Page 12 of Always You (Guardian Hall #1)

Chapter Twelve

Alex

Marcus found me in the yard, a place I often retreated to when the walls of Guardian Hall felt too close. The cold air meant wrapping up, but at least I could breathe out here. He approached quietly, a cup of coffee in hand, and settled on the bench in the far corner under our cherry tree's stark, empty branches. Come spring, it would be white with blossom, but it was icy with snow right now.

“Jazz’s hands are doing well, his chest too,” he said but didn’t expand. I smiled at him in gratitude for that little piece of information. “You’ve been dangerously quiet,” he observed as he handed me the coffee. His voice was soft and cautious, as if he were navigating a minefield, which he was. We’d met in rehab, me just about to leave, him just about to start, my poison drink and drugs, his… well, everything really. He’d been wilder than I was, which was saying something.

And now look at us, a registered counselor and a fully-fledged doctor.

I accepted the cup, the warmth seeping into my hands and easing the chill that had settled in my heart since the group meeting and then, the flyer incident, when I’d started to say how sorry I was.

“I guess I am quiet, but not dangerously. I went to a meeting a couple of nights ago, and I called Abbie, and we talked. I’m good.” I finally glanced up. “You?”

“Good,” he said and tapped his temple, same as he always did when he recalled his early twenties. He’d never shared things with me, and hell, things had happened to me I’d never shared with him.

Maybe that was stupid because he was my best friend, and after what we’d been through together, he wouldn’t judge me.

Or maybe he would, and then, I’d lose the only person I had in my life.

Well, the only person who knew the real me, anyway.

“You ready to talk to me? Tell me what happened with Jazz?” he asked, his tone gentle, giving me the out if I needed it.

I winced. I knew that was why he was out here, but part of me thought maybe he’d just sit quietly, and I could drink my coffee in silence. The stupid part, probably, was the part that refused to see how I was closing down on him.

“I’m asking as a friend, and someone who cares about you, and worries about Jazz.”

“I told you; it’s his story to tell.”

“No. You see, I want to know your story first. Because you need a friend, and I’m your best friend, and… jeez…I want to help.”

The words hung in the air between us, and I stared into the dark liquid in my cup, thinking about the past I’d tried to outrun, the decisions that haunted me, a love lost in greed, and the crossfire of familial expectations and all the shit that came with it.

Taking a deep breath, I realized the silence wasn’t doing any good, that perhaps sharing the burden might lighten it. “I get caught up in Jazz,” I began, the words feeling foreign, yet necessary. “And…everything that happened before. My dad, the inheritance, the decisions I made.”

“A before-and-after thing,” Marcus summarized.

I nodded, and he kept his gaze steady, encouraging me to continue.

Reflecting on the dividing line in my life, the before and after, always came down to the day my father discovered I was gay and planning not just to forgo college, but to elope with the scholarship boy from school I’d fallen in love with—Jasper.

Jazz.

“Jazz always had dreams of becoming a soldier.” Wait. Was it right to tell Marcus that? I’d said it was Jazz’s story to tell, and then, I’d blurted out crap about Jazz’s dreams. I bit the inside of my lip. “I mean…”

“It’s part of your story,” Marcus encouraged.

“You think?”

“I know.”

I paused for a moment. “There was no way teenage me was letting him do that. And jeez, listen to me say that, as if I had a right to tell him what to do with his life. I was in love with him; therefore, I told myself I could decide for him.” I huffed a self-deprecating laugh. “I was so fucked up, self-righteous, and hell, I thought I’d dissuaded him, promising him a shared future funded by the enormous inheritance I was due when I turned twenty-one.”

“A lot of money,” Marcus murmured, and yeah, it had been. Millions. More than enough to buy this property, set up Guardian Hall, plus five more places like it in other cities. Back then, though, I only wanted a mansion, foreign travel, flashy cars, and a world of excess.

“I had these plans for Jazz and me to rule the world together, but what I was really doing was squashing his dreams and deciding his life for him. I never saw that.”

“How old were you?”

“Eighteen.”

“We all have the worst dreams at that age. I wanted to be a pop star.”

I snorted a laugh. “I’ve heard you sing, and no offense, but you make caterwauling cats sound good.”

“Ouch,” he faked shock, and we smiled at each other—somehow, he was making this easy for me. “So, what happened next?”

“I fucked up. I made all these plans, told my dad in one petulant shouting match that not only was I skipping college, because I had a ton of money and needed no more school, but also that I was gay and marrying Jazz, and I told him there was nothing he could do. Out of nowhere, my father started throwing papers at me, and I was completely caught off guard when I realized they were legal documents being prepared that could change my inheritance age to thirty. Not only that, but my monthly allowance was almost eliminated. The condition for him not to file was that I ended my involvement with Jazz and focused on heading to college.”.

“Okay?”

“That was my money, and I was pissed, but when faced with this ultimatum, I made a decision I’m so fucking ashamed of. You have to understand that, at eighteen, forever seemed an expanse, stretching out eighty years or more. Going to college until my money came in and choosing to pretend my love for Jazz didn’t exist, felt like a solution, but I couldn’t tell Jazz because Dad threatened to get him thrown out of the school, block all college applications. He even implied that he’d get Jazz hurt and told me how easy it was to claim a hate crime killed someone.”

Marcus inhaled sharply. “Your dad threatened Jazz?”

“You know my dad.”

“Unfortunately.” Most of the US knew the asshole who’d, five years ago, murdered a young co-ed in a sex game gone wrong, complete with heroin and two other guys in the same room. His downfall had been the biggest firework—unexpected, explosive—destroying his life and his precious family name, and bankrupting him almost overnight. But he’d hurt people in the past, a hateful, bigoted man who deserved what karma threw at him.

“He said he had people who would change Jazz’s life, and by change, I didn’t know what he meant, but it was paralyzing.” I sipped some coffee just to give myself time to think—it wasn’t so hot anymore—still, it was caffeine, and I needed it.

“So, he threatens Jazz, threatens your inheritance, you send Jazz away, and you end up in college.”

“I barely lasted a semester.” The pain of those days was still fresh. “Jazz wouldn’t speak to me. I assumed he was just being an asshole, but it wasn’t like I could tell him to wait, or sneak shit past my dad or my security team.” I paused because that was a lie, and Marcus didn’t deserve me lying to him. “I could have done those things, but I didn’t, because my seventy--million--dollar trust fund was out of reach, and I wanted that money so bad. I fucked up. I got into drugs, drinking. I messed up college. I nearly OD’d, ending up in rehab three times. The last time was when I met you.”

We exchanged glances—a lot of time had passed since the two of us had first met. So much time, trauma, and life experience. I reached over and gripped his hand, squeezing it through his gloves.

He smiled at me and leaned in, his question gentle, but probing. “And Jazz joined the Army?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, the word heavy with regret. “He did. And I saw photos of him with another guy. He had someone new, and I didn’t even question the image. I just… believed the intel because it was easier than to face what I’d done.”

“And these photos came from your dad’s security team, right?” Marcus asked, piecing together the story I’d seldom shared.

I nodded, bitterness creeping into my tone. “Took me too long to realize they’d been lying to me all along because I’d lost my ability to think so deep in using narcotics and booze.”

Marcus’s gaze was sympathetic, understanding. “So, when you got your head straight after that last rehab, did you still think you had time to fix things?”

“I did,” I admitted, feeling na?ve. “I thought I’d have forever to fix everything, but the two letters I sent, and the emails, he just replied with brief messages asking me to leave him alone. And by the time I realized my mistakes, everything had changed. I was twenty-one, my grandparents’ money was mine, and it was too late for Jazz and me.”

Marcus was silent for a moment, digesting the story.

“I can’t find the words, and now isn’t the right time to tell him this—he’s in a terrible place, and even if there has been a miracle at work for him to end up here, it’s not my place to wreck his world.”

“As his doctor, hold off. As your friend… If he carried anything for you, long-lost love or whatever, then hell, you both lost a lot because of it.”

I breathed in frozen air and coughed. “I made him leave. If it wasn’t for me sending him away, telling him I didn’t love him, all for money, then he might not have enlisted, and then…”

“You said he wanted to enlist. Also, what you did wasn’t all for money, my friend,” Marcus said sadly. “There were the threats, as well. So yeah, you fucked up, but you’ve owned up to your fuck-ups in the past, and you know that dwelling on guilt changes nothing.”

“I know.”

“Still, as Jazz’s doctor, don’t dump this on him now. Yeah?”

“Okay.”

“One thing though, Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“Start smiling again, yeah? You’re scaring the staff.”