Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Love is a lifesaving drug
With too many side effects
We drove back to the house in silence, but it wasn’t awkward; instead, it quietly echoed with the possibility that maybe we had finally broken some boundary that needed demolishing. Maybe, just maybe, this could work for us. But the universe had a funny way of shattering plans.
As the tires squealed into the driveway, my heart fell to my feet. There, parked beside us, was a black car with a white stripe and three red lights resting on the roof.
“Jason and Rich steal two cases of beer from the 7-Eleven and get a warning. We steal a ham, and they send the cops to my house!” I smashed my finger into my seat belt buckle to free myself from its restraints.
Jamie's tan skin suddenly turned an eerie shade of bluish white. “I don’t think they’re here for the ham.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What did you do?”
His jaw dropped. “Why do you assume it was me?”
“Because the worst thing Lucas has ever done is drive four miles over the speed limit, and Kayla’s too diabolical to get caught. That only leaves two other options: me or you.”
He forcibly shoved his arms over his chest, crinkling his jacket. “I haven’t done anything ... this week.” He muffled the last two words under his breath as his eyes darted to the steering wheel.
I slumped in my seat and stared ahead. “Then we have one of two choices. Go inside and watch you get handcuffed on Christmas Eve, or we could pull a Bonnie and Clyde.” I turned my face to him, expecting to see at least a half-smile on his lips, but instead, I was greeted with his serious face, the deep expression that only etched across his eyebrows when he was working on a math equation.
His eyes flickered to the gas gauge. “We could probably make it to Boston.”
“I was joking! We are way too young to become fugitives.”
“So next year, then?”
“Ha, ha, very funny.” There it was, the smile I wanted to see. “Let’s just get inside and see what’s going on. Maybe it’s nothing.”
“We both know neither of us is that lucky.”
True.
I took a deep breath as my fingers circled the doorknob and pushed it forward.
The house felt ... heavy, like it was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable to crash down.
Jamie walked beside me, his hand brushing mine.
Neither of us said anything, but we didn’t need to.
The silence in the room was thick enough to drown in.
Two cops stood in the hallway, but they weren’t stern-looking; they lowered their heads.
Glancing around the room, I saw Lucas holding Kayla tightly on the couch, her face buried in his chest. Julian stood off to the side, but his face was pale.
My mom stood next to him, gripping the back of a chair, her lips pressed together like she was trying to keep herself from sobbing.
Something horrible was coming, and we were walking right into it.
Jamie took a hesitant step forward. “What’s going on?”
Lucas's eyes shifted upward, meeting Jamie's. His lips parted, but a shadow passed over his face, and he looked away, swallowing hard as if the words he planned to speak physically hurt his throat.
The officer suddenly cleared his throat, exchanging an anxious glance with his partner before starting his sentence. “Jamie,” he began carefully, “there’s been an incident.”
That word hit like a punch in the gut. Incident. What incident? And why was this conversation directed at Jamie? My stomach twisted as I glanced at my best friend's white face. He was staring at the officer, waiting, his every muscle still, his every breath halted.
The other officer stepped forward, his voice quieter but more forceful. “Jamie, it’s about your mother.”
I saw the realization flicker in Jamie’s eyes. His body stiffened as if he were trying to brace for the impact, but there was no bracing for something like this.
“Where is she?” Jamie stepped toward the officers, his voice shaky but insistent. “What happened?”
The first officer sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Your mother ... she passed away earlier this evening. We believe it was an overdose.”
Jamie’s entire body buckled as if someone had physically hit him.
I grabbed his arm before he could fall, pulling him against me.
He didn’t resist, but he didn’t respond either.
He was gone, lost somewhere inside his mind, ensnared in the terrifying nightmare he had always dreaded, a nightmare from which he could now never break free.
I held onto him as tightly as I could, but I could feel him slipping away. I felt his breath hitch, felt the tremor in his chest as he tried to hold back the sobs. “No,” he whispered, barely audible. “No, no, no …”
One moment, Jamie was stiff in my arms, clinging to the last thread of control, and then he just .
.. collapsed. His entire body became dead weight, like every ounce of strength drained from him in an instant.
His knees buckled, and before I knew it, we sank to the floor.
The ground felt cold beneath us, and the room around us blurred, every sound muted except for Jamie's gasps and the harsh, wet sobs that tore from his chest. His grief was so heavy, so overwhelming, I could feel it radiating through my skin.
His chest slammed into mine, his head dropping against my shoulder with a hard thud. Jamie pressed deep into me, as if he could somehow bury himself deep enough in my arms, and the world around him would disappear.
His trembling fingers clawed at the back of my shirt. His breath was ragged; each exhale came out in short, jagged bursts that hit my neck, hot and fast, like he was drowning. I wrapped my arms tighter around him, feeling his grief crashing down like a tidal wave, pulling us both under.
He was shaking so violently that I thought he might break apart in my hands.
His sobs started low, almost like he was choking, and then they erupted from him, deep and guttural, the kind of sound that tears through you and leaves you raw.
His whole body curled into mine, his forehead pressing hard into my collarbone, his breath hitching as if he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find the air to fill his lungs.
I squeezed him tighter as if that could somehow hold him together. But the truth was, I was barely holding on myself.
The room was cold. It felt as though all the warmth had been sucked out, leaving only an unbearable weight pressing down on us. I could hear Kayla sobbing quietly, her breath shaky, but it was distant, like it was happening in a different world.
“She’s gone,” he whispered, his voice broken. “I should have been at home with her.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. I didn’t have any words. Nothing I said would have made this better. And that killed me.
The first officer knelt beside us, his voice low but direct. “Jamie, we need to ask you a few questions about your mother’s last few days. Would you like to talk at the station, or do you feel more comfortable here, son?”
They just told him that his mom died. Did they think right now is the best time for an interrogation?
Jamie tried to hold back his sobs. He removed his head from my shoulder and let out a deep breath as if his mind was trying to bury his emotions just long enough for him to get through this conversation.
“Here’s fine.” He acknowledged the police officers, and then our eyes met.
I nodded at him, understanding precisely what he needed.
He needed me to hold it together so that he didn't fall apart, so I did.
I stood up, offered my hand to him, helped him off the floor, and guided him over to the couch.
We sat on the cushions, the plush material a momentary comfort.
The police officer sat on the adjacent sofa, and my mother took her position on the other side of Jamie, with her hand resting on his knee for support.
Julian walked over. He didn't sit; he stood stern and tall, like a statue guarding the room in case he was needed.
Next to him, Lucas copied his expression, the same tough soldier stance as his father.
Kayla, however, was a wreck. She had quieted her crying, but the tears still flowed from her eyes and painted her cheeks.
She locked her fingers with Lucas, his body acting as a pillar to keep her standing.
The cop on the right spoke first. “There were signs of a struggle at the scene, and we’re treating this as a possible homicide.”
Jamie’s breath hitched. “A homicide?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
The second officer nodded. “There were signs that someone else was in the house with her before she overdosed. We found Jack Donahue’s wallet at the scene. Do you know him?”
Jamie’s eyes darkened. “Jack … yeah, I know him.”
The officers exchanged glances. The officer on the left spoke, “Jamie, we need to understand Jack’s relationship with your mother.”
“Jack and Jamie's dad work together. That’s all.” I felt oddly defensive. I didn’t want these officers to fabricate stories about Jamie’s mom because of the reputation people like them had created for her.
Jamie’s hand moved to my thigh, and his head shook slightly as if to tell me there was no use in defending her. His stare moved back to the officers. “They … they were together.”
“Together?” I gasped, and my own heart sank.
“She was trying to get back at my dad. He’s been messing around with other women for years, and I guess … I guess she thought if she did it too, it’d hurt him.”
The officers were quiet momentarily, letting Jamie’s words settle in. Then the one on the right asked, “Where is your dad, Jamie? Does he know about any of this?”
Jamie’s face hardened, the anger bubbling up beneath his grief.
“My dad?” He spat the words like they were poison.
“He took off on one of his ‘errand runs’ a week ago. I haven’t seen him since.
” His hands curled into fists, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.
“He left her to fall apart, just like he always does.”
The officer wrote down notes quickly. “We’ll need to talk to him when we locate him, but right now, we need to know more about the past few days. Did you notice anything unusual with your mother’s behavior?”
Jamie’s eyes glazed over like he was trying to go back, trying to piece together the last few days. “She was quieter than usual,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t think … I didn’t think it’d come to this.”
Jamie’s whole body deflated, and he collapsed deeper into the couch, burying his face in his hands. “I should’ve been there.” He choked out, his voice muffled by his hands. “I should’ve known …”
My mother placed her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Jamie, listen to me. You couldn’t have known. None of this is your fault.”
He shook his head violently, tears streaming down his face. “She was all I had left. And now she’s gone. I don’t have anyone.”
My mom reached up, placing her palm on his cheek, gently forcing him to look at her. “That’s not true, Jamie. You still have us. You will always have us.”
Jamie’s lips trembled, “But I’ve messed up so bad this year,” he whispered. “The drinking, the drugs, skipping school … I’m no better than him. I left her like he did.”
My mom shook her head firmly. “No, Jamie. You are not your father's mistakes. You've been wandering without direction, but that doesn't mean you're lost. And when you’re ready, we’ll all be here to help you find your way.”
Jamie sobbed into her shoulder, his entire body trembling with the weight of everything—the grief, the guilt, the pain—he had been carrying for so long.
I sat there watching as my mom held him together, her strength keeping him from falling apart completely.
My tears threatened to spill over, but I held them back.
“Thank you,” I whispered to my mother. She always knew exactly what to say and what not to say, a trait I unfortunately did not inherit.
A few weeks after that night, the officers closed the case.
It ended up being an accident, but one that ended with Jamie burying his mum six feet under.
Jack confessed to the manslaughter of Jamie's mom after the cops detained him, and there was enough physical evidence to tie him to every part of the crime scene.
He didn't purposely try to overdose her, but when she started having a seizure, Jack panicked, and instead of helping her or calling the ambulance, he left her unconscious body on the floor alone.
One thought will always haunt me: if she had chosen differently, maybe she’d still be alive.
Maybe Jamie wouldn’t have had to close the lid of a casket on his mother’s lifeless face.
Maybe he wouldn’t have had to say goodbye to the woman who read him bedtime stories when he was six and afraid of the dark.
The woman who made homemade chicken noodle soup every time he pretended to be sick just to stay home from school.
The woman who never missed a school play or a single soccer game.
The woman who was now icy blue—and forever lost to time.