Chapter 7 #2
Ava’s keys jingled, snapping Jay out of his thoughts.
She unlocked the same white Honda Civic she’d been driving for years.
Mira slid into the backseat without a word.
Jay took the passenger seat, his long legs folding uncomfortably as he settled in.
Ava climbed in last, her eyes darting between them.
For a moment, Jay’s mind flashed back to her climbing over the gearshift, her mouth finding his in a desperate kiss. He wondered if she was remembering that too or if it was just him, stuck in the past while everything else fell apart.
“Where to?” she asked, looking away from him and turning the ignition. “Crap. Let me tell Eleanor I’m not coming back.”
More guilt surged as Jay watched her text. She’d been out with friends, trying to live her life, and now his family’s wreckage was dragging her back in, just like before.
“I’ll direct you,” Jay offered, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans. “Take the exit on 7th Avenue.”
The drive stretched out in thick silence that filled every crevice of the car.
Mira stayed curled against the window in the back.
Every few minutes, Ava’s hand would drift toward the radio, then pull back.
Jay stared at the passing streetlights with his forehead against the cool window, trying to slow his breathing.
I should’ve known. I should’ve fucking known.
Twenty minutes later, they stepped into the condo. Mira didn’t say a word as she headed straight for the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.
Jay exhaled sharply, his body leaden as he trudged to the fridge and grabbed a Diet Coke. The carbonation burned his throat—a poor substitute for what he actually wanted. He started to offer Ava one, then froze.
The sight of her in his home, surrounded by everything he’d built after losing her, felt impossible.
She stood with her back to him, her fingers tracing the diamond record for “Open Secret” that hung on the wall beside the platinum record for another single, “Butterfly Bandage.” He wondered if she’d heard the latter.
It was a newer song, released a couple of albums back, and it was as close to an apology as he’d known how to give her.
Their condo was basically a shrine to Wicked Smile, which felt obscene tonight.
The thrifted guitar and drum set in the corner—his and Ari’s, from eighth grade, back when a band had felt like the answer to everything.
A shadow box above them with a ticket stub to their first show, some shitty gig in a bar that no longer existed in South Nashville.
A gallery of old photos along the bookshelf: the band practicing, him and Ari, the three of them together.
Mira was the one who did all the decorating and painstakingly framed every photo. Ari and Jay just shoved everything into their rooms while they were on the road, but she took it upon herself to make this condo feel like a proper home.
Ava turned around, seeming to feel Jay’s gaze on her. She smiled when their eyes met. “This place is beautiful. When did you move in?”
“Ari and I bought it a few years ago. Made sense to be close to Belmont for Mira, and the Gulch is...” He gestured vaguely at the exposed brick and the view outside the windows. “Well, it’s where you live when you can afford it.”
“So you all live here?”
“Yeah. All three of us.” He lifted his drink. “Want anything?”
“Anything with caffeine sounds great, actually,” Ava said, joining him in the kitchen.
As he handed her another can of soda, they both stilled at the sound of the shower hissing to life from down the hall.
“If she showers then she can’t do one of those kits, right?”
Ava sipped her drink. “You can’t force her to do a rape kit, Jay.”
The word stung. Rape. The thought of his sister—and Riley being the one to—
“If he forced himself to…”
“Jay.” Ava placed her soda can on the counter and crossed her arms. “The last thing Mira needs right now is another man telling her what to do. She needs you to say that you love her and are here to do whatever she needs, whether that’s kill Riley or sit with her in silence.”
“But Riley deserves—”
“That doesn’t matter,” Ava said firmly. “You asked her why she let him hurt her. I’m sure she’s already put so much blame on herself, and that’s not what she needed to hear.”
Shame rolled over him. “I didn’t mean to blame her.”
“I know. But the way you came at her…” Ava trailed off, sighing. “You’ve always wanted to protect her, but that moment wasn’t about you trying to fix it. She needed you to listen.”
“She knows I love her.”
“Yes.” Ava’s voice softened. “But Riley’s probably been telling her he loves her for years while hurting her. Can you see how that messes with her head?”
Jay didn’t know what to say. He wanted to do whatever he could to take away Mira’s pain.
“Fucking hell,” he huffed, collapsing on the couch, sinking into it as if he could disappear between the cushions.
He chugged the soda like a beer, crunching the can and tossing it onto the coffee table where it left a puddle on the glass top. The carbonation burned in his chest like a punishment. Ava observed him as she moved to his side. The scent of her citrusy, floral perfume settled over him.
For a moment, they sat in silence. Then her fingers brushed his, gently peeling his clenched hand open and smoothing out the crescent moon marks his nails had left in his palm.
“You’ve always been good at accidentally hurting yourself,” she said, her thumb tracing soothing circles on his skin.
He almost laughed. She had no idea: hospital beds and stomach pumps, charcoal gritty on his tongue; doctors telling him he should’ve been dead; waking up in hotel bathrooms and tour buses, greeted by the familiar aftermath of damage he never quite remembered doing.
“It’s something I’m working on.”
The bathroom door opened. Mira emerged in a robe, her face unreadable as she crossed the living room and disappeared into her room without a glance in their direction. The door clicked shut behind her.
Jay waited a beat before he went to Mira’s door and knocked. “Hey, can we talk?”
“Why?” Her voice was distant, muffled from the far side of the room.
“Can I come in?”
“I think you’ve said enough tonight.”
He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the door. “Look, I was mad because you were hurt, and I said something stupid. I’m still…processing.”
Her only response was the sound of zippers and rustling fabric. She was packing.
Ava was right though. He needed to follow Mira’s lead on this. So he slumped against the wall, waiting.
When the door opened, Mira stepped out in sweats and an old hoodie, her wet hair braided tight. She glanced at him but didn’t stop walking, duffel bag over her shoulder.
“Wait!” He peeled himself off the wall and reached out for her, but he stopped, unsure if touch was welcome. “Where are you going?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you—”
“I’m not running off to Riley, if that’s what you’re worried about. He can go fuck himself right now.”
Jay trailed her to the front door where she slipped into checkered Vans. “I wanted to tell you, and now…” Her voice cracked. “I got it off my chest, but we need space to let this settle. I’m going.”
“I didn’t mean to blame you.”
She met his gaze then, her dark brown eyes steely. “I love you, okay?” She glanced at the living room. “Thanks for the ride, Ava.”
Jay wanted to protest. He could throw himself in front of the door and force her to stay. Instead, he let her go.
Because he’d yelled at her. He’d blamed her and then made her flinch the way she used to flinch when their father raised his voice.
And Riley—someone Jay had invited into their lives and trusted—had been beating Mira the same way their father had beaten them.
But when she’d finally come to him for help, he’d failed her just the same.
The condo felt cavernous now. This was supposed to be their safe place to go when shit hit the fan.
Now it was just him.
This was how it started. This was how he became his father—this exact feeling: a man in a big house with no one to talk to and rooms full of expensive nothing.
That was the endgame. That was what happened when you were alone.
Ari’s in the hospital. Mira left. You’re always alone. You destroy everyone, and then you’re alone.
The flashing lights threatened to return. Red. Blue. Crushing weight started to press down on his chest, and his breathing changed. Shorter. Faster.
No. Not again. Not now.
But it was already happening. His chest seized, and he couldn’t catch his breath. When he closed his eyes, the flashing lights were there; red and blue streaked across his vision.
Ari’s body hitting the stage. Ava’s cheeks dusted with drywall from the night everything went to hell. The way Riley used to ruffle Mira’s hair, and Jay thought it was sweet.
I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known.
The images crashed over him, and his legs buckled. His arm shot out, palm flat against the wall, holding himself upright as the room began closing in.
“Jay?” Ava’s voice, but it sounded far away.
Of course it’s her. Of course she’s here when you fall apart.
He gasped, trying to pull in air, but it wouldn’t go down. His throat was closed.
Ari’s not waking up. Mira’s been hurt for years. I cut Ava off. I let Riley—
The lights flashed faster. Red. Blue. Red. Blue.
“Jay, look at me.” Ava was suddenly there, right in front of him, her hands on his face.
But he couldn’t focus.
Ari falling. Mira crying. Riley smiling. Ava’s face when he walked away years ago.
“You’re panicking. I need you to breathe with me.”
I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her doing this again.
He’d been ten the first time, convinced he was dying. She’d figured out he had panic attacks. She’d researched them, learned the symptoms, and taught him how to breathe in her bedroom while he shook and cried.
Then he’d started drinking to make them stop, but rehab had taken that away.
“Jay!” Ava’s voice cut through. “Look at me. Right now.”
He tried. His vision was tunneling, but somewhere in the center he could see her face. Her green eyes locked on his.
“Listen to my voice,” she said firmly. “You’re safe. You’re at home. I’m with you. I’ve got you.”
Every gasp felt impossibly heavy. His body was shutting down like before.
“Breathe with me.” Ava’s hands stayed steady on his face. “In through your nose…”
He tried, but the air got stuck. His chest wouldn’t work right.
“Jay, listen to me. You’re here. With me. You’re breathing. I can feel you breathing.”
He pulled in a breath. It was small and broken, but still a breath.
“That’s it,” she murmured. “Look at me. Just keep looking at me. Inhale again.”
Another breath. Slightly deeper this time. His chest loosened fractionally.
The flashing lights were fading.
“You’re doing good,” Ava said. “Again. Stay with me.”
He focused on her face—at the little worry line between her brows, the one he used to smooth away with his thumb.
“Inhale. Exhale.”
He breathed with her. The air went down easier now. His vision cleared.
He wasn’t on stage with Ari. He wasn’t trapped in darkness, unable to breathe. He was in his condo, leaning heavily against the wall. Ava leaned into him, her hands on his face as she talked him back to reality.
“That’s it,” she said gently. “You’re having a panic attack. But you’re okay. I promise.”
He took another shaky breath. “I felt it starting and I—” He pressed his lips together. “I couldn’t stop it.”
“You caught it before it got really bad,” Ava said. “You’re okay. Just keep breathing with me.”
He nodded. “Not since I stopped drinking. I haven’t—had—not like that.”
They stood there, her hands on his face, their breathing syncing. Slowly, the crushing weight eased. The panic receded.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Mira leaving—everything—it hit me all at once and I—”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Her hands moved to his shoulders, grounding him. “You’ve had a really hard night.”
He still felt shaky, like he was one wrong thought away from the floor.
“Will you stay tonight?”
It was selfish, asking her for more after everything, but the thought of being alone right now…of being left with nothing but his thoughts and the darkness waiting to drag him back under…
Ava hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded, lacing her fingers with his. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
When he looked down, their matching tattoos caught his eye. The simple knot, split between their palms, connected them even after all this time.
She guided him to the couch, her hand steady on his elbow. “Sit. I’m going to get you some water.”
He sank into the cushions, head in his hands. Ava quickly returned with water and sat close beside him, but not touching. She handed him the glass and he drank slowly, trying to will his hands to stop shaking.
“Thank you,” he whispered, setting the glass down, “for catching me before it got worse.”
“I’m glad I was here.”
He wanted to reach for her, but he wasn’t sure if he had the right. She’d just watched him fall apart, and they were so new and old and undefined all at once.
She must have seen something in his face, because her hand found his and squeezed. The touch was brief, almost tentative, but it steadied him.
“Try to relax.”
He nodded, too exhausted to argue. As he leaned back against the couch, he felt her shift beside him. She stayed close enough that he knew she was there, but left enough space that he could breathe.
But she didn’t leave.