“It’s all in that book. I wrote about every appointment, every memory and decision we made or story you told. You don’t need it, Ari. But if you think you want to know, it is there. I made sure of it just in case.”

  My mother came to a fork in the road and split herself in two. It has to hurt to sew herself back together.

  “Thank you,” I hum.

  I feel her head nod. Her chin rests heavy on my shoulder, and I cling to her and let my tears dry where they rest. This truth has lived in me since it was born. I feel my timeline beginning to fill in with color. For today, this is enough.

  “We’re going to see her, aren’t we?” I knew we were going to Ella’s grave, but now I want to. I think I need it.

  “It’s two more hours,” she says. That’s her way of giving me an out. I could easily complain about the distance, give us an excuse of the time. I’m done with excuses.

  “We should get going then,” I say.

  I hold onto my mom through several more breaths until we’re both strong enough to travel south to pay respect to my other half. Ella will be with me forever and always.

  We bought a beautiful bouquet. It was the most expensive one the grocery store had ready to sell. It was full of yellows and oranges. I remembered that about Ella—her favorite colors. I’ve never forgotten that.

  Mom and I spent about an hour with her, just sitting and telling stories, some that I knew and some I didn’t. It felt like a lost holiday, and it’s something I wish I’d done a long time ago. I won’t let this much time pass again, and I don’t think my mother will either.

  We called Dad while we were there. He offered to drive down, the three of us, after the new year. I think we could all use it. Just this one day has brought so much light to my heart. I see it in my mother’s eyes, too.

  I wonder if Jesse will still be home when we get back. It’s well past five. The sun is about to set. It’s a winter eight o’clock and the horizon is purple.

  I pull my phone out to text him, to beg him to wait for me, and I notice the dozens of texts that I’ve missed while I’ve been with my mom. They’re from everyone—from Rag, from Sam, from Jesse. I take them in pieces, and probably not in the right order. Selfishly, I go to Jesse’s first. Alarms ring in my head with every word.

  Please don’t believe any of it.

  It’s not what it looks like.

  I don’t even know who that girl is.

  It’s all a fucking lie.

  Ari please.

  Please!

  I close his string and move to Sam, instincts guiding me. She’s sent her flavor of choice words but I backtrack through those to the link. I want to throw up.

  It’s going to be a lie. I know it is, but I also know that I’m going to believe it…just a little. I feel it, in my gut. I know what it is before I see it.

  My finger grazes the link just enough to pull open a Snap story from some Hollywood website with a grainy shot of Jesse and the girl. That girl. The one who is breathing out from her joint into his lips—the one handing him her joint for a hit—the one who wants him so bad and still probably does.

  I gasp out loud even though I consciously told myself over and over not to make a sound.

  “Everything okay?” My mom’s tone is urgent and worried. After our day, she is probably on edge about me and how I am at all times.

  I force a tight smile on my face and croak out a “yeah” and twist my neck, squinting through tears. I can’t fake this though. I’m in the goddamn rabbit hole.

  I hold my fist to my mouth and stare at the flash of images that just keep flipping through their sequence with those tasteless headlines.

  SHOCKING NEW ROMANCE! SON OF WASHED-UP ROCK STAR! HIGH LIKE HIS DAD! NEW REALITY SHOW PROMISED HIGH ROMANCE!

  “I have to call someone. I just…”

  I sob through my words but instantly try to swallow the feelings down. I can’t eat it all, though. I have to feel some of this, and I hate how insecure I suddenly am.

  “Okay. Yes, it’s okay.” My mom tilts her head to ask if she should pull over, but I wave her forward. I don’t know why I want to race to get home, but I do. I feel like if I see Jesse, if I’m there in that world with him, then this storm will stop.

  I open the last set of texts I haven’t read. Rag only messaged me twice. The first time he said it’s all bullshit. The second time he said to call as soon as I read this. His phone only registers half a ring before he picks up.

  “Hey, Ari.”

  It’s Rag’s voice. For a brief second, I had hope that it would be Jesse answering. There’s a small pause, and then…

  “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I’m Jesse. Nice to meet you sir.”

  My dad sticks out his hand in a pretend offer to shake my hand. He’s mocking Jesse. He’s been doing this impression all night. Well, this one and the one he does of me.

  “Just some guys in a band, Daddy. We’re pretty good and some producer might record us. No real reason, just we sound good…I guess.”

  I grimace at that last impression because it’s neither fair nor accurate.

  “I never said any of those words. Not even in a different order.” My mouth holds a straight line and I stiffen my posture as I prepare to stare my father down.

  “His dad is Alton Berringer, Ari. The man was on tabloid covers for ten years straight. Drugs, assault charges, expensive cars wrecked on highways from driving drunk…that’s not exactly the offspring a parent dreams of for their daughter.” My dad is pacing back and forth in front of me while his eyes stay on mine. I’m basically a cub and he’s daddy lion right now.

  “He’s not his father. He barely knows the man,” I protest.

  My dad makes the obvious argument, holding out his phone with the now trending set of images. It’s hard for me to mask the pain.

  “Allen,” my mom steps in, holding my father’s hand down, making him put his phone away. He stares at her with a fiery intensity.

  “The man is a nightmare, Debra. I want more for our daughter…you have to. Don’t you want more for her?”

  My mom levels him with the look she gets when she’s about to win an argument.

  “You’re not thinking with a clear head right now. You’re angry because you were surprised, but none of this…” She runs her hand up and down as if painting my father with a brush, drawing an invisible circle around him. “None of this is helping her. And if you are truly putting her first, then maybe it’s time for you to stop wearing out a path in our living room.”

  My father’s chest puffs. Mom’s puffs bigger.

  “Ugh!” He tosses his phone down on the coffee table. It lands face-up, the worst of the images staring me in the face. Fitting that the doorbell rings from Jesse’s latest attempt right now.

  “I’m getting that,” my dad says, pointing a finger at me as he marches toward the door.

  “I’m going with you,” my mom says, glancing at me over her shoulder. She’s trying to protect me. Maybe she’s trying to protect Jesse, too, because in this state, my dad is likely to knock Jesse’s teeth out.

  I turn, able to see the reflection against the framed picture hung by our door. Jesse isn’t alone—his sister is with him. It’s a disarming choice, and I can’t help but think that’s exactly why he made it.

  “Do I need to give you a drug test before you enter this house?” My dad hits low.

  “That’s a fair thing to say. I deserve that,” Jesse says. His voice reaches into my chest with a swift hammer. I lean forward to see the ends of his hair.

  “Mr. Wakefield, sir…” Rag’s speaking. He messed up with the sir. I wince.

  “No,” my dad simply shuts the door and walks back into our main room. My eyes flutter closed and I hear my mom’s lips click with her disapproval.

  “Do not go against me on this, Debra. That boy is rotten. I smell it.” This insult triggers my defenses because it strikes at Jesse’s worst fears—that he’ll be judged by one of his parents, and not the one that actually raised him.

  “Dad, he’s not rotten,” I pipe up.

  “Please. You’re blinded by dimples and rock-star hair,” my dad says.

  Mom snorts out a laugh that irritates him even more.

  She waves him off and leaves the room, heading to the door he slammed and opening it to step outside. I can hear her voice faintly through the door as she closes it behind her. She’s leaving to catch up to the boys.

  “Dammit!” My dad’s temper spikes and it makes me jump. His eyes move to my movement and his brow rises up on his forehead, making deep wrinkle lines. I used to joke that I could count them to tell just how mad he was. I count three—that’s a lot for one forehead.

  “You’re lucky I’m not making you pee in a cup,” he says, waggling his finger at me. He’s gone back to pacing. It’s because my mom isn’t here to nag him to stop.

  “Test me,” I say, standing and moving around the couch. I pace in the opposite direction to match him, and I do it just to piss him off.

  “Oh, I will,” he says, ending with a pffft sound.

  “Good. Go on. Get the cup. I’ll piss right here.” I’m being vulgar on purpose. He doesn’t like it, and it hangs him up a little, stopping his tirade. He shakes his head and waves his hand at me before sitting down.

  “Stop. Nobody’s peeing in a cup,” he says.

  “I know, because I don’t do things like that. Dad, I just happened to like a boy who is really talented and is good to me,” I defend.

  He chuckles.

  “So good that he’s on some gossip news show smoking pot with some girl he barely knows? Yeah, real winner.”

  I scowl. Yeah, this doesn’t look good. But he is so desperate to talk to me, and Rag is defending him. I’m inclined to believe what he says. At the very least, I want to hear him out.

  “I love him.” I let those words slip out without thought. I didn’t mean to air them aloud. I’ve thought them since the moment my dad began cutting Jesse down though. Saying them now has stalled my father completely. It’s left him breathless.

  “Be as mad at me as you want but you know that’s not how love works. And yes, I’m eighteen…”

  “You’re seventeen,” my dad corrects, desperation in his tone.

  “Fine, almost eighteen, and I know this is a first love, but it is special. It’s real. And I am changed because of loving him. I have so much confidence in myself now—I can do things I never imagined. Dad, I played in a rock band at a bar! I impressed people. And music for me is…it’s just…”

  “Your second love,” my dad says. The intense tightness in his muscles has eased some, his shoulders lowering and fists relaxing into open palms resting on his knees.

  I lose myself in my dad’s eyes for a full breath before nodding.

  “Yeah…it is. Dad, music—my beats…it saved me.”

  His chin drops and his eyes fall to the floor as he leans forward and rubs his palms together in thought. He knows it did. That’s why my parents always encouraged it even when they didn’t come to watch me play. They saw the joy rhythm gave me. It’s undeniable.

  “I don’t trust him, Ella.”

  It’s an honest slip. It’s also something he has never done, and I know that he is just as fragile as my mother and me because of what he said.

  “Ari…” he whispers, knowing there’s no erasing it.

  “It’s okay,” I say, and it almost is.

  “I want to protect you.” He lifts his head, letting it lean to the right.

  “I know,” I say quietly, stepping over to where he sits and kneeling in front of him; I take his coupled hands in mine and lean my head on them. He parts his hands and places one on my head. I feel him shake the moment he touches me, and I know he’s crying.

  My mom walks in while my father is trying to stop his rush of feelings. She stands back to give him time, and I move close to him and hug him at his waist. He clings to me, his hold desperate and that of a father just trying to find his way through life with a daughter…one like me.

  “The boys are still out front. The one who calls himself…Rag?” my mom stops and looks to me. I nod to assure her she got that right. “Right, okay…well Rag said he had to get back for work, but that if you wanted him to stay to mediate, that he can.”

  I meet my mom’s stare and try to read her expression. She lifts a shoulder, and I get that she’s leaving this up to me. I don’t think I need a ringmaster or referee. I know the things to ask, and the things I need to hear.

  “I’ll be fine.” I swallow and get to my feet. I move near my mom and take her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’m going to go listen.”

  Her crooked smile seems to approve. I open and close that main door to the house and rest my back against it for a few long seconds so I can hear what they say when I’m gone. It’s wordless, and I wonder if they’ll ever start to talk. If they do, maybe it’s better it’s not for my ears.

  Rag’s car is idling in our driveway, Jesse in the passenger seat. They’re both staring forward at me waiting for a signal. I walk over to Rag’s side and he rolls down his window. I lean forward and rest my elbows on the sill and glance to Jesse, his eyes are aching and red. He looks positively destroyed. His mouth is a flat, lifeless line and he doesn’t blink at all.

  “You can leave him. I’ll keep my father from getting out a steak knife or the old baseball bat in the garage.” I lift the corner of my mouth. Rag does the same. I look back to Jesse and his face is still on edge, desperate for me to say it’s all right. I can’t say that yet, though. I don’t know enough.

  I flit my gaze back to Rag and nod over my shoulder for him to go on. He pats his large hand over mine.

  “Give him hell, lady. Whether he deserves it or not.” He moves his hand from mine back to his wheel, then flops his head to the opposite side and stares at his cousin. Jesse hasn’t moved his eyes from me once.

  “She’s giving you an audience, dumbass. Use this time wisely.”

  Jesse blinks for the first time since our eyes met. He pulls the handle and pushes his door wide beside him, stepping out and keeping his focus on me. I stand and our gaze meets over the roof of Rag’s car. Rag stays there for a few seconds longer, then finally pounds his fist against the side of his car where his arm hangs out and he backs away, removing the barrier that was between Jesse and me.

  I turn to watch him back out, then straighten his car to drive away. When I look back to Jesse, his gaze is waiting. We stare at each other for a while in this uncomfortable quiet. It’s evening, and the life outside and around us is finding shelter for the night. Crickets sound, and the scent of burnt lumber starts to coat the air from fire pits in back yards nearby.

  I draw my mouth in on one side and look up and to the right, trying to see smoke and stars.

  “It makes me want S’mores,” I say.

  Jesse doesn’t respond, even though I laugh lightly. He moves his tightly closed lips and wrinkles the skin between his eyes with regret. It’s hard for me to look at him dead on like this and not fly off the handle or run to his embrace. I want both things equally right now.

  I suck in my upper lip and look down at his shoes—the checkered Vans that he’s drawn eyes on because he was bored. I remember when he did that at lunch a few days ago. I blink at the visual a few times.

  “Was she prettier in person?” I don’t look at him when I ask this petty question. It’s passive aggressive, and not fair to the girl, I know, but fuck it. I’m bitter and mean. I get to be on this end of gossip.

  “I couldn’t even tell you what she looks like,” Jesse says. His voice is hoarse. He’s either been screaming or drinking or smoking or all of the above.

  “Oh well, here…” I pull my phone from my pocket and show him my screen. It’s another bitch move. I don’t care. “I have her picture.”

  My eyes lock to his and I feel them start to sting.

  Damnit.

  I blink away the tears and look down, putting my phone back in my pocket.

  “I know you don’t believe me, and I get it. I know how all of this looks, but Ari, I swear…”

  “You swear what? If you swear, swear on the truth and tell it to me. Because, Jesse? I have just started to tear down the fiction I wrote for myself and lived for ten years. I can’t build a whole new story. If she’s nothing, if it isn’t how it looks…then tell me how it is. I can handle reality.”

  This is not something I would have said a month ago. I’m a new person now—maybe even a newer person today.

  Jesse shifts his feet, his palms covered in the sleeves of his flannel, and his knees exposed through the holes in his jeans.

  “I went outside to smoke…and I didn’t have anything. That girl walked through the back door just as I was heading back in and she was holding her joint out for me. She put her hand right here,” he touches his fingers to his chest and his mouth flattens. “She held the joint up to her mouth and took a deep draw then puffed smoke in my face. I took it in, and then I grabbed the joint from her and took a hit of my own. And yeah, it was flirtatious—all of it was. I was pretending not to give a fuck and I was playing up this part of bad-boy musician. I shared a joint with a hot girl for about four minutes, and someone told someone to take a few pictures and write up a story. I’m sure it was Alton because who else would care?”

  “I care,” I say quickly.

  His chest deflates. His eyes lower to my waist, then eventually, his chin drops to his chest with a heavy nod of his head.

  “You’re right. You do care, Ari. And I swear to you I care right back. I love you.”

  I laugh out because it’s hard to hear something like that after the boy I love finishes talking about another girl.

  “You do?” His head lifts and his mouth goes along with it, lip tugging up on the right.

  “It was just a joint in an alley. I have no idea who she was or where she went, and I don’t have any intention on ever knowing that information.” He steps forward, timidly. I step back.

  “Okay,” I nod.

  His hands dangle at his sides, fingers letting go of the buttons on his sleeves and flexing for life. They stretch and release, and I find myself doing the same with mine.