"Jack, man, I'm really sorry, but we gotta do what's best for the band. We'd wait for you, but you know how these things go down. Once the deal's on the table you gotta take it before it disappears."
Jack opened his mouth to say something, but the guy on the other end of the phone didn't bother to pause to take a breath. He was nervously rambling and practically shouting, fighting to be heard above the racket behind him. The sounds were so familiar - the disjointed notes and chords and run-throughs as the band warmed up and practiced. He hadn't realized how much he missed his music until he heard a couple of bars of a familiar melody pour out in the background. A melody he had helped write.
He rolled his right shoulder, feeling the tightness of the muscles and the pain that shot down his arm, following the path of the damaged nerves. The worst was the numbness and tingling in his fingers and how clumsy he was with just the simplest things. His physical therapist told him he was improving but he was tired of the minuscule improvements, the baby steps, he just wanted to take a giant leap and get back to his life.
The guy on the phone was Mark - the lead singer of The Spares, the band Jack played lead guitar for. Scratch that, Jack thought wearily, the band he used to play lead guitar for.
Mark had just spent the last five minutes explaining why Jack had been replaced by the person who had been filling in for him while he was recuperating. Turns out his fill-in was pretty awesome on lead guitar and the band had been booking show after show this last month. Naturally, a record producer happened to be at a show, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Jack had a hard time believing the new guitarist was any better than he was - he just didn't look nearly as hot in a skirt as Ash did. And that was like the final nail in his coffin, his replacement was some chick. Some chick who barely knew her Keith Richards from her Slash and thought Sid Vicious was that guy in the Harry Potter movies. Some chick who thought that shortening her name from Ashley to Ash somehow made her rock and roll.
She'd been part of the bar scene in New York just as long as he had, only she drifted from band to band, never finding a good fit - not like the one he had with The Spares. An image of her on stage flashed through his mind and he could see why the guys were ditching him.
She looked the part - there was no question about that. Hell, Jack had even been drawn to her, engaging in some extra-curricular activities with her that were more than memorable. But she was just surface - an act. The guys would realize that eventually. Meanwhile, he would be slowly turning into the world's youngest shut-in, anchored to the couch, the remote control permanently fused to his hand.
He was beginning to think he had the worst fucking luck in the world.
"Who pissed in your daisies?" Bobby asked as he stepped into the room. Jack hung up the phone, dropping the receiver with a little more force than necessary.
"No one," he said quietly, tracing his fingers over the tattoo on his arm, wondering if it would be too hard to change "Spares" into "Spared". He was beginning to think that fit more with how things were turning out anyway. He'd been spared, but shit lot of good that was doing him at the moment.
"Hey, if it'll cheer ya up, I'll let you wear my jacket."
Jack sighed and shook his head. "Bobby, I'm not twelve anymore - I don't care about your Redwings jacket. Plus, I'm pretty sure the sleeves would be too short for me now anyway."
"You think you're fucking funny, huh?"
"Yeah."
"We could test your theory. I bet Ma kept the coat."
"I'm sure she did."
Bobby went to the hall closet and started rummaging through all the crap that had piled up over the years, but he came back empty handed.
"Upstairs," was all Bobby said as he stepped up to the banister and impatiently motioned for his brother to follow him.
Jack groaned and leaned his head back on the pillows propped behind him. "Come on, man. Just bring it down here."
"Quit being such a pussy. The exercise'll do ya good. Hurry up, I'm not getting any younger here."
"You could say that again," Jack mumbled under his breath, earning a glare from his older brother.
XxXxXxXxXx
"See, told you it would fit," Bobby said with a smirk.
"Then it must reach your knees," Jack joked as he shrugged the jacket off, wincing as it pulled on his shoulder.
"Smartass," Bobby said as he smacked Jack across the back of his head.
"Hey," he protested as he instinctively rubbed the spot that had already stopped hurting.
Bobby didn't apologize as he picked up his prized jacket and put it back on the hanger in the closet.
He hadn't worn it since he'd been kicked out of the league. Jack knew that still bugged him - that they'd basically snatched his career away from him. Of course, Bobby never took any responsibility for the league's decision. He would always argue that fighting was part of the sport, an unspoken rule of the game. Well, when you're fighting more than you're actually skating, you should probably reexamine your reason for playing in the first place. Not that Jack would ever point that out to Bobby. That was one argument Bobby would never let anyone walk away from.
Jack looked around the room, taking in the familiar things that were intrinsically tied to his mother. The little knick knacks she had scattered all over the place, the pictures tucked into the frame of her mirror, the goofy crap he and his brothers had brought home from school and she'd made a show of displaying proudly. Bobby might be staying in her room, but he hadn't taken away anything that belonged to their mother.
Limping over to her dresser, he picked up a framed photo of the five of them - all the Mercers in one place for a change. They were on the porch steps. Evelyn was in the center, a warm smile on her face. Angel and Jerry were on either side of her - Jerry was grinning like mad and Angel looked bored. He never did like to get his picture taken. Bobby was in front of Ma, his arm reached out - he was either about to attack Jack's hair or had just done so moments before, probably bugging the hell out of the younger kid. Jack was ducking out of the way, a rare smile on his face.
Jack ran his fingers over the picture. They were all so young and had already seen so much. He could never remember smiling before he came to Evelyn's house. She'd done so much for all of them and asked for so little in return.
He'd always wondered why - why had she taken them all in and given them a home and a family. He'd even asked her once, but she'd only smiled and touched his face and said, "Oh, Jackie," in that way that made him think he was supposed to already know the answer.
Bobby came up behind him and reached out, grabbing the picture from Jack's hands. "That was a good day," Bobby said with uncharacteristic nostalgia.
"Yeah?" Jack asked quietly.
"You don't remember?"
Jack shook his head, his eyes still on the picture.
"That was the day Ma signed your adoption papers - made it official. She liked to do this kind of sappy shit with stuff like that - take pictures, bake a cake, make a big deal out of everything," Bobby explained as he sat the picture down on the dresser in the exact same spot Jack had picked it up from.
"She certainly did," Jack said, his voice thick with emotion.
He could remember the day, but he couldn't remember taking the picture. He had been terrified, scared that the Mercers were playing some sort of joke on him. Any moment his social worker would come storming in and grab his arm, dragging him back out of the house because it had all been a mistake.
It was a year before he finally stopped planning his escape - a backpack full of clothes and supplies hiding in his closet in case he had to make a run for it. He remembered when Evelyn found the bag. She'd looked disappointed but she didn't yell at him. She took both of his hands in hers and explained that they were a family, all of them, including him. She'd told him that dozens of times and he'd always nod his head, hoping the conversation would end soon so that he could disappear to his room, turn his music up and pretend he didn't care. For some reason, though, he believed her that day. It was like an old key turning in a rusty lock, and he finally let himself become a part of her family.
Still standing at the dresser, Bobby reached over and grabbed Evelyn's jewelry box. It was covered in a thin layer of dust that he brushed off with the hem of his shirt.
"Guess we should check and make sure there aren't any rings for Angel to give to La Vida Loca," he smirked as he opened the lid, an envelope dropping out and landing on the floor.
"Angel has just as much a right to use one of Ma's rings as we do," Jack said, awkwardly reaching down to pick up the paper as his older brother rummaged through the costume jewelry and sentimental pieces Evelyn had held on to.
"Not if he's going to give it to that psycho. No fucking way," Bobby said sternly.
Suddenly very tired of standing, Jack carefully made his way over to the bed, practically collapsing on it. His knee was aching like crazy and he still had an hour before he could take another painkiller. Bobby still going through the jewelry box, holding a ring or two up to the light, like he was suddenly an expert on precious stones or something.
Shaking his head, Jack examined the envelope he was still holding on to. It was addressed to Evelyn. The top had already been torn open and he cautiously peered inside, feeling a bit like he was snooping. Another envelope was tucked inside and he couldn't resist pulling it out. He had the letter it contained in his hands before he could give it a second thought.
He must have made a sound or something because Bobby was suddenly next to the bed, looking down at him, a concerned and confused look on his face.
"What's that?" he asked and Jack swallowed heavily.
"A letter," he managed to say.
"Yeah. So?"
"From my mother."