WHEN I’M GONE
A NOVEL BY:
Jaxson Kidman
Contents
Foreword
Stay social with Jaxson
When I’m Gone
My sweet flame…
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Hey darlin’
About the Author
LET YOU GO
Foreword
From the mind of worldwide bestselling author Jaxson Kidman comes a full length stand alone novel about being saved, saving someone, finding the future in the past, and never letting love slip away again.
She had completely captured me in a way that had never happened before.
That was the romantic way of thinking about it.
The truth was that I was fucked. My heart, mind, and soul were fucked.
Written by Jaxson Kidman
Stay social with Jaxson
Newsletter (part of the True Romance Obsession team): http://eepurl.com/b9BDKb
Jaxson Kidman Facebook fan page: www.facebook.com/jaxsonkidman
True Romance Obsession Facebook book page: www.facebook.com/TrueRomanceObsession
When I’m Gone
The night I almost took my own life, he was there.
The night I said 'no' and nobody heard me, he was there.
The night doctors told me I only had hours to live, he was there.
But when I'm gone... who will be there for him...
My sweet flame, you stand tall,
but will be broken in seconds. It’s the way
time allows us to breathe. The peak, the hole,
reaching for the light
it will break you
A finger sliding down the back of your neck
tracing a line from a flirting heaven to
a normal hell.
Your ashes, the dance, the wind a
silent song.
If I say sorry, will you hear? Will you
ever understand what this means? Will you
become the spark in the dust, the one they
don’t see and the one they don’t cry for?
I can stand and wait. For time to take me.
The ground to swell, soften with our tears,
swallow me like the horizon to the day.
Never a goodbye. Spoken. But seen.
Prologue
What I Really Want…
YEARS AGO
Sienna
There were two things that made that night more tragic for me than it was to start with. I mean, sure, when the police, ambulances, and fire trucks all pulled up to the mangled wreck, it was obvious that things were serious. I remember being in the back seat, strapped in and unable to get out. I remember the way we went around the bend, and my fingers gently pressed into the cushion of the seat because I felt nervous. Everyone told me that I worried too much for my age, but I didn’t understand what that meant. Everyone told me what toys to play with and how to play with them. They didn’t understand that I had no interest in toys, and that anything that resembled a sliver of innocence had been gone for a long time.
The reason why I gripped the soft cushion of the seat was because I knew that we were going too fast. If I’d have said anything about it, I would’ve been told to shut up. And actually, shut up was pretty good compared to what it usually was.
At one point going around the curve, I shut my eyes. I began to make promises to something I didn’t understand. Was I asking God to save me? Was I asking… someone… to reach down from… somewhere… and pull me from the car? Because I knew it was going to crash.
The back tires were the ones that kicked to the side. There was a thudding sound and then the car jerked to the left, which threw me to the right. My head hit where the window met the door. Before I could attempt to scream in pain, the car moved the other way and then it was…
“We’re going to save you. Just relax.”
Those seven words sort of brought me back to life.
We were upside down. The car was upside down. We’d rolled at least four times. Probably more. It would set up my lifelong fear and hate of roller coasters. It would set up panic attacks at the sight and sound of roller coasters and other so called thrill rides. Even something as simple as a late spring carnival, that everyone would go to, would set one off. The boys would fight at the train tracks, and the boys and girls would make out in the woods, share bright pink and blue cotton candy, and hold hands for the first time in public, declaring that they’d found their summer love. There was too much activity and sound and screams. People yelling. Rusted rides grinding to life. The pop of darts hitting balloons. The massive ding of the bell as some tough jock swung the hammer to prove his strength and win a teddy bear. All those sounds took me back to being upside down in the car, staring forward at the road as one headlight of the car somehow remained intact.
They pulled me from the car with ease. So this isn’t some bravery thing where gas had been leaking and caught fire and I was saved at the last second from a massive explosion. Trust me, nothing about my life was fitting for a TV show.
I was a few feet from the car when I finally looked beyond the man in a uniform who was carrying me, and screamed for my mother. I screamed all the variations. Mom! Mommy! Mama! As though I’d finally figured that it was a good time to pick one and stay with it for the rest of my life.
The man in the uniform put a strong hand to my back and whispered to me… “She’s going to be okay. We’re going to get her out of the car next. It’s going to be okay.”
The words were supposed to soothe me, but they never did. I wanted to see what was happening. The man in the uniform took me to a very bright ambulance. My eyes hurt as they tried to get used to the lights. Two people were waiting. Big smiles. Offering help. Talking to each other using medical terms. I kept trying to lean forward to see the car.
The ambulance would take me to the hospital, and from there, I would go to my grandmother’s house.
But I’m getting ahead of myself for a moment.
They put a big and comfortable blanket around me. The man in the uniform who Cassied me showed up again with an apple juice box. He told me that he had two daughters and they loved apple juice. I preferred soda. The caffeine and sugar would always keep me awake in case danger came back to our apartment.
But nothing else mattered… drinking that juice box was a defining moment for me. It was some kind of pretend healthy juice too, meaning less sugar and more bitterness.
I heard the sound of more crunching metal. A really loud sound, popping and grinding.
I tried to lean forward and someone pulled me back.
Okay, I said that there were two things that made the night more tragic than just the car accident itself.
The first… I had a lucky penny that I’d found one night when danger came to our apartment. I thought that me and my mother weren’t going to make it, but we survived. All because of that penny. That penny had slipped out of my pocket and was left forever in the wreckage of the car.
The second… that sud
den love and need that I felt for my mother didn’t matter.
I was the only one who survived the car accident.
Chapter One
Junk Collection 101
Kace
I could have been honest and just told people that I collected junk. That would have been the easy and simple way to explain what I did for a living, and what I did for fun. But it was more romantic and elegant to say that I took items that had been worn from the battle of time and gave them a second chance. In reality… I took shitty things and made them look pretty and new, and sold it for a lot of money to people who wanted to pretend that they liked vintage stuff, but only if that stuff was new and pricey.
I had nothing to complain about. It started as a little side thing and was enough that it kept me afloat. I was able to live and enjoy life, trading drinks for one night of love and always looking to the horizon for the next project… and the next conquest. For me, some hearts just weren’t worth sharing, and I made that very clear up front. There were no roses. There were no birthday gifts. There were no just thinking of you flowers. That wasn’t me and it wasn’t my style. Either you understood it, or you didn’t. And either way, it didn’t bother me.
It was one of the oldest bars in town, three stories tall with apartments above it. It was rumored to be haunted, but I was pretty sure that anyone who got drunk enough could see a ghost or two. Or maybe they were too embarrassed to admit that they were hammered and fell down the stairs, so it made more sense to make up a story about a poltergeist pushing them. Whatever it was, the bar was low key, a little dark, busy yet quiet, if that made sense. The front windows were huge with a few high top tables. That’s where I took a seat and ordered myself an ice cold beer and a room temperature shot of whiskey. Funny how the family curse and the one thing I swore I’d never touch was my favorite part of a long day. The difference was that my beer and my shot of whiskey was earned and appreciated. No ghosts would be pushing me down a set of steps. And I wouldn’t wake up two towns over with my truck face down in a ditch, trying to convince the cops that a deer made it happen.
My buddy Mack showed up five minutes late, which was actually ten minutes early compared to what he normally would be. He wore a dirty brown leather jacket and black sunglasses like he was out of some eighties heartthrob movie. He ordered some fancy IPA beer and flirted with the bartender, who ate it up and threw her hair behind her as she walked away. I had to hand it to Mack though, he knew how to pick up women. He was the type that would promise forever, only to realize that his watch had been broken for years, and blamed time for the fact that his heart had already moved on by the time the sun came up. The trail of broken hearts from his apartment still stained the carpets.
He was an asshole, but he was closest thing I’d ever had to a best friend.
When he sat down, he lifted his bottle and tilted it toward me.
“I’m not saying a word to you until you take those stupid sunglasses off,” I said. “Are you trying to look tough, or are you getting ready to fly an airplane?”
“Both,” he said and clicked his mouth and gave a thumbs up.
“I’m being serious, man. Take those sunglasses off right now.”
He laughed and ripped the sunglasses away with force, raising one eyebrow as he did. When we were younger, Mack had this dream of becoming a famous actor. He started hitting the gym thinking that having muscle would help. What he got was lots of muscle, but he still had no acting skills. Now he worked as a glorified handyman around town, which wasn’t the worst job in the world. We got along even better now because we used our hands to survive and appreciated everything we earned. Our so called careers weren’t laced with sick days, vacation days, and retirement plans. Mack relied on houses needing work and I relied on rich people wanting old junk refurbished.
I finally tapped my bottle against his, only I smashed the bottom of my bottle into the top of his. That left a white foamy explosion from his bottle.
“Ah, fuck, man,” he growled. “You know how much this beer cost me?”
“Yeah,” I said. I smashed the bottle again, making it explode a second time. “Too damn much.”
“You’re an asshole, Kace.”
I laughed and leaned back, sliding my hand into my pocket. I took out a ten and flicked it across the table at Mack.
“There,” I said. “That should get you another pansy beer and you can tip the pretty bartender.”
“Another chance to flirt with her, I’ll take it.”
“See? I’m just helping you, bro. I waste your beer, you flirt with the bartender, and everyone is happy.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Hey, I was over at Mr. Handley’s place today. He needed a light fixture changed on his back porch. Damn, does he have a vinyl collection.”
“Vinyl records?”
“Yeah, man. You should see them.”
“Does anyone even listen to that anymore?”
“I don’t know,” Mack said. “Maybe someday it’ll make a comeback. But the collection is pretty sweet. He has them in milk crates though. And he has this back wall that’s open. I was thinking that maybe you could build something for him. Something totally custom, you know? And really organize it.”
“You paying for that?” I asked.
“We can talk to him about it.”
“Mr. Handley?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “He’s stubborn and cheap.”
“Nah. He hired me.”
“That’s because he can’t climb ladders anymore. His kids took them from the house after he fell last summer trying to change a lightbulb in the bathroom.”
“You know about that?”
“Who doesn’t? Everyone in this town talks. Lots of chatter and nothing good ever said.”
“Damn,” Mack said. He leaned forward again. “Hey, you ever think about us starting a business together?”
“Doing what?”
“Custom construction, man. You have the eyes for that cool, junk shit. I know how to fix and build things. We could start a company.”
I looked around the packed bar. TVs in every corner, each with a different sports game on. People on their Friday night dates, coming to the only place in town that wasn’t quite a shit hole (yet). There was the bar and then an area for tables. There was a small archway that gave way to a supposed more formal dining area, but it was never used for anything formal at all. The best part about the place was a set of metal steps that led to the roof. Now, the place wasn’t exactly supposed to let people hang out on the roof, but when you got to know Archie as well as I did, you were allowed up there. He owned the bar and the building, along with a few other old buildings in town.
“You even listening to me, Kace?” Mack asked.
I looked at him and shook my head. “No. I’m not. I came here for a couple of drinks and to relax. Eye the scenery and see what I can take home tonight.”
“See, with you, I don’t know what that means.”
“Meaning what?” I asked.
“Are you looking to take home a piece of vintage wood to sand down and refinish? Or take home a woman for little Kace to play with?”
“There’s nothing worth taking home here,” I said.
Mack raised an eyebrow. “I could ask the same question again.”
“Oh, Christ, Mack. It’s Friday. I enjoy my Fridays. My hands are meant for something else.”
“Again…”
“You’re an asshole, man,” I said. “Tell you what… why don’t you go and talk to the pretty bartender a little more. I’m going to get another beer and go for a walk.”
“You’re going on the roof, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. So?”
“You’re going to look at that house. The Wethen House.”
I didn’t respond.
Mack shook his head. “Guys like us, man, we aren’t meant for that shit. I know that’s your dream house. To live there and spend your life working on it. I think it’s awesome.”
“I like the scenery,�
� I said as I stood up.
“See, that right there. You make me wonder sometimes.”
“Wonder what?”
“Friday night. Place is crawling with people. And you want to go and look at a house.”
“Whatever you think you’re going to suggest, just stop,” I said. “By the way, the bartender’s name is Jane.”
“Jane?” Mack asked. “How do you know?”
I smirked. “I just know.”
I turned and started to walk, feeling Mack’s eyes burning into my back. I knew the way his mind worked. He was debating on asking me if I’d slept with Jane, because that’s what he assumed by my comment. The truth was that Jane bought an old washboard off me a little while ago. I had found it in the bottom of a junk heap at a flea market and fixed it up. She bought it for her great-grandmother who was turning ninety. Her great-grandmother apparently washed her siblings clothes with a washboard. As far as anything else with Jane… that was between me, her, and the sheets.
As I walked through the bar, I looked around, nodding and smiling at familiar faces. I knew a lot of people and a lot of people knew of me. Knowing and talking to were two different things. Which was a nice line that I liked to keep. There was nothing worse than forced and pointless conversation.
The funny thing though…
That’s right where I was headed, the second I opened the door to get to the roof.
She was standing near the edge of the roof. I froze when I saw her, watching as the soft summer breeze played with her brown hair. She wore some kind of jean jacket looking thing that was shorter than her shirt. Slowly, she lifted her arms up and out, the jean jacket pulling way up, the white shirt underneath lifting up too, showing a little bit of skin. My eyes did what any sane man’s eyes would do, meaning that I followed the curves of her hips and the way that they forced her jeans to make room.
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