by Aly Stiles
After locking my own door, I climb the stairs two at a time like I’d just done five minutes before, except this time, I don’t bother to knock when I reach apartment 33G. Julian is gone and Naomi won’t hear me through all the rhythmic thrashing.
Once inside, I lock the door like Julian instructed and follow the sound to the second bedroom of the apartment. In my floorplan, it’s an office and guest room. I wonder what it was in Julian’s before Naomi moved in.
Weird thought, Hadley.
It is a weird thought. How long has he lived above me? Was he here during his time with Eastern Crush? Or did he come here to hide after it all came crashing down?
Our run-ins only started recently, in the last month or so. I’d seen him around before but never thought twice about him. He had that celebrity swagger I’d learned to despise since I was a child, and I had no interest in such pretentious nonsense. My parents have it. My brother and sister, too. That air of entitlement that makes them walk around like everyone else should think they’re as important as they do.
Julian has that. Well, had it. It looks different to me now. Maybe because I now know there’s something more complicated behind it.
I knock on the bedroom door and wait. When nothing happens, I pound harder.
“Leave me alone, Uncle J!” a voice shouts back.
“It’s Hadley!” I call out.
The music dies, and the sudden silence assaults my ears.
“Hadley?” Naomi asks.
“Hey. Yeah, it turns out I live downstairs and your uncle asked if I could hang out with you for a bit.”
The sound of furniture scratching across the wood floor makes me wonder what in the world was going on behind the door. It swings open, revealing the girl I remember from earlier today, except this time with wet mascara streaks glistening on her cheeks.
“You live downstairs?” she asks, studying me with a mix of awe and suspicion.
“I do.”
“Wait, where’s Uncle Julian?”
He didn’t even tell her he was leaving? What a jerk. “He had to run out for a while. You want to watch a movie or something?”
“Where’d he go?” She glances down the hall as if he’ll suddenly appear so she can track him.
I shrug. “No idea. This your room?” I lean my head in to scan the messy space, trying to distract her.
She nods and steps back in what I interpret as an invitation. I enter slowly, almost reverently, taking in as much as I can without revealing my snooping.
“Cool. You a big Night Shifts Black fan?” I ask, motioning toward one of the posters on the wall.
“They’re okay,” she says.
I nod, about to recite one of the random facts I know about them when another image catches my eye.
“I love that photo of Genevieve,” I say with a warm smile. Approaching the eight-by-ten promotional shot, I’m surprised to see it’s autographed. She must have gotten this at one of Gen’s shows. “It’s signed too.”
“Yeah, we saw her for my tenth birthday,” she says quietly. Her voice cracks, and I suck in a breath to control my reaction.
We.
Beside the glamor shot of Genevieve is a smaller, candid photo of a young blond girl and older woman who looks just like her. Wait… I can’t stop my eyes from darting back to Naomi in shock. She looks nothing like the girl in the photo. The hair, the clothes, the attitude—if not for context and her large green eyes, I never would have guessed this was her.
“You and your mom?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. I study her as she pulls the photo from the wall. She stares at it for a long time, head bent so I can’t see her face. But when her sleeve slides across her eyes, I notice the wet patch on the fabric.
“She took me, yeah,” she whispers. “Right before…”
Oh my gosh. My heart lurches in my chest as the girl traces their silhouettes in the photo. Slowly, her black fingernail runs over two blond angels grinning back from a different life.
After a long silence, she shoves her sleeve over her face again and quickly returns the photo to its place of honor above her bed. A thousand questions rush to my tongue, but I manage to hold them off. The most important one has just been answered.
“She looks like she was a great mom.”
Her teeth sink into her lower lip as she nods. Her eyes well and she blinks back a fresh surge of tears. “Can we just watch a movie now?” she asks through a thin, cracked voice.
My own eyes burn as they graze the photo again. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop my arm from circling her small shoulders. She’s surprisingly delicate, soft in a way I don’t expect. Squeezing, I lead her back toward the door.
“Absolutely. Nothing above PG-13, though. I can’t handle it.”
CHAPTER 5
JULIAN
I stare at the cluster of teens and young adults through my windshield. Danny P’s address took me to a parking lot behind a shady, rundown apartment building just under twenty minutes from our home. How would Naomi have gotten here? I shudder at the thought of her getting into a vehicle with one of these losers.
How do I know they’re losers? Because I was one of them once. Would probably still be if music hadn’t saved my life—if Ashley hadn’t forced me to find it. I recognize the half-empty liquor bottles scattered around the pavement and draped in hands too young to procure it legally. The glare of lit cigarettes and shared joints flickers back at me, blinding me with a past I try to forget as much as possible.
I also recognize the stringy blue hair of “Danny P.”
He looks even older and more menacing in person, probably because there’s no filter or staged photo hiding the real-life threat. What did he have planned for my niece tonight? Even the best-case scenario makes my stomach churn. She and I are having a long talk when I get back.
If I get back. There are a lot of them, more than I planned for when I decided to do this, but I know from experience how this story plays out if I don’t put an end to it here and now.
The conversation and laughter stills as I approach, the guy I identified as Danny P stepping forward to confront me. He must be the alpha of the group. Are these other hurting kids he seduced and recruited for his little kingdom of outcasts? I shove any lingering fear from my face and square my shoulders.
“You need something?” Danny asks, approaching me with a hostile look. His acne scars and patched attempt at facial hair become visible as he closes in. He’s also taller than I expect, almost my height, but I have about thirty pounds of muscle on him. And at least fifty IQ points.
“You Danny P?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“Who’s asking?”
“Me. I’m asking. You Danny P?”
The dude sniffs and shrugs. “Maybe.”
I nod and step closer. “I see. So maybe you’re the asshole who’s harassing an eleven-year-old girl?”
He straightens, a flash of concern flitting across his features before he covers it with more bravado. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“No, I bet you don’t. But the cops will if you so much as message Naomi Hayes again, got it?”
He smirks and crosses his arms. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his friends closing in as well.
“The cops. Sure, call ‘em,” he snorts out. “I ain’t done nothin’ illegal so…” He lifts his arms in a smug challenge. “For the record your daughter thinks she’s in love with me.”
My already short fuse ignites. “I never said that’s why they’d be involved,” I growl, shoving him hard.
He curses at the impact, staggering several feet before charging back and swinging a fist at my face. I could laugh at how predictable he is, all of them, when the others come rushing forward in a cowardly display of force. Alone, they’d never be so brave.
I duck to avoid Danny P’s first blow, easily absorbing the second in my ribs. It stings, but I can tell by the way he shakes his fist, it hurt him more. Is this his first real fight? He
’s used to preying on children. What’s he gonna do with a real opponent?
Not much, apparently. He’s lucky he’s got backup. He wouldn’t have lasted two minutes with me, and I don’t trust my rage to show mercy at the moment.
But he’s not alone.
I land a devastating hit of my own that sends him reeling to the pavement before his friends jump in to even the odds. This is where Naomi has turned for comfort? For family? I scan the cold, lost faces around me. This is her future if I don’t change it.
Too bad I only have a split-second to enjoy my epiphany.
I don’t know why they stop. I managed to do plenty of damage before sheer numbers overwhelmed me and got me on the ground. I’ve been in enough fights to know once you’re on the ground, it’s over. But no matter how hard I fought to get back up, I couldn’t gain the edge. And once the knife came out, I knew I was dead. Except, he didn’t use it.
Instead of shoving it through my ribs, bloody and bruised Danny P slashed a couple superficial warnings and took off, his stunned friends following close behind.
I roll to my back, staring up at the night sky blurred by a distant parking lot light. Should I have approached this situation differently? Probably. Definitely. But it wouldn’t have been as effective.
Because my instinct guessed right, and among everything else, I also recognized the look in Danny P’s eyes as he stared at the bloody blade in his hands and backed away. Fear. The kid is anger disguising an innate fear that he’s not enough, and deep down, he probably wishes he had a “dad” who’d risk his life to protect him from threats like him. Naomi is too much of a liability now. He’ll leave her alone. We both know that in a strange way, he didn’t win this round. I won it the second I showed up and proved his eleven-year-old mark comes with a twenty-five-year-old headache he doesn’t want.
Still, I’ve only plugged a hole, not pulled her off the sinking ship. There are more Danny P’s out there. More demons clawing for the slightest foothold.
Everything hurts as I try to catch my breath and gather the strength to get up. Blood leaks down my arm from the shoulder wound. More has caked my t-shirt to my chest. I feel it sticking to the slash on my side, sending a sharp sting through me at every movement. My left eye throbs, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I have a cracked rib or two.
But despite my state, they know I won’t go to the cops. There’s enough video showing I started it. If any of them are minors, and several probably are, I’d be in even deeper shit. At the same time, I know they won’t report anything. After what started and ended the fight, there’s no way they’d want official scrutiny. Those kids live to avoid authority.
No, this whole thing went down exactly how it needed to.
I cringe through a chuckle and push myself up from the pavement. My car looks so far away. I stare at it in the distance, wondering how I’m going to get all the way to the driver’s seat. Then drive the six miles home. Then up three flights of stairs. Then… Hadley.
Shit.
And Naomi.
What the hell am I going to tell them?
I groan through another exasperated laugh. How absurd is this entire scenario? How weirdly necessary for so many reasons. I’ve always been a learn-the-hard-way kind of guy. Tonight I learned it’s time to get my shit together because my life isn’t just about me anymore.
My niece may wish I was dead, but I also learned I would, in fact, die for her.
I limp up the stairs of my building, refusing to take the elevator even now. It’s a habit that started the day I moved in a year ago and stuck with me. I guess I didn’t like the idea of getting trapped with neighbors in an enclosed space. Public buildings, fine. I never have to confront those judgmental stares again. But I covet my privacy at my place of residence, and it’s easier to hide on the stairs where others rarely go. If there are chance encounters, it’s no problem to rush through them with only passing acknowledgement.
But maybe tonight I’m regretting it. No matter how much my brain commands my body to move, it doesn’t seem to cooperate, and it’s late. Much later than I told Hadley it’d be when I asked her to stay with Naomi. She’ll be pissed, but hopefully she’ll have mercy and save the lecture for another time when she sees my state. Either that or she’ll explode the scolding into a full-on reaming. I don’t think I could take either right now, and part of me hopes I’ll pass out and avoid the whole thing altogether.
Problem is, if I haven’t blacked out yet, the odds—like the fight—are not in my favor.
I stop after the first few steps and grip the railing, trying to catch my breath through the pain. It’s hard when my lungs feel punctured with every inhale. It’s like a shard of cracked rib rips through the lining every time I breathe in. I know that’s not true and I’d be unconscious at the bottom of the stairs, not standing here thinking such stupid thoughts if it were.
No, this is just a good old-fashioned ass-kicking that will be patched up by a shower, first aid kit, and long day in bed. Tomorrow’s Sunday and our day off anyway. Maybe Hadley and Naomi will be sleeping when I get back and I can sneak in unseen.
After what seems like hours, but is probably minutes, I finally drag myself onto the third floor. With the support of the wall, I shuffle down the hall, trying my best not to leave a trail of blood in my wake. I cringe when I glance back and see the red blotches on the tacky wallpaper. Oh well. Unless I die and they become evidence, no one will notice or care.
I hear the TV instead of blaring music through my door, which means Hadley somehow managed to calm the storm in my absence. I’m not surprised. Naomi seems happier with anyone other than me, a reality that stings but has been blatantly obvious since she moved in.
I reach into my jeans for my keys, wincing at the adjustment. After fishing through my pocket, I pull them out, a late wave of adrenaline surging through me at the thought that this could have been so much worse. Those kids could have taken my wallet too. My car.
I could be dead.
I blink through several rounds of those scenarios, my existence coming into sharp focus in a way it never has before. What would Naomi have done if I hadn’t come back? My life suddenly means more than it ever has before.
I’ve just scraped through the first attempt at getting the lock open when the door swings in, and I stumble forward.
Hadley yelps in surprise, springing into action just in time to stop my momentum before it drags me to the ground. I sway a little in her grip before she tugs my arm and helps me stand.
“Julian? Oh my gosh! What happened? I’m calling an ambulance!”
A strange laugh-grunt escapes my throat as I use the little strength I have left to pull away from her. “I’m fine. Don’t call anyone.”
“You’re fine?” she hisses. She steps back, scanning me in obvious appraisal to make a point. “Have you been drinking? Was this a bar fight?”
I try to wave her off, but even that hurts. I settle on a dissenting exhale and marathon limp toward the kitchen.
She watches in silence, the angry fumes wafting off her as I pass. At least Naomi must be in bed and isn’t here to witness any of this. If I’m lucky, by the time she sees me tomorrow I’ll have hidden most of the evidence and concocted a killer backstory. Except…
I wince and catch myself on the edge of the sink, bracing through another wave of nausea. How much blood have I lost? Maybe more than I thought. I close my eyes, fighting the dizziness. The sharp stabs of pain. My grip tightens on the counter, my ribs on fire. My shoulder. My face. God, just…
“Julian.”
“What?” I shout.
But it’s not a shout. It’s barely a whisper. There are no shouts left in me. Nothing, really, just a tired, beaten man who wants to sleep forever.
“Thanks for staying with Naomi. I owe you. Can I pay you at rehearsal, though?” Just the prospect of trying to reach my wallet and swipe some bills is too much at the moment.
“You don’t owe me. I had fun with her.”
; Surprised, I glance over, squinting through my good eye. “Fun?”
“She’s a great kid. She’s just really freaking sad, Julian.”
I clench my jaw and stare back at the wall above the sink.
“She needs more than a guardian. All kids do. She needs to be loved.”
I close my eyes again, buckling from a blow that hurts so much more than anything Danny P and his friends threw at me.
“Where were you tonight?” she continues, her voice surprisingly gentle. I flinch at the change. If she’d yelled at me, berated me, flung hatred like everyone else, maybe I’d survive this conversation. I’m too weak for gentle right now. “Julian, where were you? What’s going on?”
Instead of straightening for a fight, my head sinks into my hands. My brain ignores my body’s screams of agony as I double over and lock my elbows on the counter and my fingers in my hair. I pull hard, trying to piece together anything that will help make sense of the past two hours, the past two years. Hell, I’ll take anything over the last twenty-five.
Please stay. I need you for the better days.
Because every day so far has been a fight toward a future that remains just out of my grasp. Every time I brush something better, it slips away. Leaves me a little more broken than before. But I keep getting up. Keep fighting on. Keep confronting the Danny Ps and coming home bloody and beaten and facing disappointment in the form of fucking Hadley Crawford.
“Julian?”
I shake my head, eyes clenched shut to stop the emotion. I will not cry. I will not break down. Not in front of her. But I’m a blackhole right now. A failed musician. A failed uncle. A failed human being. Just a walking, barely breathing monument to failure.
My shoulders shake with buried tears. I feel the pull of dried blood on my sleeve with each unwanted gasp.
No!
I push up from the counter and force my shredded body past the intruder and down the hall toward my room. Maybe she’ll leave. If I can just reach the safety of my room. Hide behind a closed door.
