* * *
Nik stared at the heavy door—a door he’d approached with dread when he was thirteen because it was the seventh such door he’d walked through. The door he remembered Elliott scorching his initials into with a lighter. The door though which they’d carried Adam’s body out. The doorframe they’d all taken to slapping when they returned home from school and even now when they walked inside as adults. Habits, familiarity, something not quite home but the closest he’d ever been.
But never in his life had it been slammed on him in a way that left him standing on the outside. The sound of it slamming and of the door knocker rattling cut through him as surely as if Jenny had just put a knife into his stomach—a feeling he knew and understood all too well.
For a first meeting, it couldn’t really have gone worse. It would have been easier if he’d been prepared rather than stunned to within an inch of his life. And it certainly would have been better if Albi hadn’t been involved. Perhaps it would have been different if they’d met on mutual territory, like in the line at Tim Hortons or on the streetcar. But there was nothing he could to do fix that. All he could do now was focus on making things right and convincing her he’d changed.
He walked back down the path to the gate and toward his car. Why hadn’t Ellen told him? She was the closest thing he had to a mom. And did the rest of the band know? Sure, they probably communicated less about personal things now that they were spread apart a little and some of them had partners. Dred and Pixie had moved into their Baby Point home at the start of the year, with Jordan and Lexi following them just before their European tour in the spring. Lennon had surprised Nik by serving notice on the tenants who rented the penthouse apartment he’d owned and rented out. Lennon had always preferred to be on the edges of the group, which had always worried Nik. But wouldn’t one of them have thought to tell Nik something as important as this?
He jumped back into the car and drove the short distance to Elliott’s house.
Shit. There was still press outside. He lowered the brim of his cap and had never been more thankful to Tom Ford for having sent him a case of aviators. Cameras began to snap as soon as he turned into the drive.
His car still had a sensor for the main gate, which opened automatically as he pulled up to it. But goddamn, had it always opened this slowly? He’d lived here for so long that the house still felt like his, even though Elliott had bought them all out and claimed it as his own. They’d bought it together back when Jordan had been unable to function without them all under one roof. But Lexi had changed all that. Once their getting together had given Jordan the confidence to move out, the rest of them had followed suit.
Now Elliott lived there with Kendalee and her son Daniel, who was still recovering from life-changing burns he’d suffered in a house fire.
Nik pulled up in his usual spot, and killed the engine.
Jenny is back.
He rubbed his hand over his jaw.
The cover of the magazine I saw at the Superstore this morning says you haven’t, Nik.
It was the worst possible timing. And she was right. At face value, the media was right. He was a screwup. But there were some things he’d done right in his life. His band, for instance, and his relationships with the men he thought of as family. Which was why their not telling him that Jenny was back hurt like a bitch.
Suddenly feeling every one of his thirty-one years, he stepped out of the car and let himself into the house.
“Elliott?” he shouted as he pulled his sunglasses off and shoved them into his back pocket. “Kendalee?”
He wandered through the mudroom and heard the muffled sound of a guitar coming from down in the music room. He jogged down the stairs to the large recording studio that the band still used. Goddamn, Elliott could play. Even pissed off, Nik could still acknowledge that Elliott was incredible, his sound grounding the band differently from the way Jordan’s bass did. Nik’s own playing was far more chaotic and lacked the structure of Elliott’s, but they complemented each other extremely well.
“Knock, knock,” Nik said as he pushed open the door to the studio.
Elliott was on the other side of the glass in the recording area, but the red light was off, indicating he wasn’t recording. He grinned when he saw Nik. “Hey, man,” he said, walking toward him. “Just working on something for the next album. I know it’s early days, but did—”
“Did you know Jenny was back?”
Elliott stopped mid-stride. “You going to try to beat the shit out of my ass if I say yes? Because you at least need to let me put down this Buckethead Signature Les Paul first. Breaking it would be sacrilegious.”
Nik paced toward the mixing desk and then back. He tugged off his hat and threw it onto the long sofa. “What the fuck, E.? I just made an idiot of myself over there.” Suddenly deflated, he flopped down onto the sofa and let his head fall back on it. “How long have you known?”
“Not very. Since we celebrated Thanksgiving late so I could be home from therapy.”
The sound of wheels on the floor told him Elliott had sat down on one of the mixing desk chairs. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he said, lifting his head and looking at Elliott, who at least had the sense to look the slightest bit remorseful. He’d do just about anything for Elliott or the rest of the band, and they all knew how he felt about Jenny. Why would they would keep something so vital from him?
“The truth?” Elliott said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “Ellen asked us not to. She wanted to give Jenny a chance to settle in because this job is a big deal for her. Ellen knew you’d go straight over there as soon as you heard Jenny was in town. So we told Ellen we’d give Jenny the week, but that we’d be telling you tomorrow no matter what. I take it that you saw her already?”
Ellen had been right, of course. Going over there immediately would have been exactly what he would have done. And it soothed some of the sting to know that their objective hadn’t been to keep him away from her as much as to protect Jenny as she settled in.
In his mind, he could see Jenny standing in the garden as clearly as if she were right in front of him. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I saw her.”
“And?”
Nik shook his head. “What is this? Therapy with Elliott?”
Elliott grinned. “Well, I’ve been going through enough of it on my own recently. Figured I should share the love.”
Damn, he hadn’t meant to make fun of his friend. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to disrespect what you’re doing.” In helping Kendalee’s son recover from his burns, Elliott had realized he’d never really handled the shit start that he’d been handed in life or the demons that haunted him, so he’d finally started his own treatment. “I admire you for going there.” But therapy was somewhere Nik would never go again.
It hadn’t helped. Not with the nightmares. Not with the need to fill the hole he felt inside.
He’d spent many of his early years in care speaking with therapist after therapist, all of whom had attempted to have him relive those final moments as he’d lain on the ground, blood pouring from the knife wounds to his small body. They’d wanted him to share his feelings about watching his mom get stabbed repeatedly by their crazed neighbor, a man who’d wanted his mom so badly and who had taken being rejected so hard. He could still hear the man screaming at her for being an “Indian lover.” If she wanted to have kids, Jack Lorimer had said as he’d turned the knife on Nik, she could have done better having them with him than with a fucking native.
Seven months into his life sentence, Jack had killed himself. That had done more for Nik than any amount of sharing.
“No sweat,” Elliott said, and Nik could tell he meant it. “So, you going to tell me how badly you fucked up, or you want to beat my ass? Because if it’s the latter, I’m going to have to suggest we take it outside. Kendalee will get mightily pissed if we break furniture down here.”
Nik laughed properly, and the weight lifted from his chest
. “You are so fucking whipped.”
Elliott wiggled his eyebrows. “You have no idea what Kendalee and I get up to behind closed doors. But we’re talking about you now, not me.”
“Too much info, dude.” Nik took a deep breath. “I screwed it all up.” He told Elliott about Albi and about seeing Jenny. He left out the parts where he’d thought she looked like a fucking goddess, because . . . well . . . it was Elliott.
With a creak of the chair, Elliott sat back. “She was never going to run back into bed with you, let alone fall back in love with you the moment she saw you, Nik. You know that, right?”
Nik reached for his hat and bent the brim so it would curve more around his face when he left. “I know. I knew she wouldn’t welcome me back with open arms, but after all these years, I guess . . . well, I hoped she wouldn’t be so damn hostile. What happened to time healing all wounds and all that shit?”
“I think I can safely say from my own experience that that is bullshit. I mean, as long as Daniel lives, he’s going to have the scars from the fire. Physical and emotional. And Jordan, he has Lexi, but we all know she has the patience of a saint when he texts her five times a day to make sure she’s safe. Hell, he texted me yesterday afternoon to find out where I was. And then there’s me. I get frustrated or angry, the first thing I want to reach for is a match. Even though I’m learning healthier ways of dealing with shit, it doesn’t mean that urge has gone. The only thing time really provides is distance.”
There was no question Nik’d completely underestimated everything about Jenny. For some fucked up reason, he’d always assumed she’d be happy . . . well, amenable, maybe, to talk to him when they finally saw each other again. He’d been a fool. Again.
Elliott stood and wandered over to the rack of guitars, removing two of them. He returned to Nik and handed him one. “Here,” he said. “Let’s do something useful with all the shit going on in your head.”
Nik took the guitar and stood because that was his favorite way to play. When it came to his life, there were only two things he’d ever been passionate about. Music and Jenny.
He might not know what to do about Jenny, but he was confident that his music would give him the answer. If only he could find his way back to his own rhythm.
* * *
Jenny knew she should have left the home two hours ago. It was already four, and outside the office Simon and Sarah were managing their shifts seamlessly. But every bit of energy she’d had at the start of her day off had fizzled out when Nik had appeared in the front yard.
She’d thought she’d healed from what had happened. When she’d made the decision to return to Toronto, she had been sure that enough time had passed for her to be able to see him and not feel anything. She’d envisioned their reunion happening amongst busy shoppers on Bloor Street or as passengers on opposite sides of the Sherbourne subway platform. Strangers passing in the night with barely a glance of recognition. Not up close and personal with him standing so close that she could smell his earthy cologne and see the myriad of tattoos he now had down both arms. They were new. And hot.
Only with a Herculean internal talking-to had she managed to focus on the meeting with Albi’s social worker, Serrisia. The woman was kick-ass smart, but she was stretched thin like every other social worker in the province, so they’d moved through the issues quickly. They still didn’t have a foster home for Albi, and given that he had been returned from the two previous placements, there wasn’t a long line of interested people. They’d talked about Nik’s approach with the kids, and while it went against Jenny’s grain not to reinforce taking accountability for your own actions, they both saw the merit in the approach Nik had taken. Most importantly, he’d managed to find Albi just in time to prevent a stupid idea from becoming a tragic reality. So they’d moved on to focusing on next steps, which included taking Albi to speak with the principal in the morning, upping the frequency of his sessions with his counselor, and giving him a handful of extra chores in the kitchen—all the kids’ second-least favorite punishment after loss of privileges. From the way she could hear the kitchen cupboards slamming when he was on those duties, she could tell Albi hated it more than most.
Jenny was still rooted to her chair long after Serrisia had left. Instead of getting into her car as soon as their meeting ended, perhaps going home to her small rental apartment in The Village to paint the walls the warm yellow she’d picked up at Home Depot, she’d stared blankly out her office window, trying to make sense of the roller coaster of emotions that had followed her slamming the door on Nik.
There wasn’t really anybody she could talk to; she’d never really had a lot of friends. Over the years, she’d lost contact with the rest of the children from the commune. When the police had raided the compound just as the first ten people had drunk the poisoned apple juice, there had been so many children to deal with that they had all been separated. Her connections with the few with whom she’d stayed in contact eventually fizzled after she’d moved to Ottawa.
Perhaps Ellen could give her a little more insight into both Albi and Nik. It was strange to be replacing the person she’d always looked up to as a child, but it was at the same time so special, and she knew Ellen would help.
She closed her eyes and rubbed her eyelids with her fingertips. The rest of the nine-person team had this—there were always at least two people present at the house—and she had to be back early in the morning. She needed to go. She quickly packed the rest of her bags, said her goodbyes, and drove over to Ellen’s.
She parked and wandered around to the back of the house, where she found Ellen sitting on a rattan chair with a cream blanket around her shoulders, her off-white cast propped up on a stool in front of her.
“How’s the walking wounded?” Jenny asked as she headed past the whimsical border filled with ferns and fragile plants that wouldn’t last much longer as the cold nights drew in.
Ellen put down the book she was reading and peered over the top of her glasses. “Thank God, Jenny. I was going out of my mind with boredom. Go grab some coffee from the pot in the kitchen, and we can catch up.”
Jenny laughed. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, but thank you, sweetheart. I have way more than I need.” Ellen gestured to the pile of items on the small table next to her—a bowl of popcorn, a travel mug of coffee, a pile of books and magazines, a plate of sandwiches in Saran Wrap, and a large bar of chocolate. “I tried to remind Maisey that she’d only be gone for a couple of hours, but my wife has always fussed too much.”
Not wanting to keep Ellen waiting too long, Jenny hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a mug from the open shelving, and poured a large cup. She inhaled the scent and sighed. A large picture attached to the fridge with a magnet looked very recent, given that Ellen was sitting in a chair up front, her cast on full display. Maisey sat next to her. And they were surrounded by the band. Geez, was that Jordan with an actual smile on his face? He had his arm around a beautiful woman who was flashing a diamond on her ring finger, like the ones Jenny had seen on newly engaged friends’ Instagram posts. The last time she’d seen the surly guy, he’d barely spared her a word or a look. Dred had his arms wrapped around a woman with bright purple hair, his hands resting on what was clearly her baby bump. Elliott had his lips pressed to the temple of a lovely but slighter older than he was strawberry blonde and had his arm slung over the shoulder of a young boy who was making a mock-gag gesture with his fingers. Lennon sat on the floor next to Ellen, looking off into space.
And Nik.
Was holding a child about a year old?
Her heart stopped in her throat. She’d done her best to avoid any news about them over the years, but she vaguely remembered having read somewhere about Dred having a child. And when she looked more closely, she saw that the little girl had soft curls and dark brown eyes like her father’s.
“What would it matter if he had a child anyway?” she mumbled to herself.
Envy was a horrible thing, bu
t it hurt to know that they had all stayed close to each other, and to Maisie and Ellen, when a loving family was all she’d ever craved.
Jenny wandered back to Ellen and sat down opposite her.
“What’s got you so glum?” Ellen asked.
She forced a smile she didn’t feel onto her face. “Oh, nothing, I’m fine. Just work. I came to pick your brain about—”
“You always were a lousy liar, just like Elliott. Let’s talk work later. What’s on your mind?”
Jenny slumped back into the chair. “I always wished I could have lived at the home you ran. I envied the sense of family Nik and the boys always had.” She sighed at the futility of wishing for something she knew she could never go back and find. “I guess the picture on the fridge showed me how close you all are still.”
“Oh, Jenny. You know, there are great homes, and good homes, and average homes, and rough homes. I feel for every single child who passes through the system without feeling a real sense of belonging.”
“I’ve never had that. Well, maybe I did until I was about seven. I had a room and toys, but home was never normal. Dad was always going on about some scientific phenomenon or other and how it was a sign.” She couldn’t even look up at the sky now. So many nights she’d been forced outside in all kinds of weather to look for UFOs, comets, planets . . . anything that might tell her father just when the Earth would be turned over to him. “I got a letter from him, from Millhaven. They’re transferring him from the secure unit into the main prison. He wants to see me.”
“Your father was a very ill man, Jenny. He was delusional and lacked the mental capacity to know better. Have you been to see him?”
Jenny shook her head. She’d driven past the exit on her drive back from Ottawa, but it had never occurred to her even once to take it. That part of her life was over. Something else she’d moved on from. “I haven’t ever been to see him. I just can’t. And right now . . . it’s . . . I guess it’s like my past is crashing around me a little bit. And I didn’t think it would affect me quite the way it has.”
Nikan Rebuilt Page 4
