Chapter Eighteen
CONFESSION
You’re everywhere.
But nowhere at all.
“COME ON. LET’S go,” Jacquelyn said as she pushed through the back doors of the house and headed inside.
“You better go with her,” their mom said to Julien, as Jacquelyn charged off ahead. “Make sure she stays out of trouble.”
“As if that’s possible.”
“You’re right,” she said with a laugh. “But at least with you I know she’s safe, mon cher petit. And in a new country, that will ease me and your dad.”
Julien grinned and headed off after Jacquelyn, who had just disappeared down a corridor to the left, her dark hair the only thing he caught as she ran off in search of her new bedroom.
As he followed behind, Julien’s eyes swept over the huge room directly off to his right, which appeared to be a living room of sorts, but then he continued on, figuring he’d come back to that after he claimed a room of his own.
He rounded the corner he’d seen Jacquelyn run down, and when all he saw was an empty corridor, he called out, “Jacquelyn? Where’d you run off to, petite poulette?”
When all he got in response was silence, Julien sighed and headed down the hall. He looked into several empty rooms on either side, and when he finally reached the end of the long walkway, he spotted her inside the final room up on the right.
She’d pushed open a set of French doors and was standing outside on a large balcony that overlooked a pool and the reservoir their mom had told them about. The afternoon sun was just now beginning to set, and as Julien stepped outside onto the balcony, Jacquelyn turned to face him with a brilliant smile.
“Whatever fantasies you’re having about Romeo and Romeo, Julien Thornton, you stop right now. I saw this room first.”
Julien rolled his eyes and walked over to where she stood, and as they leaned down and rested their arms on the stone handrail, he said, “Do you think you’ll like it here?”
“In this house? Umm, have you seen it?”
“Non, not the house. America? Abruti. L.A.?”
Jacquelyn looked out ahead of them and shrugged. “I guess. I mean, it’s totally different to France.”
“Oui, it is,” Julien said. “It’s very…I don’t know, loud? I didn’t think I’d miss the old house as much as I do.”
“Well, you always liked it there—the villa too, since it was more secluded and you could hide away. I keep telling you, you need to get out more, stop being so shy. Live a little.” Jacquelyn bumped her arm up against his, and then said in a soft voice, “This is L.A., Jules, not some backward-thinking town out in the country. No one is going to care that you like boys as much as I do. In fact, I’ll probably be fighting you for them.”
Julien gave her a shut up look and shook his head, making her laugh. But then she sobered and slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.
“I’m serious,” she said, and laid her head on his shoulder. “Loosen up a little. Stop worrying about me and have fun your senior year. They’re all going to love you as much as I do. Je te le promets.”
But worrying was part of his DNA. Jacquelyn was born the wild child. She was easygoing and carefree, the life of every party she went to. She had zero inhibitions and was always up for a good time. Whereas their mom always joked that Julien was the nurturer, the protector, because he came out of the womb first. Quieter in nature but always ready to fight against the world to protect himself and all those around him.
The downside to that, though, was the stress that came with the worry.
“I mean it, Jules,” Jacquelyn said as she straightened up. “We’re going to have the best senior year ever, and then we’re going to kick college’s ass. You’ll become a famous chef and I’ll become”—she pursed her lips as though thinking it over, and then grinned like the devil himself—“a world-class, famous chef.”
That finally got Julien to laugh. “Oh, so you think you’ll be better than me, do you?”
“There’s no thinking about it,” she said as she walked backward toward the French doors. “You know it and so do I. You just don’t want to admit it.”
Julien scoffed and followed her inside. “Careful, petite poulette. It’s going to hurt sooo much more when I turn out better than you.”
“Whatever,” she said with a shrug. “But neither of us are going to turn out any way if we don’t find the kitchen in this place. Want to go look?”
“What about your library? I thought you’d be dying to find that next.”
“We’ll find that after. I mean, we’ve all got to eat, right?”
Julien nodded, and as they set off to find the kitchen, he decided he would make a conscious effort to do exactly what she had said. He would enjoy his senior year and not worry as much. He would adapt to this new lifestyle and embrace the culture surrounding him.
And embrace it he did. So did she over the next few years.
A little too well, some would say…
JULIEN STOOD IN the hallway he’d once walked down in search of his sister and stared at the empty tunnel that now greeted him. Not a sound could be heard inside the house, and as he made himself move, he found that was all he could do.
He supposed he should probably call out, announce his unwelcome presence to those he knew would be somewhere inside. But as he got further down the hall, all he could manage was putting one foot in front of the other.
Not much had changed over the years up there in the mansion. The walls were the same color, a cream that complemented the Tuscan villa feel, even if the house itself resembled nothing of the quaint homes that populated the Italian countryside.
The furniture was exactly as he remembered it. A long table ran down the hallway and held several mementos that his parents had collected over the years in their travels, and then off to the right, a gorgeous Louis XV-style settee and sofa sat facing the picturesque view of the Stone Canyon Reservoir, which right now had lights from other homes twinkling all around it.
It was so quiet up there tonight, and as Julien continued down to the kitchen, he realized it was…too quiet.
He headed through the maze of hallways in the direction of the place he was always drawn to, and when he reached it and stepped inside, the first thing he noticed was how immaculate it was, as though no one had set foot in it for days.
Non, Julien thought, as he went over to the fridge and opened it to find it empty. Not days, months. No one had been there in…months.
Julien’s hand tightened around the handle and he slowly shut the door and stared at the stainless steel that was so clean he could see a blurred reflection of himself in it.
They aren’t here, he thought, as he let go of the door and stumbled back into the island behind him. They aren’t fucking here.
As the cold, hard reality of that slammed into him, Julien brought a hand up and pressed the heel of it to his chest as it tightened.
Fuck. How could they do this? How could his parents not be there?
Without a word? Without warning?
They’d known he would be coming back. He always came back, even when they told him not to. Oui, and this time they made sure they wouldn’t have to see you.
As that thought echoed around his skull, Julien pressed his fingers to his forehead as though he could reach inside it and rip it free. But it was no use, it was in there on a loop that was determined to drum the truth—no matter how ugly it was—into his head.
They wouldn’t have to see you…
Wouldn’t have to acknowledge that you exist.
Julien brought his hand down to his mouth and covered it as he ran to the sink, nausea twisting at his gut, the pain inside him now wanting to expel itself from his body the fastest route possible. But with the way he’d been feeling lately, Julien had thought it best not to eat before he got on the plane, so there was nothing in there to get rid of.
Well, it was time to rectify that, wasn’t it?
His parents might’ve cleaned out the fridge, but he knew one place they would’ve left as is, a place they never stepped inside of anymore, and on wobbly legs Julien managed to leave what was once his favorite room and go in search of the one he hated the most, the room that had the only cure to this kind of pain—a lot of fucking alcohol.
* * *
“UMM, PRIEST?” ROBBIE said, as he came around the back of the car, and when Priest looked over at him, he noticed Robbie’s eyes fixated on the looming home in front of them.
“Yes?”
“I, ah… I don’t know how to act in a house like that.”
Priest popped the trunk and reached for Robbie’s bag, and once he’d handed it to him, he lifted his and Julien’s out and shut it. “Neither do the people who live in it, so you’ll be in good company.”
“I’m serious,” Robbie said, as he aimed his eyes back to the doors Julien had just disappeared inside of. “I know this might come as a shock to you, considering how exceptionally put together I am, but I come from very humble beginnings.”
Priest hadn’t thought it was possible for him to feel anything other than stressed about what they were about to do. But he found himself grinning at the earnest expression on Robbie’s face. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” Robbie said, and then smacked Priest on the arm. “Stop laughing at me.”
Priest stepped forward until he had Robbie backed up against the SUV. “I’m not laughing at you.”
“You were so. I saw your mouth actually curve.”
“Watching my mouth, were you?”
“Maybe?”
Priest leaned in and said by Robbie’s ear, “You have nothing to worry about in there. But if you keep looking at my mouth, you might have something to worry about out here.”
As Priest straightened, Robbie reached down and pressed the heel of his hand over the zipper of his tight jeans. “That was mean.”
“No, that was a way to stop you from having a meltdown.”
Robbie’s hand halted in place, and one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “I don’t have meltdowns.”
“Yes, you do,” Priest said as he picked up the bags. “Spectacular ones. As for how to behave in there? Just be yourself. Trust me, I’ve known Julien’s parents for years, and not once have they ever shown that they are aware of what good manners are. In fact, most of the time, you’ll barely know they’re there.”
Robbie shrugged his bag up his shoulder and frowned. “What do you mean? It’s their house.”
“Yes, it is,” Priest said as they started across the drive to the doors. “That’s the only reason I show them any respect, especially with how they treat Julien. But what I mean is they’re virtual ghosts. They hardly talk. At least not to Julien, and certainly not to me, and they won’t talk to you either. He insists on coming back each year to check in with them. But the main reason he comes back here is to punish himself.”
“Why would he do that?” Robbie said, his feet coming to a halt halfway across the drive.
“Because he feels he deserves it.” Priest looked up to the open door ahead of them. “It’s his story to tell, and it’s not an easy one. But something you should know? Julien loved his sister and parents very much. Their family was as perfect as one could be until the night she died. And that night, Julien lost all of them. It took him a long time to decide that his life was worth living again after that. A long time and some really bad decisions.”
“Like stealing a car?” Robbie whispered, and when Priest looked over at him, he noticed Robbie’s eyes were a little glassy.
“Like stealing a car…”
Robbie gnawed on his lower lip. “I can’t imagine him like that.”
“I know. And seeing him like this is going to be hard too. But this is part of him. A really big part of him.”
Robbie nodded, and Priest gestured to the door with a tilt of his head.
“You ready?”
“Yes. Let’s go and find him,” Robbie said, and Priest led the two of them inside to go and find their man.
* * *
JULIEN CRACKED THE seal on the lid of the Grey Goose he’d just taken from his dad’s bar and went about unscrewing it as he stared over at the locked door of the game room.
The bar was located a little ways from the kitchen, but just as he’d suspected, he’d managed to locate something to dull the ache that had now spread from his heart to encompass his entire body.
As he got the blue cap off the vodka and went to put it down on the counter, his hand knocked one of the glasses on the shiny surface and it fell off, bounced on the hardwood, cracked, and then landed on the thousand-dollar rug.
Julien stared at it.
He knew he should pick it up—he’d always been taught to respect other people’s belongings, and this house, that glass, and that rug were certainly not his. But since no one was actually there to give a fuck, he left it exactly where it was.
He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long swig, and as he swallowed back the clear liquid, he held on to the bar for support. Not because he was drunk—this was his first drink since last Friday at The Popped Cherry. He held on because his legs felt like rubber, as if a light breeze might knock them out from under him.
That had everything to do with the lack of oxygen to his muscles right now, and that had everything to do with the fact he was back in this room, staring at that door, and he was finding it difficult to fucking breathe.
He needed to get out of there. He needed to take the bottle and get the fuck out of that room…now.
As he snagged it in his fist, he walked around the counter, his anger festering inside him like an ugly disease as he headed out the door and down toward the end of the house that his room was in.
He still couldn’t believe his parents weren’t there. There was no note, no message as to where the hell they’d gone. Just an empty mansion on the top of an overpriced hill. Fucking brilliant, he thought, and took another swig.
Did they actually think he liked coming there? To a house where he could hear and see her everywhere? It was bad enough just being himself most days, let alone visiting this place, and that room, and they couldn’t even be bothered to show up for her. Must be nice.
As he went, he took another swig of the fiery liquid and enjoyed the burn as it slid down and heated his gut, and as he walked past one of the many guest rooms, he came to the wall that had once showcased nothing but family photos.
From bad haircuts to worse, and everything in between, he and Jacquelyn had always hated taking their friends past this particular wall because it was what they referred to as “the wall of shame.” That, however, had changed.
Not the photo wall, but the photos that now hung there.
Julien stepped in front of the images that were displayed in a variety of different frames at all different levels, and as he stared at the beautiful face smiling and laughing out of all of them, he raised the bottle of vodka to his lips and took another long gulp.
Jacquelyn.
Every photograph that now hung upon that wall was of Jacquelyn. It, like the house itself, had become a shrine to the one who could no longer set foot inside it.
Julien ran his fingers over the one closest to him. It was of Jacquelyn standing by their old Christmas tree back in France, and she was wearing a bright red coat with a hood that matched. There was snow all over it from when they’d been running around outside, and she was laughing, her eyes sparkling with joy.
She was thirteen years old in that picture. He knew that because he had been standing right beside her when it had been taken—even though he was now nowhere to be found now.
As his eyes began to blur, Julien touched the long strands of her hair which fell down over her coat.
“You’re everywhere, ma petite poulette. Everywhere, but nowhere at all…” Julien shut his eyes as a tear escaped and rolled down his cheek, his body no longer able to contain his grief.
She was trapped here. Forever enshrined in a castle that now felt more like a tomb—an empty, sad tomb.
He brought the bottle up to his lips and took another sip, and when he lowered it by his side, a soft, lilting laugh filled his mind and he whirled around, half expecting to see her there, in the place where her laughter had once filled the halls. But non, now it merely haunted them.
He walked by the rest of the images without another glance. Unable to look her in the eye. Unable to see himself cut from her life. Cut from theirs. Then he made his way further along the corridor until he reached a door he knew well.
This was her place. A room she’d made her own. And when he pushed open the door, Julien stared inside to see the heavy curtains drawn, making the mahogany walls and bookshelves appear more like a coffin than the traditional Victorian library their mom had modeled it after.
He walked inside and ran his fingers over the books in the shelves. Most were fiction. Some romances, some thrillers, some paranormal, and when he got to the spot he was looking for, Julien pulled an old hardback free and stared down at the worn cover.
Little Women.
It was the copy he’d given to her all those years ago, and inside was a bookmark of where she’d been up to on her reread. He’d never been able to bring himself to see where she’d been at, and tonight was no different.
He didn’t bother opening the curtains, didn’t bother switching on a light. Instead, Julien sat down on the floor with his back against the shelf, shut his eyes, and hugged the book tightly to his chest.
Every year he fought against this. He fought against coming back to this house where he knew she was. He fought it, and at the same time knew he would never stop coming. Not as long as he was physically able to get there.
He laid his head down on his knees, and as he wound his arms around his legs, he felt her sitting right there beside him.
“I’m so sorry, ma petite poulette,” he whispered, and let every piece of his heart shatter all over again. “I wish I could tell you how sorry.”
And though he knew it was likely the alcohol, Julien could’ve sworn he heard, “I know, Jules. But it’s too late…”