Finding His Redemption

by Melanie A. Smith

  I open my mouth to respond as the words sink in. And then I close it. Is he saying what I think he is? Part of me wants time to think about this before I speak, but unfortunately my brain-to-mouth filter just isn’t that good.

  “Were they?” I ask bluntly as I feel heat creeping up the back of my neck. A dangerous mix of anger and embarrassment churns under my skin, making me feel itchy all over.

  West closes his eyes and sighs. “Yes.”

  And suddenly I want to vomit.

  I was right. My first instinct was right and he …

  “You lied to me.” The irate words tumble from my mouth.

  West opens his eyes and looks at me. His gaze is full of sorrow, regret, and exhaustion.

  “Not on purpose. It may sound ridiculous, but I thought you knew.”

  I bark a sharp laugh. “You’re right, that is ridiculous. I explicitly said I didn’t want to participate if it was all for show. If it was all bullshit and didn’t mean anything to you. Why even bother if it didn’t?”

  I rise as I speak, pacing in front of the couch.

  “That’s pretty much what Nik said,” he mumbles. Then he catches my hand, forcing me to turn toward him. “I’m sorry, Maxi.”

  It takes all of my strength not to scoff at his apology. Because I can see that he’s sorry, and I know firsthand how difficult it is for him to apologize. But sometimes sorry just isn’t enough.

  “You’re sorry,” I say sarcastically. “Well, that just fixes everything.” I glare at him. “Your sister? Was that a lie?”

  West shoots up in front of me. “God, no,” he protests, grabbing my other hand and holding both in his. “At least, not all of it. I really did apologize to her.”

  I grind my teeth as I consider that. “Your band?”

  West looks at me warily but doesn’t respond. So yeah. That one was a lie.

  “Holy shit, West. Your brother? Sadie?”

  He nods. Both lies.

  “Me? Your apology about the night at the Forum? The one just now? Are those lies too?” I ask, my voice strained with emotion.

  “Absolutely not,” he responds vehemently. “How could you even think that?”

  My eyebrows fly up. How could I think that? Is he joking?

  “Because now I have no idea what’s truth and what’s a lie. Why should I believe you? You could be lying that you weren’t lying.”

  West pulls a face. “What?”

  I wave my hands in frustration. “I can’t do this. You should go.”

  “Wait, Maxi, please, I —”

  “No, West. No. Whatever you’re going to ask. No. I can’t. I already gave you another chance and you blew it. But even if you hadn’t already screwed me over once, I can’t trust someone who lies to me. And I can’t be with someone I don’t trust.”

  West’s face caves and despite myself, it hits me right in the gut. I want to reach out and comfort him, but how do you comfort someone who has deceived you after having been forgiven for something even worse?

  “Come on, Maxi, there has to be a way through this. Please,” he begs.

  He reaches his hand toward my face, but I take a step back. Knowing if he touches me I’ll be that much more likely to give in.

  I shake my head. “Maybe. But not right now. Right now I need some time to process the truth. I think you should leave,” I reiterate.

  West goes to reach for me again but stops himself, his hand clenching into a fist and dropping to his side. “I’d rather stay and talk.”

  “Why? What else could you possibly have to say to me that would make any difference? What could be more important than the fact that you —”

  “Because I love you,” he all but shouts over me. Whatever words I had die on my lips at his confession. “I love you.” His tone is softer and his eyes search mine softly. “I know, it doesn’t make any sense. But I do. Please. Don’t shut me out.”

  I blink hard against the tears. He means it. I can see that. Or at least, he thinks he does. But how could he possibly love me?

  “You don’t lie to someone you truly love, West. If you really want to be with me, you should go figure your shit out. For real this time,” I persist.

  “I thought I had,” he says, sorrow dripping from every word. “But maybe I don’t even know what that looks like.”

  “It looks like doing what’s right when nobody else is looking. It looks like telling the truth when there’s nobody who cares whether you’re lying. But mostly, it’s figuring out what’s stopping you from doing those things.”

  “What happens if I never figure it out?” he challenges. “I just found you. I can’t lose you now.”

  “You lost me before you ever knew what you had,” I reply. “Because of your choices. And while I understand now more than ever how your choices have been shaped by … things out of your control … well, at the end of the day, they’re your choices. And the consequences of them are also yours to deal with.”

  “So that’s it?” he asks. And a tear skates down his cheek.

  My heart cracks in half. Again.

  But I don’t let him see me cry. I simply nod.

  “You can show yourself out,” I say quietly.

  And then I turn and head into my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

  I put my back to the door, sliding to the floor. And then I let the tears go. Quietly, though, in case he lingers. But as soon as I hear the front door close, I don’t hold back anymore.

  If it’s possible, this time hurts worse than the first. Or maybe it’s the compounded betrayals. Or maybe it’s because this time I wasn’t the only one in love. This time it was real. Or at least, I thought it was.

  18

  King Nothing by Metallica

  * * *

  West

  “Well, I hope you’re happy,” I grumble at Ward after everyone else has left rehearsal on the following Monday. A fucking shitty rehearsal, as it were. I was barely mentally present, focusing more on how pissed I am at all of their ungrateful asses.

  Ward cocks an eyebrow at me. “Ah. Talking to me again, are you?” he asks dryly, plunking down on the couch by the door. The same one we used for the first apology interview. The irony isn’t lost on me. “So what am I supposed to be happy about?”

  I stay standing where I am at the equipment table. “Max didn’t know I was being less than truthful on the apology tour either,” I grumble.

  “Lying,” Ward offers. “It’s called lying, West. So how’d the truth go over?”

  I look up and shoot him a glare. “About as well as you’d expect. She dumped me.”

  He nods slowly, the glint in his eye telling me he thinks I deserved it, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  Ward smirks. “I have a feeling you’re going to no matter what I say.”

  My nostrils flare. He’s in full douchebag lead singer mode. His arms splayed over the back of the couch. One ankle resting on the other knee. His arrogance shining through that pretty face of his. One I’d love to punch right about now.

  “If you thought my apology was honest, was your forgiveness?”

  His response is automatic. “If the apology was bullshit, de facto so was the forgiveness. Whether I intended it to be or not.” He pauses. “I think the better question is, why wouldn’t the apology be real?”

  His hard veneer slips a little and I can see the hurt behind the question. But if he thinks his wounded feelings compare to the reality of our history, he’s got another thing coming.

  “Oh, gee, I don’t know, maybe because you’re the one who got me into heroin in the first place?”

  Ward snorts. I know he doesn’t get it. He’s not an addict. It’s not how he’s wired. Unless an addiction to being a know-it-all asshole is a thing.

  “Yeah, and you got Annika addicted. You’re no angel either, West.”

  “And I apologized,” I point out. “The only apology that was real, might I add, because she’s the only person who d
eserved an apology from me. The rest of you assholes did everything you could to encourage my behavior. You” — I jerk my chin at Ward — “so someone in the band was partying too. So it wasn’t just you. Erik so he could feel superior in looking down his sanctimonious nose at me. Sadie because she needed the high from the drugs and from fucking a rock star. And my dad …” I trail off, shaking my head.

  I can’t say it. But I know it’s because it made him feel secure that nobody would ever take me seriously. That I wasn’t a threat to him because I couldn’t keep my head straight long enough to function, much less bring to light everything he did.

  “So why’d you pick us for your apologies then? Why do it at all, for that matter?”

  “Because I had no other choice,” I roar at him. “But I’m sick of pretending I’m the only one who fucked up here.”

  Ward rises. “Look. I’ve tried to be supportive. I’ve tried to be patient. But the truth hurts, West. And the truth is, you’re pointing your finger, but there’s no one around to blame but you. Nobody forced you to take drugs. You could’ve said no. Nobody forced you to be a dick to Sadie, to abuse your little sister’s trust, to be a complete asshole to your family. To your fans. To Max.” He stops in front of me, his expression frustrated. “I’m glad you got clean, man. But if you’re going to really get your life back, you need to start taking responsibility for your choices.”

  “You’re a fucking hypocrite,” I scoff, grabbing my gig bag and moving around him.

  “Never said I was perfect,” he calls to my back. “But at least I don’t play the victim card.”

  And I’ve never seen red like I do in that moment. My brain disconnects from my body and I whirl, flying toward him, fist raising of its own accord.

  The only mental clarity I have is noting the surprise on his face as I punch him.

  I went to exactly one Narcotics Anonymous meeting before I decided they weren’t for me, along with AA, sponsors, therapists, and everything else that I thought was for weak-ass pussies who couldn’t keep their shit together.

  Except, as I down my fourth double shot of Jack Daniels, I’m starting to think maybe it was less for pussies and more … well, to avoid exactly where I am right now. Thankfully, I’m already too drunk to care. Which is hilarious, because way back when, I’d just be getting started. And now I’m practically a lightweight. Well, by comparison. It’s almost funny.

  Or it would be if I wasn’t still furious. At Ward. The band. Max. Myself. I’m also sober enough to know I should drag ass the few blocks home and sleep this shit off, rather than let it turn into what it would’ve back then too. Harder drugs. Preferably heroin, yes, but I’d never say no to cocaine either. And a good, high-as-a-kite fuck-fest, usually with Sadie and at least one of her stripper friends.

  While I can’t say I have easy access to those kinds of drugs anymore, it wouldn’t be difficult either. And getting women … well, even before the apology tour, there were clearly enough of them who didn’t care about my fall from grace and gladly would’ve fucked me. Not that I fucked any of them. Not since before rehab, anyway.

  I was trying to be good. Trying to put my life back together and focus on the band. And until Maxi, I didn’t have the first clue how to be with someone while I was sober. Hell, I didn’t have the desire to.

  But I’ve lost her, just like I’ve lost Ward. And probably the rest of the band.

  Boy, this tour is going to be fun.

  I throw way too much money on the bar and stumble out onto the street.

  The sun has just set, with the dimmest of deep pink and purple glows still visible over the darkening ocean waves across Pacific Coast Highway. It’d be beautiful if I wasn’t in the middle of throwing myself a pity party.

  Fucking ocean.

  “Holy shit, guys, it’s West!” I hear someone say behind me.

  I realize as I look up that I’d been teetering on the edge of the sidewalk. I glance back at the group of dudebros behind me. There are three of them, and they look like a bunch of preppy-ass college punks looking to do some Jägerbombs, or whatever the kids are into these days.

  One of them starts pulling out his phone as they rush at me. The one who I think spoke claps me on the shoulder.

  “Dude, I can’t believe it’s you! You’re awesome,” he says.

  One corner of my mouth tips up. Hey, at least the fans still love me. That’s what I wanted … right?

  “Thanks, man,” I reply.

  “Take a picture with us,” the dudebro to his left says as the guy with the phone positions himself slightly in front of us with his camera front-facing to get us all in the shot.

  I shrug. “Okay, sure, why not.”

  They get the picture, then dudebro number one, the one who spoke first, says, “Come drink with us.”

  I wave him off. “Nah, I gotta get home, man. Rehearsal tomorrow and everything.”

  Dudebro number two jumps in. “Come on. It’s on us. Whatever you want man, just hang with us. Our friends would be so jealous if we bought you a drink.”

  And I’m just drunk enough that the appeal to my ego works. “Yeah, okay, just one drink,” I agree.

  I wake up the next morning to a clanging noise that sounds like a rhythmically challenged kid banging on a steel drum kit. What the fuck?

  My surroundings start to come into focus. I’m on a hard surface. It smells bad. And as my blurry eyes adjust I realize … I’m in a motherfucking jail cell.

  I bolt upright and my eyes land on a young police officer leering at me through the bars, holding a nightstick up against the metal. That must have been what was causing the clanging.

  “Rise and shine, pretty boy,” he taunts. “Your manager is here to bail you out.”

  My head pounds and my stomach churns, and not just at the thought that I did something bad enough to land me here. Bad enough to need to be bailed out. But also because I’m pretty sure I drank the whole fucking bar last night.

  At least, that’s how it feels based on the level of hungover I am right now and how little I remember of the evening. I check myself before rising, mentally noting that at least I didn’t vomit or piss all over myself. So I’ve certainly had worse nights.

  As I’m led into the main office, I catch sight of Burke’s expression. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say someone died. I only hope it’s not about to be me.

  19

  Under the Bridge by Red Hot Chili Peppers

  * * *

  Max

  I’m woken early Tuesday morning by my phone ringing shrilly from the nightstand. I grope for it sleepily, fumbling as I attempt to slide to answer. I barely register that it’s Jason.

  “This better be good,” I say, half joking, half serious. Because I also notice it’s not even six a.m. Even if he is technically my boss, it still annoys me.

  “I woke you up.” It’s not a question.

  “So early, yet so observant,” I grumble, sitting up in bed and rubbing my eyes. “What’s up, Jason?”

  There’s silence from his end for a few moments. “Christ, I thought you’d already be up. That you’d already know.”

  “Know what?” I ask, annoyed.

  An incoming text pings in my ear. “I just sent you the link. Get in here once you’ve watched it. We’re going to have a full day on our hands,” he replies cryptically.

  “O…kay?” I respond. But he’s already hung up. Great.

  With a tired sigh, I kiss my last hour of sleep goodbye and click the link Jason sent.

  A YouTube video pops up and loads. The time stamp is almost one a.m. this morning. The only object I can make out as it loads is a wood surface of some kind.

  “Duuuuude, you’re West,” says some surfer-dude-sounding guy from behind the shaky cellphone camera. The view lifts to focus on West, flanked by two other guys who appear college-aged. And they’re clearly in a bar, drinks in front of all of them. The wood surface was the table.

  I suck in a sharp breath and my heart starts po
unding. No. No, no, no.

  “I’m Weeeeest,” he slurs in response lifting a glass of amber-colored liquid and downing it. “Fuck yeah, man!”

  Exactly what I feared. West has fallen spectacularly — and very publicly — off the wagon.

  The guy to West’s left downs his drink and cheers. The guy to West’s right holds up his glass.

  “This one’s for you, West. You’re my fucking hero, man! You took it on the fucking chin with that apology tour, bro.” Then the kid downs his drink.

  West starts laughing.

  “Did I say something funny?” The guy on the right asks blankly.

  “No. I just hate to burst your bubble,” West says, giggling. “But it was all fake.”

  Well, shit. He’s fallen off the wagon and spilled the beans. I suddenly get exactly what Jason meant. This is officially a complete and utter disaster.

  The guy on the left bursts out laughing just as the guy on the right sets down his glass, looking in shock at West.

  “No, no way, dude,” he says. “Come on. Really?”

  “Yup. It was all total bullshit. Sorry.” He shrugs. “In my defense, they made me do it.”

  I want to cover my eyes. I want to stop watching the train wreck. But I can’t seem to make myself turn it off.

  The kid on the right continues to look devastated. “That’s just … that’s just wrong,” he says, his cheeks reddening in apparent anger.

  West shrugs, then looks over at the guy holding the camera for the first time. “Dude, no more pictures,” he slurs.

  “It’s not a picture,” the guy holding the camera says in a taunting tone. “It’s a video.”

  West’s face goes from annoyed to angry in two seconds flat. “I didn’t say you could record me, dude. Turn that shit off. Delete it.”

  Camera guy laughs. “Hell no, man, this shit is gonna blow up. Posting in three, two —”