Chapter Fifteen #2
Ma’s laugh rang out from the kitchen. “Or you’re shorter, Rog!”
Jay toed off his shoes, lining them up neatly beside Ava’s, and hung his jacket on one of the sand dollar hooks by the door. His fingers brushed the textured surface, grounding him for a fleeting moment.
“I’ll set the table,” Pop offered, heading to the dining room to their right.
Jay followed Ava as she veered left into the kitchen. It still looked like something out of the 90s with its Tuscan theme even though it now paired oddly with newer beach decor. It was charming in the way homes that had been loved for decades always were.
“Happy early birthday, baby!”
Ma placed her oven mitts on the counter and swept Ava into a tight hug. When she spotted Jay over Ava’s shoulder, she beamed at him. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Ava pulled away only for her mom to come and squeeze Jay into a hug as well. Somehow, her hugs were always tighter than Pop’s.
She pulled back just enough to take his face in her hands. “You look good, Jay.”
He managed a smile. “Thanks, Ma.”
“How’ve you been, Mr. Hotshot?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Doing okay.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, seeing through him like Ava always did. But before she could press, her expression shifted. “We heard about Ari. Has there been any news?”
“Nothing new.” He kept his voice steady. “We take it day by day.”
“And Samira? How’s she holding up?”
The whole family is a damn mess, as usual.
He swallowed the thought.
“She’s hanging in there,” he said carefully. “She’s almost done with her MBA.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I always knew she was a bright one.”
Jay’s smile grew heavier, but he drew a slow breath and let it go.
He couldn’t make Mira call him back. He couldn’t make Ari wake up, and there was nothing he could do about the house next door.
All he could do was get through dinner, celebrate Ava, reconnect with her family, and stay fully present.
“What’s for dinner, Ma?” Ava asked, leaning her hip against the counter.
“It’s meatloaf night,” she said brightly.
Ava laughed, and he let the sound of her joy pull him along and laughed along with her. And when Pop mentioned they’d just run out of the rest of the ketchup, they both cracked up again, their laughter bouncing off the worn kitchen walls.
At the table, Jay dug into the meatloaf, noting with a quiet smirk that it wasn’t as dry as it used to be.
The evening went smoothly at first. Pop told stories about his latest fishing trip, complaining about tourists crowding his favorite spots. Ma showed them photos on her phone of beach houses in Florida, debating which neighborhood would be best.
But the window to their kitchen showed the house next door, and Jay slowly felt himself drifting. He was present enough to laugh at the right moments, to nod and respond, but his mind kept pulling away. He felt like an imposter, playing house in the only home he’d ever really known.
By the time they brought out a giant cupcake with a sparkling candle, Jay was on autopilot.
He played along, even managing to steal a bite before she was ready to share.
She swatted him, laughing, as icing smeared across his nose.
Their laughter filled the air with familiarity and warmth, but Jay only kept pulling further away.
When Ava and Ma went into the kitchen to clean up, Jay helped Pop clear the table. A comfortable silence settled, broken only when Pop cleared his throat.
“Jayesh.”
Jay stood awkwardly, a stack of plates in one hand and two water glasses precariously in the other. It was the first time that night he felt the mood shift to something more serious.
“Now, I know you had a lot going on, and you were always a bit of a lost soul. My Ava helped you find your way, and we’ve always cared about you, too.” He took in a breath. “Be careful with her this time.”
He let out a sigh, his deep green eyes boring into Jay.
“I know that whatever happened last time was something me and her mama won’t understand.
She didn’t tell us everything, and I know that because she’s a horrible liar.
” Pop’s lips twitched, but the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I don’t want to see my little girl like that ever again. ”
The words landed like a hand around his throat.
“I don’t either,” Jay agreed.
“Seeing y’all tonight...” Pop’s voice trailed off for a moment. “It’s obvious you still love her. I know you loved her then, too.”
Jay was barely breathing now.
“Just make sure you love her right this time.”
“I will,” Jay managed, but it felt like a promise he didn’t deserve to make.
They carried the dishes into the kitchen, and with each step, Jay felt the weight of Pop’s words growing heavier, pressing down on him.
Ava gently took the stack from his hands, her fingers brushing his as she insisted on handling it.
With a playful grin, she shooed her mom away from the sink and started to tease Pop about the new stain on his shirt.
Her face glowed. She was happy.
He was going to ruin it. He always did.
“Jay, can you—” Ava started.
“I’m gonna run to the restroom,” he mumbled, cutting her off.
Her eyes lifted, checking again. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he lied.
He didn’t wait for her response. His feet carried him out of the kitchen, past the dining room, and into the den. It was quieter here, the conversation and clatter of dishes fading into the background.
Just make sure you love her right this time.
Jay’s skin felt too tight, his breathing too shallow. The calm he was desperately chasing wasn’t coming. His hands flexed at his sides, trying to shake the tension.
Then his eyes drifted across the room and landed on the old liquor cabinet. It wasn’t much—a plain wooden thing with glass doors, but his gaze stuck there like a magnet was pulling him in.
A memory flashed: Ava, sitting cross-legged on her bed, her eyes sparkling as they passed a bottle of whiskey back and forth, giggling over how they’d swiped it from this exact cabinet to celebrate his seventeenth birthday. That night had been reckless and stupid, but they’d been so carefree.
For a moment, Jay almost smiled, but the warmth was gone as fast as it came. The memory left a hollow ache behind, dragging his focus back to the cabinet as his chest tightened. He pulled in a breath and got nothing from it.
He squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to the grounding exercise.
What are five things you can see?
His eyes snapped open.
The gleam of whiskey glasses reflecting the dim light. The label on a bottle of vintage wine, peeling at the edges. The faint ring on the shelf where a glass had once rested too long. The flicker of a shadow across the glass. And then—
Red and blue lights.
The flash burst across his vision, and suddenly he wasn’t in the den anymore. He was trapped in the twisted metal of his car, the steering wheel crushing his ribs as glass embedded in his skin.
He couldn’t breathe. The air wouldn’t come.
What are four things you can feel?
Jay stumbled forward, his hand catching the edge of the cabinet door, smooth wood, cool under his palm.
But then it shifted, becoming the steering wheel slick with his own blood.
The carpet beneath his feet turned to broken glass.
His shirt clung to his back, soaked with sweat or blood—he couldn’t tell.
His chest, his ribs, the crushing pressure… he couldn’t breathe.
God, he couldn’t breathe.
His knees buckled and he hit the carpet hard, hands clawing at his throat as he tried to force air into his lungs that wouldn’t expand. Black spots danced at the edge of his vision.
Three things you can hear. Focus. Three things.
The sound of the heater. Ava’s distant laughter from the kitchen.
The panic spiked. His vision whited out for a second.
Ari.
His twin, lying in a hospital bed because Jay hadn’t been there for him. Because he was always too wrapped up in his own shit. They were supposed to be connected, supposed to feel each other’s pain, but he’d been numb to everything except his own misery. And now…
Keep going. Two things you can smell.
All he could smell was gasoline and blood. The metallic tang of it stuck in his nose along with the smell of the hospital—the smell of antiseptic where they’d cut open his chest, where Ari lay dying because Jay had failed him.
His breathing turned to hyperventilating gasps. Each inhale felt like swallowing broken glass.
Mira.
Fourteen years old and where had Jay been? Chasing the band while his baby sister was left alone with their father. She’d needed him, and he’d chosen vodka and stage lights instead. And now she was with Riley because Jay had introduced them.
One thing you can taste.
He tasted copper. The same taste from the crash, from dying in that ditch when his body had tried to shut down.
No. Start over. Five things.
But he couldn’t. The exercise was supposed to ground him in reality, but reality was the problem.
Reality was Ari in a coma. Reality was Mira with bruises Jay had caused by introducing her to a monster.
Reality was Ava, who he’d left without warning because he was too much of a coward to let her watch him fall apart.
Five things. Try again. Five things you can see.
The red and blue lights strobed faster. His hands pressed against the carpet, but it felt like the grass paramedics threw him onto. His chest wouldn’t expand. His lungs wouldn’t work.
Ava was in the other room. He should call for her, ask for help.
She’d already pulled him out of it after Mira left, and the pity in her eyes then was undeniable. He couldn’t let her see him like this—on the floor, falling apart, and proving he was even weaker than he looked. She’d spent enough years trying to save him from himself.
Ari’s machines beeping. Mira’s broken guitar. Ava’s tear-stained face. His father’s hands. His mother’s bangles glinting as she walked out the door.
Two things you can smell.
Gasoline and blood. Gasoline and blood.