Chapter Text
Jack knew he’d be a liar if he said Santa Fe was everything he hoped it would be. And no matter how rough things got, Jack prided himself on not being a liar. That said, it wasn’t the end of the world, everyone went through rough patches. He’d gotten through them before and there was no reason he wouldn’t get through them again. Hell, if he’d gotten through being orphaned at thirteen, then twenty-six year old Jack could get through the bills piling up on his messy kitchen counter. Sure, he’d been hopping between minimum wage jobs since graduation a few years prior, and hadn’t gotten a commission in months, but as far as Jack was concerned being a struggling artist was practically a rite of passage. He was going through what thousands of artists had gone through before him, nothing more, nothing less. He was acutely aware that he didn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to a friend, wasn’t even sure who to consider his friends, but really that just meant he had more time on his hands, time to work on his nonexistent commissions.
(And maybe, he thought, maybe it would all be better if he wasn’t so stuck. If his shitty worn comforter didn’t feel like the earth pressing into Atlas’ shoulders, keeping Jack tethered to his bed.)
Santa Fe was an inherited dream. His mom had grown up there, apparently, and his dad was always talking about taking Jack home to a place neither of them had ever known. Jack had never met her, but he’d grown up on so many stories it was as if she’d raised him herself. His dad had been in love with her until the day he had followed her into the stars. Growing up, he’d tell Jack that one day he would meet a girl who’d make him feel like nothing else mattered, and that they’d have a kid who’d make him want to rebuild the world to remove every little imperfection and obstacle that might fall in their path. Jack had grown up so very loved, he sometimes wondered if it was too much all at once, like his dad had to be taken from him to restore balance to the universe.
So Jack had worked his ass off to live out his father’s dream. He managed to secure a place, and a full ride scholarship, to the Santa Fe University of Art and Design. He spent three years there painting the places his dad had whispered about as he tucked him into bed every night. If you looked hard enough, you could see the way his dad made it into every painting, portraits that Jack hadn’t planned subtly worked into the landscape, infiltrating every piece of art Jack produced. Then, as he was about to enter his senior year, SFCAD had shut down. Jack had been transferred to Southwestern, and while it was still Santa Fe, it wasn’t the same. He tried to tell himself that it was good, that it was the universe’s way of telling him to try something new. Artists benefited from different perspectives, Jack knew that and tried to take it in stride, telling himself that he was grateful for the experience because he wasn’t sure he’d survive the fall if he didn’t believe it. So he’d written home to his adoptive mother, Medda, and put a positive spin on the entire thing. She was always so proud of her oldest son, her Jack Kelly, living the life he’d mapped out to her on the quiet evenings they spent at home catching up on fourteen missed years.
For two years, Jack had Charlie with him in Santa Fe. He’d followed Jack to the south with a scholarship to St John’s College, before deciding that it wasn’t for him and transferring to NYU to live at home for his junior year. Santa Fe wasn’t his dream, he had told Jack, he’d given it a go but New York would always be the place for him. And that was fine. Jack respected Charlie and his right to make his own decisions, but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss him. Charlie used to visit him more, it always happened that way around, Jack never returned to New York, he’d admitted to himself years prior that he was scared of what a visit to the city he grew up in would do to him. Jack tried very hard not to believe in regrets, but he was worried that the streets of the city would be seeped in them. When Charlie had gotten sick, Jack had called him every night. When he had his amputation, Jack sent sunflowers and chocolate. He didn’t go home. Medda had sent him photos, sometimes of Charlie alone, sometimes of him with the kid Medda had taken in when Jack had moved out (his replacement, a bitter part of him thought), some with the entire family minus Jack. Charlie hadn’t visited him since then, but he was an adult who was allowed to make choices with his own time and money, and Jack was fine with that.
Like his dad had promised, Jack had found a girl who made him feel like nothing else mattered. Katherine had been a St John’s student like Charlie, a trust fund baby who had wanted to get as far away from her father as possible. She had offers from Harvard and Yale, and had turned them down in favour of carving her own path, one without legacies. Sometimes, Jack had wondered if she’d even noticed that her road was easier than most others’. That she’d taken a different route to her dad but he had still sent someone ahead to pave it for her. That she was strolling along a cobblestone path while Jack marched his way through the muddy brush wildly swinging a machete in front of him and trying his best to keep up. He had always quickly pushed those thoughts aside, chided himself and decided that he was just jealous. They had always joked that their first meeting had come straight out of a romcom. Jack worked in an overpriced coffee shop and Kath was an exhausted student with money to burn. They’d fit together like mismatched puzzle pieces but they’d made it work.
But Katherine had dreams bigger than Santa Fe had space for. She moved back to DC as soon as she graduated. It hadn’t been a discussion, she’d just told him it was happening. Katherine had always been a doer. When she set her mind to something she made it happen, sometimes forgetting to consider the aftershocks. Jack had tried his best to be supportive, to keep the relationship going across the country. Often, Katherine hadn’t understood why he couldn’t go see her. His work schedule was more flexible than hers. Jack struggled to explain that when he couldn’t afford something it was between flying to see her and paying his rent, she couldn’t seem to grasp the idea that not everyone had a safety net. They were both passionate people, they loved loudly and intensely and not having their person right there wasn’t good for either of them. The breakup had been mutual, or at least that’s what Jack had told people. Katherine had been the one to make it official, but Jack had seen it coming. He tried telling himself that he was ok with it, that it had been the best possible decision, but there was nothing he could do about the ache in his chest when he saw photos of her with Sarah. Finally, Jack had deleted his social media apps, he couldn’t bring himself to block her.
So yes, he was struggling, but he was also an adult who didn’t need his mom to step in and intervene. Medda didn’t seem to get the memo.
“Jack,” she said down the phone, just on the endearing side of condescending. “I know you’ve been living alone for a while but I’m worried. I’ve been speaking to your brother and he’s-”
Jack bit back a sigh, but allowed himself an eye roll. “Ma, I’m fine. Sure, I’m not thrilled that you and Charlie are going around gossiping behind my back, but it’s been eight years since I moved out, I know how to handle myself.”
“I know sugar,” Jack could hear her smile. “But I know you, and I know that you’ve always been too independent for your own good. Can you come home? Just for a few months. If it doesn’t help I won’t stop you from leaving. But you’ve been running away for a long time, Jack, and I think you need a little bit of time to remember where you were going.”
As she spoke, Jack scanned his apartment. His eyes caught on the pile of unpaid bills that he usually tried to ignore. He didn’t like asking for help, everyone knew that, but he thought that maybe he could do with letting someone in for once. He didn’t have any real attachment to his apartment, no friends to leave behind, only an inherited dream that over the years had lost its lustre. In a split second, he made a decision.
“I guess if it would make you feel better,” he muttered, feeling distinctly like he was admitting defeat. “What about the kid?”
“Tony?” Medda clarified, as if she’d acquired another one since Jack had left. A part of him wouldn’t be surprised if she had.
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
“Oh, he’ll be fine.” Medda assured him. “He’s sixteen now, you’ll get on like a house on fire.”
The last time Jack had seen Anthony he’d been a tiny thing. Medda had taken him in as an emergency foster placement shortly before Jack had moved out when Jack and Charlie’s social worker needed somewhere to shelter the kid for a few nights. A few nights had turned into a few weeks which had turned into signatures on adoption papers and a new brother that Jack had never really met. In the few weeks between Anthony’s arrival and Jack’s departure, the kid had barely said a word. He had jumped at his own shadow and hidden whenever Jack entered the room. Jack had been dealing with his own moving away preparations and had been too busy to pay any real attention to the kid he had never expected to see again.
So Jack had accepted Medda’s offer. He’d put in his two weeks at the cafe he was working at and prepared himself to face the city he had been sure he would never return to. Medda thought of everything. He’d gotten an email with plane tickets the morning after their call, his outstanding bills were paid, and just as he began pacing lines into his carpet with moving stress men had shown up from a moving company to pack up his apartment. He’d tried to protest but Medda had assured him that she was his mom, she was going to look after him no matter how old he was. Besides, with only Anthony living at home she had far more disposable income than she’d ever had when raising Jack and Charlie.
Two weeks later, Jack stood at the door of a ground floor apartment with nothing but hand luggage and a message with the address from his mom on his dying phone. It was strange, he thought, going home to a place he’d never lived in. His family had moved after Jack and Charlie had moved out, Medda got a raise and didn’t need as much space so had signed a lease at a nicer but smaller apartment. Jack knew from Charlie’s stories that he’d stayed in the tiny office when he moved home and got resettled in the city, so was steeling himself for the same experience. It took longer than he would have liked to admit, but finally he raised a hand and knocked on the door.
For a few seconds, it was as silent as it got in New York City, but soon he heard footsteps running towards the other side of the door. They stopped abruptly and Jack heard the click of a lock and a sliding latch before the door was thrown open so fast Jack was surprised it wasn’t ripped off its hinges. In the doorway stood a teenager, much taller than he was the last time Jack had seen him. He was dressed halfway between pyjamas and athleisure, curly blond hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail that looked like it was fighting for its life. A faded scar crossed his lips and ended under his eye, Jack didn’t think he even would’ve noticed it if it hadn’t been much fresher the last time he’d seen the kid. Anthony blinked at him in confusion before the expression twisted into a look of intrigue.
“Anthony?” Jack said.
As quickly as it had appeared, the intrigue was gone. Anthony’s expression hardened and for a second Jack thought he could see the scared kid he’d met all those years ago. He was snapped out of his thoughts when a door slammed in his face, leaving Jack alone on the unfamiliar steps of his family home.