Page 20

SIXTEEN

JAXON

Tapping at my window startles me awake, and I sit up in bed, looking to my left.

I don’t see anything. My brain is playing tricks on me.

It’s not the first time I thought Wesley was back, trying to sneak inside.

For years after he left, I would wake up, thinking I heard the familiar tapping. But it was always in my head.

Except I hear it again. Then I see the silhouette blotting out the illumination from the streetlight.

“The hell?” I whisper, then stumble out of bed and go to the window. I peek out and see Wesley walking back and forth in front of the glass, weaving slightly. “Fuck.” I rush to open the window and pull up the blinds. “Wes? You okay?”

He shakes his head. “Can you come outside? I’m a little too old to climb through your window.”

“Do you wanna come in? I can?—”

“No,” he answers quickly. “I can’t…” He stops and turns to the side, vomiting. Well, not really vomiting, more like gagging and tossing up stomach acid. “I can’t be in four walls again.”

I don’t know what that means, but I won’t pressure him to come inside. “I’m coming out. Don’t move.” I shut the window, slide on a pair of sweatpants over my boxers, and rush out of my room. Before I leave the house, I grab a bottle of water so he can rinse his mouth, and I dart outside.

Wesley is standing in front of the door, pacing back and forth, shaking his hands out like he’s anxious.

“You okay?” I ask again

He turns to me, and I gasp. He looks…fucking wrecked. Not only does sweat drip down his face, but it’s red and blotchy, like he’s been crying. “I needed…you’re a safe space. I needed somewhere safe.”

I rush over to him, cupping his face in my hands. He sighs, and his body sags, his shoulders shaking as if he’s… “Shit, Wes, I’m sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for. I pull him in for a hug, and he grips my shoulders as if I’m a lifeline, and he sobs.

I lower us to the ground, holding on to him as he cries and rock him back and forth. “I’m here,” I whisper, rubbing the hair at the base of his neck. “I’m here. It’ll be okay. I got you.”

“Jaxon…why? Why did he do that to me? Why me?”

Fuck, he’s talking about Perry. Bile rises in my throat just thinking about what Wesley went through. Even if I could imagine what happened to him, I would never be able to understand exactly what was done to him and how he even survived.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry. You’re safe, okay? You’ll always be safe with me.”

Finding out that he was not only raped, but he was taken advantage of repeatedly for close to a year wrecked me so badly that I dropped into a deep depression. I could have helped him long before any of that happened if I had talked to Mom the first time he came over with bruises.

It took months of therapy to untangle those feelings and even longer to come to terms with the fact that I did what I thought was right at the time and would have done things differently had I known.

Wes cries more, tucking himself closer to me, practically sitting on my lap. I don’t want to let him go.

I’m not sure how long we sit there, but after a while, Wesley’s sobs turn to hiccups, then he breathes out a long exhale. “I’m sorry I lost it like that. It was either that or go get some booze.”

“No need to apologize. I’ll always be here when you need me.” I pause then delicately ask, “You were thinking about using?”

He nods. “I almost did. There’s a gas station between here and Suzette’s house. I had to force myself to run past it.” He forces a chuckle. “It’s been weeks since I’ve worked out, so my legs are a little wobbly.”

“It’s okay.” I pull back so I can look at him. “I’m proud of you. That took a lot of courage, you know?”

He breathes a humorless laugh. “Yeah, then I come here and knocked on your window like we were still teenagers.”

I sigh and wrap my arms more snugly around him. “You can knock on my window anytime you’d like. Though, you could also call me,” I say, trying my hand at some levity.

He chuckles like he means it this time. “I don’t have your number, or I would have.”

Wesley pulls away from me and sits on his butt, pulling his knees to his chest. I reach forward and push his hair back from his forehead. “What happened, Wes? If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows roughly.

A few tears escape his eyes, and he wipes at them quickly.

“I went to that house and something…the first time he ….everything came crashing back. All of it. The sights, the smells, the sounds. And…I couldn’t take it.

” He looks up at me, his brown eyes full of grief and pain from his past. “I remembered when I was going through shit before I moved, and I would always come here. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind.

” He curses. “I should have called my sponsor.”

“Do you want to now?”

He pats his pockets and shakes his head. “I left my phone at home. I didn’t have plans to go to that house, but something compelled me to, and I left before I could go back for it.”

“You wanna use my phone?”

“No. I don’t know his number by heart anyway.” He scoffs. “And I can’t take your number before I go.”

“It’s okay. You can give me yours before you leave, and I’ll text you, so you’ll have mine.”

In a low voice, Wesley says, “You saved me, you know?” He peeks at me through the hair that’s covering his forehead.

“You and Mr. and Mrs. Collins. I know I hurt you in the past when I said you broke my trust, and I’ll work at earning your forgiveness until the day I die.

I just don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate what you all did for me. ”

“I wish I’d done more.”

“You did more than my egg donor.” He silent for a few beats, then says, “Before my dad came for me, I hadn’t seen him in a long time.

I’m not sure how they got in touch with him to get me so quickly, but only about ten hours after I was taken to the hospital, they had him located, and he took me away from this hellhole.

I got to spend the last years of his life with him.

He died before we got signed, but he was proud of me. ”

“How did he die, if you don’t mind me asking? ”

“Heart attack. He held on for a few weeks in the hospital, but the damage to his heart was too extensive. I got to see him before he…before he passed.”

I look at him, the haggardness that crosses his face, his puffy eyes, the downturn of his lips, the defeated set of his shoulders. He’s worn out.

Standing, I hold my hand out to him and say, “Come on. Let me show you something.”

Wesley stares at my hand for a few beats, then takes it, allowing me to heave him to his feet. I wrap him in my arms again, pulling him close as I whisper, “You’re okay as long as I’m here.”

He lets out a shuddering breath and nods against my shoulder. “Thank you. Did I wake you?”

I start to lie and tell him that I was already up, but I don’t want to tell even the smallest of falsehoods. “Yeah, but it’s okay. I’ll always wake up when you need me.”

I hang on to him for a few more seconds, then I let him go and say, “Follow me.”

We step inside, and I halfway expect to see Mom standing at the kitchen counter, smiling when she sees us. The grief that she’s not is so strong that my chest hurts.

Wesley stares at the kitchen as well, his eyes taking on that same anguished expression he had when he knocked on my window. “I wish I’d seen her before she died.”

“She would have liked that, but she didn’t hold it against you. She loved that you were successful.”

We head down to the basement, and Wesley gasps. “Looks different from when we were kids.”

After Wesley moved away, I spent more time down here than I should have, lying on the couch and staring at where my guitar used to be. Instead of my mother making me come upstairs, she and Dad started to renovate the basement, finishing it so I had a more comfortable place to mourn my best friend.

The walls were finished, insulated so there wasn’t a draft, the floor was done, thick carpet laid so I didn’t catch a cold walking barefoot. They moved the washer and dryer upstairs off the kitchen so I could have a space they wouldn’t intrude on.

I motion for him to sit on the leather couch while I go over to the closet and pull it open, grabbing the acoustic guitar from inside. It’s not like the Fender I gave him, but it was easier for me to learn on.

His eyes grow wide when he sees the instrument, panic flashing over his face. I’m not sure why, but I don’t ask. I sit on the coffee table and start strumming the strings, humming softly. The roles are reversed, him listening to me play for him.

“After you…left, I learned to play the guitar. I’m not as good as you, and the acoustic works better for me rather than electric.

Sometimes, I get these tunes in my head, and I’ll play them out.

This was one of the first that came to me.

” I glance up at him. “I can’t sing like you or even write music, but the melody won’t leave me, so I never forget. ”

I strum the song on my guitar, watching as Wesley gradually relaxes.

I’m not sure what lyrics would go along with the slow melody, but every time I play it, it soothes my soul. On days where I feel down or like I don’t want to go on, I play it, and some of the weight is lifted off my shoulders. It was my lifeline after Mom died.

“What’s it called?” Wesley asks as I get to the bridge.

“Lana’s Melody.” I look up at him with a grin.

“Not very original, but it was for my mom. She loved it. It was the first song I composed when I got more proficient at playing. When she died, it helped me get through the loss.” I strum a few more chords, then the song ends on a soft beautiful note.

I set the guitar beside me and place my hands in my lap.

“It’s wonderful,” Wesley says, looking off into the distance. “Almost like…play it again for me?” he asks.

Smiling, I grab the guitar and do what he asks, humming along softly.