Chapter Text
JJ stepped inside, keeping his touch light on the door handle to avoid slamming it shut. The place was quiet except for the distant hum of the TV, barely loud enough to be background noise.
Luke was on the couch. Slouched deep, legs spread, a half-empty beer bottle dangling loose in his hand. A few more empties sat on the table, condensation pooling around them. Not wired. Just drunk.
JJ let out a quiet breath. Good.
His dad didn’t glance up. He could go straight to his room, let the night pass.
But he hesitated.
Could’ve been instinct—reading the room before making a move. Or the silence, heavier than usual. Maybe it was just the way Luke looked right then.
“You really do look just like her.”
The words hit the air, casual but heavy, knocking something loose in JJ’s chest. He stopped, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. His momma was something Luke never talked about. Not unless he was pissed off, spitting her name like a curse.
JJ forced himself to keep breathing, to stay still, to not react just in case this was a trap waiting to snap shut. His dad took another sip of his beer, eyes distant, lost somewhere else.
“You got her eyes,” he drawled. “Same damn face.”
JJ swallowed. He should keep walking. Go to his room, shut the door, forget this conversation ever started. Instead, he turned toward the fridge, cracked it open like that was what he meant to do. Cold air rushed out and hit his face. Mayo, bread. A few beers in the back. He reached for the bread, tore a piece off. Something to do with his hands.
“She was a goddamn hurricane, that woman,” Luke continued, voice dipping into something almost—fond. “Always moving, always talkin’. Could talk circles around anyone, I swear.”
A deep ache settled behind JJ’s ribs. He could barely remember her voice. He tried sometimes, tried so damn hard to piece it together in his head, but it was always just out of reach.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Drove me up the fuckin’ wall sometimes. But God, she was somethin’ else.”
His dad waved vaguely with his beer. "Used to drag me into all kinds of shit. Sneakin’ into bars, gettin’ thrown outta places. I’d tell her it was a dumb idea, and she’d just—” his voice shifted higher in a poor impression, “‘Oh, come on, Luke, don’t be a pussy.’”
JJ let out a breath of laughter before he could stop it. He could see it—his mom, all bright-eyed, dragging his dad into trouble.
It made sense. It made him ache.
"She was cool," he murmured.
Luke hummed. “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”
JJ nodded, eyes locked on the table, the torn piece of bread still between his fingers. It was weird, hearing Luke talk about her without anger, without bitterness. Just remembering her, like she was something whole, not just pieces of a wreck.
Before he could think, he sat down. Not too close. Not far, either. His dad didn’t seem to notice. Just kept drinking.
JJ rolled the torn piece of bread between his fingers, feeling like a kid again, sitting at the table while his dad talked at him about things he didn’t quite understand.
“You got her mouth, you know.”
He glanced up, wary. He’d heard it plenty of times before. Got your momma's mouth. Usually right after the back of his dad’s hand.
"Always had some smart-ass shit to say. Pissed off damn near everybody she met, but somehow, they still liked her.” He smirked, “I never figured out how the hell she pulled it off.”
Luke went quiet for a beat, his fingers tapping the bottle like he was trying to drown the memory out. Then he finally looked at JJ.
"Guess I shoulda known you’d never learn."
JJ huffed a short laugh, but it felt off. The words sat wrong, too familiar in a way he didn’t want to think about.
"You got her stupid, too," Luke went on. Not amused now. "Acting like nothing can touch you. Like you don't give a shit."
JJ’s foot started bouncing. He spared his dad another glance but he wasn’t looking at him anymore. He felt it again, that pull, that ache. He was like her. Not just in the way she looked, but the way she moved through the world. That me-against-everything kind of attitude. The way people couldn’t decide if they liked him or wanted to punch him. Like he still had some piece of her left.
“She used to say nobody ever made her as happy as you.” His dad took a long sip of his beer. “Said you were her whole damn world.”
JJ’s head lifted. His breath caught—hard. Her whole damn world. For a second, it felt like everything narrowed to that one sentence. He held onto the words like if he blinked, they’d vanish. He needed that. Needed it more than he could put into words.
His dad grunted, reaching for his cigarettes. He knocked one out and lit it "Didn’t have a clue what to do with you too." he chuckled, rough and dry.
"Guess that makes two of us."
There was no bite behind it, no sharp edge meant to cut. It was just a statement—flat, honest. Somehow, that was worse.
JJ forced himself to breathe, the air thick in his chest. He felt movement before he saw it, and couldn't stop the flinch. A hand on his shoulder. Solid. Warm. JJ didn’t move. Just let himself feel it.
“She used to call me her little man,” he said, voice barely more than a breath.
Luke let out a small huff of laughter. “That sounds like her.”
JJ nodded, staring at nothing.
It hurt.
He missed her. So much that it felt like he could just split open.
“You miss her?” he choked out.
Luke tapped his cigarette against the tray, watching the embers fall. His fingers shook.
“Every day,” he muttered.
"Me too."
The words scraped his throat. His eyes burned—just for a second. He blinked hard, shoved it down. He couldn’t cry in front of his dad.
There was no answer. Luke just sat there, eyes fixed on something JJ couldn't see. Then, without a word, he shifted. Reached over. Pulled JJ in.
It wasn’t smooth, wasn’t tight. Just one arm around his shoulder, the other still gripping the beer like Luke didn’t know how to let go of anything—not the bottle, not the anger, not even him.
JJ froze. His body stiffened like it didn’t believe it was real. Like if he moved, it might break apart. Because it was big. Bigger than he could say.
It hadn’t happened in a very long time.
His dad used to do this all the time when he was little. Pull him in, ruffle his hair, hold him like he was something worth keeping. That was before she was gone. Before everything went to shit. Now, it felt foreign and familiar all at once—like stepping into an old coat that didn’t quite fit anymore.
But for a second, JJ let himself lean in. Just a little. Just long enough to pretend this could last. Maybe they could sit here and miss her together, and it wouldn’t have to hurt so bad.
And yeah, he should’ve let it sit. Should’ve left it alone. But the moment felt too rare, too fragile, and he wasn’t ready for it to end yet.
"One time she took me out on the water. Middle of the night." He pressed his thumb into the cushion. "I was little. Five, maybe. Thought it was the coolest shit ever."
“That was with a boat she stole.” Luke’s arm dropped away as he shifted back, already reaching for his cigarette.
“What?”
“Off a Kook dock.” He scoffed, “Middle of Figure Eight, broad-ass daylight. Dumbest shit I ever saw.”
“No, that’s—”
“Yeah, it is.” Luke took a slow drag, exhaled smoke through his nose. “Cops were waiting when she brought it back. Hauled her off in cuffs. Guess who had to scrape together bail?”
JJ blinked. That wasn’t how it was. It had been magic. Just him and his mom, floating under the stars, the world stretching endless around them.
The air shifted. The warmth—gone, snuffed out like a match. JJ felt it slip away before Luke even spoke.
“She was a selfish bitch.”
JJ wanted to fire back, but his throat locked up. Idiot. He’d pushed too far, like always.
Luke’s eyes were looking somewhere past him, distant and cold.
“Only thing she was ever good at was leavin’ a mess for someone else to deal with.” He said, more to himself than to JJ. “Hell, I spent years cleanin’ up after her.”
He stared at the floor. He should leave. Get up, walk away, shut his mouth before—
“That’s bullshit—” Yeah, before that.
Luke let out a rough, bitter laugh. “You think I like sayin’ this shit?” His mouth twisted. Not the dangerous kind of pissed yet, but close enough. “I’m tellin’ you ’cause somebody’s got to. You keep holdin’ on to that picture of her—like she was some kind of saint.”
He shook his head. “You don’t let that go? You’re gonna end up just like her. And I’ve had enough of that shit.”
Great job, dumbass. He’d ruined it. The one time his dad wasn’t looking at him like a problem to be dealt with, he’d gone and fucked it up. Why couldn’t he ever just keep his damn mouth shut?
“She loved me.” The words came out small, almost childish.
His dad finally looked at him, but JJ wished he hadn't. “She loved what made her feel good, J. And if that happened to be you sometimes, well…” He gestured vaguely with his beer.
JJ’s head was spinning. He didn’t want to believe it. But he couldn’t not hear it now. Couldn’t not wonder.
He was back in that boat under the stars, watching his mom’s face light up as her laughter spilled into the night. He could still hear it. Could still feel the way her arms wrapped around him.
“She tried.” he swallowed against the lump in his throat, “She did. She sang to me at night. Took me out on the Phantom. Let me steer.”
“Yeah?” Luke scoffed. “She sing to you before or after you sat there starvin’, waitin’ for her to wake up off the couch?”
He tapped ash onto the floor.“I remember comin’ home—three years old, sittin’ there beggin’ me to find you somethin’ to eat.” He shrugged. “But hey—least she let you steer.”
That wasn’t—It couldn’t be.
But… yeah. He remembered.
The nights she forgot he was there. The mornings he woke up hungry, too scared to shake her awake in case she didn’t wake up at all. He remembered waiting in cars, sitting on curbs, her telling him she’d just be a minute before disappearing into some house for hours.
Luke leaned back, rolling the bottle between his fingers. "You were like a toy to her, J. Picked you up when she wanted. Put you down when she didn’t."
JJ stared at him. “You—” His voice stuck. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!“
“You ever notice she only said ‘I love you’ when she was high?” His dad slurred. “Took me a while. But yeah… that’s when she got real sweet. When she was feelin’ good.”
His eyes locked onto JJ. There was something there—raw, and too familiar. Pain?JJ looked away.
No. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t…
“I begged her,” Luke went on. “To stop. To try. Told her—if she couldn’t do it for me… maybe she’d do it for you. But she didn’t.”
He couldn’t take it anymore.
“Shut the fuck up!”
He shot off the couch, fists curling, the words still burning on his tongue.
"You don’t get to talk about her! She gave more of a shit than you ever fucking did!"
Something flickered in Luke’s expression. JJ saw it—but it was gone just as fast.
Then he moved. Fast. Too fast for how drunk he was. Grabbed JJ’s shirt, twisted it, wrenched him forward. The collar cut into the back of his neck.
The room felt too small. His dad’s breath hit his face, thick with alcohol.
"You wanna talk about givin a shit?" Luke yanked him in closer, fingers digging into the fabric. "She OD’d in some shitty gas station bathroom. Left you sittin’ home, waitin’ on someone who wasn’t comin’ back."
JJ didn’t say anything. Kept his head down.
“She left you,” Luke snarled. “Didn’t give a fuck about anyone but herself.”
"And you?" His voice changed—JJ knew that tone. “You stand here in my house—after everything—talkin’ to me about who fucking cared?”
His fingers tightened around JJ’s collar, daring him to say something back.
“You ungrateful shit.” The grip jerked hard. “You think you’re any different? Huh?”.
JJs pulse hammered in his throat. He tried to look anywhere else—the floor, the door, the window—anything to avoid the look in his dad’s eyes.
"You’re just like her.”
Something cracked inside him. It wasn’t just the words. It was the way they were spoken, like a fact, like there was no room to argue. JJ saw himself through his dad’s eyes—his mother’s face where his own should be, blurred with disappointment.
He wasn’t like her.
He was.
His skin felt too tight, his chest too hollow.
She was the only person who ever gave a shit about him. And now his dad was ruining that, too.
He wanted to hit something. Wanted to scream. Wanted to shake Luke, force him to take it all back.
But more than anything—
More than anything, JJ wanted his dad to just hit him already. Just knock the breath out of him, split his lip, punch him hard enough to make it stop.
"Shoulda seen it comin’." Luke said, quieter now, almost thoughtful.
The grip uncurled and he shoved JJ—hard enough to send him back into the wall.
His breath left him on impact, but the ache was better. Real.
"Get the fuck out of here. Before you really piss me off."
His dad turned, dropped back onto the couch, and grabbed his beer like he needed something to hold onto.
JJ didn’t argue. Just got the fuck out of there.
Down the hall, to the bathroom. He slammed the door and twisted the lock. Didn’t care if it made noise. Let Luke come banging after him.
He stood there for a second, breathing hard. The mirror caught his reflection. Her eyes. Same damn face.
He turned away. Opened the cabinet above the sink with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Usual mess—crushed toothpaste box, rusting razor, half-dead deodorant.
And the bottle.
Orange plastic. White cap. Faded label with Luke Maybank stamped across it. JJ grabbed it without thinking. He knew what it was. Knew the weight of it. The soft rattle of pills inside. Just to take the edge off, his dad would say before knocking out cold on the couch. So did his mom, before she stopped waking up.
“You ever notice how she only said “I love you” when she was high?”
JJ sank to the floor. His fingers fumbled the cap, dropped it. He shook out a few pills—four, five, more. His eyes blurred. He couldn't tell anymore if it was the light or the tears finally coming.
She used to hold his face and sing when he couldn’t sleep. Slurred, soft, always just a little out of tune. He could still hear it. Still feel her hands.
He looked at the pills. Too many. Not enough. He just didn’t want to feel like this anymore—like a piece of trash someone forgot to throw away. He wanted his head quiet. Wanted it to stop, even if just for a little while. Worked for his momma, worked for his dad, and he was just like them, wasn't he? He tipped them back and swallowed. No water. Just got it done. They scraped down, bitter against the back of his throat.
Then he leaned his head against the wall, knees pulled close, arms wrapped tight. He didn’t bother putting the cap back on. Just stared at the floor and waited for it to kick in.