Chapter 28
JJ
I make dinner. We eat. Talk. Laugh. Kiss. Prepare brownies that are in the oven baking. Put a movie on and cuddle on the couch. Talk more. Laugh more. Kiss so much more.
It feels good. Domestic. Exactly what I want, what I’ve always wanted, but can’t have.
But I can. If only I’d let myself. I know that, but it isn’t changing my behavior. And I can’t figure out why. It’s a simple thing these days—divorce. It’s common. Sometimes expected.
I’m doing more with Miles than I have with anyone else… even my own husband. Yet nothing changes.
“I talked to Nash today to get more details on him leaving.”
Miles looks up at me with a soft smile. “When’s the big day?”
“After the holidays. He’s looking for a place now, and once he finds one, he’ll slowly ship stuff there.”
“Are you upset about him leaving?”
I take a deep breath. “Not upset,” I admit. “I want him to do what will make him happy, and… the trauma I mentioned? My brothers and I experienced it together, so I am fully on board with them doing whatever they think will make them happy.”
“Is that why your other brother stays in California?”
An ache forms in my chest. I want to open up to Miles.
It doesn’t feel bad when I do. In fact, it’s the opposite.
It makes me feel good… letting him in and getting things off my chest. Having someone to talk to about this stuff who won’t judge and has no preconceived notions about my life…
that feels like a relief. Franklin never had anything to say about it.
At all. And that was almost as bad as him having something negative to say. Maybe worse.
“Hollis is… an addict,” I say.
“Oh, I’m sorry, JJ.”
“No need to be sorry,” I say quickly. “He’s struggled a lot with what we went through.
Nash and I help as much as we can. He’s doing well now.
Holding a job and paying his bills, but that, uh…
well, it never lasts long. And for some reason, talking to us kind of triggers him, so we don’t talk much. Which sucks.”
It sucks a lot because he’s my brother, and I wish we could just be fucking normal.
Miles nods, complete understanding on his face. There isn’t a single inkling of judgment there.
“Addiction is tough. I saw a few of my friends from high school go through it. I can’t imagine it being my family member.”
“Nash and I mostly know how to deal with it. We know Hollis’s behaviors, and can tell when he’s using again, though he doesn’t usually try to hide it. But it doesn’t stop us from worrying about him all the time. When is it going to be too much, you know?”
Miles wraps his arm around my waist and snuggles closer.
“Nash and I see a lot of this because of what we do, and every time I see it, all I can think of is Hollis and it fucking sucks.” I pause a moment, then add. “Nash probably does too, but he’s more closed off than I am, if you can believe that.”
“That is hard to believe,” he says in a gentle, slightly playful tone.
The emotion in my throat is too much to speak past, so I stay quiet. Silence falls between us, and we focus on the TV, though I don’t think either one of us is actually watching it.
It’s comforting to have Miles’ silent support.
The only other person I get any sort of support from is Nash, and that’s more of a tough love situation.
He likes to call me out on my shit, shove it in my face until I see it and figure it out on my own.
Usually it works. It has for just about everything other than Franklin.
Nash isn’t only that way with me; it’s just who he is.
So, when he says he’s never getting married, I believe him.
He’s not the affectionate type, not in the way someone would need to be to sustain a healthy marriage.
Though, you have idiots like me who stay anyway, so maybe there is some hope for Nash.
Not that I’m comparing Franklin to my brother, because Nash would never treat someone the way Franklin treats me… I know Nash wouldn’t do that because he’s not that much of an asshole.
The oven beeps, so I untangle myself from Miles and go to the kitchen to pull out the brownies.
They’re done, so I put the pan on the counter and turn off the oven.
I wash the few dishes I left in the sink from preparing the batter and grab two plates for the brownies.
They’re always better when they’re warm and fresh out of the oven, so I won’t let them sit and cool, even if I’m supposed to.
I don’t hear Miles walk into the room, but I hear his voice when he speaks. His low, emotionless voice that startles me because it sounds almost ghostly.
“Who’s Franklin?”
I whirl around, anger rising up through my chest. Miles is standing there, his arms at his sides, and my phone in one of his hands.
“What?” I snap.
“Someone named Franklin is blowing up your phone.” He offers it out. “Who is he?”
His tone tells me something is off. It’s cautious. What did he see? What did Franklin say that Miles caught a glimpse of? It’s the perfect time to come clean, to tell Miles everything. The longer we go on, the worse it’ll be. Miles asked. I should tell him.
But I don’t come clean, because why would I? That’s just not who I am.
I snatch my phone from his hand. “Why are you going through my phone?”
Miles frowns, flinching back. “I didn’t go through your phone.”
“You obviously did if you know who’s calling me.”
He blinks a few times, pain written all over his face. Guilt sinks into my chest, making it hard to breathe, but it doesn’t change anything.
“It was on the coffee table. It was vibrating so much it fell to the floor. I picked it up and—”
“You shouldn’t have touched it.” The phone starts vibrating again and we both look at it. I end the call and when I look back at Miles, there’s understanding on his face.
“I’m going to go,” he says carefully, and something deep within me knows this isn’t like last time.
There isn’t going to be another chance if he walks out that door. I could still fix this. There’s time. I could apologize. Explain. Tell him the truth.
But… I don’t.
“Good idea,” I spit out.
I stand there with my feet glued to the ground, my chest aching, and the little voice in my head screaming at me that I’m a fucking idiot.
I just stand there as Miles gives me his back and walks away. I hear him gather his things. Hear him open and close the door. His car starts and then the sound fades as he drives off.
Rage overtakes me, and I look around for something to hit or throw, but I’ve been down that road too many times and all it does is make me feel stupid after. So, I grit my teeth and call the only person I can rely on.
“What’s up?” my brother answers.
“I fucked up.”
“No shit,” he laughs.
“This isn’t funny,” I bark.
“Okay,” he says carefully, his tune changing immediately when he realizes this is serious. “What’s going on?”
I word vomit everything. Every little detail. I hold nothing back. Nothing.
What I need is Nash’s tough love. I need him to tell me how stupid I am and that I’m fucking up something good. Maybe if he says it, I’ll hear it… really hear it.
I ramble on for who knows how long. When I’m done, I’m panting and in my living room—I don’t remember walking out here, but here I am, staring at the couch Miles and I were just cuddling on. I don’t cuddle. I’m not an affectionate person. Yet, with him I am.
“Yeah, so you fucked up,” he says. “How are you going to fix it?”
“If I knew how to fix it, I wouldn’t be talking to you,” I snap.
“JJ, I’ve always tried to lay everything out in front of you so you can make your own decision. I don’t want to pretend to be our father and shout orders at you or tell you what to do. You need to do that on your own.”
“All I do is make the wrong fucking decisions,” I growl, tears stinging my eyes.
“What the fuck am I doing with my life, Nash? I’m married to a man who fucking hates me and treats me like shit.
I’m lying to the one guy I actually like, who is good to me, and for some reason, keeps coming back.
Now I’m being fucking cruel to him, too. ”
“I don’t think Franklin hates you—”
“I’m miserable. I have something good right in front of my face and I’m fucking it up for Franklin. Fucking Franklin?”
“Mhmm.”
“Fuck,” I hiss, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“You know,” he starts carefully. “This isn’t all to do with Franklin.”
“The fuck does that mean?” I ask.
He lets out a long sigh. “You didn’t do anything wrong, JJ. None of us did. Stop punishing yourself.”
“You should take your own advice,” I say, biting back the emotion so I don’t throw up.
“Yeah… probably. But it’s easier to tell you to do it—and right now, it’s what you need to hear.”
I clear my throat and take a deep breath, trying to get my shit together. I think I may actually pass out.
“Did you tell Hollis that you’re moving?” I ask, needing to change the subject.
“Yeah. He, uh… asked if he could come with me.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I think New York is a bad place for him.”
“He’s an adult, Nash.”
“Exactly, JJ. Fucking exactly.” It’s quiet for a few moments, and I drop onto my couch and stare up at my ceiling. “What are you going to do?” he asks.
“I know what I should do.”
“Then put on your big boy pants and do it.”
“Easier said than done. I’ll call you later.”
He ends the call, and I stare at my phone—at the list of missed texts and calls from Franklin.
He never blows up my phone. What are the odds he’d do it while I’m with Miles and he was alone with my phone?
For two damn minutes. It’s the universe’s way of calling me out.
If I believed in that sort of shit, I’d think it was true.
But this is my fault. I dug myself this hole and willingly jumped inside.
I need to call Franklin. We have a lot to talk about. But before I do that, I call Miles.
It rings and rings and eventually goes to voicemail.
I hang up and try again. He still doesn’t answer.
And I can’t blame him. This whole situation is fucked up, and he may never talk to me again.
I did this. I made my situation worse than it already was—which is saying a lot because I didn’t think it could get much worse.
I try Miles one more time. It goes to voicemail after only three rings. Which means he sent me to voicemail.
Now there’s only one thing left to do.
Call Franklin.
He answers after one ring.
“What the hell are you doing?” he growls into the phone, as if he has any reason to be angry with me.
Franklin doesn’t get angry, not like this. He’s devoid of emotion altogether, other than being perpetually annoyed. Something is going on, and I already know nothing I say will get it out of him. He keeps his secrets.
“What do you want?”
“Excuse me?”
“What do you want, Franklin? Why are you blowing up my phone?”
“Because you’re my husband and—”
“Only when it’s convenient though, right?”
“Jericho—”
“No,” I say firmly, cutting him off. I don’t usually speak to him like this—I don’t argue back. I just lay down and take his shit. But I’m tired of that. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, Franklin. This entire relationship is bullshit, and I’m sick of being your convenience.”
“You’re the one who wanted to get married.”
Yeah. I was waiting for that. He would blame this on me. Just like everything else.
“This isn’t what I expected our marriage to be like! We’re strangers living halfway across the country from one another with nothing in common.”
“You know I’m working.”
“Which could be done from here, in our home. You know, the one we picked out together to start a family? You choose to stay there, to stay away from me, do things without me, keep me a secret. You make those decisions, regardless of how I feel.”
“And I’ve told you—”
“I’m tired of your words. Of your empty promises. It’s all bullshit.” I grit my teeth. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Franklin.”
“You’re too emotional, Jericho. You need—”
“What I need is a husband who doesn’t treat me like shit.”
He huffs a laugh. “We’re not getting divorced. Especially not right now. You knew what you were getting into. I don’t need the negative press of some messy divorce, all because you can’t keep your emotions in check.”
“Fuck you, Franklin.”
I end the call and squeeze my phone so hard it creaks. I imagine whipping it against the wall and watching it shatter, but what good would that do?
This time, I really don’t think things can get worse.
But they do.
Oh, of course they do.
There’s a text waiting for me.
From Miles.
Miles:
I can’t do this anymore. I know I said I would be patient, but this is too much.
I feel like I’m being lied to, and I’m not okay with that.
At first, I thought you were just dealing with some personal stuff, and that would have been okay.
I could handle that. But after today? After what just happened?
This isn’t right. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. Please don’t call me anymore.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dropping onto my couch as tears blur my vision.