Chapter 3 #2
“It’ll blow over,” Jay insisted. “Your stuff’s good, Mir. People will notice.”
She gave a half-hearted shrug, taking a sip of her drink. “We’ll see.”
The shift in tone caught him off guard. Mira had been dancing around him since Ari’s overdose, trying to stay positive and be a distraction.
The Lord of the Rings had always been their reset button—something they’d fallen back on since they were kids, whenever the house got too loud or their dad got too mean.
Mira called it her therapy, which Jay suspected wasn’t entirely a joke.
She’d carved time out between classes to force him through the extended editions, all three of them back-to-back.
She even talked him into cooking dinners together like they used to, and though she’d barely let the smile slip, the way she was looking at him now showed the concern she’d been hiding all this time.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” she asked. “Quitting the band is…that’s big, Jay.”
“There’s no Wicked Smile without Ari.”
She nodded. “Okay. I just…I know how hard you worked for it, and I worry about you letting it go…”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push it. Instead, she set her drink down and wrapped her arms around him for a quick, tight hug. “I’m a little worried because I’m about to leave you here alone tonight,” she mumbled against his shoulder.
“Oh, what for? Group project?”
“Nah. Playing at Gil’s on Second Avenue.” She stepped back, shooting him a pair of finger guns. “I’ll be there tomorrow night, too, if you want to come hear me.”
That would explain her outfit: a tight black denim skirt, sheer flowing black blouse, and her scuffed-up Docs. Her eyeliner was damn near touching her eyebrows.
She looked like a rockstar—like she belonged to a world that hadn’t broken her yet.
“Think you can make your eyeliner any bigger?”
“Shut up.” She shoved him, laughing. “It’s my signature look.”
“Alright, Elvira. I’ll come out and see you tomorrow night.”
She smiled. “I’m taking that as a compliment, thank you. But, for tonight, text me if you need me.”
“I’m a big boy. I’ll manage.”
She gave him a worried look but nodded. “Alright. Then I’m gonna head out. Try to do something for self-care tonight. Put on a face mask or paint your nails or something.”
Jay laughed and rolled his eyes. He hadn’t rocked chipped black nail polish since the band’s early days.
When she was gone, he lingered at the island.
Mira had just turned twenty-two and was standing right at the edge of her own early days, hungry for the same thing that had chewed him and Ari up and spit them out.
She had the talent and the drive—better than both of them, honestly.
And that was the part that scared him most.
He knew exactly what she was feeling: that high, that certainty. She still felt that music was going to save her life.
He’d been seventeen when it happened for them.
Seventeen and drowning in all the things he couldn’t control.
And then their first record landed them an opening spot on a tour, and suddenly they were getting out.
They’d dropped out of high school their senior year without hesitation.
He, Ari, Riley, and Luke loaded the van, chased the dream, and a Caina Records executive approached them after a show and handed them a contract like it was Christmas morning.
They’d recorded their second album in LA with producers who knew what they were doing, and Jay had felt, for the first time in his life, like he wasn’t a failure…
like he wasn’t going to end up like his father.
The band and the music made him feel like he was going to be okay.
But sitting here now, watching Mira orbit the same magnetic pull, Jay felt a nagging realization click into place.
The band hadn’t saved him. It had just been a prettier escape.
He’d traded the suffocation of his childhood for the frenzy of tours, studio time, and the endless need to be on, to create, to move…
to never stop long enough to feel the weight of everything.
The realization settled like vertigo. The band had been killing him slowly.
But without it, what would he do? Even scarier, without Ari, who was he?
With a sigh, he looked around at the condo that was supposed to mean they’d made it.
He and Ari had bought this to be a home where the three of them could finally be safe and stay still long enough to actually be a family.
But the band had pulled them in different directions anyway.
Ari produced in LA while Jay featured in other bands’ albums and attended every industry event expected of a frontman.
They’d bought it with the best intentions, but they were never here with Mira. Not really.
Now Ari was in a hospital bed. Mira was chasing the same dream that had nearly destroyed them both. And Jay was here, alone in a place that was supposed to be full.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to wipe away the day. When he lowered them, his gaze caught on the fine line tattoo on his left palm. It was one of his first: half of a knot split between their palms, incomplete until their hands came together.
Ava.
He couldn’t deny he still thought about her.
How could he not? They’d known each other since they were kids; more than half their lives were intertwined.
Seeing her last week as Dr. Davenport felt like gazing at a future he’d held in his heart all along.
She was the woman she was always meant to be.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, ignoring the multitude of texts, missed calls, and emails cluttering the screen.
Opening a browser, he typed her name, landing on Vanderbilt Hospital’s website.
There, her professional headshot stared back at him above a long-winded biography of all of her accomplishments.
Still so beautiful.
Her strawberry blonde hair was cut to her shoulders now, the layers flaring out delicately and framing her round face.
For the photo, she wore dark square glasses that brought out the green of her eyes against her crisp white coat.
At her throat sat a small pearl pendant he didn’t recognize—he wasn’t used to seeing anything but the emerald necklace there, the one he’d given her for her sixteenth birthday.
She looked sophisticated, every inch the accomplished physician.
The only thing missing were her freckles, lost to the camera’s too-bright lighting.
He went back to the last page and clicked another link, which led him to an article about a research study she’d taken part in. His shoulders tensed when he saw she’d studied the long-term effects of alcoholism and the genetic probability of addiction in offspring.
She showed up in his songs. He showed up in her research.
He let out a shaky breath, his thumb hovering over the phone app. She’d told Mira that her number was the same.
And tonight…Jay wasn’t sure he could handle being alone with his thoughts.