Chapter 3
Chapter three
Tom
The ten-hour flight went smoothly and I spent most of it asleep.
So why does it feel like I’ve been hit by a truck?
Probably because Jay’s constant nagging drained what little energy I had left.
Saying goodbye to Joan and Finn didn’t help either.
And Kimmy? Let’s just say her late-night bon voyage visit almost made me miss my flight.
Too bad my departure time wasn’t as flexible as her legs.
But I made it, so whatever lies ahead, I’ll deal with it. And if this Arcadia thing doesn’t work out, I’ll pack my bags and crash at Calvin’s for the vacation I damn well deserve.
I take a deep breath and walk through the sliding doors.
The air is hot and arid, hitting me like a blow dryer. My curls are so going to hate this climate.
I’ll be here for at least a month, so I’d better get used to it.
I scan the crowd for Calvin, he’s nowhere in sight. Typical.
As I pull out my phone to look up his contact details, I spot him weaving through a stream of sunburned tourists. With his copper-colored bun, wild grin, and oversized sunglasses—clearly masking last night’s party—he is hard to miss.
“Heyyyy! There’s my favorite wolf!” Calvin’s voice echoes through the hall. A few tourists turn their heads. Fucking great, just what I needed. But damn, I can’t help grinning. I’m here in the Caribbean, and seeing him feels like coming home.
He pulls me into a bear hug, nearly crushing my ribs as he swamps me in his sweat-soaked T-shirt.
“Callie Coconut.” I struggle to breathe in the tropical heat.
“Still your DJ name?”
He snatches the guitar case from my back, swinging it over his shoulder so I can roll the cart with the rest of my instruments.
“Yeah, but I feel like I need a rebrand or something. Not sure it makes sense, though. They’ll probably still call me Callie Coconut in twenty years. That’s island life.”
“Truth.” I smirk. “But hey, if it’s working for you, why change it?”
He gives me a small nod as we roll my luggage through the parking lot.
The sun is brutal.
The asphalt could probably melt the soles off my sneakers, and my freckled arms are already flirting with a shade of pink that promises regret. I should’ve learned my lesson after last year’s Ibiza fiasco when I got sunburned so badly I ended up hospitalized.
“Shade,” I mutter, glancing around. “I need shade fast, or I’ll be a walking sunburn by the time we hit that Arcadia prison.”
Calvin laughs and adjusts his sunglasses. “Welcome to paradise, bro. SPF’s non-negotiable. You can find a bottle of sunscreen in the glove compartment.”
Calvin unlocks the pickup. I slide into the passenger seat, instantly grateful when the AC roars to life. The cracked leather sticks to my back, but it’s cooler than the air outside.
“I’ve got strict orders from Jay to take you straight to Arcadia,” Calvin says, smirking as he pulls out of the airport parking lot.
I don’t even have time to roll my eyes before his smirk grows into a full-blown Cheshire Cat grin.
“But fuck Jay, he’s not here, is he? Where do you want to go?”
I burst out laughing, slapping his hand in a quick high five.
Calvin’s always been the devil on my shoulder, a little too eager to throw rules out the window. And damn, I’ve missed him.
For a moment my mind buzzes with possibilities: happy hours, that rooftop bar downtown with those ridiculously good margaritas, maybe organizing a pool party at Calvin’s place. Practically all the brilliant ideas that dragged me into this mess in the first place.
The grin fades from my face. It’s been months since the cardiac arrest, but that near-death trip with Emily still haunts me whenever I feel the urge to grab a bottle. I’m holding on to this fragile fresh start because I’m terrified of what’ll happen if I drink or use again.
I need to stay sober.
“Let’s just grab some lunch,” I finally say. “I’ll have to check in sooner or later anyway.”
Calvin shoots me a surprised look, his freckles scrunching together in confusion.
“Lunch? Who are you, and what have you done to Tom McKenna?”
“Just drive, Callie Coconut.”
He snorts but doesn’t push me, which is rare for him. “Lunch it is.”
He shifts gears and merges into traffic. “I know just the spot. You’re going to love this place, bro.”
Lunch is great. We eat at a local fish place where the owner fishes off the pier, showing us the catch of the day before handing it to his wife to cook. It doesn’t get fresher than that.
It’s fun, catching up with my mate Cal, but I can’t help the nagging thought that it’s time to go to that retreat, rehab, resort, whatever it is.
So after lunch I suggest we get going there straight away. Stretching time won’t make that uneasy feeling go away, so here we are on our way to paradise jail.
The road curves. Dry earth stretches out on either side, dotted with thorny shrubs and the occasional cluster of cacti. The distant green hills look soft against the hazy blue sky.
Calvin keeps talking, gesturing wildly as he goes on about last weekend when he was spinning tracks at some beach party, with endless rum punches, and a dancer who, according to him, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen; something he texts me at least once a week.
A month ago, I would’ve laughed at every word.
Now it all feels… distant. Hollow even.
I nod occasionally, throwing in the odd “Yeah?” or “Sounds wild,” just to keep the conversation alive, but my mind is replaying memories I’d rather forget.
No one understands what I’m feeling. And worse, no one understands what I’m not feeling.
Before that night in Amsterdam, chaos had been my comfort. I’d drink myself numb, my life a never-ending haze of late nights flowing into early mornings. I’d gone down that road because I couldn’t handle the sound of nothing.
Because the moment the music stops and the people disappear, my mind becomes my enemy.
The hours between 1:00 AM and 5:00 AM were hell. They still are. When the party ends, the woman beside me falls asleep, and the city goes silent. That’s when it comes.
The silence.
I hate it. It crawls into my chest and makes my lungs feel so tight I can barely breathe. I end up crying and ranting on the floor. I scream into pillows, punch walls, dig my nails into my skin. Anything to make the silence stop.
But nothing works.
I’ve visited enough sterile offices explaining the unexplainable. They shrug when nothing shows up on their scans, tell me it’s anxiety or depression. But none of what they describe comes close to the terror of the silence.
And yet, as soon as the sun rises, it vanishes. The birds chirp, the trams rumble over the rails, and the world keeps spinning, erasing the tortures I survived hours earlier.
Alcohol helped. Pills had helped more. They’d softened the sharp edges, numbing me enough so I could breathe again.
I thought it was a fucking great remedy, until my body decided it was done with me.
I should’ve been dead. The doctors had almost recorded a time of death, but a resident covering a shift that night refused to give up.
He said he once smashed his little sister’s Half Moon Wolves CD and had spent months saving money to replace it.
Giving up on me, he said, felt like a betrayal he couldn’t live with.
So against protocol, he’d delivered one final shock. And, just like that, my heart had started beating again.
The newspapers had called it a miracle. I’d walked away without brain damage, but the resident wasn’t so lucky. He’d lost his residency for disobeying protocol.
We visited him and gave his sister a CD signed by all of us.
Jay will take care of him. He’s one of us now.
But I haven’t touched alcohol or drugs since, because the silence is gone.
You’d think that would be a good thing, right?
In a perfect world it would be, but here’s the problem: that short visit to wherever the fuck we go took away all my feelings.
I don’t feel anything at this point. No joy, no anger, no sadness, no euphoria.
Nothing. Just this blank, hollow numbness that has taken over my brain.
For an artist like me, that emptiness is torture as well.
Inspiration doesn’t come from a void. Songs don’t write themselves.
The well has run dry, and I don’t know if it will ever fill again. I guess time will tell.
I don’t notice the pickup stopping until Calvin kills the engine.
“We’re here,” he says, taking the keys out of the ignition.
I glance out the window. Arcadia is definitely giving resort vibes. The white walls almost hurt my eyes, and there are orange hibiscus flowers and palm trees lining the path toward the lobby.
It sure looks beautiful, but it feels fake, like they’re trying way too hard to sell the healing vibes. Standing here, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong with Arcadia. It feels too perfect to be true.
I stare into the distance, focused on the dry shrubs where something rustles. Is that a reptile? It looks like a wingless mini dragon.
“You ready?” Calvin asks.
I nod, but if I really am, why do I remain frozen in my seat?
“I heard Effy’s pregnant…”
I nod again, because what the hell am I supposed to say to that? This is the conversation I’ve been avoiding with everything I’ve got.
“I assume Jay’s over the moon?”
Still nothing from me.
I keep staring at the shrubs, pretending they’re the most fucking interesting thing I’ve ever seen.
“How do you feel about it?”
Oh fuck. I launch myself out of the pickup, tripping over my own feet on my way to the trunk.
“If she’s happy, I’m happy.”
I know it’s weak, but I hope Calvin gets the hint. I really don’t want to answer questions about Effy.
I feel Calvin’s hand on my shoulder. That’s the best support possible right now.
We unload my bags and head to the lobby.