be left smiling into my locker like an idiot.
My mystery note-leaver (or romantic DJ, as Jess had taken to calling them) was seemingly in a reflective mood after winter break, the hastily scrawled suggestions ranging from nu-metal anthems to pop-punk classics. Oddly enough, the tediousness of my school days had increased as the band got better, so the song suggestions were one of the few things getting me through the day.
Of course, something had to pop up and throw a spanner in the works.
Mikey White had died in the last week of January. He’d slipped my mind, the ghost that lingered at the edge of JJ’s dark gaze. JJ had been doing so much better, had been smiling a bit wider and laughing a bit longer. He seemed so focused on looking forward, I had completely forgotten that there was something just waiting to pull him back.
I didn’t realize JJ wasn’t at school until Tuesday afternoon. We didn’t always cross paths between classes, so it wasn’t unusual for me to go a day without seeing him. He usually texted me though, on the nights we weren’t hanging out, to ask me a silly question or to tell me what he’d done instead of going to class.
By Wednesday morning, I was officially worried. Jessica was frowning as she clambered into the van when I picked her up before school, which just confirmed my suspicions. If she felt uneasy about JJ’s sudden absence, then I definitely had cause of concern.
“Have you spoken to him?” I asked her as I navigated the icy streets.
She was glaring at the busted heating vent on the dashboard, her breath misting with each little huff of barely contained rage. “He called me last night . . .”
“And?”
She flashed me her best I’m-innocent-really wide-eyed stare. I wasn’t buying it, but I knew better than to push. There were secrets (mostly mine) that Jessica would take to her grave, but this was different. JJ couldn’t really be trusted with his own wellbeing, not all the time. He’d been doing better, sure, but there was a big part of me that was pretty sure it wouldn’t take much to knock him on his ass.
“He was wasted,” she admitted with a sigh, reaching over to take the scarf I offered her. Aunt Rose had knitted it for me when I’d started high school, black and red stripes. I took it with me every winter morning, but I’d never worn it. Jess had claimed it for her own.
“Why?”
“Does JJ Keswick need a reason to get drunk?” she pointed out, freeing her precisely styled black hair from the confines of the scarf that she’d wrapped around her neck.
“No,” I mumbled. “But he’s been doing better, right? That’s not just wishful thinking on my part.”
“He has been doing better,” she agreed as I parked the van in the student parking lot.
My stomach was tied in knots as I got out of the van, walking round it to open Jess’ door and give her a hand down.
“So why the binge?”
“It’s the anniversary of Mikey White’s death this week. I’m not sure when, exactly, but I heard some girls pretending to cry about it in the bathroom,” she explained, exasperation and pity flickering across her pale face.
“Oh shit,” I sighed as we headed towards the school building. Kelly was holding court on the front steps—either not worried about the whereabouts of her apparently on-again boyfriend, or she was doing a hell of a job hiding it.
“Oh shit is right,” Jess said. “I told him to call you. You’re the one he wanted to talk to, but he wasn’t making much sense by that point.”
“There’s not much point in practicing without our vocalist, so I’ll go check up on him after school,” I told her. “If you think it’ll help.”
“I’m sure it will,” she replied. “Just . . . be gentle with him.”
***
The foyer of the house was swathed in shadow. The brittle afternoon light had almost faded away completely. Lesley’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway, and it looked as if JJ hadn’t come downstairs to turn the lights on.
I hesitated in the doorway, filled with a nauseating mix of concern and dread. I had sent JJ a text at lunch to tell him I was coming over, but he hadn’t replied. It had only strengthened my resolve to go check on him, but as I stood in the darkened house, I found myself faltering. I had no clue what to say to make him feel better.
“JJ?” My trembling voice bounced back at me as I climbed the stairs. “Are you up here?”
He didn’t reply, but the empty vodka bottle on the top landing was a pretty clear indication I was heading in the right direction. His bedroom door was closed, but the door to his music room was open, so I headed there first.
Sure enough, he was sitting under the window in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants, his Hummingbird in his lap. His left hand was curled around the neck, fingers on the strings. He lifted a half-empty bottle of what looked like whisky to his glistening pink lips with his shaking right hand. I watched, horrified, as his fingers moved over the frets—playing a song that apparently only he could hear.
“Hi,” I murmured from the doorway.
He glanced up at me with red-rimmed eyes before returning his gaze to his silent guitar. I hadn’t been expecting a warm welcome, but it wasn’t like him to ignore me completely.
“JJ.”
No response.
“Hey, I’m not one of those freshman girls that fawns all over you at school, praying you’ll acknowledge me one day,” I snapped, crossing my arms. I wasn’t used to being ignored by him—from the day we’d officially met, he’d lavished me with enough attention to make me blush. I wasn’t sure when I’d started taking it for granted, but his blank gaze and drunken sneer really stung.
“Why are you here, Jack?” he asked. The cracks in his voice were flooded with whatever he’d been drinking, adding an extra layer of grit to his usual drawl.
“You know why,” I replied, stepping into the room so I could tower over him. I was hoping my stature would exude the sort of confidence I never felt when he was around. “You’re half-naked, half-playing, probably more than half-drunk . . .”
“Half a person,” he added with an icy chuckle.
I reached down and yanked the bottle of booze from his slack hand.
“Woah!”
“You’re better than this, JJ,” I told him
, raising my voice, so he could hear me as I went into his bathroom to empty the bottle.
“Says who?” he yelled back, clambering to his feet as I re-entered the room.
“Come on,” I replied, ignoring his childish pout. I took his guitar from him, placing it carefully on its stand before wrapping a hand round his elbow to guide him downstairs.
“Where are we going?” He groaned, but he followed me anyway, only stumbling once on the stairs.
“You need something to eat and some coffee. I’m not going to let you sit around getting drunk all night.”
“Why not? Everyone else does.”
“You walked into my practice room, JJ Keswick. Now you’re stuck with me.”
“Oh joy.”
I helped him up onto the counter after he spent a good thirty seconds mumbling about how he didn’t trust the stools. When I was certain he wasn’t going to slip off, I busied myself with making him something to eat. I toasted him a bagel and microwaved some leftover soup I found in the fridge. I could feel his eyes on me as I wandered around the kitchen, deliberately avoiding his gaze.
“I know this doesn’t get any easier,” I murmured as I looked out across his back yard. “When my mom died, everyone told me it would get better as I got older. They promised me that the memories would stop making me cry, and one day, I’d be able to remember her without it hurting so much. It was the first time I realized that adults lie.”
“Oh, so you’ve always been a late bloomer then?” he asked, ghost of a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth, just out of reach.
“It doesn’t get easier, JJ. You just learn to deal with it better.”
He sighed over his soup, dipping the gleaming silver spoon into the bowl. I leaned back against the countertop while he ate it, slow but steady. His stomach gurgled in appreciation, and I smiled to myself. Knowing I could take care of him and do a good job of it made me feel a bit warm and fuzzy inside. It was tough, knowing that every time he heard a song that reminded him of Mikey, or every time someone walked past him wearing the same cologne, it would be like a paper cut on top of a fresh scar, stinging and cruel. I couldn’t prepare him for it, and I couldn’t protect him from it, just like my dad and Aunt Rose hadn’t been able to protect me. I could help ease the pain though, little by little, until it stopped knocking the breath out of him.
Fake It (The Keswick Chronicles Book 1) Page 11