But the problem with peaking at twenty-three is there’s no reason to believe in better days. And when it all gets sucked away, you realize your best days are lived and buried. You’re a twenty-five-year-old vacuum of memories that now seem meaningless.
Until…
I lean over and kiss the top of Hadley’s head, surprising her. She glances up, and I kiss her nose. She legit giggles, and I grin. I’ve never heard her giggle before. Pretty sure that’s my new favorite sound.
“There’s only one thing you said tonight that I didn’t like,” I say. Her smile falters, and I widen mine to soften my words. “You said, ‘even if we never officially become more than we are’ I can give everything I have to Naomi because you’re here for me.”
She squeezes my arm. “I meant what I said. I’ll always be here for you. Obviously, I’m hoping things get easier for both of you and you don’t need me—”
“Not that part,” I cut in, rolling my eyes. “The first part.”
I wait for her to piece things together, finally rewarded with a sudden blush and shy smile.
Hadley doesn’t stay long after our chat on the couch. As much as I would have loved to remain cuddled on those cushions indefinitely, we were both exhausted.
Besides, the heated glances we exchanged after my cryptic comment started causing problems for our comfortable cuddle session. I couldn’t stop staring at her lips. Her soft caress on my arm draped over her chest got more and more aggressive. The tension continued to build until out of nowhere, she jumped to her feet, gave me a light kiss on the cheek, and said she’d see me at rehearsal tomorrow.
And suddenly I’m alone.
I pause at Naomi’s door on the way back to my room, still stirred to distraction by the song she wrote, but I can’t bring myself to knock. I don’t trust my brain, body, or emotions right now. I just lost my shit an hour ago. I had zero control over myself in those awful, terrifying moments. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?
So instead of knocking I press my ear to the door and listen for any clue about what’s happening inside. Relief and a surprising hint of joy wash through me when I hear the awkward chug of a rudimentary chord progression. An adult voice drones in the background, and I make out enough words to hear it’s some kind of tutorial. I’m not sure why she’s scouring the internet for guitar lessons instead of asking me, but I love that she cares enough to put in that kind of effort.
Satisfied that she’s in a stable state, I continue to my room with the folder.
I lock the door so Naomi can’t burst in and situate myself in my favorite spot at the top middle of the bed against the headboard. My hands tremble again when I grip the edge of the folder, and I flinch at a flashback to the gun in my face. I close my eyes and breathe deeply to center myself.
Then I dive in.
The birth certificate is where I left it. The social security photocopy, medical bill, and insurance policy also. I pluck the policy from the pile and read it thoroughly this time. From what I can tell it was still in good standing when she died, meaning the beneficiary is still entitled to the payout.
The beneficiary. Me. Custodian of Naomi.
I read over that line several times, before allowing myself to search for the number that’s been nagging my brain since I first learned of this document’s existence. Even ten thousand dollars would be enough to get Naomi in a stable situation and cover her immediate needs. One day I’ll be able to provide for her for real, but it could be months before I start seeing any real income from the band. This money will do exactly what it was intended to do: Take care of Ashley’s daughter when she can’t.
I scan the page and gasp. My heart stops as I stare at a clear, bolded one with five zeros after it. A hundred thousand dollars. Naomi is entitled to one hundred thousand dollars. Well, technically it goes to me, but Ashley must have known before I did that I was capable of being responsible enough to use it to care for her daughter. This is a gamechanger for us. I can hire a lawyer, set up a college fund, so many possibilities to give her a real honest to goodness future. I will have to get on that first thing tomorrow and start the process of filing a claim. Only problem is, I’ll probably need… that.
My breath catches in my throat at the fancy, deceptively triumphant font spelling out “Certificate of Death.” Funny how similar it is to Naomi’s “Certificate of Birth” at the front of the pile. I guess as far as the government is concerned our death is the same as our birth. One more tick in the population column, until we cross it off eighty years later. Or thirty-six.
I trace each letter with my eyes—slowly, deliberately, almost to the point where I can’t comprehend the words. But the words don’t matter. All that matters is the pinch in my chest as her death becomes real in a raw stab of pain. I lost my sister. I glance at the door. Naomi lost her entire universe. Her mother, her stability, her identity as a cherished daughter and human being.
I close the folder and shove it carefully in the nightstand. There may be more secrets in there to uncover, but that will have to wait for another day. I have more important secrets to explore right now. I grab the song off the top of the nightstand and move to the door.
Naomi’s tentative strums in place of the typical thrashing means I don’t have to knock as loudly as I usually do. Her latest chord comes to an abrupt stop, and I hear the distinctive clank of a guitar being put on its stand. She pulls the door open a second later, a flicker of surprise on her face when she sees me.
“You’re back,” she says. “Did Hadley go home?”
I nod. “Yeah, she says goodnight. She was exhausted.”
Naomi nods but doesn’t seem upset. “I’m learning the chords for the key of A now. I think I have the G chords down pretty good.” She waves toward her phone where I see a tutorial paused, just like I expected.
“I can help you too, you know. I know a few things about the guitar.” I smile to lighten the comment, and she smiles back with a shrug.
“I know. I guess… I wanted to show you I could do it. Plus you’ve been so busy.”
I swallow, feeling guilty for not being around much the last few days—even if it was because I was being terrorized on her behalf.
“I’m always here for you, Omi. Always.” I search her eyes, making it clear I’m not just talking about guitar chords.
She nods and looks away, a small smile on her lips.
“Speaking of music. You want to tell me about this?” I say, holding up the lyrics.
Her smile fades, her face paling as she takes a step back. Shit. Not the reaction I was going for.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Julian. I found that line scribbled on the notepad where we put the grocery list. I know they’re your words, I just heard these others and… don’t be mad.”
She startles when I grab her shoulders and scoop her into an embrace. After a moment, she relaxes and locks her arms around my waist, settling against my chest.
“Heck no, they’re not my words,” I say in a soft voice. “They’ve clearly always belonged to you.”
She tilts her head up, those big eyes full of wonder. “Really? You don’t mind?”
“Mind? My god, Naomi. They’re amazing.”