Page 2 of The Jaded Notes

“My uncle John helped my ma raise me since I lost my pops. I never made it easy, but he stepped up every time I needed him to. Some men carry wounded soldiers, and my uncle carried me until I could stand.”

His eyes stay hooked on mine as if he’s speaking to me. “I’m not saying he was perfect. What I’m saying is he was there for me during my darkest days. For that, I’m honored and grateful he was part of my family.”

I nod, the cry getting stuck halfway up my throat.

Callum continues. “As much as I love my uncle, there have been times I butted heads with him. Looking back, I realize I’m not much different from what he was. We’re haunted by the same demon, one that can’t be shaken off. It’s the kind that doesn’t let go when you tell it to. Because of that, most people misunderstand the truth about his life.”

What does that mean?

Callum’s gaze cuts from his mother to me and doesn’t waver. “The rock-and-roll life eats men alive. It breaks eventhe best ones, and my uncle was no exception. But he was still there when I needed someone who wouldn’t walk away.”

Callum takes a long, deep breath. “Uncle John always tried to help make my dreams come true. He may not have known how to right his wrongs, but I promise he never stopped trying to make amends. He hurt people, and he knew he did, but he kept trying to be better. I believe he meant it.”

Why do I feel like what Callum is saying is meant for me specifically?

He pauses to center himself. “I hope my uncle did more good. I hope you can remember these things about him. He deserves forgiveness and acknowledgment for all he’s given to those who were in his life so his soul can rest in peace. That’s all I can ask of you.”

Callum gives me a subtle dip of his chin. These wordsarefor me. He’s asking me to forgive John. I don’t know if I can. We lost our baby because of… I lower my head, swallowing the rising scream.

I’m no better than John. Tears fall without restraint, and I scratch at my wrists.

I took Lehlani Rose from the world. If I want mercy for her, I have to pay it forward to him.

My throat locks as I force my head up. When my gaze meets Callum’s, the smile I give him feels sewn on with wire.

He continues his eulogy, focusing on John’s contribution to the music industry as I let go of my anger and disdain for him. Callum’s right. Everyone deserves to rest in peace.

I’m thinking about that when Callum finishes. What he says takes me by surprise because it doesn’t make sense.

He stares at his mom. “They say Uncle John overdosed. I’m not sure what I believe. I know it wasn’t by his own hand, though. He never would’ve done that to us. Have you ever thought about that?”

There’s a long pause. Callum and his mom hold a weighted stare while the crowd looks on. John’s passing wasruled an overdose. Bren told me it looked like a suicide, but they couldn’t prove it, so it was listed as an accidental death.

What is Callum talking about?

He thumps his chest with his fist. “I’d like to end with an Irish blessing. ‘May the road rise to meet you, may the wind always be at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face, and may the rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of His hand.’ I love ya, Uncle John.”

Callum stares up at the sky and honors his uncle with a moment of silence. He leaves the podium with glossy red eyes. It’s clear he’s holding back tears.

My heart shatters for him. First his dad, now his uncle. I pray he can handle this without going off the deep end.

From what I’ve heard, it’s not likely. Callum’s been hanging by a thread since this happened.

Once the funeral is over, we head to an Irish pub to pay our respects. It goes from church hush to bar roar in under an hour. Bagpipes traded for bass lines and grief poured over ice. John’s reception wants laughter to drown what the hymns couldn’t.

My parents grab a table and tell me to find Bren. I squeeze between people and scan the crowd. Another room opens up off to the side.

I slip through shoulders until I reach the opening, which is about the size of a sliding glass door. The area has four large tables that frame a fireplace.

Some of the stage crew, including all the members of Mayhem and Victoria, are here. I take one look at them and my insides twist. I should turn around and not interrupt.

Bren spots me first and gets to his feet. “Livianna. Come in.”

“Of course.” In preparation, I give myself an encouraging mental pat on the back and stroll to their table.

Bren takes me in his arms. “I’m glad you were able to come back.”

“I figured you could use a hug.”