My Life as an Album (Books 1-4): A small town, southern fiction series

by LJ Evans

  They both knew he wouldn’t stay. Not without a reason.

  “I’m on my way,” she said.

  On the way there, with Justice driving her, she worried that he’d killed Michael. That he’d have this hanging over him now. She hadn’t even asked Locke about Michael. It had only been about Seth. Because Seth was the only thing she could ever focus on.

  Locke met them at the ER door. His face was gray. Tired. They were all tired.

  “Where’s Michael?” It was Justice who finally asked the question.

  “He’s here, in custody.”

  Relief filled PJ. Not because she cared even a little if Michael was alive or not. She only cared about the repercussions to Seth if he’d killed him.

  “He’s lucky I didn’t find him,” Justice choked out in anger.

  It made PJ pause. In her mind, she’d been so hard on Seth because he wanted to kill Michael, and yet Justice was the same. Didn’t she herself want to kill Michael for what he was putting Seth through? Maybe it was all just part of loving someone.

  “Well, he’s gonna need some surgery on his face,” Locke said with a pleased smirk.

  “Where’s Seth?” PJ asked.

  And when he told her, she ran to him.

  She found him sitting on the edge of the bed in a hospital gown that looked ridiculous on him. Its opening at the rear showing off all the sculpted contours of his back as well as his scarred side.

  There was a nurse with him who was trying to give him some kind of shot and trying to get him to lie down. He was grousing and grumbling. On the outside, to someone who didn’t know him, to the nurse trying to stick him, it seemed like he was being an asshole. The biggest dick in the world. But PJ knew better. She knew because they were the same.

  He didn’t think he deserved to be taken care of.

  “Just let the woman do her job, Seth,” PJ said, setting her bag down on the bed.

  He reached for her, and she let herself be gathered in between his legs, pulled tight against his chest. They held each other for a moment before she moved to the side, still tucked up against him but allowing the nurse to do her job. The nurse smiled with relief.

  “It’s going to make me fucking groggy,” Seth grumbled.

  “Maybe you’ll actually sleep then.”

  They were quiet while the nurse finished up and left. They were quiet while they held each other, her face pushed against his chest, him kissing the top of her head.

  “I’m so sorry,” PJ breathed out, squeezing him tighter.

  “I didn’t kill him,” Seth said quietly. So quietly that it was like he was surprised he could say it himself.

  “I’m glad,” PJ said, pulling his bruised and taped up fingers into her own.

  “Maybe I should have.”

  “The courts will take care of him,” she said back, and Seth laughed a brutal, cruel laugh.

  “Like they took care of my dad?”

  Her heart turned in her chest. She gently touched his wounded hand and tucked herself up closer to him.

  “I thought I lost you.” His chest rumbled with the emotions he felt and so rarely spoke.

  “You haven’t lost me. I love you. With all my heart.”

  “But you’re still leaving.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that because she was. Finally, she breathed out, “Not tonight.”

  She pulled him down onto the hospital bed and twined her legs with his so that he would rest. So that they would both rest. And strangely, even with the typical hospital noise, the lights, and the sickly bleach smell, they both slept. Deeply. Together.

  ♫ ♫ ♫

  The next day, some guy from the prosecutor’s office visited them in the hospital before Seth was released. PJ sat through his statement. The statement he’d already given, but was being forced to give again. He did it with more patience than she would have expected.

  When Seth got to the part about Michael saying he’d known PJ in high school, he hesitated. But she just prodded him on. It was what she’d already known in her heart after Tate’s comments at the hospital.

  The prosecutor asked PJ a couple questions about high school. She turned a thousand shades of red and gave an abbreviated version of her being passed around. Seth held her tight, kissed her neck, and made her feel loved and special regardless of her past.

  The prosecutor started to pack up and turned to Seth. “Thanks for your patience. Sorry about yesterday. I think we can safely say this puts that to rest.”

  Seth nodded.

  “What was that about?” she asked when they were alone.

  “He tried to arrest me yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “Michael filed his assault charge.”

  PJ suddenly wanted to find Michael in the hospital and add her own set of marks to his face.

  “Tate and Williams intervened,” Seth told her.

  She was filled with guilt once more, as she often was with Seth. Guilt that she hadn’t been there when they’d tried to arrest him. Guilt that he was having to go through any of this because of her. Guilt that Michael was one of the guys from high school. Guilt because if she’d never gone to Seth’s house that first day after The Green Room, he wouldn’t be here. Busted up. Dealing with cops. Dealing with nonsense he hadn’t had to deal with since his mom.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said again, tears choking her throat.

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, kissing her palm.

  “But this is all my fault.”

  “No. It’s Michael’s.”

  “But I’m the one that dragged you into my life.”

  “I think it’s really the other way around,” he said with the first smirk she’d seen on him in several days.

  They were quiet once more.

  “I think I was meant to be here. To protect you. I couldn’t protect my mom. But maybe all the shit before is what made me who I am now, just for this moment. To be able to be here for you. To keep him from hurting you more.”

  Both the beauty and the horror of that thought made her crazy. The idea that the universe had hurt, and battered, and tortured Seth so that he could be the man he was for her. That thought filled her with sadness and more guilt. It made her feel, again, that no matter what Liv said, she didn’t deserve this man.

  And that had pushed her to leave even more. Even though she’d already known she was going.

  ♫ ♫ ♫

  PJ picks up the tenth letter she’s received from him. And she remembers his words and how they had made her feel even more undeserving. But now…now she wonders if that was really what she should have taken from that heartbreaking statement he’d made. Instead, maybe she should’ve realized that if the whole universe was working so hard to make sure Seth was ready for her, that maybe it had been working just as hard to make sure she was ready for him. That maybe she’d been placed in his life to give him the one thing he’d never really been given by anyone besides his grandparents. Maybe she was supposed to give him unconditional love.

  Instead, she flew to New York. And now she’s ignored his pleas to come home. And while she’s been able to find herself a little, and forgive herself, she’s still not whole. Just like he isn’t whole. Instead, they are both missing pieces that they need in order to become that stunning, shattered plate with all its wreckage outlined in gold. And she wonders now if she’s ever going to be able to fix it.

  Letter Eleven

  THIS AIN’T A LOVE SONG

  “It made me so mad ‘cause

  I wanted it bad for us, baby…

  Yeah I’m wrong –

  This ain’t a love song.”

  -Bon Jovi, Sambora, Child

  Dear Bella,

  I’m an addict. I get addicted to things in my life all the time. In my youth, it was alcohol and Cam. Then it was my work and eating healthy. After you moved into our home, I became obsessed with you. With us. Our life together. At firs
t, you seemed happy. I know I was happy. I was happier than I’d ever been in my life.

  But addicts tend to ruin everything in their lives with their obsessions. And that was true of us. I’d obsessed and held on so tightly that I’d smothered you. I’d pushed you away instead of holding you close. And after Michael, after having to go through what you did, it was just more reason to fly away. How could I blame you? Why would you want to stay and be reminded of the darkness? Because, like Michael, I will always have the darkness in me. I will always battle my addictions.

  ♫ ♫ ♫

  The night before you were set to leave for New York and Pratt, Liv and Justice threw you that going away party. I sure as hell wasn’t going to throw you one. I wanted to refuse to attend because I didn’t see anything in it to celebrate. But I didn’t refuse because you were going to go either way. To the party. To New York. And I had to hold on as tightly as I could while you were still there.

  Your friends were there. The people from the gym were there. Locke and Keith were there. They had beer in coolers and mixed drinks at the makeshift bar, and when you went to help Liv in the kitchen, I stared at the alcohol for a long time. I swear, I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty. Like I’ve said before, it’s my addiction. My battle, not yours. I tell you because I want you to know why I was such a jackass.

  Keith joined me, looking down at the cooler. “So, what did your friend say to do when the now really sucked?”

  I didn’t respond. Was fighting with everything I had to not reach down and pick up a bottle. Keith touched my arm. “Hey man, let’s throw some darts.”

  I wasn’t very good at darts, but the dartboard Justice had screwed to the patio wall would keep my hands busy for a few minutes. I turned away from the cooler and followed him. We took up our places, and I threw the dart with fury, burying it into the board so hard that it was difficult to remove.

  You came out, smiling, in that white sundress that accentuated every part of you that I loved: your legs, your toned arms, your tiny breasts. Your smile made the halo of light around you glow until I knew it would burst into golden pixie dust. You joined me and put your arm through mine. You were happy. Happy to be leaving me. I couldn’t do it anymore.

  I didn’t say anything to you. I just shook you off and left you there. I’m sorry. I should have stayed. I should have used my damn words. I should have done anything but leave. But I am a weak fool, and I didn’t want you to see me dragged down to my lowest.

  I was at the car door when Keith stopped me. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere you want to go,” I barked at him, slammed the door, and left.

  He was being the friend I’d never had, trying to stop me, but he couldn’t.

  I parked at the bar on the corner of our street and went in for the first time since I’d lived there. I ordered a shot and downed it without even thinking twice about it. If I was going to fall off the wagon, it was going to be far from you and the people that cared about you. I downed two more before it hit me. Not drinking in so long had turned me into a lightweight. I hated that, but I hated that you were leaving me more.

  I sat at the bar, head in my hands, when Keith found me. I guess he’d followed me, thinking I was going back to the house, and had seen the Porsche sitting outside the bar instead.

  “What can I get ya?” the bartender asked.

  “Coffee. And a water for this guy,” Keith said as he sat down next to me.

  When the bartender returned, and I still hadn’t spoken or acknowledged him, Keith asked the bartender, “How many has he had?”

  “Three? Four?” He shrugged. He wasn’t keeping count. Didn’t care. All he saw was some big ass guy that he assumed could handle his liquor. I had counted though. I’d had three. I’d had one for every month that we’d been together. We’d only been together three months, and yet it felt much more like three years to me. Like you were so entwined in my life that when you pulled your roots out, mine were going to go with you.

  “Why the fuck are you here?” I growled finally.

  “Pretty sure I’m the only one who knows what you’re going through.”

  “Don’t be nice. I don’t need fucking nice. I’m not nice. I’m an asshole.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I am. Did you know that I almost outed you back in high school?” I could see Keith flinch and try to hide it. “That night I pushed Cam off the cliff? She was taking my dare so that I wouldn’t tell everyone you’d hit on me.”

  Keith didn’t say anything, just took a drink of his coffee.

  “Asshole then. And asshole now. It’s why she’s leaving,” I said, finishing my last drink and shoving the glass toward the bartender where it crashed loudly into the other glasses sitting there. The sound like my heart and brain colliding.

  “We’re all assholes when we drink. Especially when we aren’t getting what we want, and you were never going to get what you wanted from Cam,” Keith said, accepting what I’d told him and still not holding a grudge.

  I didn’t get him.

  “No, I wasn’t ever going to get what I wanted from Cam,” I told him. And it didn’t hurt like it used to. I didn’t even care. I only cared about my fairy leaving me.

  “But you will get what you want with PJ. She loves you. Loves you like Cam loved Jake, and he loved her. I can see it and feel it. It’s tangible what’s between the two of you. Like it was with them.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I wanted to believe it, but you were leaving. I didn’t see a happy fucking ending to that.

  Keith pushed the water bottle toward me. I considered it for a moment, and then uncapped and drank the whole bottle as if I could wash away the liquor with the water. Like a priest washing away sins. Too bad it doesn’t work that way.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Keith said after a few minutes. I got unsteadily to my feet.

  We left the cars and walked back along the beach to our home. It’s our home, Bella. Will always be our home whether you’re there or not. How can I convince you of that? How can I get you to say that word home and feel it? I wish I knew that secret.

  We got to the deck, and I sank down on the steps where he joined me. I hated having to say it, but I needed to. To show I wasn’t the asshole seventeen-year-old I’d been. To prove that I’d earned his coming after me, so I told him, “Thanks for getting me.”

  “You’re going to be okay,” he responded.

  “No. I’m not.” I told him the truth as I always tell the truth.

  “You have to let her go for now, but she’ll come back,” he told me.

  I just nodded. Because I did know that I had to let you go. It was what needed to happen. And yet, I still wasn’t sure how I could allow it to happen because I was at that point like the very first letter I wrote you said: I didn’t have the faith that you would come back.

  The next morning, I drove you to the airport. And you left. And I wanted to bust down the security walls. But I didn’t. Instead, I went back to the studio and ordered the gold and silver that I needed in order to piece back together your chair that Michael had tried to destroy, in hopes that someday you’d be back to see it completed. To see all the pieces of art that were you, and me, and us.

  ♫ ♫ ♫

  And now, it’s been five months, Bella. Five months since I’ve seen you. Since I’ve been able to taste your bubblegum lips and trail my rough fingers over the silk of your skin. You’ve been gone for longer than we were together, and I still can’t get you out of my heart and soul. I don’t want you out. I only want you back.

  I can’t help but feel the emptiness of our home without you in a way that I never felt my home was empty before. You never called my place your home, but to be fair, you never called any place your home. It was always “the apartment” or “Liv and Justice’s” or “the house.” But never home. I think your home is still stuck in Seattle with a pair of dead parents who loved you more than anything.
I can’t say I know what that feels like, to miss dead parents, because I barely miss anything from my past. Maybe my abuela. Maybe Mac, on occasion. But I don’t miss anything like I miss you.

  And so I went to New York.

  It isn’t what you think. I didn’t go to try to convince you to come back. I went because I’d been asked to go on the Today Show. Ever since the pictures at Dylan Waters’ house hit the entertainment rags, the gallery had been selling my work faster than I could stock it. On top of that, Dylan talked to some producer at the Today Show about me, and they decided they wanted to commission me to do an art piece for their lobby’s redesign. They were doing a whole segment on the construction and wanted to interview me as part of it.

  So, I was in New York for that. But let’s face it, I wouldn’t have made the journey if I hadn’t hoped I’d be able to see you. I’d never cared about the publicity. But you. The thought of even a glimmer of a chance of seeing you. That was enough to have me packing my bags and getting on the plane.

  As I was leaving LAX, I called Liv and asked her to let you know that I’d be in New York. I was hoping that you’d agree to see me. It was almost Christmas, and I was hoping that you would grant me this one present: the gift of you. But maybe you were afraid that if we saw each other that you wouldn’t be able to get away, and that’s a fair assessment. Would I have been able to let you go again?

  When I landed in New York, Liv had left a voicemail. She said you couldn’t see me. No explanation. I threw my phone across the airport where it broke into a thousand pieces. I’m lucky someone didn’t call security. They just saw an asshole being an asshole and let me storm off. I didn’t even have the grace to act like it was a mistake or to pick it up.

  I checked into the hotel. It was a damn nice one. Like the one I’d stayed at with my grandparents in what seemed a lifetime ago now. It had a minibar that made me think of the minibar in their room when they’d gone to make my mom’s funeral arrangements. And just like then, I needed a drink. But this time, I needed something more. I needed you.