by Sadie Grubor
Inside the club, the space is well lit in typical rehearsal day fashion.
I look around for Red, since his usual front row table is unoccupied, and find him standing at the bar with a vaguely familiar man. Two young, middle-school-aged girls sit near them at a booth.
"Do they both have the new iPhone and the iPad Air?" Sid asks enviously.
Red looks up from his guest and does a double-take, realizing we’re standing a few feet away. He says something to the man before walking toward us, causing the visitor to look in our direction.
"Good afternoon, ladies," Red greets.
"Ladies?" Sid looks behind her and then back to him. "Well, hell, I haven't been called that in like…ever."
Red laughs, loudly.
"Liza said you were funny." He nods. "So," his face turns all business-like, "are those for me?" He motions to the portfolio and tablet in her hands.
Sid goes to respond but stops, standing with her mouth parted.
"Sid?" I ask, following her line of sight.
The semi-familiar visitor walks to Red's side. Christ, he doesn't really walk—he prowls, and it makes me think of the way Jackson moves.
The man is shorter than Jackson…though, most people are. The visitor looks a bit over six feet tall with a wide muscular build bulging beneath the thin, white t-shirt stating Without Ballet, Life Would be Pointless across his chest. His head is shaved except for the thick, golden blond strands at the top of his head, which reach his shoulders. Tattoos swirl the shaved area, but his loose hair makes it difficult to see the images. He looks about the same age as Red—late thirties to early forties—but the beard could be adding a couple years.
Giving her some elbow encouragement, it's enough to shake her from mute ogling.
"Uh, yeah, here." Blinking rapidly, she holds out the neon rainbow portfolio.
"Didn't they have anything more obnoxious to choose?" the visitor asks as Red takes it from her, his golden brown eyes boring into her.
Knowing Sid, I try to stop whatever unfiltered madness will spew from her lips.
"Do you have a problem with rainbows?" Her arms come over her chest.
Damn it. Not quick enough.
His eyes narrow in curiosity.
"I’m sure he doesn't—" I attempt.
"Nah," he crosses his arms, mimicking her stance, "my girls love rainbows." With a twitch of his head, he nods toward the young girls.
Sid leans sideways, looking around Tall, Tatted, and Beard, before looking back to him.
"They're a little young to be working here, don't you think? Or are you just starting them early in their career?" She tilts her head, a picture of fake innocence on her face.
The smile he wears slips from his face. Hard lines emboss the sides of his eyes.
"Those are my daughters," he growls.
"Ah…so it's just bad parenting?" she presses.
"Who the hell are you to tell me what to do with my kids?" He drops his arms from his broad chest. Fists clenched, he continues, "I stopped by to bring Red something and there isn't a fucking thing they can't see going on."
"Aw, Dad, you cursed," one little angel-faced girl announces. Having heard his raised voice, she looks over her tablet.
"You know what that means?" the other girl, with the same face, adds.
Twins. I smile.
"Christ," he grumbles, pulling out his wallet.
I put my hand over my face and silently pray the roof collapses and ends this verbal sparring match.
Red's laughter makes me pull my hand from my face.
"Ladies, this is Xavier Stone. We go way back." Red motions toward the golden-red-haired tatted man. The man pulling twenties out of a silver money clip and scowling at Sid.
"Xave, this is Liza and Sidra." Red motions between us.
Xavier stays focused on Sid.
"Call me Sid," she corrects, keeping her eyes on the sixty dollars Xavier pulls out.
"Are you giving them sixty dollars?" Sid brings her wide eyes to meet his scowl.
"Yeah, because you made me cuss." He slips the remainder of his money into his back pocket.
Out of nowhere, a little hand appears, and he places the money in it.
"Wait," Sid holds up a hand, "you mean to tell me they get sixty bucks every time you curse?"
"No," the angel-faced girl says, drawing our attention. "We get twenty for each cursing occurrence."
Sid opens her mouth, but is silenced by the identical sister's arrival.
"Each time there's an instance when Dad curses, we each get twenty, unless only one of us is around. However, if it's the F word, we get an extra ten." She gives a nod, ending her explanation.
Sid uncrosses her arms and gives Xavier an evil grin before turning her attention to the twins.
"If I can get him to say the F word more than once, do you get thirty for each time it's said?"
"Don't—" Xavier begins.
"Yes," the girls answer in unison, nodding their heads.
"If I get him to say it, will you split the money?" Sid wiggles her brows.
Both girls' eyes widen in excitement before nodding enthusiastically.
"Now, wait a damn minute," Xavier interrupts.
"Hah, you cussed. Pay up." Sid points at him, her finger only a couple inches from his chest.
"‘Damn’ doesn't count unless it's followed by something else." He smirks.
With a pout, Sid sighs, wrinkles her nose, and crosses her arms over her chest.
Xavier's eyes drop to where she's put her large chest on display.
"Nice shirt. I could go for a jug of milk."
Sid's mouth drops open. Her eyes narrow just a bit, but I swear I see the corner of her mouth twitch with humor.
"Okay, as fun as this exchange is," Red pushes between the two of them, "Sid, please take this over to that table. We'll go through it there."
She immediately turns her full attention to Red, taking the portfolio from him.
"Of course," she states, now ignoring Xavier and walking away.
"Just so we're clear," Xavier recaptures Sid's attention, "I'll have you screaming my name some day soon." Straightening to his full height, arms over his chest, feet parted, he's the picture of self-assured.
"Only in horror." She shrugs, giving a small frown before taking a seat at the table near the stage.
"I don't know what the hell that was, but can you please not piss off my possible photographer?" Red shakes his head, clapping Xavier on the shoulder.
"That, my friend, is what I call foreplay." Xavier grins at the back of Sid's head.
Taking that as my cue, I escape backstage to prepare for rehearsal.
A day after the Xavier and Sid experience and on the bus ride back from the recording studio, I start to doze against the bus window. Sleeping with Sid on the pullout bed is becoming less comfortable with each passing night. She's used to a regular bed, so her tossing and turning makes the night restless for us both. The chime of my cell interrupts my in-transit nap.
Unknown Number: You should know he's doing well and going to rehab.
A mixture of unease and comfort swirl through me. Unease from a stranger providing me information Jackson might not want me to have, and comfort knowing he has people to help him. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back to the window, feeling more relaxed than I should—especially with my next stop being the social services office to talk to my caseworker about outstanding items.
"Good morning, Miss Campbell." The receptionist is always kind and has seen a lot of me lately.
"Good morning." I prepare to sit, but my caseworker appears.
"You can come on back," she states with a smile.
The smile makes me think things with Sean and my financial situation are starting to improve. I follow her down the familiar beige hallway and into her small office. Thick folders rest on bookshelves, are stacked on tables, and clutter her desk. She picks a stack up out of the extra chair in the room.
"Please, have
a seat."
Sitting, I place my bag on my lap and twist the strap.
She settles behind her desk, flips open the thick manila file folder, and rests her hands on the papers within.
"I have good news and not so good news."
Every muscle in my body tenses and I swallow the lump in my throat.
"The good news is the guardianship papers are processing." She gives a kind, reassuring smile.
I relax a little.
"It will go through the review process for a few weeks, but it didn't get an initial rejection, which is a very good thing." She nods and then sighs. "As for your housing, I'm afraid you will have about a month and a half to find a new place or you will have to pay the full lease price. Lucas will retain medical insurance until you can move him over to another plan. The food and cash benefits will cease after this month."
I exhale loudly and rub my forehead.
"There's no way I would pay the full amount for one of those places," she adds, causing me to look at her. "Don't get me wrong," she continues, "they are well kept, but they really hike up the price once it goes into a public lease."
I nod in understanding.
"I'm looking, but haven't been able to make anything really happen yet."
"Good. Do you have any questions?"
"What about Sean's benefits? Are they affected by my financial change?"
"No. He will still receive his benefits. You are simply being instated as his legal guardian to make decisions such as medical and school. He is still based on his grandmother's income. However, should she pass away, he could be placed into foster care if a more permanent arrangement isn't established for him."
I nod.
"Any other questions?"
Giving a shake of my head, I answer, "No."
"Okay, well, I just need you to sign these documents." She places a few forms and confirmation of information in front of me.
Upon completion, I sit back and take a deep breath.
"I know it seems daunting now, but, Liza, I've known you for years. You'll be fine." When she closes the manila folder, a feeling of closure comes over me.
"I think you're right." I meet her eyes and smile.
Jackson
"What the fuck could I possibly do with a cell phone?" The edginess has every muscle aching and sweat dampening my hairline. Stupid fucking withdrawals.
"It's policy, Mr. Shaw." My newest nurse, Joe, stands at the nurse's station. With a look of annoyance on his face, he points to the Rules to Live By sign on the wall near the front desk.
I scared away two nurses before they brought in Joe last night. He's bigger than Elliot and as strong as a damn ox. I’m only on my second day and he's already got me under his damn thumb.
"It's not like I can fit an iPhone up my goddamn nose," I growl, turning back to my room.
"You need to be on your way to therapy." Joe ignores my tantrum.
"I don't need goddamn—”
"Wow." The voice makes me spin on my heels, causing me to get dizzy and sway. "Are you sure you and Christopher aren't blood?"
A smile parts my lips. My family sent reinforcements. Dr. J, Chris' psychiatrist, the only shrink Chris would open up to about his past, stands next to the nurse's station. "Finally, you came to spring me from this place!" I throw my arms in the air. "Uh, no." He crushes my elation.
"What do you mean ‘no’?" Dropping my arms, I slowly walk toward him.
"I'm here to collect you for therapy." Without another word of explanation, he waves for me to follow him.
"What? You take care of Chris."
He's Chris' shrink, helping him deal with his shit as well as putting up with Chris' need to be a constant pain in his ass. I mean, he practically toured with us.
I catch up with him, but he doesn't elaborate until we are inside a small, light blue room used for individual counseling.
"Take a seat, Jackson." He's suddenly all business.
I don't sit.
"What the fuck is going on?"
"Jackson, your family asked me to counsel you for the rest of your detox so we can continue sessions after your release." He sits down in a black chair at a small, round table.
"I don't need a shrink," I argue.
I sit across from him and spread my legs wide so I don’t bang my knees on the pole under the table.
"I'm going to provide support during your recovery, that's all." He settles back in the chair, tenting his hands in front of his mouth.
"This isn't like Chris. I got carried away with partying. I don't need—”
"Someone to discuss the feelings that drove you to the drugs and alcohol?" His brows raise.
"It was just an escape. Once it's out of my system, I'll be fine." I press back into the chair, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Yes, well, I've been assigned the task of creating your recovery plan."
I open my mouth to argue, but he lifts a hand, silencing me.
"Whether you like it or not, you will have an ongoing plan. The first thing you need to understand is that you are an addict." Dr. J leans forward, his elbows on the table.
"I'm not an addict. I just…I…"
"There's nothing wrong with admitting you’re an addict." He shrugs.
"Nothing wrong with being an addict? Doc, you may not be doing this right." I curl up the right side of my mouth.
"Nice attempt, but Chris is much better with the witty taunts."
My could-have-been smile drops from my lips.
"I didn't say being an addict is okay. I said there's nothing wrong with admitting you are one, and Jackson," he eyes me sharply, "you are an addict. You took the drugs for fun and then they became a necessity during daily life."
"I just got carried away and—”
"Lift your hand," Dr. J cuts me off. "Do it."
Unfolding my arms, I put one hand up between us. The tremors in my hands are noticeable to the naked eye. There's no hiding my jonesing.
"That right there is your body fighting the effects of not having a foreign substance in your system. Your body craves the drug, the euphoric feeling." Dr. J reaches out and takes my hand.
"Jack, you have permanent liver damage because of how far it went. There's a chance you will have kidney problems in the future."
I drop my head and take a deep breath.
"What's the plan?" My question is my resignation.
"You'll finish the detox week. At the end, I'll consult with your doctors and nurses, and we will decide if you can leave the facility."
"Then?" I press, finally meeting his eyes again.
Releasing my hand, he sits back once more.
"You will meet an AA sponsor this week. If you are comfortable with them, then you will regularly connect with them to check in and for support. We'll find local AA meetings you can attend to support your sobriety goal."
"So, what the fuck are you for?" I grin. "Are you just trying to make Chris jealous?"
Rolling his eyes, he explains his role.
"I'll be doing some sessions with you to discuss the pressures you face. And, perhaps, it’s to make Chris a bit jealous." He shrugs, keeping a straight face. "Let's take a selfie together and send it to him." He cocks his head before a wide grin spreads across his face.
Our laughter fills the small room.
Walking Dr. J back up to the front, I notice a satisfied look on Joe's face and flip him off.
"You still got your therapy session, didn't you?" He pushes his bottom lip out in a fake pout.
"I don't like you," I inform in a bored tone.
"Good." He nods. "Just remember, I've worked here for six years and I'm not going anywhere. In order to avoid me, you will need to stay out of here."
A familiar voice interrupts before I can take my edgy-withdrawing-addict attitude out on Joe.
"Jackson?" Nicholas sounds both sad and stern. I'm not sure how he pulls that off.
Turning to face him, I'm shocked by how tired and aged he looks. This isn't th
e Nic I know.
"What’s wrong?" My feet carry me until there's only a foot between us. "Is it Mom?"
He looks up and shakes his head.
"She's okay. I just came to check in on you so she would rest this afternoon. She's been worrying herself about you all night."
Guilt assaults me and by the hard look on his face, I'm sure that's his intention.
Walking by him, I say, "Tell her I'm fine and doing what I agreed to do."
I enter my private room and sit on the bed.
Nicholas follows, closing the door behind him.
"I never thought I'd be here with you." Deep lines mar his forehead. "I wasn't prepared to do this…" he motions around the clinically clean room, "with you."
I open my mouth, but he puts a hand up, silencing me.
"I know I'm not your biological father, Jackson, but I can't hold back my disappointment." He closes his eyes and presses this thumb and pointer finger into the lids.
"Yeah, well, you disappointed me, too."
My response brings his eyes back to me.
"You didn't think about telling me my mother has cancer. That MY mother has a disease that destroys lives like a tornado." The venom in my voice surprises me.
"I respected your mother, MY wife's wishes." Nic steps closer to me.
Resting my elbows on my knees, I focus on a dark green fleck in the mint green tile at my feet.
"I know you're angry. But when she finally opened up and told me what was going on, the only way I could help her was by doing as she wished. Do you understand how helpless I feel?"
Bringing my glare from the fleck to his face, I answer, "No, Nic, I don't, because no one told me."
I push to my feet and Nicholas raises his head to keep his eyes on mine.
"I could've helped,” I say, pointing to my chest. “I would've been the person you could lean on, but you didn't give me that chance."
"You didn't give me that chance either, Jackson." He closes his eyes, inhales, and blows the breath out. "I know I'm not your real father, but—”
"Not my real father?" I choke out the question. His words both anger and sadden me.
"Yes, I understand I'm not." His arms cross over his chest like he needs something to hold on to. "But I wish you would've come to me. I would've listened. You aren't the only one who knows how deep heartache can go."
