Chapter Eleven
It was past midnight when Jay walked into the condo.
He didn’t want to be here. He’d walked the streets for an hour after leaving the hospital, hoping exhaustion would make the solitude bearable. But it didn’t. It never did. Eventually he’d run out of sidewalk and had to come home to the silence.
At almost thirty, he still hadn’t learned how to be alone.
He used to think it was a twin thing—maybe he wasn’t supposed to be alone because he’d had company since the womb.
But Ari never had the same issue. His brother actually preferred being alone and could disappear into silence for days, coming out fine on the other side.
Jay wasn’t wired that way.
He’d hoped Mira would be home, that they could talk. But when the lights came on, nothing had changed since he’d left for the hospital the day before.
He knew she was safe at Maya’s. That was something, at least. But a part of him couldn’t stop wondering if Riley knew where to find her.
Mira had always been predictable, keeping to the same coffee shops, same routes, same corner in the library, same friends.
And Riley seemingly spent years learning her patterns.
The thought sat heavy in his chest. His sister, bruised and broken, and he was here alone in this too-quiet condo. He wanted to be with her—wanted to help. But that wasn’t his call to make right now.
So he went through the motions: shower, face cream, and the careful combing of his newly dark hair. He slipped into a frayed Avenged Sevenfold shirt, a relic from a Warped Tour summer when his only problems were sunstroke and a broken guitar string.
He climbed into bed with a cup of kava tea that tasted like dirt (his therapist swore it settled the nerves). His phone sat on the nightstand beside him, close enough to grab if Mira needed him, while he tried to find something to distract himself.
The movie options on his TV blended together, his brain picking through everything that happened in the last few days.
It was no wonder he was restless. Everything was in a flux state: his sister needed space, his brother couldn’t talk to him, he’d been talking to Ava again, and he’d stepped away from the friends who were paid to be around him all the time.
For the first time in his life, Jay wasn’t sure what he was going to do next.
A knock at the door shattered the quiet, making him flinch and splash tea onto the blanket. Grimacing, he set the cup aside and stood.
It was too late for visitors, unless another fan was trying something stupid, like that one time a woman climbed to his hotel window. He hoped not. He wasn’t in the mood to call the cops.
When he peered through the peephole, the last thing he expected was Ava standing there.
Fumbling with the deadbolt, he jerked the door open.
“What are you doing here?”
She clutched his leather journal, eyes red and puffy as though she’d been crying for hours.
“You read it?”
“Can I come in?” she croaked.
He forced a grin, attempting to ease the tension as he moved aside. “When have I ever turned down a sleepover?”
She stepped inside, facing away from him.
When he shut the door, he cleared his throat. “How did you even get up here? There are at least three doors that require card access.”
She spun on him then, backing him into the door with a finger pointed. “How dare you!”
She hurled the journal at his feet, pages crumpling against the floor.
“Do you know what happened to the patient I lost, Jay?” Her voice shook, tears streaming down her cheeks now.
“His name was Max. He was twelve. Killed by a drunk driver. Some bastard got wasted and took out a mother and son. The father’s alone now and you—” She choked on a sob.
“You drove into a ditch, because of our fight? You told me you weren’t driving that night! You could’ve killed someone!”
Jay shrunk under her gaze. A bitter taste flooded his mouth as the memory of that night clawed to the surface—the screech of tires, the jolt of the car hitting the ditch, red and blue lights, the haze of vodka and anger blurring it all.
He could no longer meet her eyes and dropped his gaze to the floor.
He pictured a faceless kid gone because of someone like him.
“You almost killed yourself, too,” she snarled. “You’re a selfish moron!”
She started to pound him in the chest—not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to break whatever was left of his pride.
Jay decided it was best he didn’t speak.
“And then you go and overdose on purpose, you absolute prick!” She hit him in the chest one last time and shoved him away, walking toward the living room only to stomp back. “You went and left me, and then you tried to make it permanent?!”
Her breath was ragged, and her fingers dug into his shirt. Their eyes locked. “Don’t do that again. Never again!”
If it were that simple—if he could erase all the pain and know he’d never fall back into that headspace—he would.
Finally he said, “What if I break again?”
She relaxed her grip on his shirt. “You were never broken to begin with.”
He wanted to believe her, but doubt gnawed at him.
“Every day’s a battle for me,” he conceded, voice low. “Every day, I’m tempted to drink, to disappear. What if I lose again?”
“Then we fight together, idiot.”
“Together?” he echoed.
“That’s what we should’ve done from the start. I knew you were struggling, but I was too immature to know what to do. I left you hanging when you needed me.” She let him go, her arms dropping to her sides. “I won’t let you feel that alone again.”
He wanted to look away, to escape the ache of her promise, but those green eyes held him. “What if it’s too much?” His voice cracked. “What if I drag you down with me?”
“You won’t.” She stepped closer. “I can carry some of this with you, but you have to stop shutting me out.”
“You shouldn’t have to—”
“You don’t get to decide what I can handle, Jay.” She reached down, interlacing their fingers. The matching knots on their palms aligned. “We promised we’d face everything together. If you cut me out or try to shield me from yourself…we’re breaking that promise.”
Slowly, he nodded, hope and fear swirling inside him. “Okay. Together.” The words felt like a surrender to something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
A small smile broke through her serious expression, which made the tightness in his chest loosen just a little. It wouldn’t be easy, but maybe he was actually stronger than he used to be—better than he used to be.
She leaned into him then, pushing her weight onto him and shuddering a sigh. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, letting his chin rest on her head. The faint citrus of her perfume grounded him.
“God,” she whispered against his shirt. “I could’ve lost this.”
“Hmm?”
“I didn’t even know I almost lost the chance to see you again—to hold you like this.”
They stood like that for a long moment, breathing together. Her fingers traced absent patterns on his back, and he felt a shift; her body gradually softened against his, the tension draining out of her shoulders. The anger had burned through her and left something else in its wake.
When she finally pulled back to look at him, her eyes were red-rimmed but clear. She studied his face like she was seeing him for the first time in years. Maybe she was.
“Hi,” she said softly, and it was absurd. After everything they’d just said, he almost laughed.
“Hi,” he managed back.
Her hand came up to his face, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. He leaned into it without thinking, eyes closing.
When he opened them, she was still watching him. Her thumb moved to his bottom lip, and his breath caught.
“Jay,” she whispered, low and wanting.
“Yeah?” His voice came out rough.
She looked at him like she was asking permission. Then she closed the distance.
The kiss started soft, both of them careful with it.
Then her fingers slid into his hair and his hands found her waist and careful stopped mattering.
She made a small sound against his mouth, and it undid him completely.
His grip tightened and she kissed him harder, more desperately, five years of distance collapsing into nothing.
They broke apart breathing hard. Her pupils were blown wide, and she looked at him like she was starving.
“Bedroom?”
He nodded and they moved, stumbling, stopping every few steps because neither of them could seem to go more than two feet without pulling the other back. Her sweatshirt hit the floor somewhere in the hallway. His shirt followed. Her hands were on his chest, his stomach, his back, everywhere.
Her back hit the doorframe and he pressed into her, hands sliding down her sides, her hips—
He made himself stop.
Stepping back, he sat on the edge of the bed. He clasped his hands between his knees like he didn’t trust them.
“A…” He took another breath. “We don’t have to…”
Offering her an escape was breaking him, but he needed her to choose this—to choose him.
Ava stepped closer. “Jay, it’s always been you.”
She pushed him back against the velvet blanket, her palm on his stomach. He sucked in a breath as she traced every contour of him like she was afraid he might disappear.
He surrendered to it. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
“Then don’t leave me again.” Her breath hitched. “I can’t—you can’t—”
He pulled her down and kissed her, swallowing whatever she was about to say. He rolled them over, hovering above her, his hands on either side of her head. He let his lips trail down her jaw and along her neck.
“I’m here, A,” he murmured.
His hands slid under her, lifting her gently, and she wrapped her legs around him. The lamplight caught the tear tracks on her cheeks, and he kissed them away—one, and then the other.
“I love you.”
He tensed, braced for her to pull back, to tell him it was too much.
She only tightened her grip, her lips grazing his. “I love you, too. Never stopped.”