I roll my eyes. I know he’s right, but I’m not taking life advice from him. Every bad habit I have is his too. Most of them, anyway. Intrusive, morbid thoughts are all mine, unless he’s super good at hiding them. “All right, you got me. I haven’t put much into practice yet. I’ve talked to Jax some, but I know it’s not enough.”
“It’s a start, though.”
“Is it?” It’s my turn to sigh. “I don’t want to unload all my crap onto him.”
“You’d better start unboxing it by yourself, then. Huh. Maybe you could go to the cabin and sweep up that coffee pot you threw at my head.”
“That didn’t happen.”
“Didn’t it?”
Fuck, I have no idea. All I know is that this conversation, combined with the one we had last night, is the most real talk we’ve shared since the night I apparently threw a coffee pot at my brother.
“I’m sorry.”
Gabi snorts. “You only get to say that if I do, and you’ve told me a thousand times it wasn’t my fault you got so sick without me noticing.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t yours either, so why don’t we nix the apologies and move on?”
I blow out another long breath. Moving on sounds good, but I’m out of practice. And I’m out of words too. Gabi has given me so much to think about that I can’t form another coherent sentence.
So I grunt and hang up. It’s a thing we do.
But I don’t stop thinking. I start my car and drive out of the grocery store’s parking lot. Ten minutes ago, I had every intention of going home and waiting out Jax’s camping trip, but Gabi is right: I can talk to Jax every day for as long as he’ll listen, but some boxes of shit I have to face by myself.
I point my car out of Burlington and drive, following Jax out into the hills. But it’s not his steps I’m retracing, it’s my own.
The Black Claw trails are forty-five minutes away. The drive is an old friend and seems to pass in the blink of an eye. Habit sees me bypass the obvious parking spots and stop instead at the foot of a trail I doubt even Jax has walked. Why would he? It doesn’t go anywhere except the cabin that’s apparently overdue for some housekeeping.
I’m not dressed for hiking, but I make it work for the ten minutes it takes to reach the cabin. And you know what? Nothing happens. No one dies. Not even me.
Idiot.
The cabin’s key is under the boot implanted with the baby maple tree. I scoop up the key and scan the horizon, wondering how near Jax has been to the cabin in order to spot it. It feels good that he’s been close, as if he’s with me. But at the same time, I’m glad he’s not. I don’t want him to look at me and see whatever scrunched-up face I’m making as I unlock the cabin door, or put his hand on my chest and know my heart is racing for all the wrong reasons.
One foot inside and I feel sick as hell. I keep my gaze low, taking in the bare wooden floor and the scent of leather and oak. It smells like V and V, but stronger. Deeper. Like home, but it’s not home, because I’m not the same man I was the last time I was here.But do you wanna be the dude you were then? Drunk, selfish, and so fucking lost you wanted to die?
Of course I don’t. And maybe facing where rock bottom finally hit will do me good.
I raise my head, expecting carnage, but it’s not there. The cabin is spotless, no broken glass or upturned furniture. No empty liquor bottles. At first glance, it’s as if the month-long meltdown I had after Vic died never happened. Then I step closer to the old leather chair that’s Gabi’s favorite. On the weathered arm is a streak of blood, and I know it’s mine. I can tell by the sickening churn in my belly. I’m good with other people’s gore. My own, not so much.
Dazed, I move through the cabin to the tiny kitchen. Clean dishtowels are stacked by the sink. I crank the faucet and soak one. The water is unearthly cold, underlining where I am. I let it run over my fingers until they’re numb, then I take the dishtowel back to the chair and scrub the blood Gabi somehow missed—it’s how I know it was him and not Eve who cleaned up this place—until it’s as clean as it’s going to get after all this time.
I don’t look at the stain it leaves on the cloth. I fold the dishtowel as small as it will go and dump it into the empty trash can. It seems symbolic, though I can’t say why. It’s not as if I haven’t junked over my entire life twice to get to this point. But something about today, aboutme, feels different. My lungs move as if set free and as I cast my gaze toward the floor to ceiling windows at the cabin’s rear, the colors I see in the wilderness are the brightest I’ve ever seen.
It’s a seismic shift, and Jax is the catalyst. He hasn’t fixed me, and he never will, but he’s made me want to fix myself better than the Band-Aids I’ve been slapping over my heart until now.
I pull out my phone to check if my WhatsApp messages have gone through yet, but of course it’s me that has no cell service now. And no battery. My phone dies as I’m poking at it. I need to go home. Hell, Jax is probably half way to Burlington by now and I’m not fucking there.
The prospect of missing a moment with him drives me out of the cabin. I lock the door and set the key back in place beneath the maple sapling. Raindrops cover my hands. I straighten as light drizzle begins to fall and turn toward the trail that will take me back to my car.
Movement catches my eye. A lone figure is approaching the cabin in a coat emblazoned withWildfoot Adventure. For a moment, my heart leaps.Jax. But it’s not Jax, it’s Jerry, and the anxiety creasing his weathered face kills the cautious optimism blooming in my soul.
I jump down from the porch. My boots crunch the ice and slip a little, reminding me they’re the wrong fucking shoes to be on my feet right now. Jerry is two yards away, and I know that frown. Something’s wrong. “What is it?”
“Is Jax with you?”
