by Holly Hall
Lindsey
I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets, ambling somewhat in the direction of my apartment. When Jenson and I ended our walk at the café, he sent me off with a good bye and an “I’ll see you around.” No hugs, no attempt to get my phone number. The second I think I’ve got him figured out, he does something like that. Maybe he doesn’t view me as the rebound I thought I was. Not that I would’ve minded that role—I did get some fun out of it, too. It’s the not knowing what he’s expecting that’s got my mind wrapped up.
I glance over my shoulder before rounding the corner of the block, catching a last glimpse of Jenson heading up the street toward an old truck. Then I duck around the brick and pull out my phone to read the message. They always come, every day, and though I’ve learned to ignore them, they taunt me from my back pocket, where I’ve stuffed my phone so I don’t have to see that name on the screen. Craig.
Still waiting on that phone call. You’re lucky I haven’t dragged your name through the dirt already, because when that happens, everyone in this town will be done with you. You won’t have a future. All because you’re a deceiving little cunt. A week, that’s all I’m giving you. Don’t test me.
Chapter 9
Jenson
Come into the studio tomorrow. I found something for you.
That’s the lure that hooked my attention and got me to the studio today. But then, Ross knew it would. No band, no pressure, but that doesn’t mean there are no expectations. I’m not naïve enough to believe that. I take one last swig from the fifth of whiskey I keep concealed in my console in the parking lot and steel myself for what I’m sure will be a battle.
Ross meets me in the reception area in what he deems his casual wear—a T-shirt and jeans that probably cost more than a used car. He claps his hand in mine and pats me on the back like he wasn’t just making barely-masked threats to drop me a week ago.
“I appreciate you coming in, Jenson. The team and I have been discussing your career trajectory, and we’ve gathered up some stuff you might like. It’s only us and the tech here today.”
Just like that, my red flags stand at attention. Ross has made an effort to keep this meeting intimate by including only the bare minimum—a producer and a sound engineer—but I’m not sure that was the goal. They want to keep me and the impending nosedive of my career under wraps. That fact stings more than I thought it would. I almost want to create a PR nightmare to shove in their face that I’m not their trained monkey. I’m not here to make them money. I mean, officially I am, but that’s not what this is about. That’s not what any of this is about.
“I don’t have anything new to show you guys. I already told you.” It’s partially a lie, but I’m not ready to show anyone what I’ve written about the first woman to occupy my thoughts since my ex-wife. It’s too new, too raw.
Ross shakes his head, leading me down a hallway toward one of the studios. “Not a problem. Like I said, we’ve found a writer with some great stuff. Young guy, but I think you’ll appreciate his talent. Anyway, it’ll be a good way for us to gauge where you’re at. See what kind of work we have ahead of us if you do decide to come back. What do you think?”
When I don’t immediately answer, Ross pauses outside the door to one of the studios, pegging me with his most sincere look. “What do you have to lose?”
Those words are a punch to the gut. Nothing. I literally have nothing left to lose. “I guess we can try it,” I say flatly.
“Who knows, maybe it’ll inspire something in you.” He pats me on the shoulder like a father who’s just seen his son fall off a bike and skin a knee. Except I haven’t just fallen off this bike, it’s dragged me for miles across hot coals and broken pavement. I am bruised and battered, and at this point I’d like nothing more than to throw in the towel.
But while I’ve burnt nearly everything I ever cared about to the ground, some embers remain. I’ve won reluctant hearts before, I can do it again. Maybe then, I’ll prove to myself I don’t destroy everything. Maybe then, I’ll get past this.
I wave my hand halfheartedly. “I can’t end up in any worse shape than I am now.”
At least my self-deprecation gets a chuckle out of him.
“Right. Let’s do it then.”
I follow him into the studio, and Ross hands me a page of lyrics and holds his breath as I read over them. I blink a few times, shake my head, try to focus on the verses in front of me. It’s like I’m looking and not really seeing. That, or what I’m seeing is an actual train wreck and I’m not just imagining it.
“What is this?” I ask, failing to mask my annoyance. The words sit there, two-dimensional on the page. Something about a guy finally noticing a girl he’s known for years when she becomes homecoming queen. He sings about her royal-blue dress, her blonde hair, how they fell in love on a tailgate over Jack Daniels-flavored kisses. It’s fairytale shit. Love doesn’t happen like this. It’s more raw. More desperate. More . . . well, real. Ross begins explaining and I wave my hand.
“I get what it means. I just mean . . . really? This guy wouldn’t know love if it backed over him in a MAC truck.”
He angles his head toward me, expression demeaning. “Think about your first love, Jenson. Back when you were young and didn’t know any better, you probably fell hard and fast, right? Try to channel some of that. Especially in the second verse when things get rocky.”
I resist the urge to thrust my hands through my hair, paper crumpling in my fist. I don’t want to think about my first love. My first love that ever meant something was Raven, and look what happened there. Thinking about those early days, how lovesick we were, would probably put me into an alcohol-induced coma. Anything before that was lust. Fast to ignite, faster to go out.
Still, I look between the paper and Ross. I see him dangling another chance in front of me like a carrot. I think about the people counting on me: my band, my fans, my mom. I owe it to them to try.
“I’m gonna try it, Ross,” I say. I can’t even pretend to be optimistic.
“Let’s try it,” Ross agrees, nodding vehemently. “If anything, maybe it’ll help loosen you up, get you ready to get back in the game.”
That’s a stretch, but I step into the booth and behind the microphone, situating the headphones. The sound technician starts the music, and I wait a few counts, feeling it out. Then I give it a shot. I do my best considering I don’t believe the words on the page, the ones coming out of my mouth. I never used to have problems singing from the heart. Right now, I couldn’t even tell you where it’s hiding.
We run through it twice before I throw my hands up and the music stops. When Ross comes to the door to talk me off the ledge, I’m already pushing past him. “I can’t do it, man. I lived my songs. I bled them. I’m not going to sing what some prepubescent kid wrote about what he thinks he knows.”
He gestures for the tech to give us a second alone, then rubs his brows with his thumb and middle finger. “And you’ve been great exactly for that reason, Jenson. But it’s not working anymore.”
“You think I don’t know that? I lost a baby, my fucking house, and my wife in one year.” Ross drops down into his chair, and I can sense his patience running thin. “Just give me a goddamn minute,” I finish, half fed-up, half pleading. Not for his sake, but for mine. Music is my lifeblood. My livelihood. I need it, but it can’t be something that’s shoved down my throat.
He slams his fist on the armrest, flexing his fingers like it hurt more than he expected. “You’re out of minutes! I know you’ve been through hell, but this is a business. We’ve repped an artist that hasn’t produced in a year. I mean, have you tried to put down the bottle? Just once?” Tension hangs heavy in the air. At the venom in my expression, Ross runs his hand over his chin and appears to collect himself. “At this point, there are some decisions that need to be made.”
“So do it. Cut me loose.”
He gapes at me. The man who has it all together all the time gapes at me. I should be mo
re worried that he’s at his wits’ end, that the troubles I’ve created have frayed his smooth, sharp edges, but I’m not. I can’t find it in myself to care. “Do you know what this means for you? For your band? Have you thought about that?”
“Oh, I’ve thought about them plenty. But my band isn’t going home to a place that’s empty of everything but their mistakes. They didn’t lose Raven and Emberly. I did. And I’m somehow expected to carry all of them on my shoulders? Fuck that. How much of that time you say you’ve given me was spent thinking about me, and the things I’ve lost, and not the business, Ross?”
He emits a long sigh, jaw working from side to side. “We don’t want to lose you. I’m willing to give you more time if you show me you’re trying. And don’t tell me you’re okay. This isn’t the first time you’ve come in here stinking of fucking whiskey. Get it together, Jenson, or don’t. But make up your mind.”
“My mind’s made. Best of luck to y’all.” I spin and let myself out, and he doesn’t chase me. I need to get out of this town. Not for good, but for now. Get some clarity.
I slide behind the wheel of my Bronco, my fingers fitting into grooves worn by time and use on the steering wheel. I wonder if this is how Raven felt—like she couldn’t breathe. Suffocated by a town that pumps people through its streets like blood through veins, giving life to some dreams while choking others. My chest aches when I remember it was me who trapped her.
I pull back onto the road, headed for downtown, and like a reflex, I dial her number. I deleted it so I’d be less susceptible to my drunken urges, but erasing her number in my phone didn’t erase it from my muscle memory.
“Jenson?” There’s confusion in her voice, and rightfully so, but it still has the same effect on me. I shake my head to clear the nostalgia.
“I met someone.” I didn’t mean for it to come out so abruptly, but my head’s a mess right now. Fortunately, she’s used to my offbeat musings.
“You met someone. Okay. Um, what’s she like?” It’s obvious she didn’t expect that, but I’m not just going to hang up now.
“She’s hungry. Driven. Inspiring. She’s an artist, too.”
“Well, that’s great.” There’s some optimism in her voice, and I’m pleased it doesn’t sound forced. “Does that mean she gets you?”
I run my thumb over the wheel, willing my thoughts to clear. There are so many things up in the air right now, nothing solid to hang onto. “Maybe. She challenges me more than anything.”
There’s a short laugh from her end. “A change of pace, then. I’m sure you’re loving that. How long ago did you start dating?”
“Oh, um, we’re not really dating. Not at all, actually. She won’t let me take her on a date.”
“Oh, she won’t? Wow. That’s different.”
“I know you want to laugh. Go ahead. Jenson King can’t convince a girl to go out with him.”
Her tone transitions from amused to serious. “You were working on yourself, I thought. What changed your mind? What makes her different?”
I think it over. It’s a foreign concept to grasp. “She doesn’t treat me with kid gloves. I told her all kinds of shit and she still doesn’t tiptoe around me. In fact, she kind of creates a ruckus.”
“So you’ve decided you want this girl. Is she going to be good for you, Jenson? I know what new love is like—it’s intoxicating. But that’s exactly why you need to be careful.”
“I think so. But I can’t crack her.”
Raven covers the mouthpiece, and I can hear her speaking to someone on the other end of the line. “What kinds of things is she into?”
“Hey, is it okay with Dane if we’re talking? I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I just . . .”
“He’s fine. He knows what we’ve been through. You’re part of my life no matter what, Jens. He’s not trying to erase that.”
“He’s a better man than I am.”
“So, what is this girl interested in?” A diversion, but a respectable one all the same.
“Photography. She moved out here by herself all the way from Denver for music photography.”
“Music, huh?”
“I know how that sounds, but I’m doing all the pursuing. She hasn’t come after me in the slightest.”
“All right, I’ll take your word for it. So, she’s into photography. Where does she ultimately want to end up? What’s her dream?”
I guide my truck into the parking garage at my new place, muscling my way in between two cars parked way too damn close together. Partly to be a dick, partly to teach them a lesson for being dicks. “To be successful, I’d imagine.”
“Come on, Jenson. Success? Maybe that’s what she wants, but that’s not the type of person you usually go for.”
“You’ve lost me.”
A short sigh. That’s the thing about Raven—she’s always controlled, even when she’s exasperated. “I’ll put it in your terms so maybe you’ll understand better. What does her heart beat for?”
That brings my thoughts to a standstill. I prop my elbow on the wheel, rubbing a hand over my beard. “I don’t know. I guess we haven’t gotten to that point yet.”
“Or you just didn’t think to ask.”
I sense the accusation in her voice, but I’ve grown up enough that I don’t challenge her on it. “Okay, you’re right, I didn’t think to ask.”
“She moved across the country for this. It’s worth asking, Jenson. Ask the tough questions. I know it’s hard to take a breath in the middle of everything else, but these things are important if she’s important.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
“She’s only showing you the pieces she’s willing to risk. Get to know her, sure, but also get to know her highest aspirations—the vulnerable ones. She’ll keep those closer than anything.”
“How are you so smart, Rae?”
There’s a smile in her voice that I can hear across miles, and for once, I’m not depressed that it isn’t me who put it there. “I’ve had a few people to learn from. Take care of yourself, okay? You’re kind of a savior. You take people in whose souls are broken, without a care for your own. Try to look after yourself?”
“I’ll try. Take it easy.”
“I will. Bye.”
I hang up and take my time crossing the garage to the elevator. I have a lot to think about, but I don’t want to do it here. I’m willing to go just about anywhere, drive an endless amount of miles, just to get away. On the way up to the twelfth floor, I take out my phone and scroll through the contacts, only remembering I’ve never asked for Lindsey’s number when I reach the end of the list. The doors glide open, and I jam the button to go back down to the garage. I’m leaving town and there’s only one person I want to go with me.
Lindsey
I have to hunch beside a dumpster for half an hour before the navy BMW in one of the short-term parking spaces next to my apartment building drives away. I give it five more minutes for good measure, then trot across the street and through the side entrance. Craig. I don’t think he saw me, the creep.
As soon as I slip into my apartment, a dart whizzes past my ear and buries itself in a dartboard. Patience dissipated, I yank it from the board with half a mind to send it hurtling back toward the asshole who decided hanging a dartboard right next to the front door was a good idea, when I turn and meet the amused gaze of Jenson. To his left, Sebastian bites his lip like he’s trying to keep from laughing.
I look from one to the other, noting that for once, Sebastian’s not in front of the TV. “You wooing my roommates now?” I ask, shifting the bouquet of flowers I got from the florist to my other hand while letting the strap of my bag slide down my arm. I used my break time to edit some photos of a concert I shot last night as freelance work for the paper, and lugging all my equipment around takes a toll on my shoulder.
Jenson drapes an arm around Sebastian. He’s harder to ignore when he’s wearing leather and slim-fit jeans. “Yeah, actually. Why didn’t you tell me Sebastian was just
my type?”
“For your info, I like Fenders and long walks on the beach,” Sebastian says, laying his head on Jenson’s shoulder.
I wedge the dart back in the board and brush past them both, too tired to deal with dysfunctional roommate antics. “Thanks for handing it back!” Sebastian calls after me. I flip him off over my shoulder and retreat into my room, plopping down on my bed to kick my shoes off. On top of my feet aching and being tired as hell, there’s a new hole in the side of my Chucks that I’m pretty pissed about.
Jenson braces a shoulder against the door frame, one side of his mouth twisting into a mischievous grin. “Why do you have a bouquet of dead flowers?”
“Because I don’t like live ones,” I say with a sigh. I stop by the florist across from Rhythm once every couple weeks, and they give me the wilted flowers from the displays nobody’s purchased. I keep them all over our room, in jars or strung up over my headboard. They’re timeless and understatedly pretty.
“Oh, all right. You wanna go somewhere?”
I roll the arch of one foot across a tennis ball someone told me was useful for sore feet, closing my eyes. “Not really. I just want to eat and take a bath.” It’s not the most exciting of answers, but it’s the truth. That’s me—no frills.
“I can help with that, you know.”
My eyes snap open, thinking he’s referring to the bathtub. Instead, he’s looking at my foot and the way it rolls across the ball. “No, thanks. What are you doing here?”
“Bad day?”
“Not used to an interrogation when I come home from work,” I reply.
“Gotcha. Sorry, I didn’t know when you’d be back, and Sebastian was home, so he let me in.”
I just blink at him.
The night in the park revealed a lot more than I ever expected to know about him, turning my opinion of him on its head. By the end of it, my stomach had flopped a few more times than I was comfortable with. I’m attracted to Jenson, there’s no denying that, but getting involved with someone like him would cause more harm than good. I can hardly take care of myself; how can I be expected to give him what he needs? To put the time and patience into nurturing that kind of relationship?
