Chapter Trigger Warnings: Mentions a past suicide attempt. While it mostly deals with the aftermath of an attempt, and some issues with going inpatient, it can still be triggering for those who suffer from suicidal or self-harm ideations. If you're worried about this, please don't read. This story is NOT worth it.
If you are feeling suicidal and are in a life-threatening situation, please get emergency help now. This website is available all across the world, so I don't know everyone's access to services. In the United States, you can call local crisis lines, dial 9-1-1, or even go to an emergency room. Please be safe 3
JOHNNY CAGE
Have you ever known that someone wants to beat your ass, but you have to help them anyway?
This is going to suck big time.
I walk through the automatic doors and remove my sunglasses. The lobby is airy, the skylight making the room seem bright and cheery, and it smells like those woodsy essential oils that are the latest health trend.
The oil diffuser sits on a beige marble desk. My eyes go beyond the desk to the white double doors with a code panel. That's where they house the patients; That's where they're housing Jackson Briggs.
I fucked up. I fucked up bad.
The desk has a glass overlay and a sign that reads "Sunset Behavioral Health." A twenty-something redheaded hottie presses a phone to her ear and types on a keyboard with Satan-red fingernails. She ignores me, her bright blue eyes glued to the flat-screen monitor. I tap my foot and analyze a crack in the glass. How did that get there?
The receptionist hangs up and smiles at me. Her lipstick matches her nails — not very professional, but sexy as hell. "How can I help you?" she asks
"Hey," I flash my winning smile, knowing I shouldn't flirt now that I have a ring on my right hand again. "Johnny Cage, I'm here to pick up Jackson Briggs."
"One second." She grabs the phone. I can't stop staring at those eyes. I've only seen that shade of blue on one other woman. This woman's irises are not as fierce as the ones I know, the ones I memorized, but they still take me aback.
No, I don't need to think of Sonya. I can't think of Sonya because I already have to deal with Jax's trauma.
"Do you have a privacy code?" the receptionist asks.
I grab a small scrap of paper out of my pocket, where I wrote down the information from Jax's caseworker. Without the code, they won't give any information about him or even confirm that he is here. "9532719."
"Sign here." She slides a clipboard my way and watches me scribble a quick autograph. "Security will bring him out."
I wink at her, then walk to the waiting area where I sink in a soft blue chair and look at a small HDTV. At least the lobby looks nice. It's not the Ritz, but getting locked in this place can't be that bad.
I could argue that this is the cop's fault since he brought Jax for the five-day involuntarily stay at a psych ward, but then I have to admit that I'm the one who called 9-1-1 for the welfare check in the first place. Effect, meet cause.
I shouldn't feel bad for my actions since they saved Briggs's life.
Too bad the stubborn ass doesn't agree.
People say good deeds get you in trouble or something like that, and I'm starting to believe it. Jax wants to pound my face in the dirt. Meanwhile, the doctors put me in charge of his well-being because nobody else can know what happened or where Briggs has been for the past five days. It is my secret to bear.
I have a 300-ish pound, pissed-off ex-military dude in my care. I don't think the next few weeks are going to involve popcorn and pillow fights.
He's alive. He's getting help.
He's alive. He's getting help.
That's my new mantra. Anytime I wonder if I made the wrong decision, I remember we could have lost him.
Not that I ever had him or his friendship. A wise man (Sam Jackson) once said in a movie (Jackie Brown,) "My ass may be dumb, but I ain't no dumbass." I knew Briggs came around for Sonya, and when she sacrificed herself and died beneath a pile of rubble, it severed any obligations he had.
I guess I can't cut things off like him. I still message him, invite him to family celebrations, and — luckily for everyone who cares about him — check on him from time to time.
"Hey, happy birthday."
"How are you doing?"
Or, the one that saved his life
"We're having a party this weekend. Let me know if you're interested. I can pick you up."
I pat the pocket that holds my phone. His reply message wasn't meant for me, but a metal finger pressed a centimeter off-target. It is why he is still here and why his daughter will never read his suicide note.
I'll make sure she never reads it.
The panel on the door buzzes, and Jax appears flanked by two security officers. The maroon scrubs barely fit, and they cling to every muscle on his ripped, dark brown body. The staff had to tear the sleeves for his metal arms, and his face has five days' worth of facial hair.
"Heeeeey, buddy." I stand and throw my hands up like he has me at gunpoint.
Jax's large frame closes the gap way too quickly. The homicide in his dark brown eyes doesn't match his actions. Instead of punching me, he pastes a super-fake grin on his face and throws his arm around my shoulder. "Johnny!" Hugs and my first name? Fuck.
Fooled by the act, security walks away, leaving me with my angry ward. Jax holds out his palm. "I'm driving."
I don't want to argue with him after his ordeal, but the hospital liaison put a lot of responsibility on me. Gentle but firm. "The doctor said you shouldn't drive on your meds."
He blinks slowly, his eyes closing as he grits his teeth. "Just get me outta here." He rushes through the doors without a backward glance.
"Why can't you drive?" I attempt to get a smile as we approach my convertible. I realize it's the same shade as the receptionist's full lips. I think I called it Satan Red. "You on the good stuff?" I press him. He stops to stare at the car. He won't admit that he's jealous of the expensive ride. "What was it? Ativan? It had to be some benzos…."
"Wellbutrin and Alprazolam," he grunts.
"Oh, the last one is generic Xanax. That is a benzo," I unlock the car, and we sit on the tan leather seats.
"You want them?" his voice becomes gravelly. "They don't do shit for me."
"You know the agreement…."
Jax throws his head back and grabs his phone, which they confiscated during his stay. He must have dozens of messages. "Yeah, yeah. If I stop taking them, I go back in lockup."
"Lockup? Okay, drama queen," I laugh. "I went to one of those places, and they're practically resorts."
"You went to Passages Malibu. I went to the only hospital my crap insurance would cover, but yeah, pretend like they're the same thing," he snaps.
He has a point, but I can't find the right thing to say, so I continue to spew the absolute opposite. "If you need money to go to a better facility—"
"Don't you fucking finish that sentence." His head snaps up. I hit that nerve called pride.
"I'm trying to help."
"You wanna help? Don't. That's what I need."
"Yeah, and a razor." I reach for his face and pretend to rub his stubble. "Hmm, make that a lawnmower."
"We are not doing this, Cage," Jax smacks my hand. "This isn't a vacation or a god damn slumber party. Your house is a slightly better option than this shithole. That's all."
"Fine, but you are wrong about that slumber party," I fish for another smile. "Do you need anything before we head out?"
"Some stuff from my house," he says.
"Gonna get that razor?"
"Fuck, you're still talking? How do you pair this shit?" he points at the Bluetooth stereo. After some fiddling, heavy metal bursts through the speakers, shaking the windows in an attempt to shut me up. Like anything can shut me.
The parking attendant gives us a look when I roll down the window, and the screeching vocals echo around us. I give him my validated ticket and an "oops" smile before turning on the main road.
Jax's land is thirty minutes from the hospital. Five nights ago, I rushed down this dirt road like the devil was chasing me with a pitchfork. I didn't see the new potholes; they blew out two tires and damaged one of my rims.
I park in front of the old house and turn the music down. "Do you need me to go in with you?" I know it sounds dumb as soon as the words drop.
I've heard the word 'sneer,' read it in a script from time to time, and even had to try one for a movie role (which I landed, of course), but now I know how it's supposed to look. He gives me said sneer but doesn't say a word. The big man pretty much leaps out of the car.
"You're welcome." I grumble. I wait until he can't hear, because I can't guilt-trip him right now. He needs a "supportive and loving environment." The caseworker told me that. Where do I find one of those? He's pissed at me, hates my wife, and Jacqui is on the other side of the world
Jacqui. She's going to despise me when she learns about my deception. I have a lot of voices spouting self-doubt. The loudest tells me I'm hopelessly unprepared to handle any of this.
That's when my phone starts to vibrate. It's Cassie. Finally, I see a bright spot in this shitty day. "Cass?" all I hear is static and garbled speak. I get shitty service out here. "Let me call you back."
I leave my car and slowly walk towards the house, waving the phone in the air at different angles. As though I need to feel worse, the farm looks terrible. Between the thigh-high grass, peeling paint on the barn and house, and the porch rail dangling by a nail, it's in trouble.
Jax used to take pride in his land. He maintained everything, from the paint to the tractor — he even built the well. Damn. I guess I wasn't paying attention to the state of things. I pass by Vera's vegetable garden garden. It looks like Jax has been taking care of it, unlike everything else. I rake my hand down my face and climb the porch that practically buckles beneath me.
"Hey, pops," Cass answers.
"Hey, kiddo, how was your flight?" I ask, checking my watch. Her plane should land at six, but It's only two. "How—" Cass hesitates for a split sec. I know that silence. Sonya trademarked that guilty hesitation in the early years of our marriage. She eventually stopped acting guilty, often announcing her excuses loud and proud. Cassie will never get to that point. My heart still catches in my chest. "Where are you?"
"Still in Arctika. The blizzard hit too fast. We can't fly out until it passes."
"Okay…." I scratch an eyebrow. "I can book a later flight."
"Um, that's the thing. We have to pick up Jacqui from The Shirai Ryu. You'll never believe who Hanzo found."
"I can guess." I smile. We have been trying to find Kenshi for years, but the sneaky bastard evades us every time. "Scorp finally agreed to help?" We know that the Shirai Ryu keep tabs on Takahashi, even though Hanzo denies it.
"Let's just say that Jac is resourceful. From what I hear, Kenshi's getting into some trouble," she says.
"I'm guessing we're canceling your visit, then?"
"Kenshi is in danger right now… I think his life needs to be a priority."
I nod, swallowing harshly before steadying my voice. "Of course, it does. Kenshi is a lot more important than some party." It's true too. I miss Cass, but I can't be selfish.
Then why does this conversation make my stomach race?
"I'll make it up to you. I promise," she says, "unless you want to tag along?"
I could forget my responsibilities for a little bit and spend some time with my daughter, doing what we do best. "Yes" hangs on my tongue before the sour taste of obligation makes me pull back. "I'd love to, kiddo, but I can't this time."
"Yeah, I guess Brooke wouldn't like it too much," she grinds out. I wish I could tell her about Jax because he's the actual reason I have to pass on the mission. She must believe I'm doing it for her stepmother. I have a secret to keep.
"Be careful, and keep Kenshi safe. Love you," I say.
"Love you too, pops. Happy birthday."
When we leave, Jax turns up the music again. The Heavy Metal continues to bang my head for the three-hour drive to Malibu. I don't want to talk. I'm having a reaction to my phone conversation. It's a feeling I thought I had matured past years ago: Bitterness.
It isn't until we drive up to my gate that I have to conversate. I fill Jax in on our story. He has to have his house fumigated. "After that, we'll have to make something up." Briggs nods and stares at the sapphire blue waves as the car whizzes up the canyon. If this view impresses him, wait until he sees our private beach.
Pulling up our private road and slowly coming up on the brick cul-de-sac driveway, I see at least six vans and staff rushing around. Damn it, Brooke. My wife promised me a small family barbecue; I should know better than to expect anything small from her. Jax nods at the valet stands. "You didn't tell me you are having another fucking party? What are we celebrating this week?"
"My birthday." I already know he's mocking me, and I am not in the mood for witty repartee. "And our wedding anniversary."
"It's been a year already? No, no way. That's not right."
"How would you know? You weren't even there." Don't get me started on that shit.
"Do you remember why I didn't go? It was right after Sonya's birthday." That was the reason he gave, anyhow.
I clear my throat and roll my shoulders. "Fuck, okay, It's… Well, it's been six months. Brooke calls it a Half-a-versary."
I feel his eyes on me as he tries — and fails — to hold back a mocking snicker. "Who the fuck does that?"
"I know, alright?" Brooke can be a little quirky. "Can you just be nice? I know things aren't great between you, but she's a good woman."
"Good woman. Right."
"You don't even know her."
"I know her better than you!" Jax smacks his knee. He loves to give me shit because I married Brooke only six months after he introduced us.
"How can you compare your high school romance, that was decades ago, to my mature marriage? Seriously, what's your problem?"
He shakes his head. "It's just… Christ, what were you two thinking? How can you even have those feelings for a person you just met?
"Those feelings?" I scoff.
"Yeah, you know, love? Affection? A genuine connection…"
I have no answer, so I turn it around. "You sound jeally. First Sonya, now Brooke? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're tired of losing women to me."
His eyes narrow. "It's not like that." He says those words a lot.
"I'm just glad you weren't around when I was with my first wife, Cindy. You'd probably want her too. I'd be 3-0!"
My comebacks hit their mark. I smile at my victory until he jumps out, flips me off, and rushes to the house. I took it too far.
Supportive and loving, huh?
Fuck.
I toss my fob at the valet and sprint after Briggs.
"Jax!" I call, "Hey, man..."
"Don't!" he yells. His face falls slack. He tries to play it neutral, but he can't hide the defeat in his eyes. "Don't apologize. I don't need that right now. I don't need you acting different."
"But I was a total asshole."
"You're always a total asshole, and you never apologize. That back there? First time I've had any normalcy in a week. You wanna help? Be you."
I nod weakly. I know things are bad when Jackson Briggs prefers me to be myself. He isn't ready to hash things out. Let's just hope he doesn't explode when the time comes.
We walk through the wine room into the main space. It combines the kitchen, living room, and dining room into one open area. The furniture and décor are simple and modern. The room has the bare minimum because nothing should distract from the real focal point: the view.
Jax walks to the towering glass wall, which makes up the entire first story. He stares past the infinity pool at the ocean. The breathtaking panoramic scene - half ocean, half canyon, can impress even him. "Jesus, Cage, Brooke really took your money and ran with it."
I shrug off the potshot. I don't know what happened between Briggs and Brooke, and I avoid exploring it, because if I'm right, it will just be another reason to feel like shit.
The staff rush around, using every inch of the marble counters and stuffing the double-ovens as full as they can go. Brooke's sons, TJ and DJ, sit at the bar.
"Hey, Johnny!" DJ spins on the stool. He's become my best friend since I sent him to Europe for his gap year.
TJ bites into an apple and barely nods at me. He is still a Junior in high school and won't appreciate my money until college time. I'm sure he'll like me at that point. "Where's Cassie?"
I don't discipline my step kids, but this boy's crush on my daughter is a step too far.
"Where's your mother?" I shoot back.
Brooke has a scary ability to sense when it's time to make an entrance. Before we call her, she appears on the staircase.
Over 6 feet in kitten heels, with light brown, highlighted hair, and a bronze spray tan without a streak of orange, this Texas native has come a long way. She knows how to sway her hips as she walks down the stairs in a white dress that hugs all the right places. I don't know where that Texas girl went, but looking at Brooke now, I don't care.
As soon as she reaches the bottom step, l see Jax staring like he is witnessing his first sunrise.
"Marbles!" Brooke runs forward and throws her arms around the awe-struck man.
"Hey, River," he mutters, using her nickname despite their problems. At least he's trying to be nice.
I lean against the bar and watch the exchange. She smiles with a warmth reserved for few, acting like they never had a falling out. Then she turns to me. "Hey, tiger." I grab her and bring her in for a long, overly-sexualized make-out session. She eventually pushes me away with a playful swat. I sling an arm around her, and she snuggles into me. "I'm sorry about your house. Cockroaches are the worst," Brooke pouts at Jax.
Jax's face tightens in a frown. "Yeah. The worst."
"Well, you're welcome to stay in the guest house as long as you need. You'll have your own kitchen and bathroom and a pick between two bedrooms. It's all the privacy you need." He tries to smile, but it stays that tight, disappointed expression like the sunrise fell short. "I'll have our housekeeper show you around." Brooke turns to me. "Don't you need to get Cass?"
"She can't make it," I rake my fingers through my hair.
"Oh, hon…" she shakes her head. Her hunter green eyes search my face, and her plump lips fall in a tight line.
"It's okay, kitten. We'll fly her out another time." I don't need her pitying me in front of everyone.
She nods. "Go get ready for the party. I'll be right up."
"Ready?" I smile.
"Well, you're not wearing that, are you?" She bumps me with her hip, trying to act normal.
"Wear the same outfit twice? Never."
The sun is setting when I jump in the shower. As the water flows down my chest, I look out the glass walls at the orange and pink reflection on the sea. I can darken the windows for privacy, but I know for a fact that I look damn good. What's there to hide?
I'm standing in a 10,500-square foot mansion, showering in glorious warm water while I watch the sun disappear into the ocean. Hundreds of people are on their way to celebrate my birthday. I put my hands on the wall and turn the water as hot as it goes. If my daughter missing my birthday is my biggest problem, my life must be cherry.
I clean and scrub and moisturize until I'm sure my hair and body are ready. The water shuts off, and I grab a fluffy white towel
The noise comes from the master bedroom. Writers use the word "mewl," but I never knew a human who actually made that noise. Then I met a woman who earned her nickname.
"Hey, kitten."
Brooke stands against the door jam, looking me up and down. She bites her lip. "Did I miss the show?"
"I can put on an encore if you want."
"Oh, the temptation. Ugh, but the guests should start arriving soon."
"What a shame." I start to dry my hair, noticing how she admires every inch of me. Then she approaches me. The way she grabs me, the insatiable look she gives me like I'm the only person who can match her fire, her lips are molten against mine, and when she bites my bottom lip, it's almost too much. I lean my forehead against hers. She opens her glittering green eyes.
"Tiger? What's wrong?"
"It's nothing."
"Liar. What happened with Cass?" She sits on the edge of the wood tub and crosses her arms. "I have all night." She listens while I tell her about the phone conversation — leaving out the part about Cassie inviting me along.
"Kenshi? That's the one Sonya had to save that time she missed Cassie's birthday, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So?! You don't see the parallels in these situations?" she asks.
"Parallels? What does that mean?"
"Parallels? Similarities?" When I shrug, she sighs. "A woman you care about missing a family member's birthday party to go save this Kenshi guy?"
Kenshi's life is a lot more important than some party.
I'll make it up to you. I promise.
If I changed the voices just slightly, I could picture Sonya in that conversation.
There it is.
When we have kids with someone we love, there's that hope that they'll get the best of both of us. Cassie has the best of Sonya, but this reminds me of the worst. I still wonder how I deal if she starts going down Sonya's darker roads? God knows Sonya saw parts of me in Cassie, and she hated to see some of them. I pride myself on being there for my daughter; I don't want to hate any part of her. I hope I never get to that point.
"So, am I completely irrational?" My arms hang down by my side, and I look at her helplessly; She stands and hugs me.
"With everything I know about Cassie? Yes, your fears are irrational, but they're understandable considering what you went through," she pulls away and looks right into my eyes. "You've been hurt, tiger, and it's going to take a lot of time before you fully work through them."
Brooke's intuitive nature is magical. It reminds me of a conversation I had with the hooker my friend hired during a trip to Vegas. When I asked her how she could stand her job, she told me, "It's only fifty percent sex, doll. You'd be surprised how many men just want someone to listen." That sounded ridiculous.
After losing Sonya, I never wanted to remarry. Brooke and I were to go out and hook up a couple of times, and that would be it. One drunken episode later, she knew way more than I meant to tell. She just listened, acknowledged, and, as she calls it, validated. I soon understood what the prostitute meant. Validation is fucking addicting. I put a ring on it, for fucks sakes.
I never realized how different things could be if I confided in someone neutral, someone who didn't know Sonya. Our mutual friends told me how lucky I was to have her, how stupid I was to lose her, or how selfish and immature I acted in trying to keep her around. They are right in many ways, but damn, being beaten down and blamed like that fucks up a person.
Brooke doesn't make me defend Sonya, but she doesn't make me defend myself either.
If we could fall in love with each other, be more than best friends with benefits, the world would be right. It will never happen. I gave that up long ago. Brooke is just someone who can ease the loneliness of a life lived after the kids are grown, and the things that used to matter aren't there anymore. We have an understanding, and we both know what this is. She gets the good life; I get companionship. Her kids are provided for, our needs are taken care of, and no one gets hurt.
Am I the happiest I've ever been? No. Not even close.
But I am happy. If Sonya gets to be at peace, why don't I?
