We’re not all going to fit comfortably in Rag’s car, so my dad points to his sedan. He nods to me to drive, then moves to the passenger seat and continues to listen to my mom. Rag gets in behind me and leans forward.

  “Do you know how to go?” he asks.

  “I remember a little. You’ll have to help me with exits.”

  “Okay,” Rag says, staying up in his seat and near me for a few extra seconds. Hesitation is at the tip of his tongue, and I know he’s trying to find a way to call this whole search off and just leave on his own. But he knows that this is the only way, and I know there’s no way in hell we’re losing my father at this point.

  The first half of the drive is silent, minus the few minutes my dad spends on the phone with my mom. He fills us in after he hangs up. Amanda is sick—literally sick. She had a stomach flu before this all started, and now she’s weak and barely able to process anything that’s going on. My mom is going to spend the night on the couch, and she asked if I would come over when we get back to make AmberLynn feel more comfortable.

  Those poor kids. As terrible as I feel for Jesse and his life, it’s hard not to have sympathy for the innocents that his mess bleeds onto. They didn’t deserve any of this, yet here they are.

  My dad begins to change stations on the radio, and he’s unable to settle on anything for about a dozen songs in a row. He stops when the familiar chords of “Wayward Son” by Kansas fills the car.

  “Some of the best guitar work ever put on vinyl,” he says.

  He bobs his head to the song, and without looking, I know that he’s scrunching his eyes and really feeling it. My dad gets still about music, especially the classics. My talent is all my own, not inherited, though. My dad is only good at the air instruments, which…he is now starting to play.

  “Without a doubt,” Rag finally answers. He proceeds to fanboy with my dad over guitarist Rich Williams.

  Things are starting to look familiar to me along the highway, so while the two of them sound out every guitar solo they can remember, I sit close to the wheel and continually check my mirrors and surroundings.

  “It’s up ahead,” Rag finally says, realizing that we’re getting close.

  The sun is up now, shining through my dad’s dirty back window. The glare is forcing me to squint. I recognize the oddly timed exit and slow, pulling onto the side road into the eerie streets.

  “You are never coming here alone. And actually…you are never coming here,” my dad says as I find the trailer park and pull into the thin side street. A man walks by clearly tweaking for something, and his arms are covered in the evidence of his habit.

  I know my dad is jumping to millions of conclusions about Jesse based on this neighborhood, so I kill most of those thoughts now.

  “His grandfather lives here. Well, not his real one, but from his mom’s second marriage,” I say.

  A deep breath leaves through my father’s nose. His position shifts in his seat.

  “He’s really the only semi-decent relative he has from that side of things,” Rag explains. He chuckles after a quiet second. “Well, other than me. I’m pretty decent.”

  My dad smirks. His ease gives me a little relief. I know it’s short-lived though, because Jesse’s car is parked right next to the trailer. There’s no sign of Malcomb around, which is one win in a really long string of losses.

  Rag is the first to get out of the car, and he holds his palm flat against my window.

  “Let me get us in the door,” he says.

  I sit back and let go of the door handle as I nod. My dad seems to be quite all right with staying right here in the car. He’s flipping his phone in his palms, rolling it from one hand to the other while his eyes study the poor surroundings outside this car.

  “So this is his family, huh?” my dad says.

  I stare at the back of Rag’s head as he walks up the small wooden steps at the back door and knocks a few times.

  “Nah. Not his real family. That’s just Rag, his mom, and his siblings. The rest is just dotted lines.” I think about my own dots. I wonder if Ella is a dot or family. It’s probably cruel to consider it.

  Rag waves his hand when the door opens. Biddy’s head pops out through the door to make sure he’s not being set up, I’m sure. His eyes light up when he sees me, and I can’t believe I actually feel lucky to be liked by him.

  My dad makes sure he’s standing between me and everyone else as we climb the small steps and enter the smoky tomb of a home. Jesse is right where I figured he would be, sitting with his feet resting on one counter and his ass on the other in the small kitchen that cooks God knows what. He looks absolutely ruined.

  “Leave,” he says before seeing me. His feet slip to the ground when he does. His lips part and I step around my father, leaving my hand on my dad’s shoulder to assure him it’s okay.

  “I was so worried. Rag told me everything…told us,” I say, glancing to my dad over my shoulder.

  “What are you doing here, Ari? You shouldn’t be here.” Jesse moves into me and reaches for my arm, preparing to lead me right back out the door I came through. I shake him off though.

  “No. I said I was worried. You have to come home, Jesse. Your mom is not feeling well, and your brother and sister are freaking out, and…” I stop when I see how overwhelmed he’s getting by my barrage of information.

  This is why he ran away. He’s trying to run from the reality he made by one error in judgment. He banked on a dream, but he had no idea that he was signing a deal with the devil. Or maybe he did, but he signed it anyway. I think that’s closer to the truth, and I think that’s why he’s so ashamed.

  “Son, your cousin here gave me a copy of the contract,” my dad says. Jesse’s face contorts and practically turns green.

  “It’s ‘rock solid.’” He uses his fingers to quote the word. His eyes shift to meet mine. “That’s what Alton’s guy said. Rock solid, just like a douchebag would say. Pfft, he was so fucking arrogant about it to.”

  Jesse grabs his head with both hands and runs his fingers through his hair. He’s still wearing the same pants and shirt from the night before, from the scene of his apology and my forgiveness.

  “Even so, I’m taking a look,” my dad says, moving back to the small space between me and Jesse. My dad and he are nearly the same height, but my dad is trying to make himself bigger.

  “Let me just try this. I was good at this stuff once,” my dad says. His chest grows. Jesse’s shrinks. His eyes flit to mine then to his cousin. He finally shrugs.

  “Sure. I guess,” he says.

  We all get quiet again. The space is tight in this room as it is, but with so many people inside, it’s almost suffocating. I start to feel hot.

  “Come home,” I say to Jesse.

  Everyone looks at me. Jesse’s eyes find me first.

  “Come home,” I repeat.

  His eyes get redder. He isn’t high or drunk, and his desperation is real and rooted in something that deserves to be felt.

  “If I’m not there…then what’s the point of him being there?”

  He’s trying to lead the devil out of town. It isn’t going to work that way, and everyone in this room—even Biddy—knows it.

  “We have a gig tomorrow,” Rag says.

  Jesse just lets out a pathetic laugh.

  “It’s the community center, man. They’re paying us twenty-five bucks for a bunch of teenagers to dance.” He walks away, toward the door, and stops just before stepping outside, instead grabbing the door frame above his head and stretching so his body leans out. The golden morning touches the tips of his hair.

  “It’s the community center now, but in a year maybe it’s an arena.” Rag is trying to get him to start dreaming again.

  Jesse laughs out again, swaying the weight of his body in the door a few times before jumping back inside.

  “It’s never going to be arenas. And besides, you don’t want this. This was never your dream, man, so just…do college and get your degree and go build something or be someone’s boss.” I can tell in Jesse’s eyes that he doesn’t fully mean it. If he said those words to me, I would probably crumble. Rag doesn’t budge, though. He’s had years of practice.

  “You about done with the pity party?” he says.

  “Hardly,” Jesse fires back.

  Tempers are starting to show their ugly faces, and in tight quarters, it’s smothering. I can see Rag and my dad working through their thoughts, trying to find something to say that will force Jesse to bend to their will. That’s not how we’re going to get him to concede though. He’s too determined to erase things, and he’s so convinced that he’s the element that has to go missing. If we push harder, he’s going to move into this awful place and who knows…start selling the same poison Biddy does.

  That can’t happen.

  “I need everyone to leave. Dad…Rag?” I stare at them one at a time until my request sinks in. They begin to step back slowly, but my dad’s eyes stay on me as extra warning. He’s just outside, and my father doesn’t trust this place.

  I nod to let him know it’s okay. I’ll be okay.

  “Biddy?” I look toward the old man bundled in dirty jeans and a torn green sweatshirt.

  “Oh…sure,” he says, hurrying his way out the door too. His wife must be in the bedroom. Once he leaves the space, I pull the door closed, and Jesse and I have at least the façade of being alone. This is where truth can breed, and where maybe I can inspire him to believe that things will be all right, even if I don’t believe so myself.

  He’s rigid, standing ready to be unmovable, but his muscles weaken the moment I place my palm on his chest. I lick my lips and pause; I need to be extremely thoughtful with my words. My eyes stare straight ahead to the spot where my hand feels his heartbeat. I wait until I have it all ready, until I can speak and mean every word and give it enough passion that he’ll see right through me to a time when all of this will be better.

  My eyes flit to his. I hold my breath as he holds his. I could kiss him. Maybe I should just kiss him? It won’t be enough, though. He needs to hear this.

  “When I was six, I jumped into black water because I thought my sister would follow me and then she and I could be angels together.” I don’t cry even though my insides crumble at hearing my own voice say these words. This is the root of it all—the truth that I doubt I will ever say to anyone else. My parents don’t need this truth. I’m the one who needed it, so I could realize where I’m fragile and why I need help. And there is nothing wrong with needing help.

  Jesse’s stare morphs into empathy quickly.

  “No. Don’t feel sorry.” I shake my head and swallow down the raw feeling trying to claw its way up to my eyes. “Jesse…my picture was clouded. I couldn’t see the timeline or understand it. I knew my head was loud and hers was louder, and that noise is the only thing that I felt. And right now…I think you feel it too.”

  His head leans to the side, his eyes slanting and his mouth wearing the heaviness.

  I tap my fingers against his chest, drumming once…then twice. The rhythm is his beat.

  “You are not going to lead the devil out of town. You aren’t going to jump into another life and just leave the old one behind. You’re going to draw a line that will link this place to Conner and AmberLynn, and will bring in lawyers and media. And that selfish man who will never understand how amazing his son is? Jesse…he just isn’t worth any of it.”

  I drum against him again.

  Once.

  Twice.

  His eyes get glassy, and the red begins to deepen.

  “Come home,” I say.

  I drum once.

  Twice.

  He breathes in deep and blinks away tears that fall to his cheeks.

  I drum again.

  He wipes them away.

  I step in closer and curl my fingers around his shirt, bringing my other hand to his chest to join them. I let my head fall to his chest, tucking myself under the safety of his chin, willing his arms up around me.

  “Come home…please.”

  His movement is slow, like seaweed waving in the deepest waters, but eventually his hands are on my back, sliding to either side to pull me in tighter. His chin falls to the top of my head, and I flatten my ear to listen for it.

  His heart beats once…twice.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The moving trucks brought more things to the house: lights and cameras that were nothing like the fantasy one has when they think they’re going to be famous. We went on with life for the next week in a daze—all of us trying so hard to pretend none of it was going on, we didn’t see the non-stop crew of men drilling holes and wiring up the house across the street to be a television set twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

  We played the community center, and it was fine. It wasn’t special, and Jesse didn’t want to give them “Sweet Jane.” He’s only partly present. I understand, so I don’t push.

  My dad spent the entire week researching zoning regulations with city hall to see if the proper permits were filed, to see if there was any gotcha he could throw at the city of some important step they missed in the approval process, but part of living in a town desperate for cashflow is that they open up the floodgates to money and media attention. As it stands, if this venture is successful, we might see more things like it happen here in Orson.

  The saving grace is nobody has seen Alton yet. The studio-slash-home isn’t ready for living. It won’t be until the new year.

  I ask questions when I walk Bessy. The construction guys have no juice in this, and they’re nice.

  My mom is making dinner tonight. It’s almost Christmas Eve, and it’s been the three of us for so long. I usually have Sam over a lot during the breaks, but my mom wanted to try to help Jesse’s mom more. Amanda’s had to take the week off work, and I get the sense it’s going to be really hard on her financially. If she doesn’t go, I don’t think she gets paid. Christmas is going to be tight. She works the front desk at a motor lodge on the way out of town. The place is on the road that leads to Vegas. She doesn’t have a degree, but she’s trying to earn her GED so she can start online college classes. She would like to become a nurse.

  The house is full, and it’s a strange feeling for my parents and me. We haven’t had a full house in years—since before. Both of my grandparents are gone, and Uncle Greg doesn’t visit a lot. I think the memories hurt for him, too. He doesn’t have any kids of his own, and he’s been married four times. I’m not even sure if he’s still with the fourth one.

  “Ari, can you whip the egg?” My mom hands me a beater. I nod and take it from her and swing the metal through the bowl. She’s making deviled eggs for my dad. He’s the only one that likes them, so she makes them once a year around the holidays. I think the texture is gross.

  The door swings open, and for a brief moment the construction noise from outside leaks in. Jesse’s eyes flash to the door. I wait until it closes, staring at him while I stir, until he senses I’m watching and glances back to me with a faint smile.

  He’s doing a really good job of pretending.

  “The stores are nuts and it’s not even Christmas yet,” my dad says, his arms weighed down with liters of soda. Rag and Logan rush to help him and together they load the drinks in the fridge.

  Sam’s gaze hasn’t left Rag since he showed up. I keep teasing her but she doesn’t care. And for the first time since they met each other, I notice that Rag is letting his eyes follow her around a little longer than normal too, longer than they probably should. My best friend turns eighteen in March. The semantics of three and a half years aren’t a big deal if people genuinely like each other. I don’t think my friend minds the wait much, either. She seems to be enjoying the flirting.

  Amanda keeps trying to help in the kitchen, but she’s still weak from being ill. I think she and my mom are a lot alike; they don’t deal well with others trying to help them.

  AmberLynn is sitting on the couch near our front window, her legs curled up and her Beats cupping her ears. I finish with the eggs and slide the bowl toward my mom and motion that I’m going to go check on AmberLynn. I wipe my hands on a towel and move over to sit on the other end with my feet up in the same position. She pulls her headphones down around her neck and smiles softly.

  “What are you listening to?” I ask.

  She leans forward and hands me her Beats to listen. I press one of the cups to my ear, and I’m pleased to hear Stevie Nicks. It’s an odd fit for a girl her age…probably one my age, too. This is Jesse’s influence.

  “You know, she’s from Arizona,” I say, handing her headphones to her. She looks at me a little sideways. “And my name is Arizona…” I pat my hand on my chest.

  AmberLynn’s mouth starts to pucker with laughter.

  “You see what I’m saying? Me and Stevie? We’re practically sisters.” I waggle my brows, trying to sell the absurd idea. AmberLynn finally lets her laugh break free.

  “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work like that,” she says.

  “What? No…come on. I mean…look at us,” I say, lifting up on my knees to pull my phone from my back pocket. I search for an image of the singer and find an iconic one where she’s dressed in gothic black lace, her flowing blonde hair almost making her ethereal. I hold it up next to my face and offer the cheesiest smile I can stretch my mouth into.

  AmberLynn laughs harder and takes my phone from me to look at Stevie closely.

  “Okay, like maybe your eyes…” She spits out, laughing through her lie.

  “Fine, give me that,” I take my phone in a playful jerk. I look at Stevie one more time. It’s been a while since I’ve listened to her. I should pick her back up.

  I put my phone away and settle into my corner of the couch. Jesse’s sister’s gaze has drifted out the window. I’m tempted to pull the blinds shut completely, but our house is really dark without the natural light. Besides, I think she would just stare at the direction without being able to see it. That sore spot is calling to her in the same way it did her brother, only she’s too mature to throw rocks at the beast. I can see her mind searching, though.