Only Rivals, page 21
First, I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me as a friend. One might say you gave me a few more years since I didn’t think I’d make it past twenty. It was nice, feeling normalcy for a change.
But anyway, remember when my brother died?
It was the worst day of my life.
Like always, you were there for me.
Your mom helped with the funeral arrangements.
The second worst day of my life was the day of his funeral.
Not only did I have to bury my brother, but I also found out my best friend was a liar.
That the woman I planned to marry was also a liar.
It was the day of the funeral when I asked to borrow a dress shirt since mine no longer fit. You told me to stop at the apartment and grab one from your closet. I did, but while doing that, something caught my eye. It was a box, and I’m sure when you’re finished with this letter, you’ll know what box I’m talkin’ about.
You were supposed to hate my girl, not fuck her.
I found the notes, the pictures, all of it.
Gotta say, it broke my heart, man.
You sat there at the funeral with me, all the while knowing you were keeping that secret. Later, when Amelia wasn’t home, I snooped through her stuff. She also had a box of mementos, some with you and some with me, and then I found her high school diary.
I sat on the floor, weeping while reading how my best friend and girl had touched each other, kissed each other, FUCKED each other. And not one of you bothered to ever tell me.
Then, my mind started racing. Did you never tell me because you were fucking my girl behind my back?
It hurts for a girl to betray you, man. It hurts real bad. But your best friend? That’s a knife to the fucking heart.
I don’t know how much longer I’ll be alive, but before I go, I want you to know that I know you betrayed me. I want you to know that’s one of the reasons I’m dead too. I don’t know if you’ll care because then you might get my girl.
I trust you to take good care of the brewery.
Just like I trust Amelia will too.
And this time, let me trust you not to touch my girl.
Godspeed.
Chris
* * *
A sob catches in my throat as I run to the bathroom and puke.
Wiping my mouth, I go to my bedroom without glancing anywhere but at the bed, and I grab the letter he left me.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jax
Guilt is a wicked wound to the heart.
I’m a disgrace of a friend.
When I slide into my truck, I recollect my last times with Chris. I don’t remember him acting differently. I slam my fist against the steering wheel, and it blares into the night.
Why didn’t he come to me?
Confront us?
I don’t understand.
He never gave us the opportunity to explain ourselves.
I would’ve welcomed any punishment for lying—an ass whipping, losing our friendship, anything if it meant he’d still be here.
After I dropped off Amelia at her townhome earlier, it took me an hour to gain the guts to read the letter. I read it once. Then twice. Then three times.
Then, I dashed to my closet and found the box I’d forgotten about.
Hell, I didn’t think I’d even put the box up there. My mom must’ve done it when she helped me move in.
The box had Times with Amelia and Friends written across it in my sloppy handwriting. Who knew why I put Amelia’s name on there instead of someone else’s or just Friends? I opened it to find pictures—some of them in good shape, some of them faded, and some ripped into pieces. The only torn pictures were ones of Amelia and me.
I choked out a groan and picked up a sliver of the picture we took the night we lost our virginities. It was a simple picture of us watching TV, and I had my mom go to Walgreens to print off physical copies along with other photos. And my lovesick teenage dumbass self scribbled on the back of it, The night we lost our virginities. Best night of my life.
I also saved stupid messages and notes we’d left on each other’s beds, growing up. All of those were ripped to shreds. He destroyed every trace of Amelia and me.
“Fuck,” I screamed, throwing the box across the room, its contents scattering everywhere.
I drive to my place but instead of going into the apartment, I walk into Down Home Pub. I break through the crowd, finding a deserted stool, and slump onto it like a drunk on the brink of being cut off.
“I slept with her,” I say as soon as my dad approaches me, tossing a bar rag over his shoulder. “I slept with Amelia.” I drop my forehead against the sticky bar.
My father sighs. “I know.”
I lift my head. “How?”
“Her car was here all the time.” He starts counting the obvious reasons off on his fingers. “You hurried her into your apartment countless times.” He shakes his head. “It’s no wonder you were always caught sneaking out as a kid.” Grabbing the water gun, he fills a glass and slides it to me. “Kyle told me about Mick and Sandra showing up at the brewery.”
I glare at the water and then at him. “This conversation warrants a substance stronger than water, don’t you think?”
“Alcohol and heartache don’t mix well, son.” He signals to Frankie when a customer attempts to wave him over.
“As someone who has united them aplenty, I rebuke that statement.” I zero in on the top-shelf liquor. “Give me the strongest you have.”
“That won’t fix the problem.”
“It’ll erase the problem.”
“Temporarily, and then tomorrow, you’ll wake up with the same mess while also dealing with a hangover.” His eyes are stern. “Fix it.”
I slap my hand to my chest. “What do you mean, fix it? I didn’t do anything.”
“Not only are you my kid, but I’ve also bartended half my life. I read people well.”
“Chris left me a letter.”
“What’d it say?”
“That he knew Amelia and I had sex—”
My father draws in a hiss between his teeth. “Jesus Christ, Jax—”
I hold up my hands, my palms facing him. “It was before they were together. We never touched when they started dating.”
A frown creases his forehead. “But you never told him?”
“What was the point?” I run my finger along the rim of my water glass. “All it would have done was hurt him. Amelia and I were sixteen, kids who wanted to lose their virginities. We didn’t want it to be a big deal.”
“And now, you and Amelia have … rekindled?”
“Rekindled?” I shake my head. “Have you been watching Hallmark with Grandma again?”
He shrugs. “It’s the only channel she’ll watch.”
I rub my chin. “I don’t know what to do.”
The longer my father listens, the more concern floods his face. “Do you have feelings for Amelia, or is it just physical?”
I stare at him sullenly. “I’m in love with her.”
“Then, you have a tough decision to make.”
I drive back to Amelia’s.
The windshield wipers squeak as I stare up at her townhome to find all the lights are out. This time, I stay in my car before texting her.
Me: I’m outside.
My text vibrates in my hand at her reply.
Amelia: I’m not home.
Me: Where are you?
Amelia: My parents’.
Me: I’m coming over.
Amelia: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Me: It’s the only idea I have left.
Amelia’s parents live only a few miles from her, and I lower my speed as I turn into their private drive. Amelia is standing on the porch of their two-story brick home. The dim light shining from the front door sconce doesn’t show much more than her silhouette, but I’d know that body from anywhere.
I kill my headlights, grab a hoodie from the backseat, and pull it over my head. With the hood up, I step out of the car, jog forward, and join her on the porch, keeping us at a distance.
“Hey,” she whispers.
Her cheeks are blotchy, and her face is red. Her eyes are probably just as red and full of pain, but I can’t break myself to look into them.
“Hi.” I lower my hood as the wind whips around us.
She slowly releases a stressed breath. “Why are you here, Jax?”
That’s a good question.
And I don’t exactly know how to narrow all my reasons down.
“Did you read Chris’s letter?” I finally ask.
She crosses her arms. “I did.”
“Then, you understand why.”
“Why what? You need to be clearer.”
“Why you and I can’t see each other anymore.” The words burn my throat as they exit my mouth. “Why this has to end.”
“What was it all for then?” Her voice cracks. “Why string me along?”
I slam my eyes shut. “I didn’t string you along.”
“Bullshit,” she hiss. “You’re the one who kept coming around.” She erases the distance between us and pokes her finger into my chest. “The one showing up on my doorstep, asking”—she mocks my voice—“Amelia, where are you sleeping tonight? Oh, your laundry room? Come to my bed then.”
Her finger stabs at me again, and I accept any anger she wants to throw at me.
The anger in her voice morphs into sadness. “Why, Jax?! Why would you do that to me … after everything I’d already been through?”
She’s right.
I wasn’t fair to her.
I did the wrong thing, and now, we’re both paying for it.
“I …” My words falter until I can’t hold myself back any longer. “Because I fucking love you!” Unable to stop myself, I reach out and skate my fingers along the soft skin of her cheek. “I love you, Amelia.” I scoot closer to her, and our mouths nearly touch, but neither of us crosses that line. “I know it’s wrong, a disgrace to my friend, and I’m sorry. I messed up, and we’re both paying for it now.”
Tears slip down Amelia’s cheeks, stopping at the blockade of my hand on her face. “You don’t have to end things. We can figure this out.”
I stare at her and know what I’m about to say will break us both. “I have to do this. I’m so sorry, Amelia—I really am—but I owe it to Chris. I regret not keeping you when I had the chance. But knowing now that he knew about us … the two people in the world who meant more to him than anything …” I hold back my own unshed tears. “God, Amelia. Can you imagine how he felt when he opened that box? And on the day of his brother’s funeral. I’m the worst fucking friend. I killed him. I fucking killed him!”
I blow out a breath, completely losing it. “I could never betray him all over again. I love you, and I know that I will always love you, but I can’t do this.” And just to drive the point home, I stare into her beautiful, heartbroken eyes. “I won’t do it.”
Without saying anything more, I turn and walk away from the only woman I’ve ever loved.
Chapter Forty
Amelia
I’m not one to speak ill of the dead, but right now, I’m angry with Christopher.
I am one to speak ill of the living though, and right now, I despise Jaxson.
They left me, not caring about any damage they’d leave behind.
After I read Christopher’s letter to Jax, I called my father.
Because sometimes, a girl needs her dad to assure her that everything will be okay. Sometimes, we need to be with the one man in the world who we know will handle us with the utmost gentleness and care. Which is why I was at my parents’ house when Jax texted me.
I wait on the porch, a thick sweater wrapped around me, until Jax’s headlights disappear into the night.
I walk into the living room to find my dad on the couch, nursing a glass of orange juice. It’s funny, watching him drink such juvenile drinks as if they hold alcohol.
My father glances at me with worry as I sit on the chair by him.
He opens his mouth, but I beat him to it. “Do you remember what was in the boxes that were thrown around my bedroom when you cleaned it up …” I pause to brace myself. “When you cleaned it up after Christopher killed himself?”
I rarely say those words in reference to what he did. The same with the word suicide. I tend to stick with when we lost Christopher or when Christopher left us.
He rests his drink on the coffee table, and his eyes flash with comfort. “Pictures of you and your friends, notebooks, yearbooks, stuff along those lines. Why?”
I drag my knees to my chest. “My diary was in one of those boxes, and Christopher read it.”
My heart thrums in my chest, and I take a deep breath before telling my father everything.
My father gathers me in his arms as I sob and kisses the top of my head. “I lost a girlfriend in high school,” he says when I’m finished, his voice soft-spoken.
I draw back and blink away tears to stare at him. “What?”
My father isn’t a sharer. He keeps his emotions to a minimum and hardly mentions his teenage years. I once asked him if he’d even attended high school since he never talked about it. He paled, and my mother told me not to ask that again.
He swallows and grows unusually quiet for a moment before going on, “Her brother was my best friend, so we were sneaking around. He was drunk when he found out, and it ended in them both dying in a car accident.” There’s a sadness in his voice that I recognize. “The circumstances aren’t the same, but I understand how hard it is, pointing the guilty finger at yourself in a situation like this. I struggled for years, and like you and Jax, I lived as if I wasn’t deserving of happiness. I hate seeing you hurt like this. It breaks my heart, seeing you experience so much of the pain I felt. And I might still be in that sorrow had your mother not dragged me out of it. Give yourself time. Give Jax time. You don’t have to be together in the end, but you need to find happiness.”
And for what seems like the first time, other than when my younger sister was born, my father’s eyes well with tears.
He blows out a breath. “Now, come on. I paid off a cook at Shirley’s Diner for their hot chocolate recipe. I think tonight calls for one.”
I stare at the envelope with my name written on it.
This small object scares me, and my heart races as if I were watching a scary movie and waiting for the murderer to jump out. I know it’s coming, but I don’t know when or how.
I have to do this.
It needs to be done.
Sitting on my bed in the room I grew up in, a framed photo of Christopher and me on my nightstand, I rip the envelope open.
* * *
Amelia,
I want to start this letter off by apologizing for the pain I’ve caused. I’m not sure how I caused it yet, but I know, no matter what, you will be the most wrecked from losing me.
So many times, I lay next to you in bed and wonder how I deserve you. The answer is, I don’t. I was the loner, the practically homeless and poor kid living with his friend’s parents, but you still love me. You love me when I thought I’d never be loved.
But you also don’t know all of me. I hide so much, in fear that I’ll be too much for you to handle.
Three years ago, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. It was that time you insisted I seek counseling because I was having one of my low moments. I told you I talked to them, but I never told you what they said. I took my medication and was proud of myself for how well I was handling it while hiding it from everyone.
Then, Corey died.
I don’t know why it hit me so hard, but all I could think about was him begging me not to leave with Jax and Maliki and me selfishly walking away from him. He had been going through the same hell as me, and it’d probably gotten worse after I left.
My brother didn’t have an Amelia, a Jax, a Sierra, or a Maliki. All he had were the people who’d done nothing but hurt him. I had been happy while he was suffering.
So, I stopped taking my medicine. You noticed the change in me. I saw it, and I feared it, but I couldn’t fix it.
I went and saw my mother yesterday. I don’t know why. She hasn’t changed and made sure to tell me that you’d never love me for me, for the trash that I was. Later that same day, when I came home, you asked to postpone our wedding.
It was as if she’d spoken the truth.
I’ve thought about dying since I was six years old. I don’t know why either. It’s just always been there, like a monster lurking in the shadows. When I shave, sometimes, I look at the blade and consider slitting my wrists. There are times I’m driving, and I wonder if I should drive off a bridge. It’s always there, in the back of my mind, teasing me, like Mick did all those years.
I could tell you. I should tell you. You’d do everything that you could to help me, but no one can help me. Not even the prettiest girl I’ve ever set eyes on, the one who has given me years of happiness I never thought I’d get and the one who isn’t ready to marry me.
I don’t blame you either.
A man who wants to kill himself isn’t a man anyone should marry.
And I am a man who wants to kill himself, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep that monster in the shadows.
I love you.
Christopher
* * *
I cover my nose and mouth to choke back tears, and my hand holding the letter falls limp, the piece of paper hanging loosely, not feeling as heavy as the words scribbled along its lines.
Christopher’s letter confuses me. There are parts that make so much sense as I think back on our relationship. The change in behavior I thought was due to stress and his past. When he went to a therapist, he said it felt good to talk it out, and that was it. I asked him if he wanted to talk with me, but the more distant he became, the less he shared with me. It was almost like he became a stranger.
