“Not exactly.” Their voice sounded nervous. “It’s more like getting a job.”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t know you were searching.”
“That’s the thing,” they commented. “I wasn’t looking but it found me.”
“Where at?” I asked, unable to fight against the curiosity.
“Exodus.”
“Really?” I grabbed a beer out of my fridge, popping it open. This conversation just got a whole lot more interesting.
“Yes, really. As a server.”
“You’re going to rock it!” This time, the excitement was real. I wanted this for them. The lights, the dancing, the pure joy. “You don’t hate it after that one time?”
“I worried I wouldn’t like it there, but after taking the Krav Maga classes Madden mentioned, I felt more secure. I’ve also beefed up a ton since last year.”
I thought back to our last outing in October, on the anniversary. How we went to the club, and even then, they seemed bigger than before. More confident.
“I’m proud of you, Cars.”
“Appreciate it,” they thanked me, their voice filled with a pride I understood. I took another swig of my beer, thinking of Madden performing. While I hadn’t seen him in person in years, I listened to every album he dropped and lurked far away while he did shows locally.
“Are you going to quit avoiding me?” Cars added, forcing me to come back to why they called.
“Have tickets?”
Fire licked my veins as I kept chugging at my beer, awaiting their answer. “Just texted Royce, he said he has a ticket with your name on it.”
“Then, I guess I’ll be seeing him.”
“You’re finally going to tell him how much you’ve stalked him since he left?”
“Absolutely not,” I laughed breathlessly. “I’m going to be a freaking creep and watch from a large distance.”
“He loved us too much, you know?”
“Mmhmm,” I hummed, not meaning it. Love meant staying through the hard times. Love meant trying to overcome together. Love meant a lifetime of partnership.
“He told me once that he wanted to be with you,” they mentioned, making my veins ice over. “I pushed him toward you. I think that’s why he left.”
That was not the reason.
He left because I never told him I felt it too.
We burned together.
A flicker in a sandstorm.
Each wind promising to blow us out.
Drifting.
Echoing.
Gone.
I thought of a few months ago and seeing him play his music, the faraway expression he held, even in the spotlight. He laid on that stage with his neck exposed as he gazed at the sky.
I knew, in that moment, we were destined to destroy each other. He’d become a legend and I’d have to watch from below, like a penitent praying for a god’s forgiveness.
Should I reach out? I texted Cars, thinking of how since that night, he pushed for me to try. At least once. Before my wedding.
Yes. He deserves to know you’re marrying a tool.
Don’t be a diva, Cars. I thought of Madden’s ex-best friend, the way they made sure we kept in contact, always keeping our connection.
He won’t take it well. Be prepared.
Doubtful he’ll take my phone call at all. I headed to my room, thinking of how the hell I’d convince him to answer his phone, let alone get him here.
If last night’s practice went as late as Stony said it did, he’ll definitely be more susceptible to calls. Being high and all.
I felt nauseous at that. For all the things Madden refused to be, his dad was one of them... until now. That thought alone struck a nerve.
Wish me luck.
Luck? You have a vagina, Andy. That’s all you need. They probably laughed, that scrunch of their nose apparent.
Absolutely not, Cars. We made mistakes before, but we’re family.
Yeah, okay. Family who likes to fuck. Sweet home Alabama.
Fuck off. I laughed at his joke, no matter how wrong it was. I’d be there for Madden. Platonically. As his aunt. His friend. We were best friends once; we could be again.
Let me know how it goes. Don’t skimp on the details, babe.
Nothing’s going to happen, I reassured, not knowing if I tried convincing them or myself.
Chapter Sixteen
Pray – Jxdn
Madden
Inked veins.
Bloodied razors.
Drugs and alcohol.
My vices, my only hope for living. Those were the only things allowed in my body, my only sustenance. Love no longer existed, getting off didn’t make me feel, but the kiss of a razor always reminded me I bled like the rest of the world.
All I wanted was sleep.
Five years passed and not a single day went by where I felt.
Windowless Skies became a solo act, and Donnie—my dad’s other half—toured the fucking world with sad sonnets and memories of my father. He begged me to come, to be a part of the show. Be the voice for my dad. That or give it all up.
Fuck that.
Chaos raged inside me. I stayed in Brightmore, and at Inked in Chaos. My body barely had skin left without ink. Scars lined most areas where death wouldn’t take me, my drugs didn’t numb me, and my blade didn’t kill me.
I rolled over, bumping into my most recent regret. Angel. Her name only registered because of the wings that encompassed my entire back. I’d had them done by my bandmate; he made sure that when I raised my arms, it looked like they move.
If not for my ink, she’d be another nameless, faceless mistake. Fuck, did she touch me, did I touch her? My body shuddered at the slight contact my arm made with her side.
Disgust rolled through me as she laid too close. A cloying film of unease coated me, touching me in a way I didn’t let others do.
Usually, I called Royce if I had a hookup, making sure they got home safe and sound. Not last night, apparently. After the three pills of ecstasy, more booze than humanly necessary, and weed, I felt high still. If I came inside this girl, would she get high too?
I’d never experience that feeling, though, being inside someone, anyone.
Grogginess weighed me down, like the sleep that evaded me. Sitting up, I felt heavy. My eyes barely stayed open and the mass weighing them down bordered on deathly.
When I moved to lean onto my wrist, Angel whimpered. Maybe she got high too? Royce made every hookup sign an NDA, it was no longer a secret that Reaver from Anthem Riot was in fact, Toland Reaver, son of Dox Reaver.
It’d been out for years.
If the timeline was different, if Dad was still alive, it would have excelled my career and I’d have appreciated it.
Now? It boxed me in more often than not.
Anthem Riot, that was what they called me and my band. We played metalcore, singing to the masses. Dad would be proud if he didn’t fucking die.
I followed in his footsteps, just like he wanted.
Mom would be so proud, I mocked in my head.
You coming in today? Alstone texted. Stony, my drummer kept me sober as much as he could. Last night when he’d disappeared, I booked it, getting high faster than even I thought possible.
Shows near the anniversary of my parents’ death always drowned me with something—not feelings, but something. The only way to escape them was icing my veins.