Page 4 of Off-Limits Mate

Chapter 2

Jasper

Nolan warned me that his house was weird. He didn’t say that he’d turned into a… mole.

For the fifteenth time, I check his text. I look at my GPS, then look at the address on the mailbox. Yup. This weird little haphazard collection of windows and doors, jammed into the side of the mountain, is his.

I shake my head. Nolan’s a great guy. He’s been my best friend since we were kids, and he’s been like a brother to me. As another member of the ‘dead parent’ club, I almost never feel like I have to explain anything to him when it comes to how I see the world. He just… gets it.

But sometimes, he’s a little weird. Like this.

I check my phone again.

Me: Almost missed your house. Looks like a pile of junk sunk into a hill.

Nolan: It’s an Earthship!

Me: The fuck is an Earthship?

Nolan sends me an article, and I skim through it. I shake my head, but I’m smiling. His authenticity, and the fact that he would appreciate this super hippie shit, are both things that I enjoy about him as well.

Nolan: Cool, right?

Me: Sure.

Nolan: I’ll be home soon. Amara’s home, she can let you in.

I send him a thumbs-up emoji. In my head, Amara’s still a kid, so it’s weird to think of her as being like… a hostess.

The last time I saw her, she was a lanky teenager. She has Nolan’s same eyes, piercing hazel, but she’s blonde like their mom, where Nolan’s hair is brown. She was hella awkward, almost never said anything, but I guess that she was friendly to me, and I was friendly enough. As friendly as anyone can be to their best friend’s kid sister.

I’ve known her for a big chunk of my life, and all that time, I could never quite tell if she liked me. In my head, I thought maybe she was mad at me for being so close to Nolan, but who knows? All of it was so fucking long ago, it doesn’t even matter.

I sigh.

The truck I bought in Denver when I hopped off the plane is so new, I haven’t even peeled the stickers off of all the gadgets and screens and shit on the inside. The salesman looked at me crazy when I said I would pay cash, and now I wish that I’d at least gone for a used one. The truck sticks out, shining like a goddamn beacon, pointing out that I don’t fucking belong here.

And you didn’t belong in New York, either.

The thought still burns a little.

Okay. More than a little.

I resist the urge to check my email. There’s nothing in there that I want to see, anyway. After all that went down with the last band that I managed...

I shut the truck off, the ugly memories of my fucked-up stint working at a record label circling me like cartoon birds. I’m here to see Nolan. I’m here to tell him how badly I failed, confess my sins to someone at least, and then…

Fuck. There is no “and then.” Not yet.

I’m not going back to the record label. That’s for damn sure. The shit that I’ve done, I’ll probably be blacklisted from the industry for life. Even if I’m not, I don’t want to do that.

The truck, and Oakwood, and the promise of something unknown after that… those are my only plans.

I try not to think too hard about the future. I’m here now, and that’s all that matters. Time to hang out with my best friend, get restored and recharged, and figure it out.

I grab my overnight bag and open the door, walking along the gravel path to what looks like the front door. I raise my hand, knocking on it, and I wait.

There’s a flurry of movement. I can see the curtains shift in one of the haphazardly placed windows to the left of the door. It can’t quite see the front door, given that it’s essentially placed into the frame at the craziest angle I’ve ever seen, so I don’t know what it’s meant to see…

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