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It smelled the same, looked the same, but felt different. Instead of feeling like coming home, she felt like a guest. An unwelcome one. He flicked the lights on, bathing the open layout in a golden glow. She clasped her hands together, squeezing tight to keep from shaking.
It did nothing to help with the threat of a panic attack clawing at her chest, the restlessness in her legs as she tried to stay still instead of fidget. She didn’t know what to say, where to start, what to do. So she did nothing. Said nothing.
She kept her back to him, staring at the kitchen table where she’d abandoned her art project before getting ready for dinner with her family. Had she known that would’ve been the end of everything, the worst night of her entire life, she would’ve cleaned up more. She would’ve done things differently.
She would’ve never agreed to dinner in the first place.
That was the thing she was most upset at herself about. Why had she agreed? She knew her mother was awful, and her father, while usually passive, could be just as bad. She guessed she hoped Chris would be the saving grace of the night, like he usually was. But she could’ve never foreseen what had happened, happening.
With a deep breath, she turned around, finding Jett with his back against the wall, watching her carefully. He kept his face neutral, not giving anything away.
“How was the drive?” she asked, her voice raspy. He cleared his throat roughly and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Good.”
They were less awkward the first time they met.
“I don’t?—”
“How have you?—”
They spoke at the same time, and she laughed. Waving her hand at him, she said, “You go first.”
He smiled softly, his eyes gentle. “How have you been?”
“Oh, I’ve been…” She nearly lied and said she was fine. “Not great.” His smile fell, the lightness in his eyes dimming as he dropped his head forward.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Can we just skip all of this?” she blurted, feeling her face redden. He glanced up at her, his brow raising in that way that made her knees go weak.
“Skip what?”
“Skip the awkwardness. The small talk. Can we just…” She waved her arms around helplessly. “Go back to how it was before.”
“You know we can’t,” he muttered.
Her shoulders dropped. Yeah, she knew they couldn’t, but she wanted to. Desperately.
“Then let’s talk and get past all this.”
Jett looked guarded as he pushed off the wall, jerking his chin toward the sofa. Her legs felt like jell-o as she walked toward it, each step wobbly and unsure. She felt his gaze on her the entire way, watching as she sank onto the end of the couch, curling herself into the corner.
He made his way to the other end, seemingly trying to make himself as small as he could. She wanted to reach for him, wanting to feel his rough, warm hand around hers. But she didn’t. Instead, she gripped her hands tighter, settling them in her lap.
“I don’t know what to say,” he breathed, running his hand over his head. “Where to start.”
“From the beginning, maybe.” His eyes shifted to her, and she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
He cleared his throat and settled more into the couch, getting comfortable. “It was about fifteen years ago,” he began. “Beck and I were living in this shitty apartment in Brooklyn. We’d grown up in New York, but had always lived in Queens. But when he was a kid we learned he had a real talent for playing guitar. So, I did everything I could to get him to lessons. Then he got older, and he started auditioning for bands.
“When he was nineteen, we moved to Brooklyn. I couldn’t stand living around our family anymore. They were dragging him down, making him feel like a joke because he wanted to pursue his dreams. So, we packed up and moved. Anyway, one day, we were rushing through Manhattan to get him to this club so he could audition for a band—Roxy’s band. She was just starting out, and needed a guitarist. I promised that I’d get him there.”
She didn’t dare make a move or sound as she listened to him speak. He wasn’t with her anymore, he was lost to the memories.
“I’d spent our rent on this guitar for him—nicest thing I’d ever seen. Most expensive thing I’d ever bought, or held. I almost didn’t do it, but he needed something nice, something memorable for that audition. I had a good feeling about it, so I bit the bullet and bought it. We were rushing through the streets, dodging people left and right. Then I had the brilliant idea to go down an alley. I don’t know why. It was fucking stupid
“We almost made it out when these guys came out of nowhere. They saw the guitar case, saw how Beck was dressed and thought—I don’t know what they thought. I don’t know if they thought we had money, or if they just wanted to mess with us. I don’t know. But one of them hit my brother, and he let go of his guitar and when it hit the dirty ground, it was like something snapped.”
