by Levine, Nina
“Okay, babe, your call. I won’t bug you about jobs but I will bug you about your life. I’m a little worried about that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve always been a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and where she was heading. And you’re not that woman anymore.”
I smile. He’s right. But he’s wrong about one thing. “You are so right about me not being that woman anymore. I’m a different woman now and that’s not a bad thing. Everything changed when my marriage broke up and while that sucked, it opened up this whole new life for me. And it’s a better life.”
For the first time in my life, I feel free.
Free to explore me.
Free to explore love with a man worthy of me.
Free to design a life I want to live in every day rather than one I want to vacation from.
35
Jett
I miss Claudia.
I can’t even imagine life without her in it.
Fuck.
I stretch and rub the back of my neck as if doing that will get rid of the cricks and the headache I have. Of course, it doesn’t, and it won’t.
Turning, I stride across the car park and make my way up to Presley’s apartment. I collected my car from the pub this morning and spent most of the day by myself. She’s going to grill me on that, and I’m in no mood to discuss it, so I’m apprehensive about going up. But fuck, I need to see her. She has no idea what her presence through all of this means to me.
She buzzes me in the front door, and a couple of minutes later I step off the elevator on her floor and slowly walk the last few steps to her door.
“Hey,” she greets me softly, a hesitant smile on her face.
I trace my thumb over her lips and murmur, “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” I don’t like the hesitation in her smile.
Nodding, she motions for me to come in. “Yeah, I’m good.”
We end up in her living room and I collapse onto her couch. She stands in front of me, looking down, her eyes searching mine. I know what she’s looking for, so I give it to her. “I’m alright. I spent the day at Claudia’s house going through some things and then I spent some time with Mum and Dad. You don’t need to worry about me.” I grab her hand and pull her into my lap. Nuzzling her neck, I press my lips to her skin and close my eyes, savouring the delicious scent she’s wearing. Smells like flowers or some shit, but whatever it is, I fucking love it.
She places her hands on my chest and pushes some distance between us. “Jett, I do worry about you.” Her frown lines her face and concern is etched all over it.
I nod. “I know, baby,” I say softly, trying to pull her back to me.
Although I’m trying to get her close again, she’s still holding me back. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“You’re already doing it.”
“What about tomorrow? It’s the funeral - ”
My patience is walking a tightrope and I’m struggling to keep it in check. “There’s nothing I need,” I snap at her and instantly wish I could take the words back and say them in a nicer way when I see the hurt flash in her eyes. “Sorry, but you’re in my face wanting to talk about this all the time and there’s nothing to say. Claudia’s dead and nothing I say can bring her back. Can we just get tomorrow over with and then move forward from there?”
I just need to get through tomorrow.
The hurt shifts from her eyes and is replaced by sympathy. I fucking hate sympathy. “Okay.” She nods. “Let’s get tomorrow over with.”
“Thank you.” I lean forward and lightly kiss her.
She moves off my lap and says, “I’m going to cook some spaghetti. You good with that?”
“Yeah, sounds good. I’ve just gotta return some calls and then I’ll come help you.”
Waving her hands at me, she shakes her head. “No, you relax. I’ve got this.” She leaves me then and I feel like the biggest asshole on Earth. All she wants to do is look out for me and care for me, and all I want to do is crawl into a dark corner and be alone.
I want to forget Claudia is dead.
I want shit to go back to what it was a week ago when my biggest problem was the band.
Fuck, sometimes the problems you used to wish didn’t exist are the ones you would kill to have again.
Standing, I pull my phone out and return Tom’s call. He and the boys have been bombarding me with calls and texts. I feel like we’re in some goddamn female club together where we have to check in with each other every day.
“Hi Jett,” he answers, and I hear sympathy there.
Fucking sympathy can kiss my fucking ass.
Every time I hear it, I’m reminded of what I’ve lost.
“Tom, why the hell have you left three messages for me today? You know I always get back to you eventually. I don’t need three fucking messages to remind me.” I’m a cranky bastard tonight but I’m helpless to stop it.
“I’m worried about you. We’re all worried about you.”
Fuck!
I want to punch something but I refrain; punching a hole in Presley’s wall would not go down well with her.
I rub my neck again and grind my teeth. “I don’t want people to worry about me, Tom! Fuck, I’m not the one who died.”
“No, but you’re the one left to cope with that death, Jett, and all I see is you shutting out everyone who cares about you. That’s not the way to cope.”
“I don’t need to fucking talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it!”
He’s silent for a moment. “How about we agree that I’ll call you once a day and you have to answer, but I won’t ask you how you are. We’ll just talk about other shit.”
And there’s that goddamn female group therapy club again. But I know he won’t give in on this so I agree. “Fine. You call, I’ll answer, and we’ll discuss the weather or some shit.”
“Anyone ever told you what a difficult asshole you can be sometimes?”
Usually, that would cause me to laugh, but today there’s no laughter in me. “Only every chance they get. And now I’ve gotta go because I’ve got three more fucking calls to make to the rest of our group therapy members.”
I hang up and then get my calls to Hunter, Van and West out of the way before dinner. And then I head into the kitchen to find Presley. And to see what alcohol she has in there. A drink is exactly what I need to take my mind off everything.
36
Presley
Sweat sticks to my skin, which in turn, sticks to my dress. God, I hate the heat of Queensland some days. We sat in the stifling heat of the church this morning for Claudia’s funeral and then we stood in the heat again at the cemetery, and now we’ve got about fifty people crammed into Jett’s parents’ house. And the house isn’t air-conditioned.
I find a corner of the living room that doesn’t have too many people in it and take a moment to collect myself. As I smooth my hair back, a hand lands on my shoulder and a familiar voice says into my ear – “How’s Jett doing?”
Turning, I look up into Van’s dark eyes. I’m fascinated with his eyes. They’re already dark brown but there’s something that lingers there that reveals his darker side. I’ve never asked Jett about it but looking at him now, I wonder what he’s gone through in life that’s touched his soul in that way.
“He’s not doing well,” I admit.
He nods in quiet agreement before looking around the room. I follow his gaze and see Jett enter the room with a drink in hand. Shit, not again.
Van turns back to me. “How much is he drinking?”
“Well, he turned up drunk the night you guys were out and then he wrote himself off last night over dinner, and now it looks like he’s well on his way to doing it again.” I pause for a moment. “Is this standard behaviour for him when he’s down?”
“Not really, no. But he did drink heavily for a while once when he had a crazy fan stalk him. She caused the band and him so much grief that he ended up locking himself away from
the public for months and drinking to forget it.”
“So you’re concerned he’s going to do that again?” I’m concerned right along with him.
“Yeah, we need to keep an eye on it. I don’t want to see him go down that path again.”
I contemplate him. He’s a mystery to me; assholey one minute, caring the next. And I’m not quite sure what to make of him. I take a stab at it, though. “You care a lot about Jett, don’t you? Even though you argue with him all the time.”
His intense gaze doesn’t let up. If anything, it deepens. “Jett’s the one person I care the most about in this world. My family has fucked me over, my friends use me for what they can get out of me, and my fiancé tried to rob me blind after she fucked me over… through all of that, the one person who always had my back was Jett. I forgot that for a while recently, but I remember now, and I won’t ever forget again. And yeah, I argue with the asshole a lot, but that’s because I’m a bigger asshole than he’ll ever be.”
I’m surprised by his words and at the same time, my respect for him grows. It takes a lot for a man to admit that kind of stuff. Smiling at him, I say, “You’re okay, Van. I wasn’t sure about you, but I am now. And you’re right about being a bigger asshole than Jett, but I suspect deep down there’s not an ounce of asshole in you. I think it’s all for show; to hide whatever it is you’re trying to hide. And I’m looking forward to the day you let us see the real you.”
His eyes widen slightly but only for a second. “Don’t hold your breath too long, babe, or you might be disappointed. What you see is what you get with me.”
I’m about to reply to that when arms come around me from behind and warm breath tickles my neck. “What are you two doing over here hiding in the corner? Should I be worried?” Jett’s words are already slurring together and it’s only four in the afternoon.
I hold my breath and wait for Van to lose his shit over that because the way his face is clouding over, it looks like he’s about to do it. However, he surprises me again. “Yeah, you should be worried, man. We’re comparing notes on your drinking, and I just want to remind you of what happened the other time you turned to alcohol to deal with shit. It didn’t end pretty, remember?”
Jett’s behind me so I can’t see his face, but I can hear the scowl in his voice. “Fuck off, Van. So I had some drinks . . . my sister died, and I’m gonna deal with this however the fuck I want. And I don’t need you, of all people, in my face trying to tell me how to do it.”
Van’s face grows darker and he leans forward. “Don’t do this, Jett. Don’t become the asshole you hate.”
Jett stays quiet and simply tightens his hold on me. Finally, he says, “Can Presley and I have a minute?”
“Sure,” Van says, and takes a step away. “Just think about what I said, okay?”
I turn in Jett’s embrace to see him watching Van intently. It’s as if some form of silent communication is occurring between the two of them, and I don’t doubt there is. These two have an almost brother-like relationship; they’ve got years of experiences together shaping this conversation, and I can’t even imagine the half of it.
Van leaves, and after watching him for a few moments, Jett gives his attention to me. “Sorry about that,” he apologises.
“You don’t need to apologise, but I do think you two have a lot you need to talk about.”
“Always looking out for Van,” he scoffs, but I can tell he’s joking with me.
I want to ask him how he’s doing but I know that question won’t yield a good response, so I ask him something else to try and lead into what I really want to know. “How are your Mum and Dad doing?”
“Not so good. Dad just gave Mum a sleeping pill. She’s not coping at all, really.” He stops talking and contemplates that for a moment. “It’s hard enough losing a sister; I can’t even imagine the loss of a child.” The way his voice grows shaky causes a new round of sorrow for me. His family has been through so much. And while I feel deeply for his Mum, I am so concerned for the men in her family. While Monica wants to talk about Claudia, Steve and Jett have clammed up, and don’t want to engage in any real conversation about her, whether that is about her death or remembering her life.
“I don’t think your Dad is, either, Jett,” I suggest softly.
“No, he’s okay. He hasn’t broken down or anything, so I think he’s doing okay.”
“Breaking down isn’t a bad thing. It would probably do him good to get it all out.”
He’s looking at me like I have two heads, and my stomach sinks; he’s not getting this. “That’s not the way Dad copes, Presley.”
“Fair enough, you know him better than I do.” I decide that backing off is probably the best thing to do at the moment. Maybe I’ll give Michael’s advice a whirl after all.
“Will you be okay if I do the rounds with the family now?” He’s got a lot of extended family here today, and I know it’s important to him to make the time for them, so I nod.
“Yes, I’m going to go and help in the kitchen. You do what you need to, and I’ll be here when you’re done.”
He smiles, and my heart jumps a little because I haven’t seen a smile on his face for days. “Thank you,” he whispers before brushing a kiss across my lips and leaving.
As my gaze follows him walking away, the sight of Van watching him, too, distracts me. I know there’s more than meets the eye to that man. I just wonder how long it will take for him to show me who he really is.
The next morning, I wake up early and find Jett still asleep. He drank enough alcohol after the funeral to knock himself out and was fast asleep by seven thirty.
I lie next to him for a long time, just watching him and the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. At least an hour passes and just after nine, his phone rings and wakes him up.
He rolls to his side to reach out and find his phone on the bedside table but he knocks it on to the floor and mutters a swear word. Then as he fumbles around trying to reach it on the floor, he falls out of the bed.
“Fuck!” he roars when he hits his head on the corner of the table. “Motherfucking fuck,” he continues his tirade of obscenities as he tries to push himself up onto his hands and knees while at the same time trying to answer his phone. When it stops ringing, he’s finally on his knees with the phone at his ear but it’s too late. Staring at me through bloodshot eyes that betray the physical pain he is in, he swears again. “Fuck me!” And then he pelts the phone across the room. It hits the wall and smashes on its way down to the floor.
I raise my brows. “Well, that fixes that.”
He swings his gaze back to me. “Yeah, that fucking fixes that,” he mutters as he stands. It takes him some effort and a few more swear words before he’s on his feet, and then he stumbles into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Not a good start to the day.
I push the bed covers off and head out to the kitchen to make coffee. Jett’s going to need a lot of it today. And I may, too, just to be able to deal with his mood.
Expecting him to join me in the kitchen, I make two coffees and sit at the kitchen counter waiting for him. However, he doesn’t come. After giving him nearly ten minutes, I go in search of him, and am surprised to hear the sound of the shower when I enter the bedroom. I wouldn’t have thought he’d have the capability to stand for any length of time in the shower.
Leaving him be, I grab my phone, make another coffee and sit in the sun on the balcony scrolling through Facebook while sipping my coffee. I’m engrossed in reading through Erin’s posts when Jett startles me.
“I’m going out for awhile. What are you up to today?” he asks as he joins me on the balcony, not taking a seat at the table, but rather standing near me, as if he can’t escape fast enough. He’s holding his keys and shuffling them from one hand to the other, all jittery.
I narrow my gaze and take a good look at his eyes. Still so bloodshot. And he’s in no state to drive. My inner turmoil makes my tummy cramp up. He shou
ld not be on the road so I’m going to have to say something, but at the same time, I don’t want him to think I’m constantly nagging him about shit. I am wiped out mentally from all the nagging I feel like I’ve been doing the last few days.
Standing, I try to form the right words. “Jett, you can’t drive. You’d still be over the limit and I hate to think what would happen if you crashed the car.”
His forehead creases into a frown. “I’m fine to drive.”
“No, you’re not. Trust me on this, please.”
We face off, and annoyance flashes in his eyes. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Let me drive you to wherever you want to go,” I suggest. I hold my disappointment with his behaviour in check; keeping in mind this is his grief causing his bad behaviour.
He slams the keys down on the table and glares at me. “Fuck it, I’ll call a taxi.” And with that, he turns and stalks out of his apartment.
I collapse into the chair and squeeze my eyes shut as the tears come.
This isn’t Jett.
This is his grief.
I repeat this over and over in my mind, but I’m not sure how much longer I will be able to put up with being treated this way.
37
Jett
I pace the studio as the words form in my mind. They’re close, but I can’t quite grasp them. Frustration takes over and I slam my hand down on the desk.
“For fuck’s sake, this should not be this fucking hard,” I mutter out loud.
Looking at the lines I already have down, I mentally curse myself. Four hours work for only five lines of a song? I’ve never had this much trouble writing a song.
I’ve never tried to write a song about my dead sister before.
Giving up for now, I decide coffee may help, so I close up the studio and head out to the café on the corner of the street to order one. The studio I’ve booked isn’t our usual recording studio, which is a relief. Everyone there and everyone at the café near it would know about Claudia and want to talk to me about her. Here, they may recognise me, but they don’t know me, so I’m hoping they’ll leave me alone.
