The Jenna Rollins Real Love Tour

by Janci Patterson

  I send her a text. Still clean, but call me please.

  I don’t want to say more and panic her, and I have no idea how long her shift is going to be. She might not see my message for hours.

  I hate myself for not bringing my Subs. Partly because it means I have to go back to take it, and partly because I could have sold them for drugs. For the uninsured, Suboxone is hard to get. Even though it’s mostly impossible to abuse, there are plenty of people buying it on the street, trying to quit.

  I’m not going back for pills, not when I only half-intend to take them. Instead, I pick a place where I have absolutely no drug contacts—my parents’ old neighborhood in Brentwood. I’m halfway there when I realize I should be driving to my dad’s new place in Valencia. My parents are both worried about me, too, and he’d gladly give me a place to crash.

  But I don’t want to tell him what’s happening. I don’t want him to know how shaky I am in my recovery. He’s given me chance after chance, keeping me on his insurance and paying for my recovery treatment—something I can only just now afford to completely take over myself, since the leg of the tour we actually completed went so well—and I cannot let him down.

  I’m shivering. I park across the street from my old house, the place where I grew up. My parents sold it years ago when they couldn’t afford it anymore, and the new owners have painted the eaves an avocado green that my mother would hate. There’s a Bentley in the driveway, though. She’d definitely approve of that.

  I don’t know what I’m doing here, besides not doing drugs. I grew up here, but the last memories weren’t exactly pleasant. The last time I lived here my parents were liquidating, arguing, divorcing, worrying about me when I quit rehab the first time, and then when I relapsed four weeks after my second stint.

  By then, the house was already up for sale, and no way were my parents letting me shoot up in their bathroom when they might have a showing any moment. My dad rented a place in LA, and then bought one down in Valencia, and that was that.

  Next door, a gardener comes around the bushes. He’s raking leaves from the lawn, and I know in a neighborhood like this, I can’t sit here forever. Someone is going to call the police about the guy who hasn’t showered in a week sitting in the car casing houses. I’m about to start the car again, and I realize what I’m doing here.

  This is the last place I lived where no one needed anything from me.

  Four years ago I was a kid. Sure, I went to school, and played cello. I was obsessive about my music and less so about my grades, but I aced all my classes anyway.

  I wasn’t a failure, or a screw-up. I hadn’t gone to Juilliard only to discover I couldn’t handle it. I hadn’t terrified my family for multiple years that any day I might die of an overdose. I hadn’t brought all my baggage, my issues, the full weight of my goddamn heroin addiction into the home and the lives of the two most wonderful people in the whole entire world.

  The last two feel the heaviest—my obligation, my privilege to be so important to Jenna and Ty. I love them both more than I knew was possible—more and more every day. They’ve been through so much shit, and they deserve better than I’m giving them. I’m failing them, and they’re the last people in the world I want to be failing. Jenna trusted me. She let me into her family; she let me be a father to her son. And yeah, I know there are reasons I’m falling apart, but I hate myself for doing this to her, for being so hard to live with, and for scaring her. Over and over again.

  God, they’d be better off without me. My family would be better off without me—Jenna and Ty and Gabby and Mom and Dad and Dana and Ephraim—all of them. I have to be able to stay clean—for them and for me. And especially for Ty and Jenna. If I can’t do this, I lose them both. If I haven’t already lost them for being so wrapped up in my own problems that I completely fail at being there for them in theirs.

  I realize I’m gripping the steering wheel the same way I did the night Alec fake-proposed to Jenna on stage, and that my white knuckles are the only thing keeping me from finding a dealer.

  And then it falls on me. The heavy knowledge of exactly where I’m going to go. My hands relax on the steering wheel. I don’t know if this is going to end my marriage. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go home again after doing this to her.

  The gardener gives me a funny look, and he’s probably not the only one who’s noticed me sitting here. A gust of wind sends a handful of leaves skittering out of his neat pile and onto the street in front of me.

  I start the car, and crush them beneath my wheels as I drive away.

  I don’t look back.

  Eleven

  Jenna

  I’m a nervous wreck after Felix leaves. I wanted to support him, but everything I’ve done has made him feel the opposite, and I hate myself for it. I’m trying to hold it together for Ty, but I know that’s not going to last, so I call my mom and hand her both the kid and the Hagrid beard. Ty and I both apologize to her with the same sad tone in our voices, but my mom just hugs us both and then takes Ty to her house to sort it out.

  My parents have always been good at not saying they told me so, but I feel the weight of it anyway. I don’t tell my mom the details, because I know she thinks I’ve made mistakes letting Felix into our lives so fast.

  I know that I haven’t. Felix is the best thing to happen to Ty and me . . . pretty much ever.

  And right now he’s out on the streets in LA, and for all I know, he’s figured out where to find heroin.

  I pace back and forth, holding my phone, wanting to text him, to call him, to beg him to come back. He’s an adult, but he’s hurting, and I swing back and forth between feeling ridiculously clingy and then hating myself for not making him stay.

  I call his sister Gabby, but she doesn’t pick up. She’s probably at work and I don’t have a number for her there. And really, should I bother her? What would I say? That Felix left the house and I don’t trust him on his own?

  Half of me is certain Gabby would panic just as much as I am, and the other half is certain she’d tell me I was being ridiculous and ask why I married him if I don’t even trust him to leave the house without using.

  Except I do, don’t I? I haven’t panicked like this before. He goes to meetings and to the clinic and to see his sister and I usually don’t give a second thought to if he’s told me the truth about where he’ll be. Maybe it’s naive, but I guess I’ve always just felt that if he was back on drugs, I would know. I wouldn’t be able to live with him and be as close to him as I am and not know.

  And now, I have no idea if—

  The doorbell rings, and I jump out of my skin. I practically run to open it, half afraid it’ll be the police here to tell me my husband has been arrested for trying to buy drugs from an undercover cop.

  I open the door to find Leo and Roxie. Leo is wearing a blue, white, and gold striped beanie with a patch of the Louisiana flag on the front. Roxie has on a leather miniskirt with a chain wrapped around her waist like a belt—and she’s holding something that looks suspiciously like a baking dish covered in a kitchen towel.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” Roxie says. “We brought you . . . a casserole.”

  Standing there at the front door, staring at two of the weirdest people I’ve ever known who’ve come bearing a casserole like the old ladies at the various churches my mother has frequented over the years—it’s too much.

  I choke and laugh and cry simultaneously, making a sound so strange I think my face might explode.

  Roxie makes a sad noise that reminds me oddly of Gabby, and Leo puts his hand on my back and they usher me into the living room. Roxie sets the casserole on the counter and comes over to the couch and puts her arms around me. Leo does the same on the other side and they hold me like some kind of strange band sandwich as tears pour down my face.

  “So this may be a stupid question,” Leo
says. “But how’s Felix?”

  “He left,” I say, miserably. “He said he couldn’t take it anymore and he left and I don’t know where he went. He could be anywhere.”

  Leo and Roxie exchange a glance across me, and I just go ahead and say the thing they’re both thinking. That we’re all thinking. “He could be getting high right now.”

  Leo shakes his head. “He’s been doing really well, right? And just because he’s not here doesn’t mean—”

  “He hasn’t been getting out of bed,” I say. “He’s a mess, and I tried to help him but I messed it up, and—”

  “No,” Roxie says. “No, there’s no way in hell this is your fault.”

  People keep telling me that, but I can’t believe it. “It is,” I say. “The only reason he got hurt at all is because of me.”

  Leo and Roxie exchange another look. I know they want to argue with me, but I’m glad when they don’t. I can’t have one more argument about what is and isn’t my fault. If I wasn’t doing something wrong, then everything in my life shouldn’t be falling apart.

  “You want me to go look for him?” Leo asks.

  I shake my head. “He could be anywhere. We’re in Los Angeles, not Louisiana. It’s not exactly a small town.”

  Roxie snorts. “Leo is from Lafayette. From the suburbs. I looked it up. It’s like normalsville, not the bayou.”

  Leo shrugs. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. I’m the definition of normal.”

  “Whatever,” Roxie says. She leans her head on my shoulder. “I’m going to get you some of my mom’s famous chicken casserole, okay? It’s like magic. Trust me. This shit cures everything.”

  I smile. “Did your mom make it?”

  “Hell yes,” Roxie says. “You think Leo and I want to poison you with our cooking?”

  Roxie busies herself in the kitchen serving us all casserole, and I suggest she also get us each a slice of pie. Someone might as well eat it, and I’m in the mood to drown my sorrows in sugar.

  Leo is eyeing me with concern, which is a strange look on a guy who usually doesn’t concern himself overmuch about anything. But I remember how great he was at being there for me, at listening to me that day when I first found out Felix was an addict. When I broke up with him, because I was hurt and scared and didn’t know what else I could do.

  I don’t feel like I deserve that kind of empathy now. I’m not even sure I did then.

  Before Leo can ask if I’m okay, or some other question that doesn’t have an answer, I deflect.

  “So you and Roxie are doing better?” I ask.

  Leo nods. “Yeah, after everything that happened with Felix, I decided you were right. We needed to talk about it.”

  “Are you guys together now? Or happily not together?”

  “We’re stable,” Leo says with a smile. “Rox said that label sounds weird, which is exactly how she likes it.”

  I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I’m glad Leo is happy about it. Roxie comes back with the casserole, which we all demolish. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Maybe Felix isn’t the only one who hasn’t been eating much.

  Good as it is, though, I find myself eating the piece of apple pie in tiny bites. Once it’s finished, I’m going to have to figure out what I do next, and I can’t fathom what that could possibly be. I can’t sit here and wait. I can’t go look for Felix. I could call him, but I don’t know if he’ll even pick up, if he’ll even want to talk to me. I’ve failed him so entirely that maybe he won’t want to—

  My phone rings on the coffee table. I look down and see Felix’s name on the caller ID, and I’m half-afraid I’ve imagined it there.

  He’s calling me. Reaching out to me.

  I look up at Leo and Roxie. They’re both looking at the phone.

  “Take it upstairs,” Leo says. “We’re cool.” He kicks his alligator boots up onto my coffee table, and I grab my phone and run up the stairs.

  “Felix?” I say, breathless.

  “Jenna,” he says back. His voice is higher than normal, like he’s scared or upset. I collapse on our bed.

  “Where are you?” I ask. I’m afraid to know the answer, but I have to.

  He’s quiet for a moment. “The clinic,” he says. “I’m checking myself in to rehab.”

  My throat closes. “Did you use?” He hasn’t been gone very long, but I suppose it wouldn’t take long to find drugs, if you know where to go. Though it seems like a strange reaction to have done heroin and gone straight to the clinic, it’s better than—

  “No,” he says. “No, I’m still clean.” From the shakiness of his voice, I’m pretty sure he’s crying, and I want more than anything to put my arms around him.

  “I’m confused,” I say. “Then why are you—”

  “Because I have to stay clean. And I don’t know if I can do that without help.” His voice breaks. “I’m sorry, Jenna. I’m so sorry. I know that I failed you. I’ve messed everything up and I get it if you can’t ever forgive me.”

  I’m not following him, partially because my brain seems to have overloaded. “But you didn’t do drugs.”

  “No, I didn’t. But I’m a mess and I’ve been awful to you and I’m just so, so sorry.”

  “Oh, Felix,” I say, my heart breaking at the pain in those words. “It’s okay. It really is.”

  He sobs, and I want to climb in my car and drive to the clinic and hold him and tell him everything is going to be fine. My brain is finally starting to catch up, and it’s dawning on me that he could have used. He wanted to use. But instead he went and got help, help I couldn’t give him.

  That has to be a good thing.

  “I just need to know,” he says. “Do you think I can ever come home again?”

  “What?” I don’t understand, why would he think—

  “I mean not right away,” Felix says. “I get it if you need a while before you could trust me again but—” His voice cracks again. “Do you think that’ll ever be able to happen?”

  I still feel like I’m missing something, like there’s some conversational lag between his phone and mine. “Of course you can come home,” I say. “You could come home right now, if you wanted.”

  I can hear Felix crying, and my voice grows soft. I feel like I’ve failed him, and here he is bawling like he’s the one who hasn’t taken care of me. Nothing could be further from the truth. “I love you, Felix” I say. “No matter what. And if you can’t stay clean here, then you’re in the right place. I’ll miss you so much, but your sobriety has to come first, and I get that. You can come home as soon as you’re ready.”

  He draws a sharp breath. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Of course. If you—if you want to be here.”

  “I do,” Felix says. “I do, but I just, I just can’t, I just need—”

  “It’s okay,” I say again, and I know that unlike too often in the past, I’m not just saying it tonight because I so desperately want it to be true. It is true. “It’s okay for you to do what you need.”

  “God, Jenna,” he says. “I love you. I love you so much.”

  A wave of warmth washes over me, and I close my eyes, tears leaking out. I shouldn’t have doubted, but god, how I needed to hear those words, after everything.

  “You and Ty,” he continues. “I love you more than anything. But—” He sniffles. “I’m going to miss Halloween.”

  My own tears start running down my face, and I grip the phone tight. “I’ll talk to him. He’ll understand.” I look around the room, at Felix’s clothes, his shoes, the bed we share together. I want him to do what he needs to, but the thought of going to bed without him tonight is unbearable. Let alone . . . “How long with you be there?” I ask. “Thirty days?”

  Felix sniffs again. “No. I don’t think so. I think I just need a few days to sort some stuff
out. I’m here voluntarily, and since I’m still clean I’m kind of an exception. I can leave whenever I’m ready.”

  “Will I be able to come see you?”

  “Yeah,” Felix says. He sounds surprised, as if he didn’t think that I’d want to. “Yeah, of course. Any time.”

  “Don’t tell me that,” I tell him. “I’ll check myself in with you.”

  He laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound. “Let me get settled. Come see me first thing in the morning?”

  “Of course,” I say. And we’re both quiet. Neither of us wants to hang up. “I love you,” I say again. He says it back, and a moment later, he’s gone.

  I sit in our room, not quite ready to go downstairs and fill in Leo and Roxie. Not ready to call my mom and Ty and tell him that Felix won’t be able to come trick-or-treating with us for Halloween. I feel wrung out, numb, like my emotions just can’t anymore.

  I’m still scared—afraid I’ll never be able to be what he needs, never be able to be the person who can support him and be with him instead of driving him away. I don’t want to fail him anymore, but I don’t know where to start.

  Underneath it all, though, there’s something else. A quiet peace I haven’t felt since we left on tour, a certainty that, whatever the challenges, we’re doing the right thing.

  I’m with Felix, and he’s with me. And I know what I’ve wanted so desperately to be true: I can trust him to stay away from heroin, completely. When things got hard, he reached out for help, and he kept it together in the only way that counts.

  And while I feel terrible for doubting him, I can’t help but feel relieved, now, to know.

  Twelve

  Felix

  I pace back and forth in the family meeting room like a cat in a very small cage. When I talked to Jenna yesterday she didn’t sound angry with me, but I abandoned her. I walked out on her, left her crying. My head’s clearer now than it was yesterday—I’ve been able to breathe, moving through the familiar rhythm of rehab life, doing a group session last night, laying my problems on professionals and fellow addicts instead of my family who needs me.