Page 56 of Sustain

I tense involuntarily. No one from the band has breathed her name in a long while, yet it never strays far from my thoughts. "Nyx," I reply shortly, pulse already quickening. Just the sound of her name out loud makes me cringe inwardly. "What about her? Whose life is she trying to ruin now?"

Chelsie turns her screen so I can view the brief obituary she pulled up. The photo steals my breath – it’s our old merchandise vendor, who then went on to make our lives a living hell. Nyx's sly smirk is captured eternally in the tiny pixels of a picture I’ve never seen of her before. It’s her for sure, though the mischief in her eyes that was always there has dulled.'Unexpected passing,’the brief death notice cryptically states. But I know all too well the demons who likely overtook that chaotic soul in a final lethal dose.

"Jesus," I whisper, chest constricting. I picture the turmoil and lies she wove and then tried to blackmail us with. Yet there were also probably desperate moments when I might have reached out more as a mentor.IfI’d seen them. I never saw them. All I saw in her was what she wanted to show. And all of it was a lie. In the end, she couldn’t be trusted.

In the end…

Chelsie grips my shoulder, centering me back from spiraling regret. The past can't be changed.

I lift my glass in a silent toast regardless of my opinion of her. She had demons, for sure. And she introduced everyone else to them, including the tabloid world, causing us nothing but headaches. But any life lost is a loss of potential. She certainly squandered hers.

I find the article on my own cell and send it to the Murderous Crows group chat. Then I turn my phone off. I don’t want to see the cheers and celebrations of her death. Deserved or not, that’s not up to us to decide.

And I don’t want to think about endings right now.

forty

. . .

Half the World

Ian

Jetlag drags at me as I shuffle through the Heathrow terminal, and once outside, the damp London air bites after California’s constant sunshine. I sling my rucksack higher and head for the taxi queue, ready to crash at my hotel. I’m used to traveling and being on the road, but these last few journeys have been hard, even for me.

Stormy is settled in her new surroundings and under the very capable watch of my neighbor’s exuberant children. They’ll look in on her daily and keep me posted on any hiccups. The cat seems to be more well-adjusted to the change than I am. Fair play.

I opted for a hotel rather than staying with Mum. Our relationship strains a little more each visit home. Her image for my life here collides harder all the time with the reality I’ve built for myself in LA. But she still expects me and the girls for the full Boxing Day experience in a few days. It’ll be torture for me, but I can’t find it within myself to deprive them.

As I wait in the cab line, I pull out my mobile to text Brianna that her daughter’s wayward father has landed safely. My screen mocks me with my last sent message to Mackenzie.

ME: Good.

One bloody word after all our time together in that cabin, falling into each other. Into possibilities that still confound me, especially alongside raising two little girls.

I shove the phone back in my pocket, guilt churning my empty stomach. What I said to Mackenzie, or what I haven’t said, feels equivalent to locking her out in the cold after the connection we forged. She deserves more than bloody silence. But how do I bridge this widening ravine between us without sending her bolting for good?

Before I spiral further, my taxi pulls up. Time for a shower at the hotel to revitalize, then off to Brianna’s to scoop up my daughters into a joy already clouded by half-truths. My world here clashes even more with the new fragility taking root across the ocean. But I can only triage one earthquake at a time.

I can’t help but chuckle to myself,‘See Mackenzie? I’m no fucking hero.’

I renta car for my stay, and pull up outside the house from my previous life when a "forever" with Brianna seemed plausible. The front garden's tacky holiday display assaults my bleary eyes. It must be her new boyfriend, Axel’s work. The latest temporary distraction she's trotting off to Tenerife with rather than spend Christmas with her own children.

My scarred knuckles whiten reflexively on the steering wheel as I put the car in park. I know Brianna’s not evil, but “Mother of the Year” isn’t in the cards for her either. We were doomedyears ago when my injury ended my playing career, and with it, the flashy lifestyle Brianna felt entitled to. It looks like she’s still keeping up appearances, gaudy as it is.

I smooth my features as June and Hayley burst out the front door. Their little limbs pummel me with ecstatic hugs. "Daddy!" Laughing, I scoop them both up, breathing in their sweetness and pushing away the bitterness that was creeping into my mood.

Over their little shoulders, I pass over Brianna's impassively polite gaze and land on her new boy toy. Axel eyes my faded punk shirt with clear disdain.

I looked him up when Brianna first mentioned him, making sure my girls were in somewhat decent company so far away, and discovered he’s in a boy band. I guess there’s no accounting for taste, but the fade haircut he’s sporting isn’t doing him any favors.

No matter. I have my girls in my arms. For this blissful fortnight, they are my entire world, and I intend to make the most of it.

"Say bye to your mum," I tell the girls, setting them down and hefting their glitter-strewn backpacks into the car.

Brianna crouches mechanically, brushing perfunctory kisses over their foreheads. "Be good, angels. Enjoy time with your father, alright?"

"Wait! We made you pictures for Christmas," June pipes up, rushing to her room and back, holding out slightly crumpled drawings from both girls.

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