“Whatever. I’m out of here.”
Because I can’t stay. I can’t break down here. I can’t process this in front of these guys. Not even Ward.
I have a sudden need to self-medicate that is stronger than it has been since I started rehab. I need to get out of here. Now. I need to be alone so I can wrestle with the demons inside me.
The ocean is a pretty good substitute for booze, as it turns out. Its calming, endless undulation soothes the mind, body, and soul. Even though the sun has long since set over the horizon and the evening has cooled to the point that I have goose bumps, here I sit, on my balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean, with Rosie in my lap, absentmindedly strumming. Having made no real progress. Or anything even resembling a decision.
That’s what they all want me to do. Decide. Only, there’s really no decision to be made. Or is there?
The strumming turns into a melody and I hum along. Never quite singing. He beat that out of me a long time ago.
“You’re going to make my ears bleed with that god-awful voice of yours!”
“What are you, killing a cat in there?”
“Shut up, kid, you couldn’t carry a note in a bucket!”
I stop humming, heat creeping up my neck. Anger? Embarrassment? Who knows. But I keep strumming, the music a balm for every horrible thing he ever said or did to me to take my joy away. But there are some things that can’t be taken from you, and love is one of them.
It’s only been my love of music, of making something beautiful come out of the old, beat-up acoustic I’d inherited from a guy who was too embarrassed by it to take it to college with him, that pulled me through the abuse that was hurled at me.
He never criticized my playing, funnily enough, which is why I knew: I was good. I am good. But he had to direct his attentions somewhere, and Erik, my older brother, was a pro at making himself scarce. So it all landed on me. Better me than Annika, my younger sister. She had enough to carry. She was, after all, the one who killed mom. At least, according to my asshole father. Personally, I don’t think dying in childbirth constitutes homicide, but then, I’m a good-for-nothing piece of shit — his words — so what do I know?
But twenty years and not enough miles later, he still can’t take this from me.
It’s that thought that breaks me. I’m taking this from myself if I can’t swallow my pride. If I can’t give them what they want by making it through a few stupid apologies.
My fingers scrape the strings, and I pull back when I feel the moisture. Shit. I’m crying all over my fucking guitar. I use my T-shirt to wipe Rosie off before lovingly setting her down next to me.
I furiously wipe the tears away, unwilling to surrender my composure to memories of the man who once broke me when I was just a boy. But now I’m the man, and if I do nothing else with my life, I need to be a better one than him.
“Then start being the good guy.”
Maxi’s words ring through my ears. As usual, she’s right. And she’s wrong. Because it’s just not that simple. It’s not like I haven’t tried to be. But apparently doing it my way hasn’t been enough. So I guess it’s time to do it their way.
8
The Hand That Feeds by Nine Inch Nails
* * *
Max
A few days later, I find myself back in the conference room discussing the apology tour project with Alexsis while we wait for West and the production company guy to show.
“So, like, what’s your deal with West?” Alexsis asks, veering abruptly off the topic of who will research what.
“We don’t have a deal,” I reply defensively.
She tilts an eyebrow. “You so have a deal.”
I shrug. “I was just a fan of the band for a long time, and then he broke them up. Kinda pissed me off and I don’t pay attention to them anymore. End of story.”
“Cute. But I meant now, not then.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the sexual tension I could practically smell across the office both times he was here.”
I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “Then sexual tension must smell a lot like hostility because there’s a lot of that going in both directions,” I reply firmly.
“Oh please,” Alexsis scoffs. “It’s schoolyard basics. Boys only tease you when they like you.”
I look her straight in the eye. “That’s bullshit. Boys tease you to get a reaction out of you so they can fulfill their own need to feel in control. West is angry because I’m a female who doesn’t want to jump his bones. So he teases me to feel like he has some control over me. Same reason he wants me to do this whole ‘apology tour’ crap.”
“Well, that’s an interesting theory,” comes a voice from the door.
I look up to find West smirking at us.
For a moment, I’m tempted to be embarrassed. But you know what? Fuck that.
“Ah. There you are. Perfect timing,” I say sweetly, with the most saccharine smile I can muster.
“Perfect to join in the West bashing? Because that’s the party I’m here for,” he says, sauntering in and plopping down at the head of the table.
I’m taken aback by his response, but before I can reply, Jason, Ford, and a third man with sandy hair and round glasses enter the room.
“All right,” Ford begins, taking a seat next to Alexsis. “West. What’s our lineup?”
Jason sits next to me, while the stranger settles at the end of the table.
“Oh, this is Carter Lonnergan, head of the production team for this project,” Ford adds as an afterthought. “Carter, this is Max Marshall and …” Ford turns, realizing for the first time that Alexsis is next to him. And clearly he likes what he sees. He’s checking her out so hard that Alexsis blushes as we all watch.
“This is Alexsis Monaghan,” I offer.
“Alexsis,” Ford says. “So nice to meet you.”
Alexsis smiles demurely, and I can’t tell if she’s into him or not.
“So, the lineup?” West prompts Ford.
“Yes, of course. The lineup. What have you got?” Ford responds.
West leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting to Carter. “How many stops do I get?”
Carter shrugs. “Depends on where they are.”
“Mostly around L.A.,” he responds. “One in San Francisco.”
“That’s not much travel, so probably as many as you’ve got,” Carter replies. “We’ve got a few weeks to shoot, then we’ll need a few weeks in post.”
West nods. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking.” He leans forward and raises a fist, putting up a thumb. “The band. I don’t know if you want that as a group or individually.”
“Hmmm. Let me think about that. Keep going,” Carter says.
West throws up a finger. “My older brother. He’s out in Corona.”
“Why your older brother?” Ford asks, finally fully engaged.
West shoots him a wary look. “We haven’t spoken in fifteen years. He was the first to walk away when he found out I was using.”
Ford nods his approval, so West throws up another finger and sighs. “Sadie Sullivan. The groupie who introduced me to cocaine. We were together when the band went down.”
Carter lets out a low whistle. “Well, that ought to make for good TV.”
West ignores him, throwing up another finger. “My little sister. She’s in San Francisco,” he says to Carter.
“And why her?”
West inhales slowly, clearly reluctant to answer. “I introduced her to a guy. She followed him there. It wasn’t a good thing.”
My throat tightens as I read between the lines, but I make a mental note to ask him about it privately. Nobody else says a word, so West continues, throwing up the last finger on that hand.
“My dad.” The last word comes out broken and hoarse. West clears his throat. “Also in Corona.”
“We could do the dad and the brother at the same time,” Carter offers in Ford’s direction.
West shakes his head. “You can’t. Take my word for it.”
Carter’s eyes widen a fraction. “All right. That all?”
“The fans. But …”
“What?” I prompt, my curiosity forming the word before I can stop myself.
“I think we should do something more than a meet and greet.”
“What are you thinking?” Ford ask, clearly also curious.
“I’m thinking a small private concert,” West explains quietly. “We let the fans know what it’s for and have them submit something on why they should be chosen. One of you can decide how that all goes down. But at least it would help us find the ones who need that reconciliation the most.”
The room is dead silent when he’s finished. Finally, Ford speaks up.
“I’m impressed. That’s a fantastic idea, West.”
I would never say it out loud, but I actually agree. And for the first time, I feel like maybe this whole thing has a chance.
“Thanks,” West replies, lifting a finger and beginning to trace circles into the tabletop.
“That’s all a great jumping off point,” Ford continues. “Our team has also discussed and agreed that there needs to be strong social media involvement throughout. TikToks of before each apology appeal. Reaction Instagram Reels of after — without spoilers, of course. Both are to give tidbits without giving too much away. We’re also planning an airing party where the official tour is announced. It’ll be aired on IGTV, Facebook, and YouTube.” He pauses, tapping his fingers on the table. “Given your idea, I think maybe we should hold the private concert after the apologies so we can include it in the airing. Though we could also livestream the event itself on Facebook for full exposure and impact.”
“That sounds like a lot,” West says apprehensively.
“And that doesn’t include the magazine,” I pipe up. West gives me a look that’s almost desperate. “But I’ll have Alexsis push all that material we’ll already be doing to our website. I may just need additional time around each visit to ask questions that are for the article.”
“Great. It’s settled then. West, Max, and Alexsis will work on preparing for the apologies and social media posts. I’ll contact Burke to arrange the private concert. Carter and I will contact your family and the band to schedule shoots.”
“I’m sorry, you’ll what now?” West asks sharply.
“Would you rather blindside them?” Ford returns just as cuttingly.
The two men stare at each other so fiercely I swear the temperature in the room rises.
“No. I guess not,” West finally agrees. “But I’m not sure they’ll all agree.”
Ford’s mouth lifts on one side. “Oh, I think they’ll all want to hear you grovel. But if they don’t, I’m prepared to persuade them.”
I’m immediately disgusted by his implication, but West beats me to speaking.
“You are not paying anyone off to do this, Nelson,” he says angrily.
Ford smiles. “I’ll do what it takes to save your career.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Won’t you?”
I’ve never seen someone look as much like a trapped animal as West does at that question. I’m pretty sure if West had claws, Ford would be lying on the floor right now trying to keep his insides from falling out.
“Of course,” West replies in the least convincing tone I’ve ever heard.
“Good.” Ford makes to leave, patting West condescendingly on the shoulder as he passes. “Play nice now, kids. Carter?”
“Yes, sir.” Carter leaps up and follows, leaving the rest of us in the room.
“Kids?” Jason scoffs. “What is that guy, like twelve?”
“He’s twenty-four. So yeah, pretty much twelve,” West replies.
Jason shakes his head, rising. “Well, once again, I think I’ve proved I’m pretty much useless here. I’ll be in my office if you need me,” he says to me.
I smile up at him gratefully. But once he’s gone, and it’s just me, Alexsis, and West …
“Alexsis, can you give West and I some time alone?” I ask quietly.
“Of course,” Alexsis replies, jumping up and darting out of the room before I can even blink. Okay. Maybe she is interested in Ford. Because I get the feeling she only agreed so quickly so she could try to catch him before he leaves.
As soon as she’s gone, I shake my head. “I sure hope Ford and Alexsis don’t start something or Alexsis is going to be useless to me.”
West fixes me with a smirk. “Seems like you may think she’s already useless to you. Because I know you really don’t want to be alone with me.”
“Now, that’s where you’re wrong,” I say. “I thought it might be easier to do what’s next with just us.”
“Mhm, you keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs. “But I know you’re starting to come around.”
I roll my eyes. “You wish.”
West leans forward, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb as if in thought. “I’m starting to wonder if maybe I do,” he replies.
Something inside my chest catches, and I clamber to keep the conversation moving forward. “So. The apologies. We’re starting with the band?” I prompt, hoping my desperate attempt to turn the attention away from what he said isn’t obvious. Then again, I don’t care if it is, as long as we move on.
West’s dark eyes search mine for a moment. And for that moment all I can do is hope he doesn’t keep teasing me. Or I may really start coming around. He does seem to suddenly be awfully cooperative, and some of his ideas were really thoughtful.
“Yes.” He says, then he blinks and leans back. “The band. Well, mostly Ward and James. But Nik and Michael have put up with an awful lot of my shit for the last year and a half too.”
“Hmmm. But surely you’ll have more to say to Ward and James?”
West lifts a shoulder. “James is too laid back to care about apologies, really. I think he forgave me while I was fucking everything up. But Ward? He’s different. He acts like he doesn’t care, so I acted like I didn’t either.”
“But he does.”
West nods slowly. “I think of anyone, I owe him an apology the most.”
“Maybe we should save him until last then?”
West huffs a laugh. “I may owe him the most, but he will be the absolute least drama.”
“Ah,” I say, realizing what he’s done. “You ordered them in what you think will be the least to the most difficult.”
He dips his head in confirmation. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Now I’m ‘ma’am’?” I ask dryly. “I think I prefer Maxi.” I almost face-palm as soon as the words are out of my mouth. He shoots me a mischievous grin, and I suspect I’m going to be ma’amed constantly for the next six weeks. Christ.
“Moving on,” I continue swiftly. “The older brother. Not going to be much drama?”
“I’d bet no. He’s a runner, not a fighter. He spent most of our childhood out of the house just to avoid, well, everything. Anyway, I think he might have some harsh things to say, but that’s about it.”
“Do you think he’ll forgive you?” I ask curiously.
West spreads his arms. “I’m clean and sober. He never had an issue with the rock star bit. Just the drugs.”
“Who had a problem with the rock star bit?”
West’s face falls. “Don’t worry, we’ll get there.”
I squint at him for a minute, debating whether I want to press the issue. But I guess if we’ll get there…
“The ex?” I prompt.
West grins. “That is going to be big drama. Sadie never disappoints.”
“So again, why not put her last?”
“I may be dreading that one, but I’d rather face her before I face my dad.”
“And your sister?”
“You’re a little too good at your job, you know that?” he asks, scratching the back of his head.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I tease. Kind of hoping I am. It’s a small payback for al
l his bullshit, but I’ll take it.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you try asking what you really want to know?” he pushes back.
Well, shit. He’s more perceptive than I gave him credit for. But fine. He wants it direct? That’s certainly something I’m good at.
“You introduced your sister to drugs, didn’t you?”
“Damn, Maxi, you don’t fuck around,” he teases, though the heavy sigh following belies his distress. “Yes. I did. And to my drug dealer while I was at it; he’s the fucker she left with.”
I nod lightly, studying him. He looks tired.
“Why are you suddenly being so cooperative?” I ask curiously.
He cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds me,” he replies carefully.
“I see.” Though I feel like there’s more to this. But I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time with him over the coming weeks to figure it out. “And your dad?”
“That’s going to take more time to explain than you’ve got right now.”
I lean back in my chair and cross my legs like I’m just getting settled in. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t. I’ve got places to be, Maxi. How about we talk about that another day? Since he’s last and all, there should be plenty of time. Wouldn’t want you to get sick of me too quick.” He winks, but I see no cuteness in his eyes. He’s just done.
“Fine. This is your shit show,” I concede, rising to show him out.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he mutters as he follows.
His tone makes me wonder if I really want to know the other half. But like it or not, I’m pretty sure all of West’s dirty secrets are going to be bared for everyone to see, with me in the front row seat. While I can’t feel too sorry for him, seeing as he mostly brought it on himself, I also can’t say I envy him. Because the shit show has only just begun.
9
All Apologies by Nirvana
Finding His Redemption Page 5
