22. Chapter 22
The man Jase used to be was still hanging in his closet.
A dozen or so T-shirts hung in the front. To the far left were a few sweaters and a winter coat with dandruff on the sleeves. On the opposite side hung his button-down shirts, the pressed pants he wore to graduation, and his first leather jacket.
None of it fit anymore. His dad should’ve trashed it years ago. There would’ve been no reason to confine Jase to his childhood home for two weeks if there was nothing left to prove he ever lived there.
The house that he’d gotten out of as fast as he could was a relic scrubbed of her memory but somehow frozen at the time of her death.
His dad changed almost nothing, beyond collecting every piece of photographic evidence that he’d ever been married and locking them in a box that he’d given Jase before he died.
The rest remained the same, impeccably kept by the ever meticulous Mrs. Aldridge.
Sure, Jason Young bought new clothes and towels and linens, and had begrudgingly had the kitchen fully updated when both the stove and dishwasher took a shit the same week the cabinet he’d fixed a half dozen times fell of the hinge and broke his big toe, but the wrought iron light fixtures, brass door knobs, washing machine that only finished a load if a person decoded the instructions taped above it—all original.
His dad’s garage had felt more like home than the stone house where Jase was now confined. Did Lindsey own the shop now, too? What would she do with it? If he got nothing else out of her in the next two weeks, he’d swallow his pride for answers about Jay’s Garage.
Jase whipped the clothes to one side of his closet and knelt to inspect what was on the floor. Who knew carpet could get dusty? He brushed off old sneakers, a duffel in better condition than the grungy bag on the laundry room floor, and—
Son of a bitch.
He hauled out a box that had been tucked in the back corner for at least a decade and suddenly had a craving for Mountain Dew and Cool Ranch Doritos.
Jase pulled on a T-shirt that cracked as it ripped around his arms and chest and a pair of tight sweatpants from the bottom drawer of his dresser, and carried the box across the hall to Graham’s room.
His brother was on his bed, hair damp from a shower. Jase tipped the box to show Graham what was inside.
“You game?”
Graham looked in the box. “You serious?”
“Let’s go, asshole.”