Lead (Stage Dive, #3)(68)

“The stuff she told them, it’s all true. Not like she signed a waiver when she gave birth, you know. Guess she’s entitled to her slice of the cake.”

“Like hell. She’s entitled to exactly nothing.”

A smile ghosted across his lips. I could only just see it through his mess of hair. When I’d left, it had been neatly slicked back. Now, his fingers had obviously staged some sort of revolt. The need to reach out and slide those strands back behind his ear so I could see him was huge.

“Did you see it?” he asked. “What she said?”

“Just the bit where she was saying she was homeless while you two live in mansions.”

“Well you missed the best part.” His chin almost touched his chest. “I did use to yell all sorts of shit at her, throw stuff. Only ever hit her once, though.”

My throat tightened to the point of pain. “Why did you hit her, Jimmy?”

“I came home and she was cleaning the place out, ready to finally leave,” he said. “I was fourteen. Dave was busy over at Mal’s house, thank god. One of her stoner friends had a car loaded up in the yard with everything we had of value. Not that there was much, the TV, microwave, shit like that. She came walking out of the house carrying Dave’s acoustic guitar. He worked his ass off mowing lawns all summer to pay for that thing. It was just a cheap one from the hockshop, nothing really. But he’d wanted one for so long, thought it was the shit.”

“I bet he did.”

“I told her to put it back, told her that it would break Dave’s heart, but she didn’t care. Said he was spoiled, that he could do with some toughening up. Like either of us were spoiled living in that house with her, holes in our clothes, miracle if we got fed.” One side of his mouth drew up, but it wasn’t in a smile. “She backhanded me, told me to get out of the way. She was wearing a ring.” He pointed to a tiny star of a scar above his top lip, half hidden in stubble. “See?”

“I see.”

“I slapped her, snatched the guitar right out of her hands. I wasn’t that big yet, didn’t get my growth spurt until I was fifteen, but I was big enough.” He looked down at his palm. “Her cheek went bright red. It looked horrible, but she didn’t do anything. Just kept looking at the guitar, stunned that I had it now and she didn’t. Then her friend came, dragged her into the car and they were gone. Just like that, mom was a memory. Well, she came back eventually … unfortunately.”

He looked up at me, face pale. “Everything she said, it’s all true. No one needs to make shit up about me.”

“Did you ever tell David about this?”

“No, just would have upset him. He still thought she’d sober up one day, get her shit together and be a real mom. He was a dreamer even back then.”

“After everything she’d done?”

He didn’t respond.

“You protected him for years, didn’t you?”

“Someone had to. I’d tell him to go hide, soon as she started, didn’t want him to see. He had to have heard though, because sometimes she’d scream at the top of her lungs. Mom was a mean drunk. Usually on dope she’d just drift off, leave us alone, but get a bottle of bourbon into her and the whole f*cking neighborhood knew about it.” He grabbed the back of his neck, face pained. “She’d slap me around. Couldn’t have her doing that to Dave. He was always the sensitive one. No big deal. Besides, she could be pretty f*cking funny stumbling around.”

“Why didn’t your father do anything about it?”

“She’d be better when he was home, mostly. But he just pretended it wasn’t happening. Not like the signs weren’t all there, our garbage can would be overflowing with bottles, no food in the fridge ’cause she’d spent all the money on booze and shit.” He turned to me. “He loved her, Lena. Loved her so much that he chose her over us. That’s what love does to you, it f*cks you up.”

“Not always. Look at David and Ev.”

He inhaled. “They’re happy for now. But one day, one of them will be like Mal’s dad, like my dad’s been since she left.”

“So it’s preferable to live your life alone and unhappy?”

“Better than winding up broken. Better than breaking someone.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“First pills I ever took were stolen from mom’s stash. It was my great big f*ck you to her.” His laughter was bitter. “If she was going to tell me how like her I was all the time, then I figured I might as well live up to it. Look how well that turned out. I am just like her, Lena.”

“No, you’re not. You’re clean now, you beat it.”

“The shit I’ve done over the years.” For a moment his eyes closed tight. Then he went back to studying my foot, reshuffling the cold wet ice pack. “All the things she said to me … she was right. I’ll never be clean, not really. Always be an addict at heart.”

“Jimmy, that’s just not true. You know it’s not. You did the work, you got clean.” I knew a little about people saying stuff, wounding you with words. The scars lingered a long, long time.

His lips were thin and white.

“Have you ever told anyone?”

A sharp short shake of his head. “No.”