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“It was the best I could do without outright lying.” His fists clench. “I wanted to wring his neck more often than not lately.”
“You had a long, complex relationship.”
While one person after another walks up to leave a rose on Jacob’s casket, I study the people around us. Who was a true friend to him and who used him? How many of them helped him buy drugs, gave him drugs, or watched him shoot up?
Which one was with him in those last moments before they left him on the sidewalk to die?
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chaser
Grief’s a complicated emotion all on its own. When the person who died could be a real shithead sometimes, the grief comes tinged with guilt, resentment, and a whole lot of anger.
But how can you be mad at someone who’s dead? And am I really mad a Jacob or myself? I should’ve stuck with him that night. I knew he was on a downward slide. But I left him and now he’s gone.
Once we’re alone in the car together, I reach over and rest my hand on Mallory’s leg. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Being here today.” I open and close my fists. “He was really awful to you at times, and—”
“He was your friend for a long time and now he’s gone. It’s normal to be shocked and sad, even angry.”
I turn her words over for a few miles before responding. “I’m definitely angry.”
“Just don’t let it eat you alive.” She gives me a sad smile. “I know you’re a big, strong man, but give yourself permission to feel what you feel instead of holding it all back.”
“What I feel is guilty for being mad at him.”
She sighs again. “Death doesn’t erase the effect someone had on other people. Good and bad. It’s okay to be angry about some of the things he did while sad that your friend is gone.”
Her words finally loosen some of the knots in my chest. “We don’t have to go to this,” I say as she pulls into the parking lot behind The Palace.
“I think we should.”
Alvin grabbed a ride with Garrett, and we meet up with them at the back entrance. “You two okay?”
“No.” Garrett tosses his cigarette on the ground and stamps it out. “But Jacob would be insulted if we didn’t get shitfaced at his memorial.”
The club’s somber. Low music, soft lighting, food, and drinks. Rich, the owner, welcomes us and gives us our favorite round booth in the back. On stage, a single light shines down on a life-size photo of Jacob.
Alvin and I side-eye each other.
Rich leaves a bottle of Jack Daniels at our table. Garrett and Alvin immediately start pouring shots for all of us. A few minutes later, Thom slides into the seat opposite me and leans forward. “I know you don’t want to talk about this now—”
If he mentions the tour, an album, or anything business-related, I’m going to strangle this motherfucker.
“Don’t fucking do it,” Alvin warns. “Not today, Thom.”
“We need to—”
I slam my glass on the table, making everyone jump. “Go, Thom. Now.”
Grieving or not, my scary biker scowl still works. He hauls his ass out of our booth, fading into the growing crowd.
Garrett slides out of the booth and Alvin scoots closer to Mallory and me. “Are we planning to sit here all night and pretend Jacob wasn’t an addict who almost got us all killed more than once?”
I snort and reach for the bottle, pouring myself another shot. Under the table, I pat Mallory’s leg. “Tell him what you told me on the way over.”
She hesitates before repeating her earlier advice.
“Fuck.” He thumps his back against the booth and stares at the ceiling. “That’s profound, Mallory.”
“I think you’re a little drunk,” she says. “There is no right response to death. Allow yourself to feel the cocktail of emotions without blaming yourself, okay?”
He rolls his head our way and smirks. “You said cocktail. In a bar.”
“I did.” She pushes her shot glass away. “Maybe I should ask for some water.”
“Hey, guys,” a deep voice tinged with sadness pulls our attention up.
“The fuck you doing here?” Alvin sits up straight, glaring at Andrew.
“I just wanted to come over and say I’m sorry.” He shifts from foot to foot and glances at the empty space next to me.
I point to the opposite side of the booth. “Sit. Over there.”
“You have fucking nerve,” Alvin says.
Ignoring Alvin, Andrew leans forward, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “Listen, I wanted to tell you this in person. They caught the guy who shot me. I had to fly down to Texas to testify.” He hesitates and briefly closes his eyes. “Just like when I made my original statement, I left Jacob out of it.” He glances down at the table. “What happened to him was bad enough. No need to drag his name through the mud more than it has been.”
Alvin finally settles down. “Thanks.”
Andrew squirms. “Uh, can we talk…” He shifts his gaze to Alvin. “Just the three of us?”
“Alvin knows all about it, so speak freely.” I smirk at him.
Mallory scowls at me and I shrug.
“Fine.” He shoots another look at Alvin. “I took Mallory’s advice and found another therapist. I wanted to apologize.” The whole time he hasn’t looked at Mallory once, but his gaze finally lands on her. “I’m sorry. Truly.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you want, Andrew?” I sit up, leaning over the table. “You wanna come over and play Scrabble? Hold hands? Go fishin’ together? Ride bitch on the back of my bike? What?”
Whiskey shoots out of Alvin’s nose, spraying the table. “Aw, fuck! That burns.” He lays his head down, laughing and pounding his fist against the table. “Jesus Christ, Chaser.”
Andrew doesn’t seem to find it as amusing. “None of that. We’re still in the same business. I’m trying to…” he waves his arms in the air, “…extend like, an olive branch, or whatever.”
“Business.” I scoff. “In case you haven’t noticed, our band’s done.”
Andrew’s mouth turns down. “I know, man. I’m sorry.”
Alvin picks his head up off the table. “Vandals are done too, right?”
“Uh,” Andrew’s crazy eyes dart around the room. “Looks like it. I can’t talk about it, though.” He lifts his chin at me. “What’re you going to do? Go back to New York?”
Fuck, what am I going to do? I guess now would be a good time to head home. My father could use the help with the club. But how can I ask Mallory to leave when she just landed a part on a new show?
Mallory turns her questioning eyes my way. Guess she had the same thought.
“Mallory starts filming a new show soon.” I curl my arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me. “We’re not done with Hollywood yet.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chaser
Months ago, I promised Mallory we’d run away to have our private beach wedding. But after Jacob’s death, taking off to celebrate our marriage felt fifty kinds of wrong.
By the time I pulled myself out of my spiral of grief and remorse, she was already busy filming Ocean Ave. Six days a week. Not exactly the time for a honeymoon. So, I didn’t bring it up. And neither did she.
Alvin’s renting a house not too far from us and I spend most of my days hanging out with him. Not really talking or even working on new music. Sometimes we ride up the coast and reminisce about when we first moved out here. How different it is from where we grew up.
Garrett teamed up with Vinnie Price to form a new band. They asked us to be a part of it, but it was too…strange. What were we going to call it? Vicious Kickstart? Three-fourths Kickstart and a Vandal? Who would we find to front such a project?
Alvin and I both declined. There were no hard feelings. I’ll be first in line at Tower Records to pick up a copy of their album—if they ever record one.
Slowly, I started returning phone calls, beginning with Mark Cutter. He sets me up with several artists. Writing songs. Contributing guitar solos. It’s lucrative. I don’t have to go out on the road and be away from Mallory for extended periods of time. And I’m finally having fun creating music again.
