Recovery

by Nicole Dykes

  “Yes, Dad,” he mocks as we move away from his door, and he pulls it open. He climbs in but doesn’t shut the door yet. “Just give her time. Talking isn’t everyone’s strong suit, but you’re really fucking good at wearing people down.”

  I smile and shut the door for him, giving him a nod and wave. He speeds out of the parking spot, and I walk to my own car.

  Mya needs space. It’s against everything in me, but I know I need to let her come to me with this one.

  I hate the distance I feel with Jase now. I know it’s my fault. But I still despise it. After his body pulls away from mine, both of us coming down from release, the distance is even more apparent.

  He lies on his back next to me, looking up at the ceiling.

  “Jase,” my voice is quiet. Scared.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why are you so nice to me?”

  He laughs softly, rolling to his side, and I see his bright smile in the dark room. “Why does everyone think I’m cheery and nice?”

  I roll to my side to face him. “I never said cheery.”

  “Spencer thinks I am.”

  I smile and let my fingers drift over the stubble on his chin. “You’re just . . .” I feel sobs bubbling up in my throat, and I try to push them down. “You’re so good.”

  “I’m not good, Mya. I’ve done some bad shit.”

  “But you care. You care so damn much. I’m . . .” His hand rests over mine, so large and comforting. He makes me feel so damn safe. “I’m cold, and I try to keep people away. Why can’t you just use my body and let me go?”

  “I see you, Mya. The real you. And you aren’t fucking cold. And I’m not fucking nice. I just really . . .” his hand moves from my hand to my mouth, his thumb tracing my bottom lip, “really like you.”

  I smile, a tear sliding down my cheek. “I don’t want you to like me.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” His smile only adds to my comfort. “But I do.”

  “I’m hard to love.”

  He laughs at that. The bastard actually laughs. “You’re not hard to love in the slightest, Mya. You’ve just been surrounded by assholes your whole life.”

  I choke on a cry, fighting it. I don’t want to cry. I want to stay wrapped in his happiness and warmth. “Everyone leaves.”

  His hand drops to my waist, pulling me into him. “What do you mean?”

  “My dad left before I was born. Quinn, Rhys, Sean, and Logan. They all left. My mom was never there, even when she was.” A warm tear slides down my cheek, but I keep going. “Charity,” her name is a sad whisper as I close my eyes and picture her once bright smile. “She was my best friend in the world, and she left without saying a word to me.” He holds me closer as I start to sob. “And then Trey left.”

  I don’t want to think about this. The pain is too great.

  But I force myself to go on when he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t try to force me to talk. He just holds me.

  “He trusted me. He knew from a young age, like I did, that we couldn’t trust Mom. When we’d go to the grocery store, on the rare occasion Mom actually bought food, if the cashier asked if he could have candy, he’d look to me for approval. Not her. Never her. He was always looking to me.”

  His hand slides gently over the bare skin on my hip, calming me, but I continue to cry. “You were a good sister.”

  I shake my head. “Until I wasn’t. He trusted me so damn much, Jase.”

  I feel his hand under my chin as he tips my head to look up at him. “What happened?”

  “I had a job as a waitress in the shitty little diner near our apartment.” My chin wobbles with the sobs that are about to take over my entire body. “I was so tired when I got home that evening. Trey had been cooped up inside and had so much energy.” He was smiling so big when I came home. My heart aches in my chest, but I keep going. “So much damn energy. We didn’t have a lot for him to do, and he begged me to let him go outside and play.”

  His hand smooths over my hair, and my tears fall.

  “I shouldn’t have let him, but I was so damn tired.”

  He holds me closer, and I want so badly to get lost in him. But I’m back at the shitty apartment—a one bedroom for three people, brown water coming out of the leaky faucet, the smell of mold and rot.

  “I told him he could go outside for twenty minutes while I stayed on the couch with a book.” I let out a strangled cry, thinking about the next moment that I play over and over in my head. “I must have fallen asleep. But I was woken up by a loud sound, a bang and then another.”

  “Fuck.” His voice is a harsh whisper.

  “I ran outside, but I was too late. Trey was lying there, lifeless, blood seeping from his chest. He was already gone, but I still pulled his body onto my lap and rocked him, begged him to come back, told him how fucking sorry I was. I knew it wasn’t safe for him to be outside in our neighborhood. But I let him.”

  “He was a kid, Mya. That wasn’t your fault. He should have been able to play outside.”

  “But that wasn’t our reality, Jase. And I knew that. I just wanted a few minutes to myself to read and rest. Look what it got me.”

  His arms wrap around me as he pulls me flush against him, letting me sob against his chest. Warm. He’s so warm. And safe.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Mya.”

  I cry harder when he says that, and he only holds onto me. Taking my pain. Wrapping me in warmth and kindness when all I can offer him is my bitter coldness.

  “What happened afterward?”

  I try to force away the memories. The ambulance and the cops pulling up. Them taking him out of my arms. Trying to get me to calm down as I wailed into the night. “They took him away. And then the media came. Fucking flies to the corpses. It was the sixty-second murder that year in the city.”

  I rest my hand on his bare chest and feel his heart.

  “That’s awful.”

  I nod. “The press wanted their story. It was a big one. The community rallying together to prevent violence. Pastors on the screen telling people it needs to stop. Grieving mothers used for ratings, sobbing and telling their stories.” I look up at him, knowing I sound distant and bitter because I am. “They didn’t care. It all fades. Soon there’s another crime. Another victim. Lottery winner. Sports team victory. They all move on, and I’m still without my brother.”

  He’s careful with his words. “I’m sure they wanted the story and the ratings, but I have to believe they also want change.” I’m about to argue when his hand caresses my cheek and holds it. “Or someone watching wants change. Wants better for the world. Maybe your little brother’s story will spark that change and will hit the right person and will make a difference.”

  “Nothing ever changes.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

  I want to believe his words, believe that someday there will be less crime, that human beings will treat each other with decency. But everything I’ve seen up until now makes that thought seem hopeless.

  “It is, Jase. I want out of the city. I want to feel safe.” Like I do in his arms.

  I try to push that thought away, though, because this is temporary. This will fade. He’ll grow tired of my attitude.

  “There’s good and bad everywhere. It doesn’t matter where you live, Mya. But if you want to live in a small town after the hell you’ve been through, living in the city, I get that.”

  I let more tears fall before wiping them away. “I miss him.” My voice shatters talking about Trey. “I miss him so much.”

  He hugs me to him again, resting his chin on my head. “I know.”

  There’s nothing left to say, nothing I haven’t told him.

  I resent the safety his arms provide.

  Temporary.

  It’s only temporary.

  Jesus, I knew it was bad, but not that bad. Who the fuck shoots a kid? I feel her agony but have no idea how to help her, so I just hold her.

  If I could take away her pain, I would in
a heartbeat.

  “Do they know who did it?”

  Her head shakes, and it’s still buried in my chest. “No,” she scoffs, jaded and tired. “They’re never going to find out. People around where I grew up, they don’t talk to the police. They don’t rat.”

  “Even if it’s about an innocent kid’s murder?”

  I feel her tense and think maybe I should just shut up, but her head tips to look up at me. “It doesn’t matter who the victim is, there’s always someone protecting the wicked.”

  I have to believe justice will be served. My dad was a fireman in a small town. He was friends with a lot of cops, a lot of good men. Men who checked in on me and my mom after he died. I have to believe they’d want to solve a murder, but I’m not naïve. I’ve seen the news and have been in Nashville for years. Murders go unsolved all the time. Corrupt shit happens.

  “I’m sorry, Mya.” There’s nothing else to say about it, no way to make her feel better. He’s gone, and she blames herself.

  “You go to meetings because you feel guilty about the wreck?”

  It’s a question but said like a statement because she already knows the answer. “Yeah. I think about it all the time. How I could have ruined people’s lives.”

  My stomach clenches, thinking about my first thought after the wreck. What my father would think. First responders who knew him were at the scene. He gave his life to save others, and I could have taken innocent lives.

  “Sometimes I think that maybe the guy who killed Trey feels guilty about it.”

  I kiss the top of her head as I think about her statement. “How could he not?”

  Her eyes meet mine. “Not everyone is as good as you, Jase. Some people are just bad.”

  “It had to be an accident, right? I mean, there’s no way your brother was an actual target. Maybe they were aiming for someone else or being stupid and reckless. Who knows? But maybe there’s enough guilt they’ll turn themselves in.”

  “I can’t let myself hope for that. I’ve seen it too many times. No one comes forward.”

  We stay quiet. Her head rests against me yet again, and I try to change the subject. “Tell me about Charity.”

  I feel her smiling against me before she lifts her head to look at me. “She was my best friend since we were tiny. Both born on the shitty side of town to people who should have never had kids.” Her smile brightens. “Still, she managed to be so carefree, and she had this insanely infectious smile.”

  It’s so damn good to see Mya have fond memories when it seemed like they were all dark.

  “She always found a way to be happy, no matter what. I was always the serious one.”

  “She just left?”

  Her smile fades now. “Yeah. She’d been in a horrible home. She wouldn’t talk about it or tell me what happened to her there. She became distant, and then she just disappeared on her eighteenth birthday. Not even a good-bye.”

  Jesus, her fucking story is heartbreaking. “Nothing since?”

  “No. I tried to file a missing persons report, but they said she was a runaway.”

  I try to tread lightly. I don’t know Charity, and I’m sure it’s a sore subject. “Do you think she did? If she was living in a bad place, I mean?”

  Her shoulder lifts. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I won’t leave.” Her eyes meet mine, and I see her swallow when she sees I’m serious. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “But I am.”

  I still can’t wrap my mind around that. I think I’m hoping she’ll change her mind, but even after only knowing Mya for a little while, I know that’s unlikely.

  “I couldn’t help Charity. I couldn’t help Trey. I just want to escape, never get close to anyone again and fail them again.”

  “I can’t imagine you failing at anything. The world seems to have failed you, and the system did as well, but not you. You’re as close to perfect as I can imagine.”

  Her lips brush over mine, and I feel her smile against my lips. “I’m not perfect.”

  “To me, you are.”

  I didn’t expect anything like this. I’ve dated a few women. I’ve had one-night-stands. But nothing in this world has ever compared to her.

  It’s been a couple of months since I gave in and finally told Jase the whole story about Trey. Since then, I’ve told Quinn and Logan too. They, of course, didn’t know what to say, but it was always a cold reality in the neighborhood where we lived.

  I don’t think they were shocked to their core like Jase was. Still, he doesn’t seem to look at me any differently.

  I’ve tried my best to get some distance from his heart and mine, but it feels nearly impossible now. His touch is my addiction. His laugh and smile are my cravings. And I get a hit any time I can.

  “So, why don’t you sing anymore?”

  I gape wide-eyed at Quinn, who’s just kicked everyone out of the bar and locked up. It’s just Jase, Tommy, her, and me inside the bar as the guys situate the tables and chairs back into their places.

  “I just don’t enjoy it like I once did.”

  She nods her head sadly, and I sense Tommy and Jase are listening. “I’m sorry. I know what that’s like, but don’t forget how much you once loved it.”

  I loved Quinn’s music lessons when I was a kid. Loved. Them.

  It was one of the rare times I would feel like smiling when she’d play her guitar and teach me the notes. New songs.

  But then I grew up. Had to get jobs to help keep the lights on, take care of Trey. And singing became a useless hobby that went on the backburner.

  “It was just something to do.”

  Her eyes slide to the small stage at the back of the bar. “Wanna do it now?”

  My whole body feels tense at her offer, and I shake my head quickly before moving to wipe down the sticky tables.

  Of course, Jase heard and is by my side in a second. “Wait? You’re gorgeous, funny, just enough of a ballbuster to keep me on my toes, and you can sing?”

  I roll my eyes at his over-the-top ridiculousness. “No. It was just something I did with Quinn when I didn’t want to go home.” I shrug my small shoulders, dwarfed by his large presence and feeling uncomfortable by the subject. “Trey liked to hear me sing.”

  His face turns less enthusiastic now, and his voice gets quieter, “I bet he’d still like to hear it.”

  “Your voice was effortless, Mya,” Quinn is hesitant to add.

  None of them really push people into doing something they don’t want to do, but hell if they aren’t the most charming people on the planet.

  I look back at the stage with the single microphone standing in the middle. I love the simplicity of that stage. I toss the rag on the table and look over at Quinn.

  “One song can’t hurt, but I’m extremely rusty.”

  She grins at me, already jumping on the stage. Quinn sells out venues all over the country, but she seems incredibly eager to hop on that tiny stage in her bar. Jase gives my arm a simple squeeze, but the gesture is all I need.

  I walk up on the stage with Quinn as she grabs her acoustic guitar and strums the chords gently, a huge smile forming on her face, one I feel all the way down to my toes. Music has healing properties that nothing else in this world holds.

  She starts playing a song familiar to me, one she taught me so long ago that I would sing over and over on my walk home, in the shower, and in the halls at school. I wanted to perfect it.

  As the opening notes to “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac sound, I feel a warm feeling drift through my body that I haven’t felt in a long time.

  A tear threatens to escape as Quinn nods toward the microphone. Tommy and Jase sit down in the chairs right in front of the stage. My heart is thundering, but I take a deep breath and the lyrics come to me in an instant.

  I think about Trey and the way he would calm down when I’d sing to him. I think about all the fucked-up times our mom would get high and abusive or worse, or when one of her boyfriends would, and
we’d lock ourselves in the small bathroom in the apartment and I’d sing to him, soothe him the only way I knew how.

  And he’d calm down, lean against me. I wanted to do that the day he died, sing to him and make it better. But nothing could make it better.

  I choke out the first note. And then another. And before I know it, my eyes are closed, and the room is filled with the sound of Quinn’s guitar and my voice. She doesn’t sing with me. She just provides the background music as I sing my heart out.

  Thinking about Charity and how happy she was when we were growing up, how I used to give her a hard time for being so damn bubbly. And then the first time I saw a bruise on her arm, then on her neck. How pale and malnourished she looked. I saw the light slowly seep out of her. And then she was just gone.

  I think about my mother and walking in on her, dead to the world with needles hanging from her arms, her clothes dirty, and her body weak and worn, letting drugs and horrible men into her body. How numb she always looked. I think about how maybe she had that same light once but let it all go.

  And I just pour every single feeling into every note I sing. I push my vocal chords to expel the hate I have for her, for the person that took my brother away, for whoever hurt Charity. The bitterness I feel toward her for not talking to me. I let the music cleanse my soul with every single beautiful word.

  And when Quinn stops playing and my final note ends, I open my eyes to lock onto Jase’s hazel one. He’s watching me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And when he smiles, I feel it deep inside.

  I have no idea how I’m going to get out of his hold.

  Her voice.

  Holy shit.

  I’ve never heard anything like it. Sweet and soulful, but full of sultry gravel. Fucking perfect.

  When she said she used to sing to her little brother, I could understand why the subject of her singing hadn’t been brought up, but I can’t imagine never hearing that sound again.

  “I told you. You’re fucking perfect,” I growl as I drag my lips down Mya’s throat. Her small body is currently pressed against the wall in my bedroom.