The scent of the home was so familiar that it somehow soothed Demi. His new place still smelled like plaster and paint. It had been built from the ground up for Charlie, and it was still too new for her scent to settle into the walls. Lauren’s house had scents and sounds that had burrowed into his psyche for years.Along with the familiarity came comfort. He didn’t know how he had missed this appreciation for this space before. The way he had sighed in relief as he crossed the threshold symbolized safety. Demi knew this place. His son’s energy was alive between these walls. It was the only place he could see himself being tonight.
Day headed for the bar, but Demi kept walking down the hallway toward DJ’s room. The sight of the blood took his breath away. He could smell the iron in the air, and it was so overwhelming it turned his stomach. He couldn’t fathom his son’s last moments. He walked into the adjoining bathroom. More blood. So much more blood. When Demi’s eyes landed on the razor on the floor, he folded. He had to sit. He sat on the edge of the toilet as he reached for the razor. It belonged to him. It was an old-school straight razor that he had left behind. The tool his son had used to hurt himself…to kill himself.
Demi sat there stunned. Day entered the room, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.
“Get out of here, man. Let me get this cleaned up. I know how you is,” Day said.
Demi shook his head. “I’ll do it.” It was a big task for a man who hated filth, but it was his responsibility. This blood was his blood, and no one else could do this part. Lauren definitely shouldn’t have to, so he stood and opened the closet.
Mop.
Bucket.
Cleaning solution.
He retrieved it all, filled the bucket with hot water, and went to work. Day opened the closet, grabbed more supplies, and joined him. They had spilled a lot of blood over the years; never did they think they would be here. There was a screaming silence in this room. Demi emerged from the bathroom and rested the mop against the wall. He grabbed the bottle of Louis that Dayhad placed on the dresser and then grabbed the two glasses. Pour up. Drink. Pour up. He passed a glass to Day and then took a seat on his son’s bed.
He leaned over, resting elbows to knees, as he swirled the brown liquor around in the glass.
“Say, man,” Demi said. “This shit gon’ kill me.”
“I ain’t gon’ let it, my nigga. I can’t stop the feeling, though. You got to find a way through the hurt.”
“He’s a piece of me. He’s mine. Made of me. And now he’s dead.” Demi swallowed the drink in one giant gulp. He invited the burn, hoping it would wash the devastation away.
“I don’t know what to say to this shit. Niggas just talk to talk when shit like this happens. So I’ma shut the fuck up and just listen, bruh. I’ma just be here with you and sis. Whatever y’all need.”
Day took a seat next to Demi and held out his glass. Demi tapped it with his own, and then the two men sat in silence as they refilled, settling into their brokenness. The fabrics of their lives had been dismantled. An invisible hand had plucked a loose thread, and the entire garment upon which they existed had come apart. It just wasn’t right. The death of a child would never make sense.
Chapter 4
Great job tonight, Stassi. This is honestly the smoothest show I’ve been a part of. I hope they keep you around. Have a good night!”
“Thanks. I hope so, too,” she replied. She gave the final crew member a wave as she watched him walk out the back door.
Only once everyone else was gone for the night did she give herself permission to breathe. She sighed and wandered out onto the deserted stage. The emptiness of the building made her realize how massive it really was. Day and Demi had built an empire for themselves. To be able to pack a place like this wasn’t easy. It was the biggest event Stassi had ever successfully run. It made her want to shift her focus completely and focus on the music industry. If there was room for her, she wanted a seat at the table. The sound of the doors opening at the rear of the auditorium startled her, and she placed a hand over her eyes to try to see past the beaming stage lights shining down on her.
“The buildings closed!” she shouted.
“Just coming to make sure you’re a woman of your word.”
The firefighter came into view. He entered, wearing navy blue cargo pants, heavy boots, and a fitted navy-blue t-shirt. He was stripped of the uniform he had worn earlier, but she could tell he was still on duty from the badge that adorned his shirt. She traveled down the stairs to greet him.
“As you can see, I am,” she said. “I really appreciate you giving me a break earlier. You have no idea the type of night it’s been.”
“Are you all set here? It’s late. I can walk you to your car if you’re headed out,” he said.
“I caught an Uber,” she said.
“Well, if you don’t mind riding in a fire truck, I don’t mind dropping you where you need to go,” he offered.
Stassi looked at him curiously. “I’m Grayson, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand.
She reluctantly placed her dainty hand in his. His palm swallowed hers as he curled his fingers around hers for a shake. He was a mountain of masculinity. Tall and built, like he worked out every day of his life.
“What kind of name is Grayson?” she asked.
“A trustworthy one,” he shot back. It was the certainty in which he said it that caught her attention.
