By Degrees (40 page)

As I hold one of the frames that holds a photo of just Austin and his favorite Les Paul guitar, I trace his face and body with my finger, thinking back to our time together.
 
We were so young.
 
So naive.
 
We thought we could join this crazy world of rock stars and immerse ourselves in the celebrity lifestyle and yet keep our innocence, keep our wide-eyed excitement over the fantasy and all it had to offer.
 
Little did we know how staring into the bright light of fame can permanently damage your eyesight and make everything take on a dullness that begs to be polished.
 
Spend some money here, travel there, make friends with this person and party until the sun comes up - do anything to make life exciting and new again.
 
It brings new meaning to the term ‘burned out’.

It’s when I lay the photographs out in sequential order, from the beginning of our love story until the day before he died, that I see what Austin had done.
 
Up until now, I saw him as getting closer and closer to a flame, like a moth unable to resist the lure and willing to disregard his own health just to immerse himself in the brightness of its rays.
 
But now I was seeing something else.
 
Maybe it’s Tarin’s confession or finally being alone with my thoughts that’s doing it, but my vision clears and I see something else defining Austin’s last days.

As Austin got closer and closer to the flames, by degrees getting nearer and nearer to the thing that would destroy him, he pushed Scott and me away.
 
He distanced himself from the ones he loved most.
 
At the time I thought he was rejecting us, telling us in a very ineloquent way that we were no longer welcome in his life.
 
But when I look very closely at the pictures of him, when the camera catches him staring at his little brother with longing and a certain sadness, I notice something different.
 
A new emotion comes to the surface and nearly strangles me.

Austin wasn’t rejecting us.
 
He was saving us.
 
He was saving us from the thing that he knew would burn him up in the end.

And then I cry some more.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

I WAKE UP THE NEXT morning, and after putting out all the photos, I look at my texts and emails.
 
Scott is to the point of begging me to call, so I wipe the stale tears off my face and press the speed dial.

“Hey,” I say.
 
I sound like I’m half asleep, but I’m too disinterested to pep myself up and pretend I’m interested in talking to him or anyone else.

“Oh my god.
 
She’s alive!
 
It’s a miracle!”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously.
 
I’m so glad you didn’t jump off a bridge.
 
I have so many questions for you right now.”

“Oh, yeah?
 
Like what?”

“Like how many calories should Tarin be eating a day?
 
Josh wants to know.
 
And can he go to Gary Nash’s premier or should he decline?
 
Jelly’s off the hook.
 
Should I keep her away?
 
And what about Tarin in the studio?
 
Do you think I should force him?”

“I take it Mel was okay with you taking over.”

“He wasn’t excited about it, but he understood.
 
You must have unloaded a hell of a guilt trip on him.
 
If it was anything like the one you sent me on, I completely get why he signed everything over.”

I sigh heavily.
 
“Can I go now?”

“Hell no, you can’t go. Answer my questions, woman.”

“Fine.
 
Twenty-five hundred, yes to the premier, do what you think about Jelly, and yes to the studio.
 
You should go in there with him.”

“Really?
 
You mean that?”

“Yes, I meant all of it.”

“Do you still hate me?”

“I could never hate you.
 
I could feel betrayed for a little while, but I’ll get over it.”

He breathes out a long sigh of relief.
 
“Good.
 
Because I really don’t like hanging out in Chicago, but I’m coming back there after finishing with Tarin. Roomies forever, Scar.
 
Or until I find me a lady love, that is.”

A big part of me doesn’t want to know, but I ask anyway.
 
I can’t help it.
 
“How’s he doing?”

Silence.

“If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.
 
I know I walked away.
 
I don’t expect anyone to keep me in the loop. I was just wondering.”

“He’s having a rough time if you really want to know. He feels guilty.”

“Well, he should.”
 
I’m angry again.

“Oh, come on.
 
That’s total bullshit and you know it.”

I’m taken aback by the vehemence of his tone.
 
“How so?
 
He was there, Scott.
 
He was
there
.
 
In Austin’s last minutes.”

“Yeah.
 
I know.
 
And it just as easily could have been me, all right?
 
I saw Austin do stupid shit like that all the time.
 
We never know when it’s going to be too much or going too far, do we?”

His words echo around in my head, bumping into another memory.
 
Tarin said the same thing once, when we first met on the boat, I think.
 
That was the guilt talking.

“So.
 
When you see someone doing that and you know it’s going to be bad, you stop them.”

“We didn’t.
 
We didn’t stop him.”

I can’t answer that.
 
I guess I’m just as guilty as everyone else.

“Goodbye, Scott.”

“Wait!
 
I have more questions.”

“You don’t need me anymore.
 
Figure out the answers on your own.
 
You can do it.”
 
I hang up and go back to bed.
 
It’s ten in the morning and I’m too exhausted to go on with my day.

Chapter Forty

THE DOORBELL RINGS ANOTHER WEEK into my self-imposed bed rest.
 
I blow it off, knowing that if I ignore the maids and delivery people long enough, they’ll go away and leave me alone.
 
But this person is persistent.
 
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong …
The pain in the ass is banging on the door with a fist now.

I drag myself out of bed and shuffle to the front door.
 
“Jesus, Mary, and Jerome, I’m coming!
 
Keep your damn pants on.”
 
I look through the peephole, and stop breathing for a couple seconds when I see who it is.

“Come on, Scar, let me in.
 
I know you’re there.”

“Go away, Jack!
 
I don’t even know why you came here.”

“Of course you know.
 
I’m here to help.
 
Open the door or I’ll get someone in maintenance to let me in.”

“This isn’t an apartment complex, you big jerk.
 
No one has a key but me.”

“Fine.
 
I’ll just sleep out here in the hallway.
 
Hopefully your neighbors don’t mind me singing.”
 
He plays an acoustic rendition of
Wild Horses
by the Rolling Stones, his ragged, deep voice seeping through the door and turning my heart into a painful rock in my chest.
 
I should open the door, but the lyrics and his voice bring me to my knees.
 
I stay on the opposite side of the door, weeping onto the marble floor.
 
Alone while ignoring all my responsibilities and the people I’ve left behind I can manage.
 
Hearing Jack singing those words as I disappoint everyone I care about … this I cannot manage.

I know he’s just on the other side of the door from me, sitting with his back against it.
 
I hear his shirt sliding around on the surface.
 
He uses his knuckles and heavy silver rings to tap on the door when he’s done.
 
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away, babe.
 
Just open the door.
 
You know you’re going to eventually.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, Jack?”
 
I’m crying through the words.
 
That song has always been special but now it means way too much.
 
It’s too applicable to my life and I’ve always thought of it as melancholy.

“Because … you need me.
 
And friends don’t leave friends when they’re in need like this.”

I’ve left people who needed me before.
 
I torture myself with this knowledge, but I don’t share it because I don’t want him talking me down off the ledge I’m on.
 
I want to skip and trip along the edge of it until I lose all my remaining strength and plunge into the abyss.
 
I’m beginning to believe that dying could be so much easier than living.

“In the mood for a little Elton John?”

I stand up and open the door as he launches into his
a capella
rendition of
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
.
 
He falls onto the front entrance floor, flat on his back, smiling up at me.
 
He’s left his eyeliner off but his reddish brown hair is still a crazy mess like it always is.
 
He’s always what I imagined an Irish guy to look like, with the addition of a full upper body of tattoos.

“What?
 
No Elton John?”
 
He grins big, his blue eyes practically twinkling he’s so pleased with himself.

I kick him gently in the side of the head.
 
“No.”
 
I leave him for the kitchen and get out a glass.
 
Four gulps of water later and my voice is ready to work again.
 
He hauls his duffle bag and guitar case in the door and then joins me there.

I launch into him, hoping a very cold welcome will get rid of him before he gets too comfortable.
 
“I really don’t appreciate you just showing up here.
 
You weren’t invited for a reason.”

“Actually, Scott invited me.
 
And if you’d bother to pick up your phone once in a while, you’d have gotten my advance notice.
 
I actually hoped you’d pick me up from the airport.
 
I got mauled by a group of chicks at the baggage claim.
 
I almost lost a nipple piercing the painful way.”
 
He rubs his chest for emphasis.

I snort.
 
“Yeah, right.”
 
I hold out my hand.
 
“Hand me my phone.
 
I’ll call you a taxi to take you back.”

He picks my cell up off the counter.
 
“Nah.
 
I’m gonna stay in Chicago for a while, I think.”
 
He’s scrolling through my messages.
 
“Hmmm...
 
Looks like Tarin really wants to talk to you.”
 
He looks up at me, his expression all innocence.
 
“Is he your boyfriend or something?”

I jump up and lean far over the counter to snatch it from his hands.
 
I shut the screen off without looking at it and put it back down on the counter.
 
When I’m back on my feet in the kitchen I answer his questions.
 
“No.
 
He’s most definitely
not
my boyfriend.”
 
I try not to look at the phone, but my eyes keep getting pulled over to it like they’re being controlled by the texts there.

“Did you have sex with him?”

My mouth drops open and I sputter.
 
The good news is that I’m finally able to stop fixating on the stupid phone; the bad news is that Jack is so far up into my business he needs a good slapping with my boxing gloves.
 
“What the … Jack!
 
That is none of your business!”

“I’ll take that as a yes.
 
I thought you had a rule about not sleeping with clients.”
 
He leans on the counter with his forearms, taking up a completely casual stance as he stares into my eyes.

My usual smartass, sharp remarks aren’t leaping to mind.
 
All I can do is stare back at him with my ears and cheeks burning.

“I can see how you’d want that rule in place.
 
Sex complicates things.
 
When you and I were working together, trust me, I wanted to sleep with you.
 
There’s something very attractive about a heroine.
 
You want to be closer to the person who’s there pulling you out of the darkness, you know?
 
But I get it … that you can’t do that.” He traces patterns in the granite countertop with his fingers, not looking at me anymore.
 
“So what I’m wondering is, why him?
 
I mean, what makes Tarin so special that you’d throw that rule away?”
 
He looks up again and stares at me.
 
There’s hurt there in his expression.

Tears come to my eyes.
 
I can’t believe I made such a horrible, horrible mistake.
 
And with Tarin of all people.
 
Why hadn’t I slept with Jack?
 
He’s a much better person.
 
He didn’t let Austin die.
 
I can’t respond because nothing running through my mind is making sense right now.
 
I would never sleep with Jack.
 
I just don’t feel that way about him.
 
That just goes to show how stupid I am.