7. Jane
7
JANE
“ T he studio looks great.” My breath catches looking around the space.
Walker’s arm is draped over Scar’s shoulders as he holds her tightly to his side. He kisses the top of her head and she leans into him as they look at their home studio proudly.
They renovated Walker’s basement when Scar moved in a few months ago to make the studio space functional for both of them. In one corner sits Walker’s kit, this one entirely matte black.
Looks like he retired his neon green one with Whisper Me Nothings ending.
There’s a booth through a soundproof door, looking dark and cozy with soft fairy lights inside. A large panel of equipment that I have no idea what it actually does sits in front of the booth. Scar’s decks that she uses at shows sit on a large desk on the opposite side and speakers wrap around the entire space.
They took out all the overhead lighting and instead have neon signs around the space and lamps scattered around. The dark purple and lime green glow give the space a fun but cool atmosphere. By the door is a large, plush black couch that’s just inviting you to flop onto.
A few guitars hang on the walls, and a small piano sits back by Walker’s kit.
“Scar had the vision for it,” Walker says. He looks at her with such admiration, such love, I almost feel like I’m intruding on them. But it’s good to see them so happy. Even Scar greeted me with a smile when I arrived, which can be rare for her.
She brushes him off, saying, “He made it happen. You should’ve seen how he eagle-eyed the contractors the entire time. If they weren’t getting paid so much, they would’ve told him to fuck off.”
Walker pinches her shoulder and she elbows his side.
“Well, they did a great job,” I say. “I wouldn’t know how to play a single instrument here, but yet I want to spend all day here.”
Walker got all the musical and creative genes, while I got the love for learning and excelled academically. Our mom is a graphic designer, while our dad is a sociology professor, so safe to say which one we each inherited our skills from.
“We pretty much do anytime Scar’s not on the road,” Walker says.
“How’s the album coming along?” I ask Scar.
Her face darkens slightly as she shifts from foot to foot. “It’s alright,” she sighs. “Not as far along as I would like at this point. I’ve been adding on a lot of shows, which is great, but doesn’t give me a lot of down time to get work done.”
Walker squeezes her and she gives him a half-smile.
“Anyone hungry?” he asks.
“Starving,” Scar and I answer at the same time and laugh.
Walker heads out of the studio and toward the stairs. “Then let's get some food ordered!”
The three of us make our way upstairs, making small talk along the way. We gather around the massive island in their kitchen as Walker pulls out his phone, ordering food from his favorite Chinese restaurant. Knowing him, we’re going to have enough to feed an entire horde and not just three people.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Scar asks me, walking over to the fridge. The setting sun streaming through the floor-length windows catches the purple ends of her hair, casting them in a warm glow.
“Water’s fine,” I say.
She looks over her shoulder at me. “We have wine. You like red, right?”
I shake my head. “I’m good with water.”
“You can drink in front of me, you know.” She slides a bottled water across the counter, then pops a diet soda open for herself. Walker glances up at the sound.
Scar’s been sober for over three years now. While she doesn’t have a problem being around others while they drink, I’ve noticed that my brother is mindful of it and doesn't do it himself when she’s around. We’re aware it’s not triggering for her, but he does it out of support, and I want to do the same.
“I know,” I say, keeping my voice even. “But Nikolai and I split two bottles last night at dinner and I don’t really need any more tonight.”
Walker snorts as he finishes up the order and sets his phone on the marbled counter. “Why am I not surprised? And here I thought it was supposed to be a business dinner, not a kegger.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. We were at a steakhouse, not Brent’s basement house party.”
“How’d it go?” Walker asks, grabbing a bottle of water for himself and leaning on the opposite end of the counter. A new tattoo on his forearm catches my eye. It’s another one in black and white, like all of the ink he has. Unlike Hayden who is covered almost head to toe in it, Walker has various patchwork pieces decorating his arms.
And as far as I know, Nikolai has never let a tattoo needle anywhere near his skin. But a lot can change over the years, so what do I really know?
“It went fine,” I say, suddenly nervous. I shouldn’t be. I did nothing wrong. But despite the chill in the air from the air conditioning, my skin is flushed.
“How does the contract look?” Walker presses, and I relax, knowing he’s asking because he cares about his best friend getting tied into a new career opportunity that doesn’t include the band, and not because he thinks anything is up between us.
He didn’t even blink twice when I told him I was flying out to meet with Nikolai for it. Why would he? As far as he knows, we’ve always just been friends.
“It’s decent enough,” I say. “Terms are as fair as they come. It does lock him in for three albums, which gave me pause.”
“Three albums?” Walker chokes on his drink, and Scar reaches over, patting a hand on his back. His face turns red but I don’t think it’s solely due to his sputtering. “He’s not going to sign that, is he?”
I shrug. “He didn’t seem to have a problem with it.”
“B-but what if…” Walker starts, then trails off, shaking his head. His black hair, the same shade as my own, falls in his eyes and he brushes it back. “Never mind. That’s great. I’m glad you were able to take a look for him. Good he’s getting back out there.” The sadness is heavy in his tone.
Scar sticks close to his side, leaning her head against his arm.
“You guys tried your best,” she says softly. “You never know what the future holds.”
A muscle ticks in Walker’s jaw but he doesn’t respond.
“He hasn’t signed it yet,” I say, letting the unsaid words hang between us.
But Walker just shakes his head and leans back over the counter. “It’s done.”
It is, but clearly, he’s still struggling with it almost a year later.
“Have you talked to Reid at all?”
Walker scoffs. “Fuck no. Why would I?”
Scar bites her lip, averting her eyes. I see the guilt she carries, unfairly so, whenever Reid comes up.
She has all the rights to hold a grudge against him. After all, he is the one who helped her past DUI and rehab stint come to light as her career was gaining traction when she was on tour with the band. He also fed some false rumors in the mix, anonymously , but then admitted it to the guys during one of their meetings with Arun.
Walker has never forgiven him for the betrayal of not only Scar, but also their friendship. The guys always stood as one against everyone: the label, management, the media. To have Reid go behind their backs hurt them all.
“I’m just asking,” I backpedal, hating the way his green eyes, the same as my own, harden, as they stare me down. As if I’m betraying him just by bringing up Reid’s name in his house.
“Why would you even ask me that?”
“Because,” I say, growing frustrated. “He’s one of your best friends and clearly working on music with other artists isn’t doing it for you. You miss the band and I’m not saying that what he did was right, but you have to admit your part in the dissolution of it all.”
Walker straightens up and crosses his thick arms across his broad chest. “My part? You mean, defending Scar?”
“Walker—” Scar starts.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t defend her. It’s fucked up what he did. I’m just saying that you’re just as stubborn as he is.”
“You weren’t there, Jane. We tried. It never got anywhere except more fighting.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, raising my hands in defeat. It’s not like I’m trying to change his mind or rewrite the past. They’re all adults and can make their own decisions.
But if Nikolai is going to sign a contract for three albums, the guys should be aware of that because there really isn’t any turning back at that point.
“I’m not trying to fight with you about it,” I say, swiping my thumb across a bead of condensation on the water bottle. “I just don’t want you to live with regrets.”
Because they eat at you from the inside out.
Walker strides around the counter, coming over to my side. He pulls me into his side and lays his head on top of my own. “I know. I love you for it. But what’s done is done. If Nikolai wants to sign, he should do it.”
I lean into him for a moment, enjoying the familiarity that only can come from family.
I flick my eyes over to Scar as she twirls her soda can around in little circles. “Scar, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off like I was defending Reid or anything.”
She immediately cuts me off. “No, I didn’t think you were. It’s all good.”
I’m not sure if she’s moved past it because of her own forgiveness of Reid, or for Walker’s sake. More likely for my brother, which makes me love her even more. She let down all of her walls for him and I know she’d do anything for him, just like he would for her.
Walker pulls away, and I shiver, missing the heat that always radiates off him. I rub my hands over my arms as goosebumps rise.
“It’s spring, why is your house like an igloo?” Even the sun shining in is losing its battle with the AC.
Scar rolls her eyes and points to her hoodie. “Thank you. That would be because of your brother. He insists we keep the place on 65 degrees all day long.”
My eyes widen as I turn to look at him. “Are you serious?”
He shrugs in his cut-off T-shirt, completely unbothered by the chill. “I run warm.”
“I’m honestly surprised he put a shirt on today.” Scar snorts, taking a sip of her drink. “It’s a rare occurrence around here.”
Walker cocks an eyebrow at her and slowly rounds the island. “That’s not something you usually complain about.”
She rolls her eyes, playing it cool, but she can’t hide the pink blush staining her cheeks.
“Should I leave you two alone or…” I say, hitching my thumb toward the door.
Scar plants a hand against Walker’s chest and gives him a playful shove as he tries to grab her. “Back off. And go grab your sister one of my sweatshirts to borrow.”
Walker allows himself to be shoved away with an exaggerated pout. He starts to walk upstairs, and I call after him, “Bring me one of your hoodies, please.”
Scar frowns, and I tilt my head to the side. “You don’t actually think that you have anything that would fit me, do you?”
She’s not only almost six inches shorter than me, but also many sizes smaller.
“I have plenty of oversized sweatshirts.” She gestures to the one she’s wearing that hangs partway down her thighs.
“For you, they are. But I also like oversized things. And your oversized is more like my true size.”
She chews on the inside of her mouth as she mutters a quiet, “Sorry.”
I brush her off. “You don’t have to apologize.”
It’s not something that bothers me anymore. When I was growing up and in college, however, I always hated when my smaller friends asked if I wanted to borrow anything of theirs on a night out when I complained of being sick of all of my clothes. And when I would tell them that I wouldn’t fit in any of their stuff, they’d always come back with something like, Don’t say that! You’re beautiful!
I didn’t say I was ugly. I just said I wouldn’t fit in their small crop top.
Walker jogs down the stairs and throws me an old Whisper Me Nothings hoodie from their second tour. The fabric is worn and faded, but the embroidery on it is still holding strong.
I pull it over my head and burrow in. Scar chuckles at me but smiles knowingly. “If it was up to me, it’d be a solid 75 degrees in here.”
Walker gasps in horror. “Cook me alive, why don’t you.”
We roll our eyes at him and move into the living room while we wait for the food to arrive. I sink into one of the plush couches and stretch out, while Walker and Scar snuggle close on the one opposite of me. We get caught up on what’s new since we all last saw each other.
Scar talks about her new album and the Vegas residency she’s had for the last couple of months. Between that and her other shows around the country and internationally, I don’t know how she gets any sleep at all.
Walker’s been spending time in the studio with various artists, recording drums for them, but travels with Scar as much as he can. They recently visited her hometown to see her baby niece, which thankfully, was a smooth visit with no run-ins with her parents.
By the time the food arrives and we have piles of boxes splayed across their glass coffee table, the conversation has turned to me.
“So if Liam’s back around now, you think there’s any chance you’ll get back together with him?” Walker asks me around a mouthful of food. Scar elbows him and frowns.
“What?” he asks her.
“Try swallowing your food before you talk next time. You just launched a kernel of rice on my knee.” She flicks it off with a grimace.
Laughter clogs my throat but I swallow it down. Good luck to Scar on that one. Our mom has been losing that battle with him for years.
Walker brushes her off and looks at me expectedly.
“Absolutely not,” I say. I take another bite of Mongolian beef to try to shut down any more conversation about it.
He either doesn’t take the hint or doesn’t care. “Why not?”
I swallow my bite before answering, unlike him. “Because we broke up for a reason.”
“And that was…?”
We enter into a glaring contest. Scar bounces her eyes between the two of us and cracks a grin at the stalemate.
“Sometimes things just don’t work out,” I grit out.
“You don’t just end a long-term relationship like that for no reason.”
“I never said there wasn’t a reason.”
“But you never said what the reason was.”
“He cheated on me.”
Walker’s mouth drops open and Scar freezes.
“He what?” Walker says, voice low.
“Don’t make me repeat it a second time.” I hate the way my cheeks heat with embarrassment and stomach twists having to admit it out loud. Even though I know, I know , that it’s not my fault at how everything played out, I can’t help but feel ashamed at admitting it.
“Well, fuck him, then.” Scar sits back, crossing her legs like that’s that .
I admire the resolution with which she says it. While we’ve grown closer since she started dating Walker, I don’t know much about any of her previous relationships. The topic has never come up before, and honestly, it’d be strange to discuss with her.
Although it would be simple for Scar.
Cut and dry.
He cheated?
Fuck him. Relationship over and nothing else to say.
I always thought that’s how I would be, too. My mom said she knew I’d grow up and be a lawyer since I learned how to talk. I was always strong-willed, unwavering in my beliefs, and had a strong sense of self that needed to be a woman in a field like that.
But when I found out what Liam was doing, I can’t say that I didn’t consider pretending to not have seen his phone. To put it back on the nightstand, slip into bed, and pretend like everything was fine.
Sure, anger and betrayal cut through me like a hot knife and I wanted to rip open the shower door, shove his phone in his face, and demand answers.
But there was a small, devastatingly sad part of myself that had grown over the years and fed by him, that wanted me to let it go.
Because being with him meant that I didn’t have to be alone. I didn’t have to face the reality that I had failed and that seven years were for nothing.
And it gave renewed life to that ugly voice inside my head that loved to creep up at times when I’m most vulnerable. That no one else would find me attractive or worthy of love if I could be discarded as easily as Liam clearly did.
“When did you find out?” Walker asks.
I push the rice around my plate to distract me before I mutter, “Right before I came to visit you on tour last year.”
Walker’s eyes almost bulge out of his head. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I just wanted to enjoy a night away from everything I had going on back home.”
“So that’s why you were so upset that night…” Walker trails off, putting the pieces together.
We all went out to a club and I tried drowning all thoughts of what I caught on Liam’s phone under tequila and champagne, but it didn’t work. I ended the night crying on Nikolai’s shoulder and telling him everything, then hating myself the next morning for it. He didn’t need to see my tears or hear that another man didn’t want me, either .
“How did you find out?” Scar asks.
“His phone.”
Scar scoffs. “Of course. Men are so stupid.”
“Hey!” Walker looks at her, affronted. But Scar merely shrugs and goes back to eating.
“He left it out on his nightstand, face up, while he was in the shower.” I wasn’t snooping. It was literally right there. “And it kept buzzing and buzzing while I was trying to go to sleep, so I rolled over to silence it. And yeah…” I trail off, not wanting to say anything more.
God, it’s so fucking cliché it makes my teeth ache.
Two different girls, same exact text threads.
Flirting, photos, promises made that were supposed to be saved for me.
But it wasn’t the words of love or reassurances that he had a great night with them that caused my chest to cave and bile to rise to the back of the throat.
It was his responses to the photos they sent him of themselves.
Commenting on how perfect their toned bodies were, how beautiful they were splayed out for him and how he wished he could be there to touch every inch of them.
Touch them in ways he didn’t touch me anymore.
Maybe he wanted me to find them. Maybe he had been wanting out for a long time and never had the balls to tell me to my face, so he thought it would be easier if I was the one to do it.
“Jane, I’m so fucking sorry. He’s a loser. He always has been,” Walker says softly as he leans his elbows on his knees. “I wish you would’ve told me.”
Walker never particularly seemed to love Liam, but I think he bought into the happiness that I always tried to project around our relationship. And if I was happy, then he was happy for me.
“I was embarrassed. Still am,” I mutter.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Yeah, he should be the one embarrassed that he fumbled you,” Scar pipes in.
I shoot her a grateful smile and set my plate on the table. My appetite is gone, and that wine Scar offered earlier is sounding better right now.
Sensing my shift in mood, Walker changes the conversation and we start chatting about our parents' newest hobby: jam making. No kidding, we’ve both received countless jars in the mail over the last few months. Unsurprisingly, a few of them busted open in transit and arrived in explosive, sticky fashion.
They’ve been empty nesters for years now, but our dad retired from teaching after the last semester. Now, they seem to have too much time on their hands.
I help them clean up from dinner and pack away all of the leftovers. Walker tries to convince me to stay for a movie, but I decline, ready to retreat to the comfort of my hotel room and privacy.
Plus, being around the two of them, as much as I love them, is hard sometimes. To see two people understand each other and care for one another like they do. It’s in the small things, like how they seem to subconsciously gravitate toward the other even as they move around the kitchen, cleaning up dishes. It’s in the small touches where Scar brushes a hand over Walker’s tattoos while they sit side by side on the couch, deep in conversation. It’s the way his eyes follow her wherever she goes, as if losing sight of her for even a moment would be utterly devastating.
It all picks at that desolate, isolating part of myself that I keep burying further and further down, hoping one day it’ll disappear. But it never does.
I think back to Nikolai’s question as I pulled away from the restaurant last night.
“Can I see you again before you fly out Sunday?”
In the moment, as his fingers cradled a lock of my hair as if he was trying to mesmerize the feeling, I wanted to say yes. I wanted to invite him back to my room and talk to him for hours, just like old times.
Maybe I even wanted more. To see if he could fill that void inside or at the very least, dull its razor-sharp edge.
But I already learned my lesson with him. And I was made a fool again by the man that came after him.
I won’t allow that to happen for a third time.
I drift over to the windows that look over the hills of LA. While they’re decorated with beautiful homes that cost more money than I can even imagine, I miss the architecture in Boston. The history, the charm, the details and rich colors. That might be just about the only thing I miss about there right now.
I feel more than see when Walker strides up next to me, looking out at the view as well.
“I miss you, Janie,” my brother says, pulling me to his side. His arm engulfs me and instantly a sense of peace washes over me. He’s my home, my other half, and I don’t think I realized until now how alone I’ve felt in Boston. Yes, I have Hallie and a group of girlfriends back there. But life has been so busy lately, that it feels like getting everyone together requires an entire month of planning and arranging schedules.
Plus, some of them are getting married and having kids and it sort of feels like I’m being left behind. What do I have outside of work?
“I miss you, too.” I burrow in closer. “I wish we could see each other more often than just a few times a year.”
“We could hang out more if you moved out here, you know?” His voice takes on that hopeful quality that it always does when he suggests I move out here. He’s been trying to get me to since we were eighteen.
I laugh softly. “Still trying to get me on that one?”
He squeezes my shoulder. “Always.”
Being twins, there could’ve been a level of competition between the two of us. Comparisons are inevitable and there can often be a divide that’s formed where one twin is dubbed a certain type and the other is dubbed another.
But thankfully our parents never fostered that kind of environment for us. We were always encouraged to try whatever we wanted to do, regardless of any expectations that might have been there for us. And if we tried the same thing, like soccer when we were much younger, they encouraged us to help each other practice and play together.
Over the years, we found our niche and ended up sticking in those lanes which I’m sure helped us never feel like we were in competition with one another. I never had to worry about Walker getting better grades than me and he never had to worry about me messing with his drum kit.
But yet, we always found common ground in other ways to maintain a close bond. Even when I went off to college and he went to LA, we never went more than a week without talking on the phone with each other.
“We’ll see what happens.” I sigh. “I’m dreading going back home tomorrow, honestly.”
“Then just stay here.” He says it like it’s that easy.
“I can’t just do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not you.” I poke at his side. “I need more planning than that. Plus, I have this thing called a job.”
He steps on my foot, and I yelp, pushing him away.
“Asshole.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stick around for a movie? Scar and I are making our way through The Lord of the Rings trilogy.”
“I’m sure. Plus, by the way you can barely keep your hands off her, I don’t think you’re going to be too disappointed with my lack of presence.”
He smirks and runs a hand through his messy hair. “We’ve been traveling a lot, so it’s hard to always find?—”
“Nope. Don’t need to hear it.”
“Shut it and spare your sister or else it’ll be a lonely night for you,” Scar calls out from the kitchen. It does the trick and he keeps his mouth shut.
I hug her goodbye, and she tells me to make sure I give Liam hell at work and not allow him to put me back into that place of inferiority. I refrain from telling her he already has.
Jesus, when the hell did that happen? Since when did my backbone need bolstering? Where did I lose that?
And most importantly, how am I going to get it back?
My brother walks me to the door and eyes the black SUV that’s sitting in his driveway. “When did that get here?”
“It hasn’t left,” I mutter.
“Nikolai arranged that for you this whole weekend?”
I nod, and Walker smiles proudly and waves at the driver standing by the passenger door.
“As he damn well should with you helping him out.”
Yep…
“When am I going to see you next? Do you have another trip planned out here?”
“I don’t at the moment,” I say. “But maybe I will soon. Nikolai actually, um, he told Arun that I was looking over the contract for him. And Arun offered to connect me with some of his clients if I’d like.”
Walker’s face lights up. “No shit.”
I chuckle. “I don’t know if I’m going to take him up on it or not. I have my life out there, you know. But it’s an option I’m considering.”
“You have to do it! It’s what you’ve always wanted to do.”
“I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do. Back home.”
Walker waves a hand at that. “No, you’re not. And it’s not your home.”
“It is.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“I need time to think about it,” I state, cutting off the discussion.
Walker opens his mouth to argue, but relents. He knows I don’t make rash decisions, and when I say I need time to think something through, I mean it.
“Just promise me you’ll actually think it over, okay? You may have a life in Boston, but you can have one here too. Me, Scar, Hayden, Carter, Nikolai…we’re all here. You’ll already have a support system.”
He’s right, but the last name he mentioned on that list is the same exact reason why I’m not sure if I can do it.
Because at least out in Boston, I’m not faced every single day with my biggest regret.