by J. A. Coffey
Beth catches me looking at her through the windows. She lifts her chin and stomps off.
Tonight, her face is distorted. Still just as pretty, but with sadness and tired shadows around the eyes I didn’t remember.
Maybe I’d put them there.
“Hey, Liam.” Cormack strolls to the booth and crosses his arms. “Why not hit the road? It’s closing time.”
I don’t have to check my watch to know the pub would remain open a little longer. Then I remember I’m a rock star and the place won’t close until I leave. That’s how my life works.
“Didn’t realize you were looking out for me, Cor.” I play for casual assurance.
“Trust me, I’m not.” A furrow digs between Cormack’s bushy brows, deep enough to be cut with a knife. “If you leave now, you can get ahead of the press. Or the police.” A crash sounds near the bathrooms as another beer bottle hits the floor. A muscle in his jaw ticks. But Cormack’s good people—he sheltered me after more than one of my father’s outbursts.
“Okay.” I’m wiped out anyways. Between the sound checks and the sidewalk, I’ve lost my cell. Maybe if I leave now, I can catch another glimpse of Beth.
Cormack nods and walks away.
I stuff my drumsticks into my pocket and wonder how I’m going to get out of here. Price of fame, right? I’m still not sure how Trev and Gordon talked me into bar-hopping, or how many pitchers of beer we had before I’d decided visiting the Auld Rogue was a good idea, but here I am, and there they are, and running into Beth had been so damn worth it.
As long as I keep clear of her mother’s temper and my father’s fists, things are golden. Make that triple platinum, like our last album.
I slide out of the booth, avoiding a playful grab from one of the chicks, whose name I don’t recall. Lori or Lisa or….something.
“Whoa! You’re not leaving us, are you? Lynnette’s gonna be so disappointed.” The corners of Gordon’s mouth twist so far down he looks like one of those creepy crying clown paintings.
Lynnette. Whatever. She’s a blur, like the rest of them.
“Not feeling the vibe anymore.” I sling my arms into the sleeves of my leather jacket.
Trev and Gordon are supposed to be handling me, making sure I get where I’m supposed to be going, but, dude, even a rock star needs a night off. Especially after running in to the one girl he’d loved and lost.
“You heard the man. Let’s roll.” Trev curls his arm around the other blonde, whose name I don’t even try to conjure.
“Want company?” She looks straight at me and asks the question with a seductive drawl that should’ve made Trev jealous.
Instead, he tosses me a knowing smirk. “Share and share alike.”
The chick is wearing a mile of black eyeliner and a shirt that has more holes than fabric, and I can’t stop thinking about Beth in her high-waisted jeans and oversized green T-shirt.
I was lusting after mom jeans. What. The. Actual. Hell.
I crush the heels of my hands into my eyes. “You guys finish up. I’m gonna head out.”
“How you getting back?” Gordon jingles his rental car keys.
“I’ll call a cab.” The last thing I want to do is spend another night in a nameless woman’s bed or on the couch in the suite, while the rest of the group continued partying all night long.
“Leaving us hanging?” Trev is probably worried the chicks will bolt if a member of the band isn’t around. Pretty astute, because Lynnette’s already sucking in her cheeks, suddenly less enthusiastic.
“I’ll catch up with you guys later. Keep the babes warm for me.” I wink, but my stomach turns over and for a moment I think I’ll be sick. Probably that last beer.
Or that last memory.
“You got it, man.” Trev and Gordon laugh.
They wave me off the bar tab, but I toss a few hundred-dollar bills on the table and stalk out.
How’s that for a freakin’ tip, Cormack? Local kid makes good, eh?
I wonder if he’ll tell Beth.
The minute the night air reaches my lungs, the weariness melts away. It’s the first week in June, the odd time where the stranglehold of summer hasn’t gripped Seattle and the nights are sweetly cool. For a minute, I’m a teenager again. On the run. Out the door, down the block, past the darkened alleyways to nowhere. I’d run from things my whole life. My father’s right hook. My teachers’ disapproval. And Beth, eventually, once I’d accepted the offer from DeSilva’s record label.
Only that last one didn’t make sense.
Whatever. It is what it is.
I’d cashed in for life on the road, surrounded by booze, babes, and bastards wanting a piece of me. The only person in my whole life who hadn’t asked me for anything is headed toward the bus stop.
She is such a contrast from the groupies that follow Wylde Ryder from city to city. Other women blend into the background, just another bit of noise in my life. Some days I’m so hungover I can’t remember where the hell I am.
But Beth…she’s a jolt of the familiar.
She’s home…the only one I’d ever cared to know.
“Hey, you. Wait up.” Somehow my feet led me up the street corner, finding her waiting. As I stop, her lips make a perfect circle of surprise.
“What are you doing here?” She peeps over my shoulder. “Where’s the rest of your cronies?”
I wince. “Roadies. They take care of the band stuff.”
“Sure they do.” Her arms fold across her chest, full, rounded breasts that seem larger than I remember.
“Seriously.” I scuff my feet, the silver buckles on my boots jingling like a pocket full of change.
“Those girls couldn’t lift a microphone, let alone an amp.”
“Well, yeah.” I run a hand over the back of my neck. My hair tickles my fingers and I wonder how long it’s been since I had it trimmed. Though I cleared over four mil last year, I probably look like a bum, standing here in my three-day old wrinkled blue jeans. “They’re kind of a bonus.”
At least that’s how I’d thought of them, until now.
“I’m so glad for you, Liam.” Her face contorts in disgust and she turns her back to me, ostensibly waiting for the bus to arrive. Or to shut me out.
“I thought you’d be happier to see me. What’s it been…almost two years?”
“Eighteen months.”
“Oh, right.”
“A lifetime.” Her voice is clipped. Bitter.
Time to lay on some charm.
“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” I say the familiar line and laugh, but Beth’s face darkens like a late summer storm.
“Good to see you’ve kept your sense of humor,” she says, not sounding the least bit amused.
Breaking up with her via text had been a supremely shitty idea, but DeSilva had insisted that it was for the best. I was on the road touring, riding high after our first single went platinum; the last thing I wanted was for my past to catch up to me. In my hungover state, I’d done what DeSilva thought was best.
For me and for Beth.
“C’mon,” I say. “Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
“It wasn’t that long ago that we were in love.”
“I did love you, Liam. Past tense.” I can tell she’s angry; she pokes the air, punctuating her words. “I don’t know what you thought you’d find coming around here, now.”
“I wasn’t looking for anything.” The words sound hollow, even to me.
How could I not come looking for her?
She was the only good part of my past—a vibrant violinist with more talent in her pinky than I had in my whole body. I still can’t believe that I’m the one who made it big. Memories flood me of the two of us lying on the couch at her house, taking selfies and snuggling. The scent of her hair as she rested her head on my shoulder. My hand around her waist, holding her close enough that our hearts beat t
o the same rhythm.
We stand in angry silence. My head pounds from the beer and smell of exhaust as cars roll by. I know I should turn around and catch up with my crew before they leave without me. But something makes my feet stick to the sidewalk as if superglued.
“Sorry for the way things ended. I thought I was doing the right thing.” I shuffle and the boots chime again under my ripped jeans.
“That makes two of us.” She glares at me for a minute, then frowns. “Oh Lordy, Liam. What the feck are you wearing?”
“What...this?” I hold out the flaps of my plaid shirt under my leather jacket.
“No, those.” She points to my silver-studded black boots. “Are those elevated heels? You’re six-foot-three. You don’t need extra height.”
“They’re comfortable.” I shrug off the stab that I’m ridiculous in her eyes. “It’s a band thing. We’re supposed to wear them.” DeSilva had gotten them as part of a sponsorship deal.
She snorts, which shouldn’t be cute, but is. “I guess more than just your career has changed.”
Now I feel ridiculous.
The tops of my ears burn. She has a point; the heeled boots are kinda stupid, but I’ll be damned if I’ll admit it. “You’ve made fun of my groupies, my clothes…anything else you want to take a shot at?” I guess she owes me for the way I treated her, but she doesn’t bite.
Her eyes dart away. “I guess not. Sorry, Liam. This isn’t going how you planned, I’m sure.”
“I never planned anything.” Had I? What the hell had I been thinking, coming to her mom’s pub? Make that her pub. Had she and Cormack been forced to buy her mother out?
“If you weren’t looking for me, why hit up the Rogue?”
“I wasn’t thinking about you.” I drag my hand through my hair again. “I mean…that’s not what I mean. You know what I mean. Shit.”
“My sentiments exactly.” She wraps her arms around herself as if staving off a chill.
“Want to grab a drink?” I grab her hand. “We can go someplace and talk.”
“No.” She jerks free. “It’s late and I don’t drink anymore.”
“Then let’s get a coffee or something.”
A shadow flickers over her face, and I brace myself for a neg. “No.”
“Why not?” Me, the mega-rock star, getting turned down flat.
She sighs. “I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
“The luncheon?”
“You heard about that?” Her forehead creases.
“Of course. It’s why I’m back in town.” I couldn’t help but puff my chest out a little.
“I thought you were here for a wedding.”
I smile. She’s been keeping tabs on me. “I’m here for both. The Conservatory contacted me to be an honorary speaker at graduation.”
“You,” she practically snorts, remembering all the trouble I used to get into. “What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know. Something.” I’ve always been good on the fly, but Beth’s skeptical expression stings. “I’ve done a pretty fair job of showing how to be a successful musician.” I’m an A-list rock star. Not some jerk with nothing to offer anyone.
Not anymore.
“Depends on your definition of success,” she mutters.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“So.” I exhale noisily. This is going badly. “Wanna hang out with me at the luncheon tomorrow?”
“Hang out?” she parrots. “Why?”
“I’ll feel better if I know you’re there.”
“Since when?”
Since…always? “Dang it, Beth. Can you drop the defenses for one second?”
She arches her brow, regarding me with that ever-patient look until I calm down. For the umpteenth time I remind myself that I’m not my dad.
“Truth is, I’m nervous about presenting. I’d really love it if you were there to support me.” The way she’d always supported me with her sweet, gentle presence. Sure, I play sold-out concerts in front of millions, but I’m usually half-hidden behind my drum sets and it’s a lot easier to handle than standing solo in front of kids who think you have something to say.
She shrugs. “I was planning to be there anyways.”
It sounds like no big deal coming from her sweet lips, but I can see something lurking behind her eyes. Something that gives me hope.
It might not be the thrilled response I’d hoped for, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Great. Thanks. Super.” I sound like an idiot. Not knowing what else to say, I duck my head and kiss her cheek as the bus pulls up in a cloud of diesel fumes.
“You know, Liam, for a percussionist, you have the worst fecking timing in the world.” Beth gives a kind of startled squawk, then hops onto the bus without a backward glance.
Her shoulders are stiff as the doors bang shut and the bus pulls away. I smile, but as the late-night bus fades from sight, I realize I’m totally alone and that I have no clue how I’m going to get back to the hotel. If only I had my phone.
I turn away, hoping Trev and Gordon are still at the Auld Rogue. Worst case, maybe Cormack will let me call someone. For a moment, I wonder if they still have that fold-up cot in the back storage room.
“Well, ain’t that a pretty picture,” says a voice behind me that sends chills up my spine. “Came back to see Bethany MacGuire, but you ain’t got time for your old man?”
That voice.
The one that gave me screaming nightmares.
Sweat breaks out on my lower back and I stifle the urge to ball up my fists or flee. But I vowed a long time ago never to use my fists on anything ever. I will never be the man my father is.
“Dad.” I turn. The streets are dead and not well lit. I wet my lips, instinctively assessing the fastest route of escape. “What are you doing here?”
My father’s face crumples into a mean smile, and he holds up a flashing cell phone. Didn’t even know the bastard owned one. “News reported you was in town. I found you on the Facebook.”
“Great.” I mutter and shift away, silently counting the steps to the corner.
My father’s smile widens, becoming even more menacing. “Nice to see you, boy. Even if I had to come all this way myself.” He waggles the screenshot of me posing with some girl about a half hour ago. #WyldeRyder #LiamKissedMe
My stomach turns over. Hashtag: I’m an idiot.
All those photos and media tags had shown the asshole exactly where to locate me. I swallow hard. “Why bother tracking me down?”
“Thought it’d be nice to catch up.” My father takes a step closer, which puts me within arm’s reach. A knot of icy tension hits my stomach like a fist. I edge away, balancing on the balls of my feet like I’ve haven’t done in years—not since I’d left Seattle and the bad memories behind.
“I don’t think so.” I start walking away. Thank God Beth was gone before my father approached us.
“No time for me?” His hand darts out and he catches hold of my arm. “Not so fast.”
I find myself hauled up against him. He’s shorter and much stockier than I am, but strong from years of working construction. His hammy fists are lightning fast.
I’m not going to fight him. I try to use one of the evasion techniques I learned last year, but before I know it, he’s manacled my wrists and I can’t break away.
“Dad,” I warn, feeling the anger take hold. “Let go.”
“Never, boy.” He clamps the two of us together like a pair of handcuffed prisoners. “Me and you is gonna have a talk.”
Talking usually ends with me being bloody and bruised. Though I’m stronger now, I’m not going to fight him. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps as irrational fear seeps into my bones. Is he really going to pulverize me here on the street? Right before the luncheon tomorrow and the concert at the end of next week? “What do you want?”
“Heard you’re doing goo
d. Real good.” My father jerks his chin at me. “Think maybe it’s time you paid me back for all the support I gave you.” My father hasn’t supported me since I was fourteen and old enough to work part-time. Thus far, DeSilva’s done a good job of covering up my shitty past with a few choice quips about a broken home. He says it makes me mysterious, but right now I feel completely vulnerable. I’ve got nothing—no one and no way to call for help.
“I don’t owe you anything.” I widen my stance, fingers curling into fists. “Except maybe a few hospital bills.”
With a sudden downward jerk, I break his hold and step away.
“Why, you sonafa-B!” Dad sucks in a sharp breath, and his fists snatch the lapel of my jacket. He shakes me, like a puppy, hard enough to cause teeth to clack together.
I see stars.
“Get off!” I shove at him and hunch my shoulders, keeping my chin down, while trying to get loose again. We scrabble at each other for a moment, my slick leather jacket deflecting some of the grabbing, until a voice shouts down the street at us.
“Hey! What’s going on over there? Break it up!” someone yells.
Dad freezes as the pound of footsteps on pavement reaches his enraged hearing. “You’re free for now, but I’ll be seeing you. You and your little girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I cover my panic by smoothing my hands down my front. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Yo, Liam. What’s going on?” It’s Trev and Gordon and the two babes. Enough muscles and eyewitnesses to cause my father to take a half-step back, out of reach of the lamplight and into the shadows of my past, where he belongs.
“Just playing around.” My father barks a laugh and shoves me backwards. I stumble over my stupid, silver-buckled boots. The minute I get back to the hotel, I’m throwing them in DeSilva’s face.
“Looks like you’re outnumbered,” I mutter in a low voice, trying to sound threatening.
“This time.” My father smiles that mean switchblade smile again. “Be sure to stop by the house before you go. We got things to settle, boy.”
