Chapter 22
22
Aviva
I didn’t hear from Jack after that night. He’d disappeared from my life, like he’d promised. I told myself I was happier this way. I repeated it so many times, I actually began to believe it.
The next week passed by quickly. It felt almost…normal, without Jack threatening me from the shadows. I used the time as best as I could—trying to track down Dave Lawson, who was proving elusive as hell—and digging deeper into that reddit thread to see if anyone else had said anything about Joshua Jensen.
Lucy texted a few times, saying that she’d tried again with Blake but he was still avoiding her. I thanked her, feeling dejected. What was I going to do?
On Friday, I took the train to the city for October break. I hated that I didn’t have good news for my brother, hated even more that I was lying to him, but I was relieved to get to spend time with him. Being this distant from my twin was like an ache in my chest, and I needed to see how he was doing for myself.
Aunt Gladys’ home was a small row house in Kew Gardens. I walked up the broken sidewalk with my overnight bag, staring up at the faded red siding, and pressed the doorbell.
A moment later the door opened, and a moment after that, I was swept up in a familiar hug.
“Hi farthead,” Asher said affectionately, as he gave me a noogie. “I missed you.”
I laughed in relief and swatted him. “Missed you more, buttface.”
He grabbed my bag off of my shoulder and I trailed after him.
The old house was clean—unlike a lot of college boys, Asher wasn’t a slob—but sad. Empty, even. Before, the walls in the front hall had been decorated with photos of Asher playing hockey, or the two of us goofing off. Now, all the hockey photos had been taken down. As I watched my brother drop my bag by my old bedroom and head down the hall, pulling at his frayed black shirt, I had a flashback to the days following my parents’ deaths.
Once again, it felt like we were in mourning. For hockey, this time. For his dreams, and maybe for mine.
Uneasy, I followed him into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge to check the orange juice bottle.
“You must be starving after your flight,” Asher said, watching me.
Goddamn it, was I going to spend this whole weekend feeling guilty for lying to him? I spotted the bottle, pulling it out.
Pulp .
Relaxing, I put it back. It seemed like a small thing, but seeing it back in the fridge filled me with a tiny bit of hope.
“I got something at the airport,” I said.
My stomach grumbled, giving me away.
“What do you want to order in? Shwarma? Thai? Pizza?”
“Shwarma,” I said. We took care of ordering food, and then sat across from each other.
“Tell me how you are,” I said.
“I found a job,” he said.
I brightened. Getting out of the house was good. “Doing what?”
“Coaching middle school hockey at the J.”
Now I really brightened. “That’s great! Do you like it?”
He shrugged, but he was smiling. “Yeah. The kids are fun, it’s easy, and it’s … nice to get back out on the ice, even if I’m not the one playing.”
Okay. Baby steps.
“Have you thought about playing?” I asked cautiously. “You could reach out to your old friends, see if anyone’s around?—”
He cut me off. “No.”
“Asher—”
“No,” he said again, emphatic. “I know you want to help, kiddo, but I can’t. The idea of standing in front of the net again makes me want to hurt someone. I can work with kids.” He swallowed. “Be better than him . But that’s it.”
“What does the therapist say?”
“She agrees with me.”
I reached over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I want you to be happy again.”
His smile was sad as he covered my hand with one of his. “I know you do, kiddo. That’s what you’ve always wanted. But have you thought about what will make you happy? ”
Jack flashed in front of my eyes—the soft, gentle, tender version that had held me in his arms after punishing me.
“You being happy will make me happy.”
He shook his head. “So selfless.”
I changed the subject. “What do you know about Jack Feldman?”
His shoulders stiffened. “Why would you ask about him?”
I felt heat rise to my face. I knew it would be a tell. “Tovah was talking about him. I guess he’s involved with Vice and Vixen on Reina’s campus?”
Asher’s shoulders relaxed. Slightly.
“Yeah, he oversees the dealing, although he doesn’t deal himself. It makes him sound like a bad guy, but he does his best to ensure that it doesn’t get used nonconsensually. They never have it at hockey parties.”
Well, that had certainly changed. I kept my face blank.
Asher warmed up to his topic. “He’s a good guy—volunteers with foster kids like we used to, takes care of his siblings the best he can. And always led the team. He wasn’t the type to give a soft pep talk, but he’d still inspire us to do better. Straightforward, but not a dick.”
That didn’t sound like the Jack I knew. The Jack I knew was a dick, was cruel, callous, inconsiderate. I couldn’t see him volunteering, or caring for anyone. Did I not know him as well as I thought? As orphans, volunteering with foster kids had been important to both of us, and was something I’d still done at Stanford. What motivated Jack to do so? It made me feel a bond with him, and I didn’t want to.
Asher’s expression had darkened. “I’d trusted him, but he didn’t believe me about what Coach—what Joshua Jensen did to me. Fucking sucks.”
“Yeah, it fucking sucks,” I echoed .
Because I was right, and so was Asher. No matter where he volunteered, Jack wasn’t a good man.
I had to remember that.
The rest of the visit passed by too quickly. We watched TV, walked around the neighborhood, caught up as best we could, given that I was lying to him. On the final morning, Asher insisted on driving me in our old, beat up car to JFK, where I’d pretended I had a flight. I’d winced at the fact that he was spending gas money we didn’t have, but I couldn’t tell him the truth.
Not yet.
After he pulled over at departures, he got out of the car. I hugged him tightly.
“Be good, yeah?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’ll do my best. Do something that makes you happy, kiddo.”
I blinked away tears. “I am,” I lied.
After he’d pulled away, I entered the airport and headed over to the subway, taking it to the train station. The trip back to Gehenom was smooth, easy, leaving me alone with my thoughts: my renewed determination to make things right for my brother, my confusion over who Jack Feldman really was, and finally, Asher’s words.
What would make me happy? I thought getting justice would, and psychology. But was that enough?
What did I want for me?
I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths to slow down my thoughts. They quieted.
Everything felt quiet, but some part of me knew it was the calm before the storm.