Chapter 8 Home
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Home
Tristan held his breath as José slowly navigated the narrow road and made the sharp right turn at the top of the hill.
At the first bend, Milo’s black Chevelle sat idle, unused since that day, parked in front of the house.
José brought the car to a stop at the steep staircase leading to Tristan’s apartment.
“Should I come up with you?”
Tristan sat still like a statue, staring at the dashboard. “No. It’s okay.”
“If you want to talk … I’m here.”
“Thanks. But right now, I just want to be alone.”
“Of course.”
Tristan unbuckled his seatbelt and allowed José to hug him once more. It felt good. But why couldn’t it be Leaf? The thought of his beloved tugged at his heart.
“Everything will be okay,” the drummer whispered, as if he had sensed what Tristan was thinking. “He’ll pull himself together, I’m sure.”
Tristan managed a brief nod before stepping out of the car. He grabbed the plastic bag from 7-Eleven with drinks and a sandwich. “See you tomorrow.” As he closed the door behind him, José waved and drove down the road, the taillights disappearing into the darkness.
Further down, nestled within a grove of trees, stood Leaf’s wooden cabin on stilts, surrounded by three similar houses.
A pleasant breeze swept over the hill, tousling Tristan’s hair as he lingered on the dimly lit path under the rustling trees that provided shade throughout the day.
The quiet, elevated area made the hot days more bearable than down in the urban jungle.
As he turned toward the house, he faced Milo’s dust-covered car, blanketed with leaves.
He paused for a moment, concentrating on not letting the memories resurface, then walked around the car to the stairs.
Lights were on in the two neighboring houses, and the presence of others nearby brought him a sense of calm.
With heavy limbs, he climbed up to the terrace above the garage, which led to the entrance of the house.
Now that my Chevy is junk, I could actually shelter the Chevelle, he thought. The idea of driving Milo’s car was not up for discussion.
Not yet. Too soon.
The chairs and loungers on the terrace were also covered with leaves. Milo had usually taken care of such things.
That’s probably up to me now.
He inserted the house key into the lock, opened the door, and flicked on the light.
It was a modest apartment he’d once shared with his older brother, each of them with their own bedroom. The space also boasted a cozy living room and kitchen. They frequently dined out or on the terrace, taking advantage of the abundant sunshine.
As Tristan walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, he passed Milo’s room, and his pulse quickened. Despite forbidding himself, he stopped, unable to avoid the room. Slowly, he pushed open the partially closed door. The hallway lamp above him cast light into the room.
Everything was just as he had left it. The bed was made, and a few items of clothing were scattered on the floor. A huge poster of Nightstalker hung above the bed, a throwback to their first album release.
“You don’t have to hang that up. It’s embarrassing. I live here.”
Milo burst into laughter as he turned around on the bed and attached the poster with adhesive corners at the top ends. “Oh… I’m just proud of my little Mingan! What’s wrong with that? Is it hanging straight?”
When Tristan didn’t answer, Milo looked over his shoulder while still holding the two corners. Black strands fell into his face, and an infectious joy flickered in his eyes.
Tristan smiled and shook his head. “A little higher on the left. Yeah, that’s good.”
After Milo pressed the corners, he jumped off the bed and stood next to him. “Yep, that looks good. My little brother is going to conquer the world. I’m so proud of you.”
Tristan chuckled. “Let me know if you want a shirt, fanboy.”
“Let’s not overdo it,” Milo said. He climbed back onto the bed and thumbed the bottom two corners.
“How are things going with you?” Tristan asked.
“Good.”
He knew his brother too well to miss the slight undertone.
Milo went to the closet and picked out a red plaid shirt, which he tied around his waist. With the black shirt and blue jeans, he appeared like he was going for a lumberjack look, if not for his trimmed sides and longer hair on top.
It suited him incredibly well, and he somewhat resembled a model.
“How are the recordings going?”
“Good,” Milo replied. “I’ve almost finished recording everything. And it looks like I’ll also be able to record the drums for Luke Peters.”
“That’s great!”
“Oh yes! It’s really fun. The people there are professional. Not like at Longride Studio. So, it looks good. If things don’t work out with Nightstalker, you can count on me.”
Tristan laughed loudly. “Don’t worry! Things will work out. And it’s going to be huge!”
“I know that, little Mingan. And I’m so proud of you.”
Tristan shook off the memory and closed the door behind him.
In the kitchen he stashed the drinks in the fridge, dumped the spoiled food, and flopped onto the couch with the sandwich.
He wasn’t hungry, but having not eaten all day, he knew he couldn’t avoid it if he wanted to get through the coming days.
So he nibbled on the cheese and tomato sandwich, trying to disregard the bland mush it became in his mouth.
Everything here was just as he had left it. The old wooden table was strewn with countless notes, a product of his almost obsessive writing in the days following Milo’s death.
The funeral had been preceded by long nights of desperate attempts to understand what had happened.
As far as he could recall, he hadn’t succeeded yet.
He had retreated into his cave, spending hours staring at the walls, and now knew every spot, dent, and splinter.
Like a ghost, he had wandered between bed, kitchen, and couch until José had dragged him to a bar.
It might have been wiser to stay at home.
Since he no longer had a phone to distract himself with, he turned on the TV and muted it. For a while, he flipped through the channels, chewing on his sandwich.
On a music channel, “Acid,” the song from their first album that had propelled them to the top, was playing. The video clip showcased images from a time when everything had been fine and the band’s fire had burned hot. They had been in Australia when they found out about their success.
“Number 1!” José shouted, holding his phone up. “Did you guys see this? ‘Acid’ is at number 1!”
Tristan wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. “What? Where?”
“On the Billboard charts!”
“No way,” Andrej said, grabbing José’s phone in disbelief.
“Congratulations, guys!” Carol exclaimed. “Number 1! I knew you had it in you!”
The adrenaline from the concert still raced through Tristan’s veins, but this news, confirmed by Carol, sent them all into another frenzy of joy. They cheered, hugged each other, and laughed. When Tristan turned to Leaf, Leaf embraced him and lifted him up in excitement.
“I knew it!” he exclaimed, setting Tristan back down.
Tristan put his hand on Leaf’s neck and kissed him. Just like that. He didn’t want to keep it behind closed doors any longer. Let the others see that they felt more for each other. Until now, it had been Leaf who had always held back at Tristan’s request.
“I could never have done this without you,” he whispered against Leaf’s lips. “Never.”
Leaf wrapped his arms around him and kissed him again. In the background, he could hear the band and the crew cheering.
The moment was perfect.
Tristan turned off the TV and glanced at the half-eaten sandwich in his hand.
He lost his appetite. The longing for Leaf nearly tore him apart.
He understood he couldn’t return home and expect everything to revert to how it was before.
Nothing remained the same. Yet, the love he harbored for Leaf persisted, a burning ache in his chest.
He had deliberately avoided contemplating his return. Not once during the drive back to Los Angeles did he entertain thoughts of the impending reunion. He couldn’t bring himself to. Fear gripped him too tightly. Yes, avoidance had become second nature to him.
Did I push myself on him too much?
Not even ten horses could have stopped him from embracing and kissing Leaf.
Where could he have gone?
He secretly suspected it, but right now, he wasn’t ready to face that truth.
Does he still love me?
They had vowed to remain faithful to each other and understood the importance of giving each other space, especially Leaf, when his inner struggles resurfaced. It wasn’t the first time Leaf had withdrawn, leaving Tristan feeling isolated and abandoned in his absence.
He’ll get it together again. Unless … he’s punishing himself for something.
That thought didn’t sit well with Tristan, making him panic and feel guilty for everything.
Before the whirlwind of thoughts caught up with him, he went to the kitchen in search of some relief. Milo had always made sure it was on hand—in the form of beer, vodka, or whiskey.
“Stay away from it, little brother,” he always said to him. “I know you hardly drink anything, but once you start, you won’t be able to stop. That’s not good.”
Milo’s supplies were impressive. He had stocked up shortly before his death.
“Thanks, big brother,” Tristan said, grabbing the half-full bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a glass before sinking back onto the couch.
He couldn’t escape into darkness, a realization that the past three weeks had brutally reinforced.
Since the accident, insomnia haunted him, making it impossible to flee from the haunting memories.
After a few days in the clinic, when he had reached his limits, they had given him Valium. However, the medication left him groggy during the day, so he discontinued it. At least the pills Snider had prescribed made him somewhat sleepy.
The right combination will knock me out.
He popped a pill and took a big gulp of Jack Daniel’s. Unfortunately, the carousel of memories spun faster than the medication could take effect. They rushed in like a tornado, blurring his surroundings until Tristan found himself trapped in his own thoughts.
Leaf, who could barely stand and had regarded him as if something in his chest was shattering into a thousand shards. Who had almost collapsed in his arms and held onto him as if he were his lifebuoy.
Milo’s face then came into view. Bleeding. In his arms. A tear rolled down Tristan’s cheek. His lips trembled. The ground beneath his feet opened up, and he fell into a black hole, deeper and deeper into an endless abyss.
Panicked, he jolted awake, knees hitting the floor, covering his face with his shaky palms. He wanted to scream, but the memories choked him, and he gasped for air.
No.
I have to be strong.
For Leaf. For the band. For the music.
I can do this.
Why isn’t Leaf here?