Not After Everything (19 page)

I wake up curled into Jordyn. Early morning sunlight streaks across the mess of Mom's photos on the floor. I pull myself out of Jordyn's arms and slip down to gather them up and place them back in their home with the razor. I pause as I'm about to lock the metal box. There's really no need to lock it or even hide it. In this house it's safe from anyone trying to destroy its secrets.

I stand next to the bed and look at Jordyn, the way the sheet's barely covering one of her perfect naked breasts and her shiny black hair is fanned out over the pillow. She looks so peaceful, so content. I, on the other hand, look awful, as I soon discover in the bathroom mirror. My eyes are sunken, my cheekbones sharp. I'm way too thin. I don't even look like me.

When I return from the bathroom, Jordyn's awake.

“Hey.” She pats the bed next to her.

I sit down and she wraps her arms around my waist, curling into me. Her hair smells like jasmine. I breathe her in. This is the first time I've ever had sex with a girl and stuck around for any significant amount of time after, let alone the whole night. And yet it feels like the most comfortable thing in the world.

We both have to work at the studio today, so I don't get to enjoy it for very long. Or anything else that might come of sitting in bed naked together.

• • •

After work, Jordyn and I decide to grab something to eat— Jordyn's treat—to give Henry and Kelly some alone time. They're not around when we get home, though both of their cars are in the garage. I don't even want to think about what they're probably doing.

Jordyn seems to have the same thought, because as soon as we get down to the basement, she says, “Gross, right?”

I laugh.

We settle on the couch and flip through channels until I stop on an old episode of
Friday Night Lights
.

“So what's going on with Stanford? Have you checked or anything since—”

“What's the point?” I say, sighing.

She pulls herself out from under my arm and turns to face me. “The point, Tyler, is so you can make something of yourself and get as far away from your prick father as you can. I know you could do something amazing if you had half a mind to.”

“How are you so sure? And anyway, I'm not playing this year—they've probably pulled my scholarship alre—”

“It's called financial aid. I mean, look at your grades. They can't
only
be interested in you because of football.”

“Trust me, they can. And . . . I don't know. What's the point? What if I just end up giving up, like . . .” I trail off. I didn't mean to say that out loud.

She leans in so I'm forced to look her in the eyes. “You're not like her.”

“You don't know that.”

“Tyler, you're stronger than she is. You will get yourself out of a situation that makes you feel you don't have a choice before you ever get to that point.”

I stare at the TV, not really seeing it.

She squeezes my leg. “You miss it, don't you?”

“What?” I practically whisper because I know.

“Football, stupid.”

I'm not sure how, but she's managed to make me smile.

“Well?”

“I guess I do. Sometimes. But whatever. It kept me from her when she needed me.”

“I get that. But you know it has nothing to do with what happened, right? I mean, you do know it wasn't your fault. Or football's. Don't you?”

I shrug.

“Tyler, look at me.”

I do.

“It. Was
not
. Your. Fault.”

I nod. But it still feels like it was partly my fault.

“I just can't understand why she thought it was the only way out,” I say.

“I never understand why people think dying is a way out at all. I mean, you're dead. There's nothing else. You're just dead. Why would anyone think that's better than . . . something else?
Anything
else? I don't understand how they're afraid, or whatever, of anything more than they're afraid of dying. Or maybe they're
not
afraid of dying, and I
really
don't understand that.”

“‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear; seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.'”

Jordyn stares at me.

“
Julius Caesar
,” I say. “I don't know. Maybe my mom felt like a coward, dying every time my dad . . . And maybe that time— Maybe that was her valiant necessary end.”

Jordyn leans over and kisses me hard. “But it's not
your
necessary end. You have options, Mr. Shakespeare-quoting-smarty-pants.”

I crack a small smile.

“Maybe your mom didn't feel like she did, but you do.”

Maybe I do have options. At least, more than this. For the first time since Mom died, I actually feel . . . hope. And it's scary as shit.

• • •

I'm in the middle of a dream that has something to do with playing a football game inside the school, like in the hallways, and Coach is yelling at me, and for some reason I can't remember how to run. And then Marcus hands me the ball and I
kiss
it, but now it's Jordyn.

It's only then that I realize the kissing is actually happening. Jordyn has crawled into my bed and she's kissing me. Then she curls up into the crook of my arm. I run my fingers through her hair. The small red streak of hair is peeking out from underneath and I curl it around my finger. I love the way she feels. I love the way she smells. I love the way she looks at me.

“I love you,” I say. I don't even register I've said it until she smiles wider than I ever thought her capable of. I want to take it back, but then I realize, no, I don't. I've never said those words out loud to anyone that I can remember. Not even Mom—well, except when I was really little—for some reason we just didn't say it. I've only ever spoken those words to Captain. It's terrifying. And exciting. And terrifying. I'm holding my breath.

“I love you too.” She brushes her lips to mine and then rolls us so I'm on top of her and she reaches for a condom.

My heart has exploded inside my chest. I'm probably dying right this very second. I can feel the warmth radiating from the center of my rib cage. But I can't stop smiling. Who knew those four little words from her lips could actually kill me? I didn't know death could feel this good. I didn't know I could die from happiness.

• • •

“Tyler's going to Stanford,” Jordyn announces over coffee and blueberry pancakes.

I drop my fork into my syrupy plate.

“That's great. Congratulations. You were always a smart kid, I just didn't realize you were
Stanford
smart,” Kelly says as she raises a steaming cup to her lips.

My ears are as hot as the coffee in my cup.

“He's in all AP classes. What's your GPA again?” Jordyn asks.

“Um. Around four point three, I think.” I lick the maple syrup off the end of my fork and dig back into the pancakes.

“Not bad. What'd you get on the SAT?” Henry asks. He suddenly seems very interested in this topic of conversation.

I haven't shared that score with anyone except Mom and Coach. Dr. Dave knows—he's seen my file. But we've never talked about it directly. It feels so braggy.

Jordyn nudges me under the table.

“Twenty-three forty,” I say into my plate.

“Shut up!” Jordyn slaps my arm. “What about the ACT?”

“Thirty-four.”

Henry and Kelly are staring at me like they've invited some strange creature to breakfast and they're only just figuring out it's not human.

“I knew you were smart, but . . .” Jordyn says with a look on her face not unlike her parents'.

“Stanford is lucky to have you, son.” Henry raises his cup to me and then puts it to his lips. The disgusting slurping sound sort of ruins the effect, but I expect nothing less from Henry.

“And Jordyn's only just getting her applications ready,” Kelly says. “I would blame Aslan for the procrastination gene, but I think we all know she gets it from me. Maybe you can help her out, Tyler.”

Jordyn bats her eyelashes, making me love her even more.

By Christmas Eve my hand is completely back to normal and Captain is able to get around on his own. Now he gets to sleep on a giant plush bed Kelly bought for him that sits in the corner of my room. Which is good for when all the relatives come. Kids seem to have a short memory when it comes to instructions, and we don't want them hurting Captain or, worse, have him bite someone because he's being hurt. So he gets to spend Christmas in my temporary room. He doesn't seem to mind.

Christmas Eve dinner is nothing short of an event at the Smith-Franks's house. All the same people who were at Thanksgiving show up and most of them stay the night. The couches are littered with small children vying for sleeping space, while the adults take the guest rooms. The meal is every bit as delicious as Thanksgiving. And I don't even like ham. I don't know how Kelly does it. She should have her own restaurant or something.

After the big meal, we all gather by the giant fire and Henry plays the guitar again. And again Kelly forces wine on everyone, I think so she's not the only one getting sloshed. The main difference between Christmas and Thanksgiving is that Jordyn doesn't hide her affection for me. She sits on my lap and boldly kisses me in front of everyone. All the young cousins “ew” and all the adults tease us. They also give Henry and Kelly a hard time for letting me stay in the house. “I hope you're keeping an eye on Jordyn's door to make sure there's no funny business going on right under your nose,” Patricia teases.

My face is the temperature of the fire and I'm sure it's much redder than Jordyn's is.

Henry and Kelly exchange a look that says they're completely aware that we're having sex right under their noses. Then they laugh and kiss.

What is even happening?

Jordyn snuggles up to my ear and whispers, “Mom knows, and I imagine she told Henry. They're fine as long as we're, you know, being safe. They'd rather we do it here than in the back of one of our cars or something.”

I wish the floor would open up and swallow me. I can't look at Henry or Kelly ever again. I will have to find a new job now. I will have to move and change my name and start a new life as Stuart Longfellow. Somewhere Henry and Aslan—oh, god, Aslan. I can't even glance in his direction—can never find me.

Jordyn is giggling on my lap and I want to be like, “What is wrong with you?” but, thankfully, someone's changed the subject to one of the cousins starting private school.

“You're not mad, are you?” Jordyn says into my neck.

I turn to face her with a tight smile. “You're lucky I love you. Where's your dad right now? Is he looking at me?”

She laughs and kisses me again. “Don't worry. He's totally oblivious.”

At least there's that. Not that I'm all that afraid of Aslan, but he strikes me as the kind of guy who has moves you don't expect, like castrating the daughter's boyfriend with one easy flick of his wrist.

• • •

The days after Christmas are spent helping Jordyn fill out forms and writing essays and organizing her portfolio. My favorite is how she uses photographs she's taken of things so close up they're unrecognizable and draws from the texture to paint something that incorporates the photo. It's unlike anything I've ever seen before, not that I'm so well-versed. Watching her get lost in a piece . . . it's like when an entire practice day felt like about ten minutes. I wonder if I'll ever have that again. And then I realize, like whiplash, why the hell can't I?

After working up the nerve for a few days, I finally run the idea by Jordyn of writing Stanford a letter explaining my situation, and when I do, she literally jumps up and down. At first I thought it was gross to play the sympathy card like that, but then I started writing and I realized I wasn't bullshitting. I want this. Like, really want it. It's like Jordyn said, I have choices. I choose to do something.

I hesitate before dropping the letter to Stanford in the mailbox, but Jordyn snatches it out of my hand and drops it in before I can change my mind. Then she kisses me deeply right there in front of the post office and I'm not even fazed by the public make-out.

• • •

And then the worst thing happens: Winter break comes to an end.

Jordyn helps me come up with a story that'll keep Captain at her house for the rest of the school year. I know she really wants me to tell her parents the truth. I know she hopes they'll offer to let me stay too. But if I stay much longer, Dad will figure things out, and he could do something to any of them.

“So we'll call the cops and he'll go to jail and then you'll be safe,” Jordyn says, after I explain my reasoning for the four hundredth time.

“You don't get it,” I snap. This conversation is wearing on my nerves. I know she means well, but she doesn't know my dad. I take a breath, calming down. “Sorry. I didn't mean to—”

“I know. And I know you're afraid—”

“Of course I'm afraid. He will
hurt
you.”

“I think you're wrong.”

“Look what he did to Captain!”

“That's my point exactly!” Jordyn's losing patience too.

“I can take care of myself. But if I have to worry about you or Kelly or Henry, even, I won't be able to function.”

“How do you think
I
feel knowing he's going to hurt
you
?”

“That's different.” I pace to the window, trying not to seriously lose it.

“How?”

Silence.

Jordyn sighs and I hear her lie back on her bed.

“What?” I say.

“I'm afraid to say anything else.”

I shoot her a “spit it out” look.

She rolls onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. “What if my mom became, like, your legal guardian or something?”

“Jordyn, I—” I sigh, turning back to the window. “Can we please stop fighting about this?”

She doesn't want to let it go, I can tell, but she does. For now.

Our—well, Jordyn's cover story for Captain involves him having to climb down too many stairs to reach my backyard. It's not true, and if Kelly were to come over for any reason, she'd clearly see why, but it works for now. Kelly insists he stay with them. Also, she's home all day and loves having him to dote on. She's really getting attached. Sure, it makes me a little jealous when Captain occasionally runs to greet her before he greets me, but I know he's so much better off here.

As for me, I have to find an adequate lock to keep Dad out now that he's destroyed mine. Also, a new door. Jordyn and I scour the Internet trying to locate the best lock for the job. It's her treat. She's insisted. It's my Christmas present, even though all I was able to get her was a set of charcoals I saw her eyeing and then she got all distracted and forgot to buy them. She went crazy when she opened it. She was impressed that I remembered.

The lock and door are, like, two hundred times more expensive, but she has absolutely insisted on helping to keep me and the rest of my things safe.

• • •

We found the perfect lock and she's having it installed today along with a solid wood door. We're on our way to meet the guy. I just hope Dad didn't choose today to stay home from work.

Thankfully, his car is gone when we pull into the driveway, because there's a white van waiting out front.

Max, the guy Jordyn called to install the lock, strides over and gives Jordyn a hug.

“Max is one of Henry's fishing buddies. He did the locks at the studio,” she says after introducing us.

Max wastes no time getting to work. He lets out a low whistle when he sees the damage done to my previous lock and door, but doesn't say a word.

Jordyn and I sit at the kitchen table and I mostly stare at the front door just in case Dad walks in for some reason. Well, that and the red-stained grout on the tile next to my foot.

“He's not going to tell Henry about this, is he?” I whisper.

“I told him you had a break-in and they only went for your room. I told him we think it was one of the guys you got into a fight with trying to retaliate.”

I brush her hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek with my thumb. “Thank you.”

• • •

Max is done in a little less than two hours. “Give me your phone.” He holds out his palm.

Jordyn digs it out of my pocket and places it in his hand while I try to figure out why the hell he needs my phone. He tap-tap-taps and hands it back to me with a new icon on it.

“Tap there.”

I do.

A screen comes up that reads:
User: One. Name: Tyler Blackwell. Access: Unlimited.

“This shows that you are the only person able to access this lock. Ever. Now I'll just program a spare key in the event that you lose that one and be on my way.”

I nod. He takes another key from the box the lock came in as well as my phone, then he taps around some more before handing both back to me.

“If anyone tries to jimmy it, you'll get an alert on your phone and the lock'll shut down, so it is virtually impossible to open without your master key. And this door should hold, good choice. It's not a steel door, but I think nothing short of an ax will go through this bad boy. You should be all set. I programmed my number in your phone so if anything happens, call me and I'll talk you through it.” He hands me a thick manual.

“Thanks, Max.” Jordyn throws her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek.

He laughs. “You got some girl here,” he says to me.

“Don't I know it.” I shake his hand. “Thanks, man.”

“Let's celebrate.” Jordyn takes my hand and suggestively pulls me down to my dungeon as soon as Max is on his way. But the mood is killed when she sees the damage Dad's done to my room. “Oh my god.”

“It wasn't this bad before I left.”

Along with all the contents of my shelves and drawers scattered all around the room, there are now two holes punched in the drywall above the paneling. And the paneling has been kicked and crushed in in several spots.

“Tyler . . .”

“It's all cosmetic. Don't worry about it.” I can see the fright clear on her face. “I'll be fine. I promise. I just wish I knew what the hell he's looking for.”

• • •

“So, what'd you get me?” Dad's on the couch when I get home from school the first day after winter break. His tone lacks its usual disdain. “Or did you not feel the need to get a Christmas present for your only parent.”

I head to the fridge, ignoring him. Why is he home, anyway? Then he starts coughing violently and I realize he's sick again. Good. I hope he dies.

“Throw me a beer, wouldja?”

Of course, he's never sick enough not to drink.

When I throw him a beer he actually says “Thanks.”

I pull out my phone and start texting Jordyn while I wait for the pan to heat up.

“Where'd that fancy door come from?” Dad sets the opened beer on the coffee table before slowly trudging up the stairs into the kitchen.

“It was a gift,” I say, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “Want me to make some soup?”

He launches into a coughing fit, not bothering to cover his mouth. “I don't need soup. I need whisky.”

Yeah, that'll help.

He reaches out and gently pats me on the shoulder—the way Henry does—as he passes me to get to the cabinet above the fridge. It completely freaks me out. Did he actually miss me or something? I watch him struggle to get the bottle down, too stunned to say anything. I turn back to my cooking before he sees me staring.

“I'm short a bottle of vodka. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?” He's standing right behind me at the stove. So close that when he coughs I feel something hot and wet hit my neck.

“I haven't exactly been here, not that you'd notice,” I say under my breath.

“I noticed.” He says this like it hurt his feelings or something. “So, that dog okay or what? I didn't mean to . . . I'm . . . I don't know how you're able to keep going like you do. Got that from her, I guess. Or, well, maybe not. Definitely didn't get it from me, though. Anyway, I like Captain, he's a good dog.”

“Well, he died,” I snap.

He's very still for a moment. I can't even hear him breathing. Then he puts his hand on my shoulder and starts crying. “Shit. I'm . . . Shit, Tyler. I'm so . . . I'm—”

I can't do this. I turn the stove off and throw the pan in the sink, chicken and all.

• • •

I call Jordyn as soon as I get into my car. I tell her everything. I tell her how I made him feel guilty and how he sort of apologized and how it only made me angrier. She tells me to come to the studio until he's passed out. I pick up some burgers for us on the way. Then I spend the rest of the night hanging out with Jordyn and Henry. But instead of working, I do my homework.

“Are you . . . ?” Jordyn feels my forehead with the back of her hand. “Are you feeling okay? Because I'm pretty sure that's . . . homework. And you're, like, applying yourself.”

I grin back at her. “What can I say? I actually found this assignment interesting.”

She shoves my hand out of the way to further investigate. “Yep. Definitely sick. Nobody actually finds calc interesting.”

“AP calc,” I say, shoving her aside playfully. “And I do find it interesting.”

“Freak.” She kisses my cheek.

“Love you,” I call out as she bounces through the curtain.

And I actually do find it interesting. In fact, I enjoy all of my classes this semester. I don't have Mrs. Hickenlooper anymore, so that in itself is a reason to enjoy school again.

Before long, I find myself falling back into my old groove. Almost like I was before I found Mom in the tub. Some of my teachers comment on it, but in a delicate way. And it doesn't even bother me. Not even when Mrs. Ortiz stops me in the hall to tell me she's so happy to see me smiling. And it makes me wonder . . . Shit, maybe she actually did want to help me and just didn't know how. Like Sheila.

How many other people did too?