Starting From Scratch (Starting From Series Book 2)

by Lane Hayes

  I secured my earbuds, blasting classic rock as I wore myself out doing acrobatic twists at high speed. I don’t know how long I skateboarded. An hour, maybe two? I didn’t stop until I recognized a few new patrons. The last thing I wanted to do was shoot the shit with the locals. I didn’t want to talk about my life, my music, my family…none of that mattered. And it would matter even less if I left town, so what was the fucking point?

  Except I didn’t want to go anywhere. This was home. It was almost home. Real home was Charlie and—

  And that was when it hit me. Maybe I really was making it harder than it had to be.

  I pulled out my cell and dialed my sister.

  “Oh, hey. How’s it going? I was going to call you to see if—”

  “Where does Dad live?” I interrupted. “I mean, what’s his address?”

  She hesitated for a second before rattling off the info. “Are you okay, Ky?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then he’s the last person you should talk to. Come to my house. Have you eaten? I made corn chowder.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be all right. Later, Sis.”

  Twenty minutes later, I skidded to a stop on my board in front of a nondescript box of a house off Rose Avenue. I checked the address my sister gave me against the numbers affixed to the mailbox under the single lantern illuminating the porch. Then I moved along the path, set my board and helmet beside the doormat and knocked. No answer. I tried again before glancing over my shoulder at the front yard. It was all lawn, no flowers or trees to soften the expanse of green. I could practically see Charlie pointing out the perfect spot for a hydrangea bush to spice up the curb appeal. I closed my eyes against the sudden wave of pain and lifted my fist to knock a third time just as the door swung open.

  “It’s you.”

  I gave my father a thorough once-over. Ed Baldwin was six one and painfully thin. His blue eyes softened his otherwise harsh angular features and ghostly pallor. I hadn’t seen him in a few years, but he didn’t look well. Maybe he really was sick or maybe he’d been eaten alive by a life of bitterness.

  He opened the door wider and stepped back before inclining his head in invitation. The small entry led directly to the living area. The low ceilings, dirty beige carpet, broken vertical blinds, and the sunken sofa cushions made me think this was a rental. My father had always been a stickler for basic cleanliness and order. This place smelled like defeat.

  I pushed my hair behind my ear and shot a no-BS look at my dad. “What do you want from me?”

  “What kinda question is that? I don’t want anything from you,” he huffed before falling into a worn leather recliner.

  “You’ve been after my attention for months. Probably ever since I joined Zero. You can’t call like a regular parent. You have to ask other people to guilt me into contacting you while you concoct some elaborate plan involving a pseudonym and a writing gig for a blog to trash my band publicly. And since when the fuck are you a writer anyway?”

  “Since always,” he replied in a bored tone. “I wrote for the Calendar section in the LA Times back in the day. It wasn’t a weekly gig, but the extra income helped when my band wasn’t playing.”

  “Okay. That’s great. So, I repeat…what do you want? Did you just want to ensure a front row seat when I fail, or do you have another motivation? I’m done with the games. I want you out of my head once and for all.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then gestured toward the lumpy sofa. “Take a seat. Want some coffee? I’d offer you booze, but I’m off the sauce. Been clean and sober for four years.”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.” I perched on the edge of the sofa and waited for him to start talking. “Well?”

  “I’m not playing a game. It’s like I told your boy toy. I’m teaching you a lesson. You’re fuckin’ stubborn, though. You don’t learn easy. You go out of your way to do everything you can to fuck up your life. You choose unsteady work, dangerous hobbies, and now you’re screwin’ a guy. Jesus Christ. I’m on my deathbed here and this is the legacy I’m leaving behind.” He threw his hands in the air and shook his head in disbelief.

  “Are you really sick or is this part of the game?”

  “I’m well enough,” he said with a careless shrug before picking up his remote. “Want to watch Wheel of Fortune?”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t really want anything to do with you. If you’re ill, I’m sorry. If you’re suffering, I’m sorry for that too. But the rest…you need to let go. I’m not you. I’m not making your mistakes or reliving your life. I’m not gonna be a banker or a lawyer to make you feel better. I’m gonna fail and maybe, Dad…maybe I’m gonna fuckin’ succeed. This strange compulsion you have to parent your twenty-eight-year-old son through sabotage is just…fucked up. If your intention is to hurt me, it won’t work. I’m numb to this shit. But if your intention was to make me doubt that I might actually have something worthwhile to offer…congratulations. You’ve done it.”

  “Oh, brother. Offer what? To who? The queer? That guy is very disrespectful. You know, he told me he’d have me arrested?”

  “Good.”

  My dad furrowed his brow. “So you’re really gay now? Did that stick? I thought it was a phase in high school.”

  I let out a humorless half laugh and shook my head. “I am who I am. Accept me or don’t. I’m not going to change to please you. And I’m not going to jump through hoops or listen to lies to get your attention.”

  “But you’re here now, so it worked.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t come here for you. I came for me. I need to take my life back. If you need something from me, you can call or text me. It’s the only way I’ll communicate with you. But if you hurt the people I love, I’m not going to respond. It’s about respect. It’s not a birthright. You have to earn it just like everyone else, Dad,” I said as I headed for the front door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have nothing else to say to you. We’re finished.”

  “No. Wait. You just got here.” He shook his head as he stood, moving slowly, the way someone twenty years older than him might.

  I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and studied the deep creases around his mouth and between his brows. They marked years of hard living and unhappiness. The grooves of disappointment cut his skin like a jagged knife wound. That was what a life of bitterness did to you, I mused. I couldn’t remember him smiling or joking around with my mom or Karly or me. I remembered being afraid of him and then hating him. And now…

  “I feel sorry for you,” I said without thinking.

  That stopped him. The creases at the corner of his mouth deepened somehow. “I don’t want your fuckin’ pity.”

  “Too bad. It’s all you get.” I pushed my hand through my hair and pursed my lips before continuing. “You know, these games you play are fucking sick. There’s no humor, no joy in them. No one else is in on the joke. You manipulate, you contrive. You create these huge waves to make everyone notice you and when you get the attention you crave, you have nothing to offer. Keep your words of wisdom, your fucked-up life lessons, and your bitter advice. I don’t want to be anything like you. And it’s crazy, ’cause once upon a time, you were my fuckin’ hero.

  “Before the booze and the meanness set in, I thought you were pretty cool. I liked your swagger. You looked badass and confident. I loved your stories about being on the road. I could have listened to you all day. I have memories of hearing you practice at night in the living room after we’d gone to bed. Sometimes I can still hear those songs, and they take me back to a time I wanted to be just like you. And now…fuck, I pray everyday that it never happens.”

  Silence. It felt like I’d dropped a bomb and we were just waiting for it to go off. Five, four, three…

  “I don’t blame you. It’s not a good life,” he said, breaking the heavy quiet. “But I found out the hard way that you can’t chase dreams and live in the real world, boy.”

  “Why not? Why didn
’t you try to have it all?”

  “What makes you think I didn’t try?” he retorted.

  “I never saw you try. I saw you walk away,” I countered angrily.

  “Hmph. I did what I had to do for everyone’s sake.”

  I let go of the doorknob and paced into the house. I felt like I was crawling out of my skin. I didn’t want to be near him, but I couldn’t walk away. I sensed a chink in his armor and some warped part of me wanted to see what was underneath all that ugliness.

  “What happened? Let me guess…you failed.”

  He furrowed his brow angrily and opened his mouth as if to blast me. And then...nothing. He slumped in defeat.

  “Yeah, I failed. Time and time again. I chased a dream and the dream fell apart. I wanted to be the real thing. A rock star, a blues legend. Man, it was right there. I could see it, feel it...hell, some days, I could taste it. But I never caught it. I started out playing to fifty people at dive bars with a coupla other guys. Then it was one hundred, two hundred, three hundred. We traveled around the country, barely making a living, while we waited for the big record deal to come in. Lots of sharks out there...they tell you want to hear, but they leave you high and dry when the next big act comes ’round.” He shrugged with faux nonchalance. “And guess what? The big deal never came through. The audiences dried up, the money dried up, and every time I came home, something fell apart. Your mom was—”

  “She was sick,” I hissed angrily.

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “I let her down. I failed. Over and over again. But you don’t have to make the same mistakes. Christ, if I’d listened to my old man, things would be different. I’d be a retired accountant living in Northridge. Your mom would be alive and—” he paused when his voice hitched—“none of this would have happened.”

  “You can’t go back and change anything. The past is gone. It’s over and done. She’s gone and I’m not you.”

  “But you’re enough like me to—”

  “No!” I shook my head furiously. “I’m not. Don’t you get it? Music isn’t everything. I love it, but I have other things to live for. I’ll be okay if it doesn’t work out. I don’t need fame or fortune. Honestly, I don’t fuckin’ want any of it. I just want—”

  “What do you want?”

  Charlie.

  The thought hit me so hard I sucked in a ragged breath and let it out slowly before responding. “I just want to be happy. And you know what? In spite of everything you’ve done and all the bullshit you’ve put me through, I wish you the same.”

  “Happy doesn’t pay the bills.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s enough for me. Maybe it’s more than enough. Good-bye, Dad.”

  I closed the door behind me and breathed in the cool evening air and something that felt a lot like freedom. Like I’d been released from some invisible chains or let out of jail after a lifetime of imprisonment. It was time to let go of the bitterness and resentment. And begin again.

  If I was truly free, I knew where I wanted to go first.

  Oliver was right. I had to do something epic. I googled riddles, pranks, and practical jokes, quickly eliminating the ones that were super silly, raunchy, or too difficult to pull off. Simple was best. I made a quick trip to the grocery store before heading to practice the following morning. I spotted Charlie’s car at the bottom of the drive and strategically placed my purchases along the path from the front door. Then I headed into the house and stopped in my tracks at the sight of Charlie in corporate takeover mode, pacing the entry with his cell glued to his ear.

  I sat at the bottom of the staircase and waited for him. He acknowledged me with a nod, but his furtive glances indicated I had his full attention. That was a good sign. I hoped.

  “…the meeting with the bank is at one…Yes, that’s right. I’ll see you there. Thank you.” He slipped his phone in his pocket and set his hands on his hips before meeting my gaze. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just hangin’ out,” I replied casually. I noted his colorful but fashionable exec wear, Charlie-style. The blue plaid suit was killer. It offset his eyes and his halo of golden curls. Fuck, he was beautiful.

  “Did you want to talk to me?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Do you have a minute? I have something I want to give you.”

  “Um…sure.” He frowned before stepping closer.

  I stood, then tugged at his wrist and opened the front door. “They’re for you.”

  Charlie’s lips twitched and his eyes sparked with humor as he bent to pick up the package on the doormat. “It’s a pound of flour tied with a red ribbon. Wow. You shouldn’t have.”

  “There are eleven more.”

  He threw his head back and guffawed. “You bought me a dozen flours?”

  “Yeah. Read the note,” I instructed, gesturing at the attached card.

  “It says ‘Charlie.’ What is this?”

  “Go on, just pick up the cards and when you get to your car, read them in order.”

  Charlie flashed a lopsided grin at me before plucking the cards off the beribboned bags of flours. “Now?”

  I met him at the bottom of the path. “Yeah…now.”

  “Charlie. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love—” He looked up at me with wide eyes. “They all say the same thing.”

  I nodded and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. “I’m not much of a poet, but…I love you, Char. I love you. And I fuckin’ miss you.”

  Charlie brushed his hand over his nose and sniffed. “I miss you too. I’m sorry, Ky. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I knew about your dad. I’m sorry I called him. I’m sorry.”

  “I went to see him. I realized you were probably right. I was giving him free rent in my head, and I was the one paying the cable bill.”

  He smiled at my lame joke. “What’d he say?”

  “He’s an asshole, Char. He’s not going to change. But that’s his story. It’s not mine.”

  “Oh. What’s your story about?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. I’m in love with my best friend. I’ve never been in love. I thought it would be different. Less traumatic, you know? I thought the person I’d want to be with for the rest of my life would be a little more like me. I didn’t dare dream I might have a chance with someone like you. You fucking take my breath away, Char. I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night and just watch you…and I can’t wait for you to wake up in the morning and start talking to me. Telling me crazy shit about your cat and your underwear collection and the time you caught the garter at a wedding you crashed in Vegas and…” I pursed my lips, hoping to hold off my tears while I wiped Charlie’s cheeks dry. “Don’t ever stop talking to me. Don’t ever stop making me laugh. And if you love me…please don’t stop loving me.”

  Charlie flew into my arms and wrapped himself around me. “I do love you. And just so we’re clear, I was never going to let you go. I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to crowd you or overwhelm you with…me.”

  “That’s exactly what I want, Char. Crowd me, overwhelm me. I don’t want space. I want you.” I kissed his lips, eyes, nose, and then rested my forehead against his. “I want to make us work, baby. The band is important, I get that, but…I think we’re more important. You’re my rhythm, my beat, my rock…my everything. I’m willing to take a chance if you are.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—”

  I put my hand over his mouth and chuckled when he widened his eyes innocently. “What are you doing?”

  “A dozen flours should get a dozen yeses…or yeasts. Does that make sense? I’m not sure. It’s probably the wrong kind of flour for bread. But it’s perfect for cookies and cakes.”

  “Wow. I missed you.”

  We laced our fingers as we turned to the house, snickering at the packages lining the pathway. The soft chuckles soon gave way to laughter. The joyous kind that sparked gratitude for a new beginning, starting from scratch.

  Epilogue


  “Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.”—Rumi

  Charlie

  Moving sucked. Hiring a company to take care of the heavy lifting helped for sure, but it didn’t make the boxes disappear any faster. I examined the labels on the four boxes stacked next to the kitchen, then checked out the three near the sliding glass door leading to our terrace with a spectacular view of the Pacific. It was magnificent. If we had a chaise lounge, I would have been out there now soaking up the sun with a pitcher of margaritas. Venice Beach people-watching in July was off the charts.

  I might even share my chaise with my boyfriend if he got home soon to help with the last of the unpacking. Scratch that, I’d blow him on the balcony. I sighed as I turned to survey our modern two-story townhouse. I loved the high ceilings, the light hardwood floors, and ample sunlight. We had two bedrooms. The master suite was downright decadent, but the kitchen might have been my favorite. It was sleek and contemporary with a huge island and plenty of room to entertain. Allegedly anyway. It was a mess at the moment.

  Caprice didn’t approve. She’d meowed unhappily at me when I stopped to pet her, assuring her I’d have everything organized in no time.

  “Don’t you worry, sweet girl. Your other daddy is very distracting, but it’ll get done.”

  Eventually. We had all week to put our place together in time for our housewarming party. Perfectly doable. I slumped onto one of the leather barstools and cradled my head on my arms, starting at the sound of a key in the door.

  “Food is here!” Ky kissed me, then set the bag of In-N-Out down and grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge. “You hungry?”

  “Yes, but I think I’m more tired than anything,” I groused, shifting to face him when he sat beside me.

  “Then let’s take the day off.”

  “Gasp! We can’t do that! We have a party to plan, a party to attend, a record to promote…and it would really be nice to have everything done before the tour starts next month. Did I tell you I saw the inside of the bus? It’s so cool.”