Deepest Blues

by Heidi Hutchinson

  Luke entered last and Mike faced him, falling silent.

  This was the real reason that Blake, Harrison and Sway had to come along. Sure, Blake was feeling impassioned and that might lead to violence, but Luke and Mike were like brothers. Real ones. The betrayal Luke was feeling had to be enormous.

  “Ilsa? Mike, really?” Luke started right in with the sarcasm.

  “It's not what you think,” Mike protested, rolling his eyes, but didn't make eye contact with any of them.

  “Then explain it to us,” Harrison asked quietly.

  “She's clean. She's staying sober and I'm helping her.” Mike crossed his arms over his chest. His tone said indifferent, his posture said defensive.

  “Did you forget what she did to you before?” Luke asked tightly.

  “Don't you think people deserve another chance? I can't believe you guys are ganging up on me.” Mike shook his head in disgust.

  “This is intervention,” Sway corrected flatly.

  “A bit unorthodox, don't you think?” Mike returned with narrowed eyes.

  “She's bad news, man. You know that,” Blake finally put in.

  Mike turned his eyes on him. “Of all the people I would expect to understand, it would be you, Blake.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “We all had to deal with your drama while you put things back together with Lucy. I could've said the same damn things about her—”

  “Like hell you can!” Blake snapped. “How do you compare Lucy to the Wicked Witch of the East out there!”

  The rage was building. Blake wasn't known for being the cooler head. What possessed Mike to push his buttons was a mystery.

  “She's a person!” Mike shouted. “She's a person that matters to me!”

  “She's a devil woman who only made you miserable!” Blake shouted in return. He was distantly aware that the others had taken up positions in case it escalated to physicality.

  “You're such a hypocrite, Blake!” Mike was gesticulating with unsteady limbs now. “You and Lucy fixed everything! You get to be with your first love! Why not me too?”

  The room was stunned silent. Is that was this was about? Mike thought what he had with Ilsa was love? Blake actually hurt for him in that moment.

  “Sometimes,” Blake answered him slowly, “your past is exactly what you need to make you into a better man. And sometimes... there are things in your past you need to eradicate because it's poison in your veins.”

  Mike's face twisted in scorn.

  “Please, Mike,” Luke broke in. “Please, try to remember how she made you feel before the night that changed our lives. She was jealous, selfish, critical, conniving. Then when you almost died she lied to the press, made your recovery even harder. I get that you want to help her, and that's very noble of you. But it looks a lot like relapsing into a dysfunctional relationship.”

  “What do you know about relapse?” Mike snarled. “I have you guys to keep me on the straight and narrow and she doesn't have anyone! I can't believe you would just write her off like that! She's trying!”

  The bathroom door squeaked as it shut behind them. Blake didn't look to see who it was until he saw the expression on Mike's face change. He went from rabidly pissed off to looking like someone had just ripped out his heart and shown it to him.

  A petite young woman with hair the color of shined bronze and eyes the color of the Caribbean stood in their midst. Those eyes slowly connected with all of them. She had the moment in her hand and she was fully aware of that fact.

  “Shame on all of you,” she reprimanded them, her voice coming out smooth and rough at the same time. Like a thunderstorm you didn't want to hide from. Her gaze measured them in a way that made Blake feel seen rather than simply acknowledged. “You're supposed to be brothers,” she continued calmly. “What Mike needs is your support, not your accusations. There's a difference between enabling and encouragement. Just like there's a difference between condemnation and concern. Make sure you're on the right side of that.”

  “Clarke, this isn't really any of your business,” Sway said gently.

  “Maybe not,” she nodded, in sad agreement, looking down briefly before meeting their eyes again, one at a time. “But I know that if your wives were in here, things would be going differently.” Blake looked away from her penetrating gaze, and he noticed that Luke did the same.

  She focused her stare on Mike. “At the same time, you need to be aware of their concerns. If Ilsa is part of your foreseeable future, then you need to make her fitting into this family as easy as possible.”

  Mike's eyes dropped to the floor.

  Clarke's voice dropped to a rough whisper. “Please stop tearing each other apart.” Her hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ears on each side. They were trembling. She sniffed suddenly and Blake saw her eyes well over with tears. “You don't know how blessed you are to have each other. Still. After it could have ended so badly. Don't waste your lives on hurtful words and ugly accusations.”

  Mike's shoulders slumped further. Clarke sniffed pitifully again and Blake was struck with the urge to comfort her, though it wasn't his place. He looked at his friends, Sway made a move in her direction, but she held up a single hand while she took a deep breath.

  Then Clarke was gone. She left as silently as she had arrived, with just the squeak of the door signaling her departure.

  “Okay, I don't know who that was, but I really like her,” Luke declared.

  “That,” Sway spoke up, “is Clarke Matthews. She works for Shane, she's best friends with Greta, and she's the sister to our late drum tech, Paul Matthews.” He sighed heavily. “And I suspect very much—her recent dressing-down is a pretty good indication I'm correct—that she's in love with Mike.”

  Blake nodded. Her interruption made sense now. So did the emotion behind it.

  “Coming here was a mistake,” Mike mumbled. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, then bolted for the door.

  The four remaining men all exchanged glances.

  “Anybody else feel like there's a lot happening that we don't know about?” Luke asked out loud.

  They all raised their hands.

  Luke groaned and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Anyone have an idea what the right course of action is?”

  They all shrugged.

  ***

  Ilsa stood alone in the corner with her sparkling water, feeling like the pariah that she was. She had seen the looks of distaste on Mike's band mates' faces when they'd entered the venue. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting. Mike had told her they probably wouldn't be okay with it yet. But he'd also promised to handle it.

  He'd been shuffled off to the bathroom. Was that him “handling it”?

  Sobriety was harder than she'd thought possible. She had no idea how Mike did it. She found it easier when she was with him. If he was close, she was content. She could ignore the itch below her skin, the burn of people's eyes as they looked through her.

  Clarke stood across the room from her, keeping the distance of a woman who was painfully in love with the man she didn't feel she would ever have. Ilsa understood that feeling all too well. She had felt it every day of her life.

  Deciding Mike had been gone long enough, Clarke set her glass of soda down and marched purposefully to the men's restroom. Ilsa was jealous of her calm poise. It was natural, unforced. No wonder Mike was so attracted to her. Her energy was genuine, beautiful. She was everything that Ilsa was not.

  A few minutes later, when the loneliness of Ilsa's corner began to crawl up her body and take hold of her by the throat, Clarke hurried from the bathroom and from the building. A second later, Mike followed. He didn't even look in Ilsa's direction. He chased Clarke outside.

  Ilsa took an unsteady breath, fighting off the shadow that tightened around her throat, trying to cut off all air. She stepped surely in her four-inch heels to the door of the women's restroom. Locking herself in the last stall, she opened her tiny
clutch and removed her lipstick tube. The bottom unscrewed and two small pills dropped into her palm.

  Her sparkling water made a lousy chaser.

  But at least she could breathe again.

  ***

  Clarke had really had no business interrupting their private little meeting. She wasn't part of their family, and at this rate she never would be. It was just too hard to keep quiet. They had no idea how incredibly blessed they were to have each other. To have Mike.

  She thought she would go straight home. Instead, she pointed the Land Rover to the beach. To a little slip that her brother had shown her a long time ago. It had been a favorite place of theirs. She hadn't been able to bring herself to go back there without him. It felt wrong somehow.

  She missed him though, she wanted—no, she needed to feel, even for a second, that he was back. That she could rest her head on his shoulder and have him tell a joke and simplify this whole giant mess of her life.

  The Rover slowed to a stop and she parked it, her eyes on the beach below. It was dark, the moonlight reflecting off the water, the sound of the crashing waves in the distance stirring a hunger deep in her veins.

  She removed her painful shoes before leaving the vehicle and tread barefoot down to the sand. Her steps faltered briefly when another figure came into view.

  A man sat in the sand with his crossed arms resting on his bent knees, face pointed to the water. Jeans, long-sleeved forest green tee and a gray beanie. The beanie was what caused her to keep going. She'd recognize it anywhere.

  Serge looked over his shoulder as she approached, taking in her dress and bare feet, a soft smile touching his features.

  She settled next to him in the sand and he faced the waves again.

  “I heard there was a party tonight,” he said casually.

  Serge had always been around. If Shane was SoCal's pride and joy, then Serge was legendary. He dominated everything he touched, but refused to compete in organized circuits. His skills were legendary in a way that you had to wonder how much of it was made up.

  Not much. Clarke knew that from first-hand experience.

  Over the years she and Serge had developed a flirtatious relationship. Sometimes it truly killed. He was very good-looking. The way that athletes are. Powerful without trying. Confident enough to be sexy but not cocky. His Norwegian heritage lent to his soft-spoken manner, and also gave him the hint of an accent that could make a girls toes curl.

  He was older than she was—heck, older than Shane. Clarke had no idea, maybe forty? He carried himself with the energy of a much younger man, but his calm character was the result of wisdom gained through experience. Clarke had witnessed him defuse many a conflict among hot-headed athletes. Men respected him, women adored him. Clarke had never been an exception in that regard.

  “Yeah, I'm surprised you aren't there. Does Shane know you're in town?” she asked.

  Serge nodded. “I called him earlier. Drove through the parking lot, too. Just did not feel like being around a lot of people tonight is all.” He made a low sound in the back of his throat. “Though if I had known you were wearing that dress, I may have stayed for a while.”

  Clarke chuckled under her breath. “Such a flirt.”

  “With you? Always.”

  She let his words drift through her, creating a mixture of desire and melancholy. If only his words were true. If only he had meant it when he told her that one time that she was the kind of woman a man would do anything to keep. If only his flirting had gone somewhere and she could have given her heart to him. Then maybe she'd be far from here and her life would be completely different, and Mike would never know she ever existed.

  If only.

  “You are sad tonight, Clarke.”

  She took a slow breath before nodding. “A little.”

  Serge let that settle.

  “You and I, we are the same,” he said softly. “We love the water, the chase of something greater than ourselves. We will risk the very air in our lungs to catch it.”

  Tears began to prick her eyes and she took another breath, matching the pace of the ocean.

  “We cannot settle for less than something amazing,” he continued on, his soft voice taking on a rough quality as emotion filled it. “Waiting is worth it.”

  Clare swallowed hard and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she felt wet tracks down her cheeks. “How can you be sure?” she asked in a whisper.

  “It has to be,” he said with conviction. “It just has to be.”

  Clarke and Serge stayed on the beach together for another hour. Then, without a word, he stood and reached for her hand. She let him pull her to her feet, he tucked her into his side and guided her carefully back to the parking lot.

  At the door to her vehicle, he turned her so his arms were resting on her hips, and his pale eyes scanned her face in earnest.

  “You are worth it,” he said gently. Her lips opened as if to speak, but she hadn't a clue what to say. His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back up. “If I were a much younger man, your life would be different.”

  “If only,” she whispered the words of her previous thoughts.

  He watched her for a long moment and she wondered if she should say something else, ask if he needed anything. Then he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Feel what you feel. Do not be ashamed of your heart and all the beats that it has.”

  His lips brushed her cheek softly and he stepped back, nodding at her to get in her car. She wanted to say something. Thank him for making her feel less alone. But he wouldn't meet her eyes again, so she got in the car and went home feeling okay with who she was. And who she was going to end up being.

  When Clarke got home, she changed her clothes and went straight to the couch and her cat. She curled under a blanket and pushed play on the section of video that she couldn't seem to let go of.

  Paul, sitting in his hotel room alone, giving her brotherly advice.

  “Here's the thing, Clarkey Clarke. To make my plan for you and Mike to end up with your happily ever after, it's going to take some work. He's not ready for you yet. He's a complicated man with some... uh, bad habits that he needs to deal with first. But I'm watching out for him.”

  Paul's grin was beautiful. So alive. She smiled back at him. “I miss you,” she whispered.

  “I'm having the time of my life. For real. I can't wait to get back and tell you all about it. Kip is really missing out. Did you know that guy has never even left California? That's not for me, dudette. I never want to stop seeing the world. It's amazing out here. Can't wait to show it to you.” He raised a single eyebrow at the camera. “Or maybe, Mike Osborn will be the one to show it to you. If I do my job correctly, anyway.” He chuckled. “That's it for today. I'll have more adventures tomorrow. Love you, Clarke.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Chapter 17

  Nothingman

  “Dude, somethin's wrong with your friend.”

  Mike raised his head slowly from his quiet contemplation of the small table in what was considered a kitchen in the hostel they were occupying. He took a slow breath and focused on the person speaking.

  “Mike?” Ilsa's voice carried an edge of panic as she called to him from the living room.

  He shuffled on his feet before taking the two steps needed to clear the doorway.

  Paul was sitting in a chair, his head tipped back, eyes staring unseeingly at the wall, his skin a bluish tinge.

  Mike quickened his pace and dropped to his knees in front of his friend.

  “What happened?” He tried to right Paul's head, his fingers sliding to his neck to check for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  “He should be fine. I gave him what I gave you. Give him a minute, he'll come out of it.”

  Mike tried to swallow, his mouth unbelievably dry. Paul didn't use. He only ever came along to make sure Mike got back to the buses okay.

  “He's never used before.” Mike slapped Paul's face a few ti
mes with no response.

  “What? But he's with you all the time.”

  Paul had no tolerance. None. The same dose as what Mike took would be lethal.

  “How long has he been like this?”

  No reply.

  “He's not breathing. We have to call an ambulance.”

  That's when the room erupted into panic-fueled arguments by raging junkies. Mike tuned them out. He tried to remember what he needed to do. Should he do CPR? Splash him with cold water? He had to wake him up.

  Dimly he heard Ilsa's sob as she pulled on his arm.

  “Es ist zu spät! Wir müssen weg!”

  Shit. She was really scared. Ilsa only reverted to German when she felt well and truly trapped.

  The rest of the hostel was a flurry of activity as junkies and dope fiends packed their shit and started to bail.

  Mike shook his head and tried to concentrate. He knew there was a hospital a block away. He just had to get Paul there. They could save him.

  “Help me get him up,” he asked the room at large, not caring who answered. Anyone would do.

  He received no reply and he looked up to find the room almost empty. Ilsa stood at the door, her blue eyes wild with fear, tears running down her face.

  “At least leave me your phone so I can call emergency.” He reached out his hand.

  She shook her head and he stared at her, not believing she was going to leave him to save Paul on his own. She sobbed once more, and then fled down the hall to the stairs.

  Mike looked back at Paul's lifeless face. Too much time had been wasted. If Mike hadn't left his own phone back on the bus...

  He bent down and gathered Paul in a fireman's hold. He at least wouldn't let him die in this place.

  The struggle to the hospital got longer every time. Mike had made this journey more times than he could count. Always thinking that if he moved his feet just a little faster, maybe he'd get there in time. Knowing the whole time that it was useless.

  Paul was dead.

  He died in the hostel.

  He died with Mike in the other room.