“Admit what? What do you want from me?”
“That it’s your fault,” she hisses. “Say it.”
“YES, IT’S MY FAULT! I KILLED HIM!”
The pond starts to churn. The water goes dark, violent, pulling me into its whirlpool. I can’t fight it, the current coiling around my ankles and hauling me under.
And then… there’s nothing.
When I was a kid, Jay used to call me King Arthur and say Avalon was waiting for me one day. I thought he was talking shit, trying to paint the world brighter than the depressing reality we lived in. Even at that age, I understood our place in the lower class of society. I told my brother to fuck off. That paradise wasn’t real, and it sure as hell wasn’t meant for me.
Arcadia
Chapter one
Tom
It’s been raining nonstop for days now. The streets of Amsterdam are flooded, blending into the canals seamlessly. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. Will they ever overflow?
For five days straight I’ve been staring at this sad autumn scene from my apartment’s window, waiting for this perfect landscape to snap, for it all to break apart, just like me. The cold bites harder than it should for this time of year.
I tug my black turtleneck higher over my face. My breath fogs up the window, the tea in my hands feeling damp and awkward.
Tea instead of whisky, my way of keeping the Scottish blood in me somewhat happy. Perfectly fine to cleanse the liver as well.
Cheryl takes a careful sip of her own tea, her eyes darting to Jay like they always do.
Jay is our big brother and the leader of our family. He takes care of everything, and most of all, everyone.
See, the McKennas aren’t just a family. We are a pack, and Jay is our alpha. Making a business deal? Call Jay. Bailing your ass out of jail? Call Jay. Want to turn your life around? Call Jay. For approval.
Yeah, he’s that kind of person in my life, pulling the strings so all of us can thrive and stay safe. I mean, someone’s got to lead the pack, right? It sure isn’t me, because I’ve always been the fuck-up at the back.
“Tom, it’s enough. You nearly died. You’re going to that retreat whether you like it or not. It’s time for you to get your shit together.” Jay’s giving me a look that says he’s done with me. Abso-fucking-lutely done.
“I’m not an addict!’ I snap back, the words leaving my mouth bitter.
My hands ball into fists. I’m not like our father, I’m… not… like… him.
Joan stands up from the sofa. My niece, my best friend. She’s the one who always understood me because she thrives in the same storm, having been through some serious stuff as well. She just gets it.
The warmth of her mug radiates against my back as she wraps her arms around me. Something in the way she holds me calms me.
“We know, sweetheart. No one’s saying you’re an addict,” she murmurs. “But wouldn’t it be better to, you know, get a few things sorted out? You could write new music and spend time with Calvin on this Caribbean island! I mean, I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.”
She pauses, her lips twitching. “I didn’t mean that.”
I scoff. Right. Because how do I even argue with that when my mind feels like it’s betraying me?
The burns left by the defibrillator pads are healing, but themaddening, suffocating memory of nearly dying keeps haunting me, and that terrifying hallucination… I don’t want to recall it.
Jay lets out a sigh before he shares a look with our sister, who’s already checking her phone.
I guess they scheduled ‘sending Tom to rehab’ somewhere in between their oh-so-important meetings. But it doesn’t matter. I’m more than happy to walk them out.
“Just so you know,” Jay says, “your flight leaves tomorrow. Pack your stuff and read this.” He tosses a glossy brochure onto my antique Queen Anne coffee table. I take a quick peek at the cover: turquoise water, palm trees, the perfect sunset. That Arcadia resort looks like a polished fucking lie to me.
“Sure,” I don’t even bother to look at Jay. “I will.”
