Page 72 of Pieces of Us

It shouldn’t bother me, but even his damn pie is delicious. Uncle Mark even goes without birthday cake this year in favour of the sinful treat. Even I practically lick the plate clean. It has a crusty, flaky case, and the sweet potato filling is creamy and rich with depths of cinnamon and other spices. The flavour is almost enticing enough to ask for a second helping, but I don’t want to look like a fat shit with him in the room, looking like Adonis, carved from stone.

Throughout the meal, I make a habit of watching Amity. One thing that makes me frequently frown is the teeny tiny portions of food she pops on her plate. It’s mainly salad—without dressing—and a child's portion of protein. Even though she seemed like she couldn’t live without Jagger’s pie, she got the world’s tiniest slice and only ate the filling, not the crust.

Everyone heads in separate directions after dinner. The adults go to watch the footy game, Ella, Rome, Lily and Jas are washing up, and Jagger is on the phone to his manager. Even his security team are lounging around.

I know I should have offered to help clean up, but I wanted to steal a few extra moments with Amity.

‘You good, baby?’

She glances up, smiling. ‘It’s a perfect night.’ Not wanting to read into her words, I choose to believe it’s because I’m here andhas nothing to do with Jagger’s visit.

‘We need to eventually talk, you know.’

On a deep exhale, she nods. ‘I know. We will. The next week is a little chaotic. I’m pretty much off for a few days, and then I have that assignment to do with your sister when I get back.’

Although she gives me an apologetic look, my mood sours. ‘When you get back, then? After the Jas thing?’ I hear the desperation in my tone. Again, she nods.

‘Amity, your phone’s ringing!’ Lily shouts from the sink.

‘Be right there.’ With a last sympathetic look, she slides her chair back and goes to fetch her phone.

Frustrated and with silent irritation, I push my own chair back and go in search of a quiet place to sort my head out. Going inside, I’d be bombarded with people, so I opt to retreat further into the backyard, finding my way to the pool area. Slumping in one of the lounge chairs, I prop my hands behind my head and stare up at the starry sky. The stars don’t seem as bright this evening, but it could just be my mood projecting.

‘You look like you need a harder drink.’

I turn in surprise at the sound of Jagger’s voice. He’s holding a glass with amber liquid, filled a quarter of the way. A single block of ice stands proud above the liquid.

‘I need something.’ Amity. I need Amity.

He lays back on the opposite lounge, mimicking my pose.

‘You fucked up hard, man,’ he breathes out, getting what he really wants to say off his chest.

‘I know.’ Hearing some other fucker say it—who doesn’t even know me—cuts deep.

‘You don’t.’ There’s so much despair in his voice that I know he knows things I don’t.

I cough at his admission, stumbling to come up with a reply.

‘Tell me.’ I watch as he swallows a sip of whisky.

Handing me his glass, I take it from him. ‘You’ll need this.’

Taking a bigger gulp than I should, I instantly feel the burn slide down my throat, knowing that whatever he’s about to say will not be anywhere near the burn the drink leaves behind.

‘It’s not my story to tell, but I can say that when we met, she was in pieces. I didn’t know her before, but the Amity I met was fragments of a girl. Broke my fucking heart. Something inside me wanted to protect her. In the industry we’re in, someone like her—with her innocence—wouldn’t only get swallowed. She’d get buried, metaphorically and literally. I knew that if I didn’t step in, we’d be standing at her grave.’

My eyes go wide at his solemn confession. A complete numbness washes over me. I can’t feel my fingers or my toes as my head swims with visions of Amity’s gravestone. There’s a clinking sound coming from my shaking hands, holding the tumbler. Seconds later, the clinking stops as Jagger takes the glass from my hand.

‘How did you help her?’ Have I swallowed razor blades I didn’t know about? My voice is hoarse and my throat burns, clogged with guilt.

‘I loved her. Every part. I brought fun into her life. I sought the help she needed. I helped her navigate fame. But most of all, I was whatever she needed me to be.’ What fucking cryptic crap is that?

His confession gnaws at the part of me that knows I’m the reason she fell.

‘What help did she need?’

He shakes his head. ‘I can’t tell you that. Just know, what she’s battling every single day is lifelong.’

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