The Dirt Whispered, Ch. 14
When Kevin got sick, we stopped playing shows. That’s obvious. Nick and I couldn’t be the Jonas Brothers without our big brother. It only took us a couple months to realize that Kevin wasn’t going to be able to perform any time soon. So, Nick and I weighed our options, or… Nick weighed his options. I made it clear that I wasn’t performing again until Kevin was better. Nick wasn’t particularly happy with that, but he understood. For me, it was the band, or it was nothing. Kevin and I had both sworn that from the beginning. We were a team.
Nick never really made that promise. We all knew from the start that he could, and would, make it on his own someday. So, when it was clear that we weren’t getting anywhere as the Jonas Brothers for a while, Nick went about his business, and went to work in the studio to release an album of songs he’d written and could perform by himself. I certainly didn’t resent him for that.
What I did resent was Mom and Dad’s decision to go with him on the road, when it was decided to hurry a Nick Jonas tour, to make it up to the fans that the Jonas Brothers wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon. I mean, I know he was only seventeen, and he needed some parental figure with him on the road, but was the fact that Kevin was in an asylum not important at all? He was sick, and I seemed to be the only one who gave a damn.
So, while our loving parents abandoned us for the son who was making something of himself, I rented an apartment close to Kevin’s hospital and kept to myself for a while. I was scared to go see Kevin; I hadn’t yet. Mom and Dad and Frankie had gone, and I couldn’t explain myself to them when I said I was scared, but they didn’t make me go. Instead, since we were close enough to L.A., I took over our record label.
It hadn’t really gotten off the ground yet anyway; we’d signed a couple of bands, given people a chance to really get out there, and now that I had time, I was going to make something of it. And, really, it’s fun. I mean, Dad was our manager when we were a band so we never really handled any of the business stuff ourselves, and suddenly, here I was, taking care of all of these things, signing bands, promoting them, making dreams come true, and it was amazing.
Or it would have been, if I had Kevin.
Now I do. And, his first full day home, I have a dinner meeting with a potential client. As I’m knotting my tie, I ask him for the fifteenth time if he wants me to reschedule. He smiles and shakes his head. “It’s okay, Joe. I don’t need babysitting. I’ll spend the night unpacking and getting settled. Is it okay if I order Chinese or something?”
I nod and fish my wallet out of my pocket to hand him a twenty. “I promise I’ll be back as soon as possible. Don’t feel like you have to wait up or anything, okay?”
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The dinner goes quickly, and it’s actually incredibly successful. We’re drawing up contracts by dessert, and then we remove ourselves to the restaurant’s bar for celebratory drinks. I drink one martini too many, and end up laughing too loudly and talking too much, but the people I’m with turn out to be the best drinking buddies I’ve ever had (especially since I’m usually my own drinking buddy).
It’s past midnight when I trip my way into the apartment. I’m not really drunk, just really tipsy, and my brain is all fuzzy, and my lungs feel warm. I unlock the door and am surprised when I open it to find the bedroom light still on. It can’t be good that Kevin’s still awake, and my immediate fear and self-hatred for leaving him alone overrides and destroys my buzz. I drop my briefcase on the floor beside the counter and hurry back toward the room. “Kevin? Why are you still up?”
He looks up at me from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. His toes curl under the edges of his pant legs, and his eyes peer up at me through his fingers. “I… I couldn’t sleep. The bed - it’s not in the middle of the wall, and I couldn’t get it there… and I can’t sleep in it.” He sniffles, and I realize how exhausted he must be to be near tears over this. He takes his medicine before he goes to bed, because it always makes him drowsy.
I look around. He has my nightstands pushed into the corners, and it’s obvious my bed isn’t in the same place it was when I left. I nod though, smiling gently at him. “Alright, babe. I’ll be right back.” I run out to the kitchen for just a moment, searching through the two or three junk drawers I have there, and finally find a measuring tape. I bring it back to him. He flinches when I pull it open, and it snaps closed again. “Let’s measure, okay? We can get it right in the middle of the wall.”
There’s something about how he smiles at me that makes me feel like I just suggested a plan that would successfully bring about world peace. Somehow, as we start to measure the bed and the wall, it becomes a game, and before I know it, Kevin is laughing as we push the bed back and forth across the floor, and I’m grinning like an idiot because it’s the most wonderful sound in the world.
We finally collapse on our backs on the bed. I look over at him, and his eyes are closed, his face flushed, and I realize he looks happy. I roll over toward him and pull him close into my arms, and he melts into me, his nose nuzzled against my neck. I don’t know how long we lay there like that, listening to each other breathe, but suddenly, I notice how perfectly soft and pliant he is against me. He’s asleep. He’s asleep, in my arms, and I can’t help the tears in my eyes, because I never thought I’d be able to hold him like this again. Carefully, I reach over to the nightstand and switch the lamp off. I don’t care that I’m still wearing my suit, that my mouth tastes like vodka, or that I left the door unlocked. I’m holding the most beautiful boy in the world. Nothing else matters.