Next to Never

  Holding it in my hands, the nerves under my skin are firing so hard I almost feel sick. I don’t want to read this. It’s private, and I love my parents. I don’t need to know all their secrets, because it doesn’t change how much they mean to each other and me.

  But someone sent the book to me for a reason.

  I absently fan the pages, not ready to look, but the book automatically falls open in the middle and I widen my eyes in shock.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Sitting between the pages is a small pile of one-hundred-dollar bills and a business card. An old tattered one, yellowed from age, and it has my father’s name on it.

  I count out the money. Four hundred. The same amount Jase gave Kat for changing the oil in his car.

  Chapter 6

  We sail down the highway, the radio blasting with Madonna’s “Like a Prayer,” and I have to laugh as I look over at Dylan.

  She’s bouncing against the back of her seat, singing at full volume.

  “This song’s like really old, you know?” I shout, teasing her.

  She smiles, punching the stick shift into fifth. I grab onto the safety bar, because she freaks me out when she drives.

  “It’s sexy, though,” she taunts, turning down the volume. “Did you know it’s about a blow job?

  I shoot my eyes over to her. “It is not!”

  She laughs, nodding. “It is! Listen.” And she starts singling along with Madonna, “‘I’m down on my knees, I want to take you there.’” She eyeballs me. “See!”

  I look away, turning it over in my head as my entire childhood shatters. How many times have I danced to this around my house? In front of my parents?!

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I bury my face in my hands and practically growl. My mom is right. My dad shelters me, and now my younger relatives are teaching me shit. Awesome.

  “Just . . . drop me at Jax’s,” I blurt out, changing the subject. “I need to talk to Juliet.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I unfasten my seat belt as she makes a small detour, turning onto Fall Away Lane. “Yeah, I’ll catch a ride with them. Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

  “Okay, see you soon then,” she says with a hint of threat in her voice, like I’d better be there or else. I know she’s nervous about her first race tonight. Even though she’s been on that track and many others her father has taken her to her entire life.

  Walking up to Jax and Juliet’s house, I slow my steps as I take in the white two-story with black shutters, looking at it with new eyes now.

  My father bought this house. I wonder if my brothers knew that. No wonder my mother never took Jax’s money for it. It wouldn’t have been right. My father gave it to her as a gift, and she passed it on as a gift.

  If my dad had never bought the house, Jax and Juliet wouldn’t live here now. Jared might never have met Tate, at least not until high school, and Hawke, Dylan, and James might never have been born without all those events that brought everyone together. It’s incredible how something that seems so insignificant can alter the lives of so many. How our family started out so unsure, but now, here we are. Practically a clan.

  I walk into the house without knocking, which is pretty much standard in our family. There’s so much coming and going, everyone knows not to walk around naked.

  Making my way toward the kitchen, I stop when I hear Jax’s voice, then I notice Hawke at my side. He must’ve come in behind me.

  He’s sweating, wearing only black shorts and a backpack with no shirt. “I’m home!” he calls, rounding the bannister. “I’m gonna shower, and I’ll meet you at the track, Dad.”

  “Ok, hurry up,” Jax tells him. “It’s Dylan’s night.”

  Hawke heads upstairs, and I continue into the kitchen, seeing Jax come toward me.

  “Hey. What’s up?” He plants a kiss on my forehead.

  “I just need to talk to Juliet. Are you riding separate?”

  “As usual.” He grins. “See you there.” And then he walks around me, heading out.

  Juliet is at the sink, using the hose to spray water over a plant, and I stand and watch her for a moment.

  I admire all of my sisters-in-law: Tate for her strength and the way she stands up for herself, and Fallon for the way she doesn’t bend and sticks to her convictions. But Juliet is a little different.

  I always looked up to her, because I liked how girly she was. Or is. She flaunts her femininity.

  She’s beautiful, and despite the fact that she teaches high school English and Literature and writes young adult books on the side, she never gives into pressure to fit a mold or hide her personality to meet an expectation.

  I love how she wears her personality. The big necklaces that are a perfect contradiction to her jean shorts and T-shirt, the heels she wears with skinny jeans, the lip gloss the color of cotton candy . . . all of those things were a very big deal to an eight-year-old who looked at this woman and saw glamour.

  But somehow, I’ve never really stopped idolizing her. Not even a little. I like her style, and as I grew up, I started wanting to be more like her. Someone sexy that drives my man wild. She’s carefree and walks with confidence.

  Sometimes I come over just to look in her closet and try on the soft, flowing shirts and Jimmy Choos.

  “Hi,” I finally say, coming to sit down at the kitchen table.

  She turns her head, her green eyes sparkling with a smile. “Well, hey. This is a nice surprise. I don’t feel like I see you enough.”

  I take off my bag and set it on the table. “It always smells like cookies in here. No wonder Jax keeps you around.”

  She snorts, carrying the plant across the kitchen to set on the back porch. “Yeah, he says he keeps me around because I’m hot.”

  Whatever. Jax likes to joke, but they’re perfect together, and he knows it. Just like Jared and Tate and Madoc and Fallon.

  “So what’s up?” She dusts off her hands on her jean shorts.

  “Nothing. Just thought I’d catch a ride with you tonight.”

  “Sounds good,” she says. “I’ll be ready in a few.”

  Jax and Jared usually go early to help set up and organize the spectators, while Tate and Juliet come separately, so they have a car to bring the kids home early and get them in bed.

  Juliet only has Hawke, but she and Jax took in lots of foster kids over the years. They didn’t have anyone staying with them now, though. A fact that, I think, Hawke enjoys. He’s an only child who hardly ever gets to enjoy being an only child.

  “So . . .” I feel my heartbeat pick up pace. “Are you writing anything right now?”

  I know what I want to ask her, and I feel tempted to spit it out, but I’m not sure I really want to know, either. So I ease myself into it.

  If the person who sent the book wanted to be known, they would’ve included a return address.

  But I have to know who sent it.

  She finishes wrapping up their leftovers from dinner and puts them in the fridge. “I’m working on something. Another part of the same series,” she explains. “It’s hard to find time to write, though, and this summer shouldn’t allow much more time.”

  Juliet writes fantasy when she’s not teaching—it’s a series about teens who live in a postapocalyptic society where ancient warrior regimes have taken over.

  However, she and Jax finally got their summer camp open up at Black Hawk Lake, so her time off from teaching wouldn’t really be time off. She’ll be busy all summer, which will leave little time for writing.

  I trace the grain of the wood of the table and ask hesitantly, “Have you ever . . .” I look up at her. “Like, written romance or anything?”

  She stops what she’s doing and looks at me. I suddenly feel awkward.

  But she shakes her head. “No,” she replies quietly, looking away again. “Never
had much interest. Why do you ask?”

  I shrug. “No reason.”

  But disappointment weighs on me. She’s the only writer I know.

  I draw in a deep breath and stand up. Screw it. It’s Dylan’s night. I’ll finish the book, because I can’t not, but it’s almost time for some fun.

  “Can I check out your closet?”

  She shoots me a very happy look. She doesn’t have any daughters, so I know she enjoys being able to do girly things with Dylan and me.

  “Have at it,” she says. “We’re about the same size now, so feel free to borrow something.” And then whisks past me, whispering, “Something that will piss off your brothers.”

  I let out a laugh and grab my bag to head upstairs.

  Hell yeah.

  ***

  Jase . . .

  I climbed the stairs, hearing my father’s coughing break up the silence in the otherwise quiet penthouse. The skyscrapers of Chicago loomed outside the windows behind me, blurred in the rain spilling down the glass, and I passed pictures on the walls of all of our great orchestrated family moments. My parents decided to stay here at their apartment in the city, close to the doctors, when we found out my father was dying.

  Go figure. I was the one who smoked, but he got lung cancer.

  I pushed open his bedroom door and stepped inside. The home nurse was leaning over his bed, holding up his cup as he struggled to drink, and then she put it down and pulled up his covers.

  She walked over to me, carrying a bloodstained hand towel and whispering, “He’s close to the end, I’m afraid.”

  I cast him a glance, taking in his frail hands gripping the sheet, his sunken cheeks and chapped lips, and his withered body, so small and thin. His white pajamas looked like a sheet thrown over a skeleton.

  My father has always been larger than life to me. I never felt close to him, but as a kid, he was still a god. Now look at him.

  He started coughing again, and I nodded at the nurse, brushing past her to head over to his side of the bed.

  I reached down and wrapped an arm around his convulsing body, trying to support him as he hunched over and hacked. “Here, let me.”

  “Stop it!” he barked, slapping at my arms. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.”

  Jesus. I released him and stood, running a hand through my hair as I watched his body shake and fight for air. He pulled away the towel, and there was more blood. I clenched my jaw, suddenly unnerved. This wasn’t my father.

  He fell back on his pillows again, breathing hard, and I turned away, taking off my suit jacket. I tossed it on a chair and loosened my tie, taking a deep breath and trying to face him.

  I’d barely been around to visit since he was confined to his bed a few weeks ago. The disease hit him fast and hard, and I didn’t know why it was difficult to see him like this. I wasn’t sure I would even miss him, after all.

  Was it just hard to muster empathy? I didn’t really know. I just knew that I was confused.

  “Your mother is off shopping,” he said, looking up at me and sounding short of breath. “For a trip to Italy she’s planning to help herself get over my death.”

  He started laughing, his voice thick with phlegm, and I saw blood coating the inside of his lips.

  Dorian Gray. That’s who he reminded me of. All my life, he seemed like a young man, living large, but now . . . the weight of a life’s worth of consequences descended at once, his true character showing all over him. Decrepit, ugly, weak . . .

  He was dying horribly. And alone. My mother was counting the days, and I couldn’t say I blamed her.

  “I wanted more, Jason.” He looked up at me, his eyes now desperate. “I thought I would be more. The friends, the parties, the meetings, the power and money . . . you think it means something, but look at me,” he pleaded, drawing in shallow breaths. “I’m dying alone. Everything will carry on, and you start to realize that, while your name may last awhile, you’re replaceable. I’m almost already forgotten.”

  I leaned down and pulled the cover back up. “That’s not true.”

  But he grabbed my hand, stopping me. His cold fingers curled around my fist, and I stared at our hands. The same size, the same nails, the same wide knuckles . . .

  “Do you love me?” he asked quietly.

  I raised my eyes hesitantly, staring into a reflection of my own thirty years from now. Will I be asking Madoc that same question? Will I have to?

  When I don’t answer, my father lets go of my hand and looks away. “No one’s here. And when they do show up, it’s a lie.”

  “Do you care?”

  He shot his eyes over to me again, the despair evident. “I don’t want to die alone,” he admitted. “Your mother won’t miss me. And all the women over all the years . . . they gave me nothing that lasted. I ruined my marriage. I ruined my family.”

  I sat down, a ten-ton weight sitting on my shoulders. Burying my head in my hands, I felt his words curl their way through my head.

  I wasn’t him. Kat was the only woman. I didn’t run around town. She was special. Madoc would understand. We won’t be here in thirty years, Madoc hating me for never being there for him, choosing whores over our family, and hurting his mother.

  I couldn’t do this anymore.

  My father was dying, and afterward I would finally be free to determine the course of my own life. A life with Kat, and our kids, including Madoc.

  “Dad, I’m in love with Kat,” I told him. “I can’t give her up . . .”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he cut me off. “You’ll fail her, too.”

  I stared at him, his words from over the years still so ingrained in my head. Failure is a choice that easily becomes a habit, he would always say.

  And doubt took root. What if I married Kat? What if it failed? What if the whole reason I latched onto her in the first place was because I was simply weak and greedy? Just like him.

  Where would Madoc live if Maddie and I divorced? Would he hate me? Would Maddie remarry and give him someone in his life who was worlds better than me?

  “All that matters is Madoc,” he went on. “Don’t disappoint him. Don’t hurt him.”

  My son. A child who was starting to notice his parents and, not only how they love him, but how they love each other. I already knew he loves her more. And why wouldn’t he?

  “Your son is the true love of your life, Jason. When it’s you lying here, you’ll want to know that you survive in him. That he’ll keep you alive. That he’ll mourn you.”

  I blinked rapidly, turning away, so my father didn’t see the tears in my eyes.

  “Nothing is more important than him,” he whispered, his wheezing growing more labored. “I wish I had been a better father. I wish I could undo everything I’ve done to make you hate me.”

  He reached out a hand off the side of the bed, fighting to breathe. I stared down at it, knowing I should take it. Knowing he needed me. There was no one else, after all.

  But this wasn’t us. It was never us. He denied me love and affection all my life. When I had the need, he didn’t have the will. Now that he had the need, I found that I just wasn’t willing to fake affection for him.

  His hand fell to the side, limp and empty when I didn’t take it. “I wish . . . ,” he gasped. “I wish you loved me.”

  Chapter 7

  Kat . . .

  Pushing open the screen door, I spotted Jared, flying down the street on his bike. Tate stood up on his pegs behind him, holding on to his shoulders. My heart raced every time they did that. I glanced next door, seeing her dad, James, mowing the lawn and at the same time keeping an eye on them as well.

  “Jared?” I shouted, slipping on my heel. “Come inside!”

  I heard the squeak of his brakes, and Tate broke out in laughter as he swerved side to side, trying to stop. br />
  She and her father had just moved in a few months ago, and I was so happy Jared had a kid right next door to play with. Even if she was a girl—and he pouted about that at first—they were practically inseparable now.

  “I don’t want to come in!” he argued.

  But I just shook my head, knowing that was coming. He constantly argued. “I have to leave.”

  “Then leave.”

  I closed my eyes, groaning under my breath.

  At five, he’d been a handful. At eight, a little bit of a nightmare. And now at ten? He was practically unstoppable.

  I charged down the steps and across the yard, seeing Tate jump off the bike, because she, at least, still respected adults. “Stop with the attitude,” I bit out. “I have things to do, so I’m going to drop you at Deena’s. Get your backpack.”

  “I don’t want to go to her house!” he yelled. “Tate doesn’t have to go to a babysitter!”

  “Because Tate’s dad is home,” I argued, and I suddenly noticed the lawn mower had stopped.

  Since it was summer, the kids didn’t have school, but Jared was still too young to stay home alone.

  “Now,” I gritted out.

  “You’re not even working today!”

  “He can stay with us, Kat.”

  I turned to see Tate’s dad coming into the street, wiping his hands on his shop cloth.

  Well, that would be easy, wouldn’t it? And under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. He ate at their house at least once a week already and even spent the night a couple of times.

  But no, Jared needed to learn how to follow directions.

  “That’s okay. Thank you.” I evened out my voice, trying to calm down.

  But when I turned back to Jared, he and Tate were gone, speeding down the street again.

  “Jared!” I yelled again.

  I looked at my watch. Damn it. I should’ve left a half hour ago. I wanted to miss the traffic.

  “Honestly, Kat,” James spoke up again, “it helps me out. They entertain each other, and I can get some work done. I was going to take Tate out for pizza later. They’ll have fun, and he can spend the night.”