Jeff’s concerned glancemet my steely glare. “I’m not, Jon. I would never; you know that.”
I did know that. Ofcourse, I knew that, and with a long, conditioning sigh, I nodded to ensurethat he did, too.
“But,” he continued gently, treading lightly, “you’re my brother,okay, and I care about you a lot. I have watched you struggle to keep yourselftogether these past couple of years …”
“I’m fine,” I told him,forcing a light-hearted air to my tone and hoping he’d buy it.
He didn’t. “Yeah.Except you’re not.”
“I really don’t want totalk about it.” I eyed him with sincerity. “Seriously.”
“Well,” Jeff shruggedwith defeat, “you know you can. Whenever you need it. But I’m not asking you totalk to me. I’m just suggesting that maybe it’d help to write your songs. Youneed an outlet, Jon. You need to let yourself feel. You need to let yourselfgrieve and give yourself permission to let go. This shit is too poisonous tokeep it in, man, so let it out.”
CHAPTER THREE
JON
Let it out.
I couldn’t stopreplaying those three little words on the drive home in my old rust bucket of amini-vanthat I couldn’t afford to replace. I chantedthe three syllables repeatedly in my brain, as though it was impossible for meto wrap my head around their meaning.
Letit out.
He had said it asthough I didn’t need to write my music, but I did. Any artist knows you can’tstop the flow of creativity. You can’t just stuff a plug into inspiration. It’salways there, always whispering, begging and screaming. Ineededto put my pen to paper, to fill my notebooks with lyrics andmusic notes, sadness and anger, but I didn’twantto.
For two years, I hadsuccessfully lulled myself into some semblance of a life with little room forfeeling. I found a routine with my daughters and my job at Jeff’s. I woke up inthe morning and went to bed at night, and on most days, I avoided the naggingpains of my grief, buried deep underneath the surface.
I avoided those pains,mostly bynotwriting. To write meantto face them. To face them meant to heal, and to heal meant to be okay.
There was so much guiltin being okay.
Letit out.
Jeff’s deep, nasallyvoice echoed once again through my mind as I parked the car in its usual spotoutside of my apartment. As I climbed out into the flickering spotlight cast bythe parking lot lamp, I silently begged him to shut up, and slammed the doorbehind me.
I entered the apartmentbuilding and climbed the two flights of stairs to the apartment I’d beencalling home for the past fourteen years of my life. From the hallway, I couldhear the trio of giggles, muffled by the door, and I smiled with theanticipation of seeing them again. It’d only been several hours since they hadleft Jeff’s with my mother, but I missed them. I always missed them the secondthey were gone.
My key slid into thelock, but before I could open the door, it was thrown open by Shelly, my secondborn. Her cheeks were red, flushed, and her smile reached the sparkles in hereyes.
“Daddy!” she squealed,rushing forward to wrap her arms around my legs.
“Hey, Shell, what did Isay about opening the door without knowing who it is?” I scolded gently,narrowing my eyes with a warning while my lips betrayed me with a smile.
“Gramma said it wasyou. She tracked your phone,” she chided, rolling her eyes before turning backinto the apartment.
“Gramma needs to stopstalking me,” I retorted, lifting my gaze to my mother as she walked into theliving room to greet me.
“I just like to know whereyou are.” She pressed an attentive hand to my cheek for two long seconds. Longenough for my eyes to bore into hers with a silent scolding, and her armdropped to her side. “Did you eat?”
The pull of breath leftmy lungs aching. “Yes, Mom,” I grumbled, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. Iclosed the door behind me and stepped around her to drop my backpack on theold, ratty armchair.
“What did you have?”
“Jeff ran for Taco Bell.”
Mom’s pinched-lippedexpression was one of disapproval. “Well, I guess it’s better than nothing,”she conceded with a dismissive wave of her fingers.
Sighing exhaustedly, Iturned to my daughters. “Hey, ladies, how about you go to your room and get yourjammies on? I’ll be—”
