The tears came harder and harder and my heart squeezed so hard I thought I was going to stop breathing for a minute.
“It’s for the best.” I wasn’t sure how many times I had to say it before I actually started to believe it myself.
She didn’t say anything else, which for Cora was like an act of God himself, but she did stay and continue to stroke my head until I was all cried out.
The first week he was gone was the worst. I threw myself into school and picked up every extra shift I could at the bar, and not only because I had to pay Shaw back an exorbitant amount of money. I had to stay busy or I felt like I would crack into pieces.
My friends asked how I was doing every day, and every day I lied and said I was fine. I even gritted my teeth and listened to Cora when she gave me updates on how the tour was going. Apparently, Enmity was even more popular than the band that was headlining, which wasn’t surprising at all. Jet was a rock god and now all of Europe knew it, too. I wondered if, when he got back, he was finally going to sign with a big label and shoot to real stardom. He deserved to be recognized for how wonderful he was.
I ran more than I had ever run in my life. It was the only thing that wore me out enough so that I could fall asleep at night, and even then I still woke up and rolled over to reach for an empty side of the bed. When that happened, I tossed and turned and then finally gave up, and eventually just got out of my bed and went across the hall to sleep in Jet’s empty bed, because it still smelled like him and made my heart hurt less.
I thought I was doing a good job keeping it all together, but sometimes I would see Shaw watching me like she was afraid I was going to shatter or do something crazy, like beat Loren to death with her own stupidity. There were times Cora would say something and then just look at me, and I realized I was supposed to laugh or chime in with my two cents, but nothing really seemed funny to me anymore. It sucked. I felt like I was empty and hollow, and that hurt way worse than having anyone know what my life used to look like did.
Week two was a little better. I stopped listening for the sad strains of a guitar and I managed to stay in my own bed for most of the week. The only rough spot was when I overheard Cora talking to him on the phone, and I wanted to chase her down and steal it from her to ask how he was doing, ask if he had found some crappy European version of me to help heal his broken heart. That night, not only did I sleep in his room, but in his shirt as well. It was pathetic.
I had about a thousand unsent text messages on my phone that I battled day in and day out not to send to him. I wanted to tell him that I missed him, that I loved him, and that no one would ever be to me what he was. Instead, I listened to sad country songs (new ones, not old ones) and told myself over and over again that it was all for the best.
By the time week three rolled around, I was faking being okay like a pro. Shaw wasn’t giving me the eye anymore, and Cora was talking about Jet like it didn’t cut me open every time she said his name. I had even agreed to have a couple strictly platonic coffee dates with Adam, just to reinforce to him that I wasn’t interested, and that while I thought he was a super guy, my heart just simply belonged to someone else. He took it with a grain of salt, but continued to call, and as long as I had everyone watching for cracks in my facade of indifference, I decided it didn’t hurt to keep him around.
I was getting used to the absent feeling I was carrying around, getting used to the idea that this is what my life was going to look like now, because there was no replacing someone like Jet. There was no getting around that he was what my future was supposed to be when my past decided it wasn’t done toying with me yet.
I was getting ready for work, standing in the bathroom subconsciously looking for all the junk Jet used to leave lying around, when that same odd number from Kentucky that had been calling for weeks popped back up on my phone. I was going to ignore it, but then I figured it was just Asa, and since I hadn’t heard from him in more than a month, I decided it would be best to answer and let him check in, or ask for money, which was more likely. I propped the phone between my ear and shoulder while I fussed with my hair, and answered.
“Hello?”
It wasn’t Asa. It wasn’t Silas. It wasn’t my mom. It wasn’t anyone who I would have ever expected to hear from again.
“Hello, Ayden.”
I blinked for a second and stared in shock at my own reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“Mr. Kelly?” There was no mistaking that kind voice with the familiar Southern drawl. It was the voice that had broken me free from Woodward. It was the voice that had convinced me I was better than all the things I was doing wrong.
“I’m sure this is a surprise, but I had to call to tell you about Asa.”
I could see my own bewilderment reflected back at me.
“Asa?” I was sure I sounded as confused as I felt, but I was having a hard time putting two and two together.
There was a sigh on the other end of the phone.
“You know I always believed in karma. I thought that by helping you, getting you out of that trailer park and out from under your brother’s thumb, my universe would be in alignment, and for a while it was.”
“Have you been calling me the last month or so?”
“I have. I knew they were going to send Silas after Asa, so I wanted to check in on you. I figured as long as you answered, you were okay.”
I leaned against the sink because my knees were suddenly weak.
“What’s going on with my brother, Mr. Kelly?”