11. Will
ELEVEN
WILL
Six weeks is long enough to forget the sound of someone’s breathing beside you, and short enough that your body still reaches for them in the dark.
I’ve learned that the hard way.
Sometimes I wake with a start and turn my body toward where I expect him to be, the way I would if he were having a nightmare.
How does he handle those now? Does he sleep better or worse without me?
I’ve been agonizing over it for weeks, especially in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep without the weight of him next to me.
There have been times over the last few years that Ari has tried to separate himself from me, and he’d make it a few days, but the terrors that wake him at night always brought him back.
It’s sick how much I relied on his trauma to keep him.
How even in his worst moment, I told myself he’d be back, because he needed me.
Turns out it was the other way around all along.
He’s coming back today.
The new condo I bought still smells like wet paint.
And despite all the furniture deliveries, it still feels empty.
Too clean. Too quiet. The only room that’s ready is the second bedroom, and only because I hired a decorator for it.
It’s done up in shades of grey and blue, Ari’s favorite color, with a mural of a vibrant sunset spanning one wall opposite a view of the Raleigh skyline.
Beneath the large picture window is a writing desk, the notebook I found left behind lying on top.
The pages are so worn that it’s obvious I’ve read every page probably a million times.
I’m not sure a day has gone by that I haven’t run my fingers over the lines, desperate to see his handwriting despite having committed every word to memory.
You don’t love me, you love the scars
The parts of me that never ask for more
You pull me close just to push me back
I’m everything you want—except that
Of all the pain in his notebook, those words gutted me the most. He’s wrong, but he’s also not.
He is what I want, but it’s not something I can let myself have.
It would only hurt him in the end. I love him both for and despite his scars, but I can admit to myself now that I benefitted from the pieces of him that came from trauma.
I thrived on him needing me. I basked in his attention, and let him put me on a pedestal.
Ari was the one person who always chose me, every single time. In the end, it was choosing himself that really opened my eyes to just how much I took him for granted. Life isn’t the same without the effervescent lightness that surrounds him.
I straighten the bed pillows one more time and run my hand over the soft throw folded at the foot of the bed.
It was probably stupid of me to buy a place with him in mind, to expect that this is ultimately where he’ll land.
I told myself it was practical rather than hopeful.
Hope would be presumptuous. Like if I’d gotten a one-bedroom and imagined him coming back to my bed where he belongs.
Where he belonged .
I keep telling myself it’s just being prepared. Naz is in the same building, so we can go to and from rehearsals together.
The truth is, I still don’t know how to exist without Ari orbiting my life. Without his presence softening the edges.
He’s coming back today.
Not to me. But he’s coming back.
Jesse’s mom swats me away from the kitchen island.
“Go sit down and stop hovering, or finish setting the table,” she says playfully. “You’re going to wear a hole in my kitchen floor.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, taking a stack of silverware and setting them around the plates. At least it’s something to do with my hands other than wring them together and fidget.
She gives me an understanding look. We’ve had our fair share of discussions about my falling out with Ari, and while every conversation has been specifically about our brotherly relationship, I’ve always felt like she could see through me.
She’s far too perceptive for someone who doesn’t typically meddle.
“He’ll still love you, you know.”
I freeze.
“No matter what happens, you’ll always be each other’s person. You’ll always have the past you’ve shared together and the future you’ve built with each other as a foundation.”
She smiles, gentle and knowing, then turns back to the stove as though she didn’t just drop a bomb on every one of my secret hopes and obvious fears.
Sounds erupt from the front of the condo. Voices and laughter accompany a noticeable shift in the energy that is specific to Ari entering a room.
My body reacts before my brain does. I straighten.
My pulse kicks. I walk around to the other side of the island and attempt to lean casually against it.
Then walk around to the other side and perch on the end of a barstool.
My hands curl and uncurl at my sides as if they won’t be able to keep from grabbing for him.
When he steps inside, everything else goes a little quiet. My eyes drink him in after so many weeks of being starved of the sight of him.
He looks good.
He looks healthy. Thinner, maybe, but his skin is glowing. His eyes are bright, smiling, and awake. He looks happy, I think. It’s a far cry from the man who walked away from me six weeks ago, that’s for sure.
His hair is longer. He’s wearing a baggy band shirt with the sleeves cut deep enough to show a good bit of his milky soft skin, and faded black jeans that hang low on his hips like they always have.
He looks like himself, and also like someone new.
He greets Jesse’s mom first, wrapping her in a warm hug, thanking her for the welcome home dinner. When he turns toward me, there’s a flicker of hesitation. It’s barely noticeable, but for just a second, his smile seems almost unsure.
I stand up too fast.
For a heartbeat, I don’t know what to do with my hands. With my face. With the ache in my chest that feels like relief and grief tangled together.
Then, with a soft huff of laughter, Ari steps forward and loops his arms around my neck.
I take what might be my first deep breath since he walked away from me and hold on to him for probably too long.
He smells the same—like clean laundry and herbal shampoo. Familiar enough that my throat tightens painfully. I close my eyes for half a second and let myself have it. Just for a second, I have him. Just him, solid and warm and real in my arms again.
When he pulls back, his hands slide down my arms, and I catch a glimpse of something new.
I catch his hand in mine and turn it over gently. There’s fresh ink on the inside of his wrist. Simple, clean script that would have been easy to miss if I wasn’t looking so closely.
Worthy
My breath leaves me in a rush I can’t control.
“This is new,” I say, not wanting to let go of his hand. “When did you get it?”
“Almost a month ago,” he says casually. Like the fact that he’s been gone for that long isn’t immense and cavernous. Like the presence of one simple word isn’t something beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. Like it isn’t rearranging something fundamental inside me.
I stare at it longer than I should. The placement. The word. The meaning. My thumb instinctively brushes over the delicate script. I so badly want to press my lips against it.
Ari smiles fondly, but cautiously, and takes a small step back. I release his wrist, realizing how strange and yet completely like myself I’m being.
Dinner passes in a blur of conversation.
Ari talks animatedly about a show he saw in New York.
He and Naz discuss the transitions they’ve been working on long distance.
We talk about the new tour plans, which are going to be a lot different from what we’re used to, with fewer shows and more rest days.
I have to hand it to Blake, he’s been pushing for balance like it’s a moral crusade.
I thought he was only filling in as manager until they found someone else, but he’s sticking with us.
Naz brings up Blake’s announcement that we’re being considered for the Superbowl halftime show. He’s really the only sports guy among us, but it would definitely be a career milestone.
Jesse shrugs. “I don’t really care one way or the other. It’s not really my thing, but I’m down if y’all want to.”
“I only care about football because of tight pants,” Ari deadpans.
Jesse high-fives him without missing a beat.
I laugh with everyone else, but everything feels wrong. I feel like I’m watching Ari from a different room. Like I’m watching him from behind a television screen or something.
Jesse’s mom asks Ari how his flight was and where he’s staying.
“I, uh, I have an extra room available if you don’t want to stay in a hotel.”
“Oh, well thank you. Eric actually dropped my bags off at Naz’s place. I was going to crash there until we leave for the tour.”
I nod quickly, forcing a smile. “That’s cool. We’ll be neighbors. I got a place in the same building.”
Why is it so hard to breathe?
“That’s nice,” Ari says, and he sounds like he means it.
“Yeah, we can all go to rehearsals together, pick up Jesse on the way.”
Later, when we’re standing in the lobby of our condo building, I’m at a loss for what to say despite having so much I want to tell him.
“Thanks for the invite to stay with you,” Ari says quietly.
Fuck, this is awkward. It’s never been like this before.
“Yeah, no problem. And the offer stands, you know, if Naz gets too loud or anything.
He laughs. “All Naz does is read.”
“I know,” I say. “Still. I’m here if you need me.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Not anger. Not warmth.
Distance.
“You always are,” he says quietly. “And I appreciate that. But I’ve been working really hard on not needing you.”
His words, however gently they were delivered, have the same effect a razor edge has on paper.
I swallow the hurt down. “It looks like you’ve done well,” I manage.
He gives me a sad smile, and just like that, we’re standing on opposite sides of something neither of us knows how to cross anymore.
Things between Ari and I are awkward as we tip-toe around each other, both on our best, most polite behavior. It’s kind of excruciating for everyone involved. But at least the band dynamics are still there.
Rehearsals feel natural. We’re vibing well, and the music still clicks as well as it ever has. Maybe even better, because there’s been so much growth behind the scenes.
Well, for most of them.
Jesse is a new person. Ari is a new person. Naz is as rock-solid and steady as ever, but he’s also carrying a new, refreshing energy into our show.
I don’t quite know what to do with myself.
I don’t know what my role is anymore, outside of six strings and muscle memory and the short moments when I forget that Ari isn’t mine anymore—that he never was.
I don’t know how to be a person Ari doesn’t need.
It’s like all of my self-worth and purpose was wrapped around who I was to him and vice versa.
I feel like I’m fading away entirely. How can I be part of his happiness when I’m the thing he had to escape to find it?
We board the plane for the next leg of the tour, business as usual, yet nothing is the same.
I watch Ari settle into his seat a few rows up, laughing with Naz, relaxed and self-assured in a way that makes my chest ache.
I’m proud of him. I also miss him and who we used to be to each other.
And I don’t know how to balance both truths at once.