Page 27 of Beyond the Stix

No matter that he was my favorite person when I was a child, until… I shake off those memories and fold my arms across my chest. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“First, I want to say how sorry I am for your loss. I know you two were close.”

“Thanks,” I say, my stance relaxes a bit, but I still keep alert.

“I also want to say I’m sorry for everything that happened in the past.”

“You said that, now let me go.” I’m about to go around him, but he puts out his arm.

“I’m not done. I crossed the line, but when you wet the bed—no matter that my intentions to clean you up were innocent, you reacted bad—and so did I by slapping your face. I mean it. There wasn’t a nefarious thought that crossed my mind when I was taking care of you that night, Con.”

I wet the bed?Why don’t I remember that?

Could I have made a genuine mistake? I was terribly sick, and Mom said I was delirious with fever. I stare at Jessup for a long moment, and begin to reevaluate what my ten-year-old selfthought that night. Should I trust his memory over mine at the supposed reason for him touching me inappropriately? Maybe. But something inside my gut is telling me to be cautious.

Since I don’t have the brain capacity at this point to think clearly enough to decide, I reply, “Well, if that’s it, I’m going back.”

“Can I have a hug? It’s been so long and I miss you so much,” he says with one of his charming smiles. Jessup raises his arms out wide, like he used to do when I was a kid.

The churning in my gut roils, but my feet move as Jessup closes the gap. My uncle wraps his arms around me, and holds me tight to his chest. He whispers in my ear, “You know that I’ve always loved you, sweetheart.”

All thoughts flee my brain and I stand there like a statue, not knowing what to do or what to say to him.

Then John strides into the bathroom, his blue eyes honed like daggers, and aimed at Jessup. He pulls me out of his hold and shoves me behind his back. “Are you alright, Connor?”

“I’m okay,” I utter in shock as my heart achingly tries to beat a path out of my chest.

“Connor, your mother wants you.” He nudges me out the door while he stands between Jessup and the exit.

As the door swings closed, I hear my bodyguard growl menacingly, “You had your time, now you can leave.” But the rest of John’s menacing words are muffled, but I can’t understand any more of what he’s saying to my uncle.

I reach the table and take my seat. My mother looks at me, her eyes filled with concern.

Before she asks about what’s probably written across my face, I say, “I’m okay,” smile, and hope she doesn’t prod me for more.

“We’ll talk tonight.” She pats my hand before standing up and facing everyone. I follow suit. She gives a heartfelt thank you to all who helped ease the burden of this trying day.

My mom is a respected person in her community of friends, and she names all the people who contributed their time and effort for today. Then she asks the deacon from her church to end the lunch with a prayer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see John take his place at the table. Then I catch my uncle’s eyes boring into me. His suit is slightly rumpled. I want to lean over to ask John what went on in that bathroom, but I refrain.

Once the prayer is done, Jessup takes off without a single word.

After saying our goodbyes to my bandmates, their security guys, and Fig, who are all heading back to Callum’s parents’ house, my mother, John, and I are the last of our group to leave the restaurant.

The ride home is quiet, but there’s a buzz of tension in the space.

“I have to check in,” John says as he ushers us into the house and then heads back outside. I know what he’s doing. He’s giving me and my mother some space.

“You don’t have to do that,” I call out to him, but John shakes his head and leaves.

“Connor, I want to know why you are still so angry at your uncle. I know he slapped you when you were ten, but holding a grudge this long isn’t healthy, honey. Did he do something else?” She isn’t demanding the answer, but there’s a note of strain in her eyes that conveys that she isn’t in the mood for anything but the truth.

“No, Mom. We just had a disagreement and neither of us was willing to bend. But we talked and it’s done now. That’s the truth.”Sort of.

I’m not willing to break my mother’s heart with the whole truth—especially after what Jessup told me in the bathroom today. Honestly, I really don’t know what the facts of that night are, and speculating will only lead to a dark rabbit hole I don’t want to fall into.

Tears begin to flood her eyes. “Your father…” she stands, “hold on.” She leaves the living room, and comes back a moment later with the box in her hand. The same box I saw in her closet two days earlier. “You made this for your father in first grade for Father’s Day.”