Tristan & Danika Book 3 - Page 69

Even so, I’d tried to talk to her about it, tried to tell her what was coming up, and hadn’t found the voice to do it.

It was the morning of and I’d slept over at her place.  I was in her kitchen, sipping coffee and staring off into s.p.a.ce, when she finally realized something was off.

She studied me for a while, checked her phone for the date, I think, and then approached me looking contrite.

“Oh, Tristan,” she said softly, wrapping her little body around my big one.  “I am so sorry.”

I kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll call in sick to work.  Tell me how you handle this day.”

“Frankie usually comes over, and Cory and Kenny, if they’re around.  We tell stories about him.  Good stories.  We watch all the videos I have of him.  We never focus on the bad.”

We got dressed and went to my house.  Frankie and Kenny showed up at noon.  Cory was out of town.

I baked a ridiculous amount of cookies, keeping Danika hostage in my kitchen the entire time.

We all sat down in my living room and talked about Jared.  I started.

I held up a chocolate chip cookie.  “Jared’s favorite.  He’s actually the reason I learned to bake.  As a kid, he had us all wrapped around his little finger, me, my mom, his dad.”  I looked down at my hands.  “This one time he got hurt.  I’m not even sure how it all went down, but he was horsing around with Dean in his room, and wound up falling out of the second story window.  I was twelve, and I was supposed to be watching him.  It was terrifying, but he hadn’t broken anything.  I think he was just scared, but he wouldn’t stop crying.  He was inconsolable, and the only thing that got him out of it was the promise of cookies.  We didn’t have any cookies, but we always had baking supplies, so I learned to bake cookies that day.  He loved them so much that he started to fake getting hurt, just so I’d bake.  I never minded.  It was never a secret; I’d have done anything for that kid.”

How do you recover from a loss like that?  One day at a time was the only way I knew how.  We’d been so close that he was still a part of me, always would be.

Danika, who’d been sitting directly to my right, hugged me hard.  I threw my arm around her.  Having her here, right now, meant everything, and I savored it, even amidst the bittersweet reminiscing.

Kenny went next.  “It was Jared and I that originally started the band.  We both picked up the guitar, but he was always so much better than I was.  I was so impressed with that kid.  He was five years younger than the rest of us, and he put me to shame, talent wise.  He never had an ego about it, though, he just enjoyed it.  He had the purest love for his craft.”

Frankie was bawling by the time we got to her.  She didn’t hide her grief and that had always made it easier for me to express mine.

“He was just the nicest,” she began.  “I’ve thought about this a lot.  I spent so much time with him.  We had a lot of fun together.  And in all of that time, I can’t ever remember him saying one negative thing about anybody.  How is that even possible?  He was just so good.  I miss being around him.  I miss his smiling face, and how he’d come to me when he needed help solving a problem, no matter how silly the problem.  To Jared, the sweetest angel in heaven.”  She took a big bite of her cookie, like it was a toast.  You had to get creative around alcoholics like me.

I held up my cookie like a toast, then took a big bite.

I hadn’t expected Danika to say anything, I don’t know why, but of course, she did.  She’d always had a way with words, a way to shape them into something that could bring me comfort.

Her mouth quirked up in a half smile before she began.  “He used to call me sis.  I loved that so much.  And I loved talking to him on the phone.  For hours.  He was the best talker.  And listener.”  She bent down and reached into her bag, pulling out a flip phone.  The thing was a relic.

Her smile died, turning into the face she made when she was trying hard not to cry.  “This thing can’t keep a charge for ten minutes, but I’ll never get rid of it.  I didn’t find this until after he pa.s.sed.”

She pushed some b.u.t.tons, and then the sound of Jared’s voice came out of the phone.  “Hey sis.  I know you’re upset with him, but trust me when I tell you he regrets everything he said.  Just give me a call.  We’ll talk it out, okay?  The Vega brothers love you, sis.  Never doubt it.”

That one gutted the room, and no one talked for a long while.  Even with the way it’d hurt, it’d still felt so d.a.m.n good to hear his voice.

“Remember that night he and I got completely blitzed at the sportsbook in the Cavendish casino?” Danika finally spoke to say.  “We had so much fun.  He was always so much fun.”

Frankie smiled, mascara trails all over he pretty face.  “I remember that night.  You were off with Jared, while Tristan and I complained, for hours, about how crazy women are.  Your name might have come up a time or two, in the crazy column.”

She rolled her eyes.  “I’m sure I took up most of the crazy column.  h.e.l.l, I probably had my own page.”

I’d pieced together every video ever taken of Jared years ago.  There were only a few of us as kids, but thank G.o.d there had been several years worth of camera phones before he’d pa.s.sed.  That made up the bulk of it.  We watched them all, then told some more stories.

It was a good day of remembering.  It hurt, sure, it would never stop hurting, but it was better with her there.  Everything was.

I’d missed a few calls over the hours we’d been reminiscing and had a few messages.  I grimaced when I saw that one was from Mona, and I almost just erased it.  I’d gotten her contracted to another act in two months, and she was not happy about it.  But she’d been acting strange since Danika and I had gotten back together, and it made me realize not to trust her, to in fact keep my distance, and that’s what I was doing.

Still, I listened to it, because it was unusual for her to leave a message.  I was a little stunned at what I heard.  And sad.  What were the odds, on today of all days?

I went to sit back with the group.  “Tony Biello just died,” I said numbly.  I knew the numbness wouldn’t last.  He’d been a mentor to me, a father figure.  He’d been scheduled to make a guest appearance in a few weeks.  “I guess I shouldn’t be this shocked.  He retired his act because his health was bad.”