Can't Look Away(18)

That year, I was busy interviewing for jobs in fashion merchandising, while Jake and the Lane brothers focused on finding representation and putting together a debut album, playing for free at Arlene’s Grocery and whatever other local bars would have them. In the spring, a guy named Jerry Ruffalo signed on to be Danner Lane’s manager. It was the same week I got a job offer from Marc Jacobs, which would start after graduation. I was top of my class at FIT, Molly. I’m no slouch.

Jake and I went out to celebrate our good news. We shared a pitcher of strong margaritas, and when Jake told the bartender about my job offer, he brought us a round of tequila shots. Doubles. We were drunk when we left the bar, too giddy to be hungry. It was hot out, one of those wonderfully humid nights when the city just cloaks you in heat, and Jake and I walked out to the East River path to catch a little breeze.

“My Sisi.” Jake looked at me, and a slow smile spread across my face. I wasn’t crazy about the fact that people still called me Sisi—my old childhood nickname—but coming from Jake’s lips, the moniker always sounded endearing. “Will your parents be at graduation next week?” he asked.

A hard block formed behind my collarbone, the way it did when I’d been drinking and thought about my parents. “Yeah, right.” The wind blew strands of hair into my face, and I brushed them away. “They didn’t even come to my high school graduation.”

Jake studied me, his eyes softening in surprise. “Neither did mine.”

“Really?”

He nodded somberly. “You would think, especially with us both being only children … that they’d want to be there.”

I swallowed hard. “I know.”

Jake gazed out over the dark, glossy river. “Sometimes I think my parents wish they hadn’t had me at all.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I said, though I knew it was possible. I often had the same thought about my parents. I knew what people were capable of.

“No, like—” Jake paused. “I heard them once. My mom said it.”

“What do you mean?”

He was quiet for a few moments. Then, his eyes found mine. “I was in fifth grade. I’d been at the Lanes’, practicing in their garage like we did most days after school. I walked in the back door just before dinner and overheard my parents talking from the mudroom—they hadn’t heard me come in. My dad said, ‘He’s always next door with those gingers and their liberal folks, it’s almost like he’s part of their goddamn family and not ours.’ And then my mom said—verbatim, ’cause I’ll never forget—‘I know. Some days, I think we’d all be better off if that’s the way it was.’”

Jake’s anecdote silenced me. I stared at him, at the pain that contoured the edges of his face. I almost couldn’t believe that we shared the same wound, the one that never really healed.

He gave a sad smile. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

I reached for his hand, running my thumb over his callused fingers. Something rich and warm—honor, maybe—blossomed around my heart. “Not even the Lanes?”

Jake shook his head. “As much as Sam and Hale are my chosen brothers, there’s a distance between us when it comes to … family stuff. They’d never be able to understand what it’s like to go through life without that kind of unconditional love. What it feels like to just sort of float along, untethered.”

I stepped closer to him, resting my cheek against his chest as the hot wind whipped off the river against us. “Well, I understand. I know that untethered feeling exactly.”

“You do?”

“Yes. My parents don’t give a shit about me, either.” My voice caught a little. The tequila had me feeling raw, emotional. I knew I’d lose it if I went into the details. “So to answer your question, they won’t be at my graduation next week. Believe me.”

“Screw them, then.” Jake moved his hands up my back and neck, tilting my face to look at his. “Because I’ll be there.” When he leaned down to kiss me, my whole body rang.

Together, the two of us were unshakable, a power couple. I treasured having him on my arm at parties and events; I saw the way other women ogled him whenever we were out on the town, the envious stares they’d shoot me. My friend Debbie referred to him as “a snack and a half,” and it was easy to see why. Jake wasn’t oblivious to his good looks, but he didn’t seem to know just how handsome he was, either. At least not back then. He wasn’t arrogant or assuming; when girls were flirtatious, his response was friendly, but he didn’t flirt back. It was part of why I loved him so insanely. And why I trusted him, too.

I went to as many of Jake’s shows as work allowed, always finding my way to the front of the crowds, which became more and more packed as Danner Lane’s following grew. Onstage, Jake was committed, radiant, alive. He said it grounded him to know I was there, but he rarely acknowledged me—he was too in the zone. I loved seeing him play, loved watching his fingers brush the steel strings of his guitar and knowing what those same hands would do to me later. I treasured that of all the enraptured girls in the audience, only I got to have him.

I started looking for two-bedroom apartments over the summer, with the idea that we’d move in together when my lease was up in the fall. We never really talked about it—it just seemed like a logical, unspoken next step. We were spending every night in the same bed; we were ambitious; we were in love, tethered only to each other. Our future was bright.