2. Damien
TWO
damien
NOW
“You can’t go back there alone.” Bowie, my best friend and business partner, shot me a sympathetic, worried look.
“I have to.” I stuffed a couple changes of clothes into a suitcase and avoided meeting his gaze.
Bowman Sinclair, aka Bowie, had been my best friend for years, ever since I moved away after high school.
The plan had originally been to follow Sam to college, but when everything blew up between us, I no longer had the stomach to follow him anywhere.
I’d moved in the opposite direction, in fact, putting even more distance between us.
I’d never gone back. There was no point.
It wasn’t like I had parents who cared if I made it home for the holidays.
Staying away was easier. The only person I kept in touch with was a mutual friend.
We weren’t that close, though enough to know that something had gone down between Sam and me, but they never knew the details.
Bowie, however… Bowie knew all about it. We met in college when I was at my lowest and I hadn’t been able to get rid of him ever since. Not that I wanted to.
Bowie worked part-time for a garage while he took some courses at the college. Bowie’s dream had been to open his own shop. To fix up cars and do custom shit. My dream had been to get away from Sam and Callum and the ache that lived in my bones.
Moving away from the Weeks’s had been harder than leaving my own parents. Walking away had been necessary but excruciating. In some ways, those wounds had never healed.
I spent all my holidays with Bowie and his family, but I never got comfortable there. Never let my guard down too much. Even ten years later, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And Bowie, well, he knew all about it. He knew the story, every detail. Mostly I was over it now. It had been years, how could I not be?
Yet, Bowie was in my house, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, staring me down. Concern radiated from him, and I both loved and hated it.
“I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.” I zipped my suitcase shut, then went to my closet to collect my suit. It hadn’t been worn since Bowie’s sister’s wedding. I’d have to get a more suitable tie for it, but that could wait.
“I won’t stop worrying about you. Do you remember how you were when we met?” He scowled at me.
He’d never been a fan of Sam or Callum, even though he never met them and never would. I used to think it was just jealousy, but when I told him that, Bowie looked like I’d kicked him.
I can be mad at the people who hurt you and not be jealous that they were in a position to do that to begin with, he’d said.
Bowie was overprotective, and most of the time I didn’t mind, because most of the time it was directed at his sister. I hadn’t been the focus of his overbearing worry since we met.
“That was a long time ago.”
“I know it was. But I’m worried, okay. You’ve never gone back before. And going back now when—” He cut himself off. Not that him stopping from reminding me why I was going back would make any difference.
“I’m only going for a few days.” It hadn’t even been our mutual friend who had notified me of the death.
It was a lawyer on behalf of Mister Weeks.
He’d passed away in a tragic accident and had left me something in his will.
The plan was to go, say my goodbyes at the funeral, see what the lawyer had to say, then get my ass home and hopefully never have to think of them again.
Until a few days ago, I was fine. Until a few days ago, I hardly thought about Callum or Sam. The memories had faded, and they were locked away somewhere in my mind. A place I seldom visited, and when I did, it was only to take a brief glance back, to press on the bruise and see if it still hurt.
The answer was always yes.
It had never stopped hurting, and now there was a new ache to add to the old wound.
A new loss to grieve. Eventually. Right now I felt hollow.
The news had emptied me, and I was a husk.
A shell of myself. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d often thought about what a reconciliation would look like.
If I went back and begged for forgiveness, could we have salvaged anything between us?
“You’re going to call me every day, right?” Bowie asked.
“Twice a day if you want.” I already called or texted Bowie every day as it was. It would be no problem to keep up the long-standing tradition even if I was out of town.
“Make that three times. An hour.”
I finally looked at Bowie and shot him a scowl. “That’s excessive.”
“That’s my middle name.”
“Your middle name is Warren.”
Bowie rolled his eyes. “Only legally. My real middle name is excessive. Bowman Excessive Sinclair.”
“Deranged Idiot Bestie.” I pointed at him. Our smiles held for a moment, but then faltered.
“Call me when you get there. Are you sure you want to go alone? I can close the shop for a few days.”
“Stay. I’ll be fine. It’s going to be quick.” After the funeral, I could go back to pretending that they didn’t exist. That the whole town didn’t exist. “Make sure you look after Spike for me.”
Bowie rolled his eyes. Again. “Spike is a rock.”
“Shhhh, he’ll hear you.”
“You should just get a dog.”
“I’m allergic, remember?” My suitcase was packed.
My suit was in a garment bag. All that was left was to get my shit in the car and get on the road.
I could have flown and saved myself a long drive, but I wasn’t in a hurry to get there.
I needed some time between the segments of my life to acclimate.
“Get a hairless dog.”
“You get a hairless dog,” I shot back. Bowie didn’t have an issue with my pet rock, but he did like to tease me about it.
I didn’t tell him that I’d settled on a pet rock after I moved because I’d been broke as fuck and lonely as hell, but pets were expensive.
The adoption costs, then the food and supplies and the vet bills? It was all too much at the time.
I carried my bags to the car, Bowie following behind. His sister had recently moved into his place while she got back on her feet after leaving her husband, so Bowie was going to stay in my place while I was gone and get a break from her for a few days.
“I’m going to get you a cat while you’re gone,” he threatened.
“No.”
“A fish?”
“No.” I opened the driver’s door and hesitated, turning toward him instead of getting in.
“A bird.”
“I will burn you and the bird alive. And then I’ll eat the bird.
” I stepped closer to Bowie and threw my arms around him.
He caught me and hugged me tight, his large frame squeezing mine.
He didn’t want him to let go. I didn’t want to let go either.
I wanted none of this to be real. I wanted a lot of things, but I was used to not getting what I wanted.
The universe had never listened to me, no matter what I tried.
“Drive safe. Call often. Come back soon,” Bowie said.
I didn’t respond with anything except a tight nod as I climbed into the car. I had a six-hour drive ahead of me, seven if I went the speed limit. Eight if I took a lot of breaks.
“I’ll text you when I stop for gas.”
“You better. I’ll be watching your location on my friend finder.”
“Stalker.”
Bowie just smiled at that. “You love it.”
I shook my head, started the car, and made myself drive away.
I’d spent enough time dragging things out.
I could have been on the road hours ago.
As it was, the funeral was the day after tomorrow.
The plan was to arrive tonight, and I’d get in a little late now, but I had a hotel booked.
Tomorrow, I was going to take it easy and maybe get a haircut before the service the next day.
I would have already gotten that done, but everything in town was booked out.
Hotel. Haircut. Funeral. Will. Home. That was it. No muss, no fuss. No lingering around town. No walks down memory lane. Just me and that town, and a final goodbye to someone who used to be important to me.
Maybe if we’d stayed close, I’d feel worse than I currently did.
And maybe the reality would come crashing down later after the funeral.
But it was hard to feel anything other than a vague kind of sadness after so many years of nothing.
No contact. No emails. No texts. No phone calls.
No DMs on social media. Just radio silence.
We’d fought when we last saw each other. Ugly and mean. Words had been tossed back and forth, and I always wondered if he’d meant the shit he said. At the time, I’d meant what I said. But that’s because he’d added insult to injury.
After everything imploded, I used to play the what-if game.
I used to wonder what would have happened if things hadn’t gone down the way they did.
I used to think about that all the time, until one day when Bowie looked at me, and with a seriousness I felt in every cell in my body, he said, “Then you wouldn’t have met me. ”
I stopped wondering after that. But now I was back at it. What if I’d made amends? What if I’d reached out? What if… what if… what if…
What if he hadn’t changed?
What if he had?
I called Bowie at the first rest stop. Texted him when I stopped for gas.
Sent a selfie at a roadside tourist trap.
I did my best to pretend that I was on a fun little road trip.
That I wasn’t going home for a funeral. While I was at it, I could pretend that I didn’t still think of it as home.
It hadn’t been my home in a long time, and it wouldn’t be again.
Too much time had passed. Too many things had changed.
And now Sam was gone and nothing would be the same ever again.