“You know, I’ve met a lot of assholes in my life, but you really take the cake. You better stay gone, Chase Adams. Do you hear me? I don’t want to ever see your face around here again.”
Becca’s always been a bitch, but her reaction to a missed recital is alarming. I move on to the most recent message from Jax.
“I tried, Chase. I really tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. I watched as you made fucked-up choice after fucked-up choice, and I always stood back. But this… you better call me back, bro.”
I’m definitely missing something.
I try Alina again as I pull on the first pair of jeans I find, and a black tee. She doesn’t answer, so I pull up Facebook, desperate to find some clue as to why everyone’s freaking the fuck out. Lindsay sashays back into my room, two mugs of coffee in her hands. I don’t look up. My eyes are too busy staring at the photo on my timeline. My stomach bottoms out so fast it makes me dizzy. I collapse onto the bed.
“Here’s your coffee, Chase.” Lindsay sets the mug on the nightstand. I grab her wrist, holding her in place.
She tries to wrench it from my grasp, but I tighten my grip. “Lindsay, what have you done?”
She peeks at my phone screen, a smirk taking over her face. “We look good in your bed, don’t we? Honestly, Chase, I was tired of waiting for you to man up and make a move. I figured a little push in the right direction was needed. Get that lapdog of a girlfriend out of the way so you wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.”
My mouth parts in shock. “You posted this so Goldi would see?”
She smirks. “A girl can hope.”
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
“Look, It’s tiring having to play the damsel in distress all the time to get your attention, Chase. What happened to you, anyway? You have a serious hero complex.”
Bile rises up my throat. Has she been manipulating me this entire time? My phone vibrates in my hand.
Jax.
I point my phone at Lindsay. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
Her face turns down, lips puffing out like she expects me to take back my words. I watch as she grabs her things and leaves before I answer the call. “Jax. Thank fucking God, dude. Listen, I can explain.”
The line stays silent. I pull the phone away from my ear, looking down to make sure it’s connected. “Jax? You there?”
“I’m here.” His voice is flat.
“Look, I know this seems bad, man. Do you know why Goldi isn’t answering her phone? Are you with her?” Usually, the resentment would rear its ugly head when I think of them together. But right now, I welcome the thought.
“Yeah. I’m with her. No, you can’t talk to her.”
“Jax, come on, man. This is all just a big misunderstanding.”
He laughs, the sound hollow. “A misunderstanding? Seems to be a lot of that with you, lately.”
My temper flares. “Put Goldi on the fucking phone, Jax. I need to talk to her.”
“You are one selfish son of a bitch. You know that? Not everything is about you.”
My fingers rip at my hair in frustration as I pace a hole through my floor. “I never said it was.”
“You didn’t have to. Alina’s mom was dying in the hospital last night, and instead of being here with the girl you claim to love, you were with that snake Lindsay. Again.”
I stop pacing. My heart bangs violently against my ribs, like it knows if it stays with me it’s bound to break. I roll his words around in my head. “What did you just say?”
He exhales heavily. “Look. Alina needed you last night, but she doesn’t need you now. Don’t come back here. I won’t let you get near her. I’m done letting you rip her to pieces.” He hangs up.
The icy tendrils of dread creep up my back and wrap around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs.
Jax is right. I’m a selfish son of a bitch.
16
Alina
Eighteen Years Old
I’ve decided I hate sound. Sound reminds me the world is somehow still spinning. People are still living. Time is still moving. Like nothing has changed. Like Heaven didn’t just steal a piece of my soul.
I hate sound.
So today, I pick silence.
Lying in the middle of Mama’s bed, the pillow that still smells of her catching my tears—I choose to be still. At least here, I can freeze time. Just for a little bit.
I pretend I don’t hear when the door creaks open, the tap of shoes walking across the wood floor. I close my eyes when Jax’s warm body sinks down behind me, cradling me in his arms. He’s silent. He knows what it’s like to hate the noise.
It’s impossible to explain this feeling. No words to express the pain of losing the one person who loved you most in the world. No way to describe the devastation in knowing no one will ever love you that way again.
If you’ve never lost a parent, you won’t understand. But Jax does. Because Jax has. I stay strong in the face of everyone else, but for him, I can break. And I do. Over and over, I break.
My tongue darts out to moisten my lips and catches on the rough, chapped edges. I swallow down tears, the burn from my scratchy throat making me flinch. A physical reminder that I can, in fact, still feel.
“Alina,” Jax whispers. “We have to go soon, do you need help getting ready?”
I shake my head, but I don’t move from my spot. I don’t open my eyes. Once I do, time will start again. I’ll have to wear my black dress and wave my white flag of surrender. Pretend to give a damn when people cry crocodile tears over Mama’s casket. If I open my eyes, I’ll have to watch them bury Mama six feet underground. I’ll
