by Paige North
Here goes nothing…
What’s the point of loving you if you don’t love me too?
What’s the point of staying here if dreams don’t really come true?
What’s the point of telling me you need me through the night?
What’s the point of arguing? You only prove me right.
I trusted you.
I gave you all of me.
Baby, baby, come set me free.
What’s the point of inviting me into your life?
What’s the point of asking opinions if two wrongs don’t make a right?
What’s the point of knocking drunken at my door?
What’s the point of letting you hurt me anymore?
I trusted in me.
I gave you to the count of three.
Baby, baby, self yourself free.
Freedom in them jeans, honey whiskey in my dreams.
Honey whiskey in my dreams tonight.
17
Jayce
If I won’t see Elena, then I need to do right by my family and go home again to see Mama. Last time, I stupidly wasted my days trying to protect everyone from the media when I should’ve said “fuck y’all” and hung with my mother who needed me. Instead, I made excuses and drank like a bottomless fish.
Ethan’s right. I was thinking of my own career, not my family. I am an asshole. But at least I know that now and plan on fixin’ myself before I can be with anyone else.
This time, I rent a Ford Flex under the name Albus Dumbledore and drive slowly to Johnson City, so I won’t get stopped by highway patrol. Mama’s home with my brothers, and Ethan says my dad’s been by a few times to pick up clothes, testing the waters to see if he should come home. He better pray I don’t see his ass. He better stay at whatever Motel 6 he’s staying at, or I’ll be taking mug shots for domestic abuse myself this weekend.
I pull up to my parents’ house—Mama’s house—and see my brothers’ cars in the circular driveway, two of them up on cement blocks with their hoods up, while my twin brothers peer into them, no shirts on, beer cans in hand.
I slam the Flex door shut. “What’s wrong with the car?” I demand and both heads look up.
“Somebody’s fucked with the starter on both cars,” Daniel says, wiping the sweat from his brow and shaking my hand. He pulls me into a smelly hug. “Mama’ll be glad to see you.”
“Is Dad here?” I ask, hugging Ryan as well.
“Nah, he’s been by a couple times, but he does fine to stay away, let these waters cool off.” Danny stoops over the hood again, fiddling with some wires.
I pat them both on the back and head up the walk, taking a deep breath. I know I ain’t gonna like what I see.
“Hey, Jayce…” Danny calls.
I turn around, shielding my eyes from the late afternoon sun. “Keep it cool.”
Keep it cool. I nod. “Yeah.”
Something’s comforting about someone knowing you so well, they ask you to stay calm. Maybe I don’t say this enough, but I love my brothers, even when they drive me crazy. We’ve been through enough shit together. Maybe it was better I didn’t see Mama in the hospital. I would’ve gone into a rage.
The house smells like cooking, triggering memories of coming home after sundown and being asked to wash up and come sit at the table. As poor as we were, as hotheaded as my father’s been, we always had routines, and we always sat at the table together as a family. Why there’s shame in bringing that up to Elena, I don’t know. When I turn the corner past the living room, I see her.
Mama, sitting in a La-Z-Boy, watching TV. The fact that she still has bruises on her beautiful face two weeks after “the incident” shows you why I’m gonna need a pair a straitjacket when I see my father.
Mama shifts her eyes from the TV to me, and a slow smile curls up on her cheeks. “Jayce baby.”
“Hi, Mama.” Her arm is still in a sling, and I feel my fists ball up at my sides. Breathe. I bend down to hug her. She wraps her good arm around my shoulder and holds me still. Ain’t nothing like comin’ home to your mama’s arms, even if one of them is hurt. The smell of her hair, her olive green eyes, the sound of her voice…it’s enough to make a grown man cry. “I shouldn’t have left you.”
“You have work, Jayce. You didn’t want people following us. I get it.”
“Don’t matter. I still shouldn’t have left you.” Especially since she’s in this condition because she defended me against my dad. Strike that—she’s in this condition because my father’s a dick who should be behind bars.
Ethan pokes his head out of the kitchen to see who’s here. He seems shocked when he sees me, but pleased. “Hey,” he utters, spatula in hand.
“Hey.”
We’re not going to say much more to each other than those two words, but we don’t need to. The fact that I’m here and he’s cooking go a long way to show how much we’ll do anything for each other. The last few years have been strained at best, and that’s probably my fault. But it’s time to change.
“Mama…” Pulling up a chair next to hers, I take her hand and think about the best way to say this. “I’m home, because we need to end this now.”
“End what, Jayce?”
“You know what. You need to leave Dad. We all do. As long as he knows where you live, as long as I’m not here to protect you, you’re gonna get hurt.”
“Don’t be silly. The boys are here. I can’t leave here. I’ve lived here all my life.”
“So fucking what, Mama? What’s in Johnson City that you can’t get in Nashville? Or any other place? An abusive husband?” I scoff, just as my brother, Wyatt, ambles out of the hallway, scratching his balls and face with the same hand.
“What up?” he asks.
“What up is that none of us has done enough to protect her,” I say. Ethan comes around the kitchen wall and leans up against it to hear this, and I look at both of them with imploring eyes. “We all still have the mentality that we’re little kids who can’t do anything to him. But we’re not, and there’s no good reason for you or any of us to stay.”
“Where’m I going go, Jayce?” Mama asks, waving the TV remote around.
“To Nashville. You’ll live with me.”
“With you? You’re never home. You’re always touring. What’s moving to Nashville going to solve? I’m not a big city girl.” She’s a bundle of excuses.
“Mama…” I ball my fists and breathe slowly again. “I don’t have all the answers, but I’m trying. All I know is this—you have to leave him. How long you gonna let him do this to you, huh? How long you gonna let him think he’s king of the hill who can disrespect whoever the fuck he wants? That’s not how it works. You have to give respect to earn it.”
And just like that, I’m thinking about Elena again. I may not have been perfect, but I fucking respect her and always will. Maybe I’ve done a shitty job of showing her how much I care, but if I’m asking Mama to change, then I have to change too. Wouldn’t be right otherwise.
“Jayce, it’s not that easy. Your father ain’t perfect, but I love him.”
No. No fucking way can she still spew this bullshit after all he’s done. I stand, furious now. “You love him? He beats you when you disagree with him, but you love him? When are you gonna stop making excuses for him, Mama?”
“Same way she made excuses for you, Jayce, the reason she ended up this way. She defends everyone she loves.” Wyatt, my oldest brother, making zero fucking sense, everybody.
“I don’t put her arm in a sling, dumb ass!” I yell back at him. “Don’t you dare ever compare me to Dad! She didn’t end up in the hospital because she defended me. She ended up there because Dad is violent, an egomaniac domestic abuser, and the sooner we all start seeing him that way, the better off we’ll be.”
Mama’s silent for a while, and I can see a wall of tears stacking up behind her eyes. I know she’s had to think of leaving him many times but didn’t know how. “I don’t know, Jayce. I can’t…”
&nb
sp; It’s better than “no” so I keep talking.
“Mama, love’s not what you feel,” I say. “You love a man who treats you right. You love a man who puts you on a pedestal. You love a man who takes care of you. You don’t love a man who hurts you.”
Like you hurt Elena? She deserves better and she knows it. It’s me who has to decide now if I want to be the man she needs.
“It’s not that simple, Jayce.”
“Yes, Mama. It is. What you’re confusing with love is co-dependency. It’s a vicious cycle, and I—we…” I look around at all my brothers who’ve gathered in the living room. “Are going to help you get out of it. You need to leave before he comes back. You can’t enable him anymore.” It’s an old song and dance. I’ve tried to get Mama to leave Daddy before, but this time, something seems different.
Just then, the alarm system chimes signaling the front door opening. I look at Wyatt. His eyes widen ever so slightly, and my brothers all jump to attention. There’s no other person will make them do that. “You haven’t changed them locks yet?”
“I was fixin’ to, but…”
I’m out of my chair before I can blink. Ain’t no fucking way the son of a bitch is setting foot in this house. I rush into the living room to find exactly who I expected, acting like he’s fucking Ricky Ricardo home from work.
“You have balls settin’ foot here,” I tell my old man. It’s been a year since I’ve seen him. He’s grayer now, saggier at the shoulders, but damn, do I look like him in most ways, a fact that burns me.
His laugh is low, deep, and unsettling, stirring up all kinds of kid fears in me. “Oh, look, Mama’s golden boy home to save the day. Get the fuck outta my way, boy.”
He tries blowing past me, but I grab him by the shoulders and throw him against the wall. He stumbles then regains his balance. “Looks like someone ain’t the strongest anymore,” I tell him.
“Is that how you want to play?”
“I ain’t playin’. I’m warning you, you better go, before I put you in the hospital myself. You’re no longer needed here.”
“Jayce…” Mama’s worried voice calls from somewhere behind me, but I can’t let her rein me back. If she can’t protect herself from this loser, then I have to do it for her. “Don’t.”
“Stay out of this, Mama. Ethan?” I give my brother a look to get back into that room and keep her away from this. There’s no convincing a drug addict that heroin is the enemy. There’s no convincing an alcoholic that drink isn’t the answer. Both steal identity, make you forget who you are. Well, my mother hasn’t known who she is for a while now.
We’re gonna do something about that.
It’s the next thing that happens that changes everything. My dad, despite what he’s done, despite the pain he’s caused my mom and this family—laughs. He fucking laughs, like this is all a big fucking joke to him. Like giving my mom multiple bruises and lacerations is somehow funny. I have hated that sound my whole life. The audacity, the ego, the blatant disregard.
Blind rage rushes inside of me so fast, I can’t do anything to stop it, and I tackle my dad to the ground, reaming his mouth with my fists. There’s a crack of tooth and who fucking knows…maybe bone…but I can’t stop hitting him. It feels amazing to set right what’s been wrong with this house for years.
My brothers try yanking me back, but they don’t try too hard. It’s clear they feel the same way. Daniel says it’s not worth it. Wyatt tells me it’s enough, I’ve done enough, but everyone’s on my side. I feel it.
I keep hitting. Dad uses his defensive crossed arms to push back with all his might and does a pretty decent job of keeping me at bay, but then I find my opening and hit him again, smashing his cheek and temple over and over. He bleeds from his nose and lip, and his eye begins to swell shut. He doesn’t give up neither. He stands and shoves me into a shelf full of knickknacks, all tumbling to the ground. A glass shelf shatters. Mama’s screams pierce the house.
Despite his attempts to fight me, I’m stronger, and one thing is clear—he’s become an old man in a short time. A tired, sad old man. Finally, he relents and leans against the wall, completely out of breath. “Alright, so you’re stronger than me. Big fucking deal.”
“We’re not dealing with your shit anymore.”
“You never did deal with it. First chance you got, you left.”
“I left to make something of myself,” I say, panting, doing my best to control myself, “to follow my dream, so I could take care of you. Instead, you use my money to buy booze and play king of the castle. To beat your wife.”
“You weren’t there. It’s not your business.”
“It is my business! Well, we don’t need your shit. Mama’s leaving tonight. So, get your stuff and get the fuck out of here.”
“You don’t tell me what to do. This is my house.”
“Like hell it is. It’s mine. Your house was a slanted shitbox in the hills with no running water. Remember?” I stare him in the eyes, dark and soulless. “So get…the fuck…out.”
His chest hiccups with silent laughter. He looks behind me at my mother holding onto Ethan’s waist. “Where the hell you think you gonna go, June?”
He still doesn’t get it. He never will. And right now, after the anger has had a chance to die down, I mostly feel sorry for him. Of course, my mother doesn’t answer. She’s scared she’ll get hit, even now surrounded by five good ol’ boys who all love her.
“Huh?” My father’s shout echoes through the house, and for an instant, I’m seven years old again. “Where you think you gonna go?”
I’m about to tell him we don’t know, don’t care, anywhere, as long as it’s far from him, when Ethan speaks up. Finally.
“First stop,” he says. About time. For a minute, I thought I was the only one here who wanted this change. “A divorce lawyer’s office.”
18
Elena
End of my shift and I’m dying to go home.
Tired of drunk boys, dramatic girls, and fights breaking out over the stupidest things. Even our scheduled singer tonight seems to be having relationship issues. She’s in the back, near the kitchen, on her phone, yelling at some guy over “I saw the way you looked at her, and trust me, she wasn’t no friend.”
Zoe’s working tonight, too, and she’s giving the stink-eye to the new guy she’s been seeing, who sits in the corner and watches her like he’s her dad or something.
Don’t these people know they’re better off without the drama? Without a boyfriend, nobody tells you what to do, what to think, what to feel… Without a boyfriend, you can come and go as you please. Without a boyfriend, you have no one to share the good times with either, which totally does not strengthen my case, so I’ll shut up now. Ugh.
“Wallace.” My boss’s sweaty face confronts me before I can punch out.
“Yes, Mr. Logan?” I hope this isn’t about cutting my hours, because I really need all the hours I can get. Zoe brushes by me, giving me that cold smile-smirk she’s been doing all night. I take it we’re not friends anymore, or maybe we never were. I should’ve been upfront with her about Jayce.
“Meryl Streep back there just lost her shot onstage. You play, don’t you?”
“I don’t just play, sir. I sing as well. You remember how I did a few backup tracks for Jayce Owens, don’t you?” I ask. Behind him, Zoe rolls her eyes. Ugh, she can have him, if she wants him so badly. I’ll pretend it doesn’t hurt, even though I still think of him every 1.74 seconds.
“Same as every other person to grace this stage.” Mr. Logan wipes his sweat with his cloth and puts it back in his pocket. “Everybody’s sang backup for everybody,” he says, hooking air quote fingers in the air, “but nobody’s got proof.”
I have proof. I’ve got demos in my car, plus some photos with Jayce on my phone, not that it matters. It’s neither here nor there. “You want me to sing? Is that what you’re asking me?”
“Could you? The dead air’s making me nuts. There’s a whole
crowd waiting.”
In the nine months I’ve been working here, I’ve been waiting for this chance. Hammerhill’s got a great reputation for getting discovered. Mr. Logan says staff can’t sing onstage, and performers don’t wait tables. It’s one or the other, and because he’s been booked every night for the last eight months, I settled for the waitressing position. “Sure, gimme a minute. I’ll go grab my guitar.”
I head out the back, excited at the shot. It’s Thursday night, and things are quite busy. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is my big shot. You perform, people love your song, and agents who happen to be sitting in the audience call you the next day. Then—boom, recording contract. Just like it happened to Jayce.
Popping open my trunk, I feel a presence displace the air next to me. “Did Mr. Logan just ask you to sing tonight?”
I turn to Zoe, hand on her hip. “Yeah, I guess since Sasha won’t get off her phone.” I glance back at the open service door to the bar. Sasha’s now full-out crying, and I feel sorry for her that she’s losing her shot. “Why do you ask?”
“What are you gonna sing? Can I join you?” Zoe asks. “We could do a duet. I can sing backup to pretty much anything, you know that.” Her blue eyes fill with hope, and even though we really haven’t spoken in weeks, other than to discuss whose turn it is to vacuum the apartment, I feel torn.
“Oh…” Six months ago—hell, just yesterday—I would’ve given anything for the opportunity to sing onstage at Hammerhill’s, even just as backup. “Thing is, Zoe, he’s giving me a chance, so I’m going to sing my new song, the one I recorded a few days ago in the studio.”
“You mean a Jayce Owens song?” Her voice brims with disdain.
“No,” I reply carefully, meeting her accusing gaze. “A song of my own that I wrote and recorded just this week.”
“You never told me that.” Her arms fold over her chest, and I realize that no matter what, I’m going to look like the jerk here. If I say yes, she’ll share my spotlight on a song I wrote during a time she never knocked on my bedroom door once to ask if I was okay. If I say no, karma will get me in the end. I just know it. “I guess you like to keep to yourself.”
