The Wreckage of Us

by Cherry, Brittainy

  Marcus was the drummer from the gods and the band’s clown. He was the comedic relief whenever tensions began to build between us all—which happened when you had a group of artists who sometimes had differing views on creativity.

  Eric, our keyboard player, was the wizard behind our social media. I swore his brain worked in code. He was the mastermind behind building a following for the Wreckage on all platforms. Even though he was the youngest out of us—he was Marcus’s brother—he was such a key part of the band. It was very much due to him that we’d built up the fan base we had. Over five hundred thousand followers on Instagram, sixty-five hundred on YouTube, and a TikTok number I couldn’t even say. Eric was always looking for a way to expand our reach, and that meant a lot of livestreaming of us in band rehearsals and working our small-town lives on the ranch.

  It turned out people liked to watch rock musicians live really country lifestyles. I didn’t get the appeal, but Eric was a professional at giving fans what they wanted to see. If there wasn’t a camera in his hand or set up somewhere nearby, I would’ve been convinced he was terminally ill. Even when you didn’t think he was recording, you should’ve known he probably was.

  Then there was me. The lead singer who created the lyrics and carried the vocals. I was the one with the weakest personality, and I knew if it weren’t for my band, I wouldn’t have found the sliver of success that I had. I was kind of an asshole, overall. Not good with people, and even worse with social media. But I did love the music. Music understood parts of me that humans never got close enough to discover. Music saved me from some of the crappiest days of my life. I didn’t know what I would’ve been without the Wreckage. Our daily rehearsals were what kept me grounded.

  As I walked into the barn house, the guys were already debating about the next steps for the music.

  “We have to put on a local show and livestream it on Instagram Stories,” Eric clamored as he raked his hands through his red hair. “If we don’t give the fan base a taste of the new music, we’ll get trampled by people who are driving hard-hard-hard on social media. If we want to be the next Shawn Mendes to be discovered online, we have to push like we want it,” he said.

  “Christ, take a chill pill, E. I don’t want you giving yourself a heart attack over this Instagram bullshit,” Marcus grumbled, grabbing a beer from his six-pack. “How about we ease up on the social media aspect for a minute and create some good-ass shit?” Marcus had always been that way—more into the music, less into the fame.

  “Ease up . . .” Eric began huffing and puffing as he paced the barn house. “What do you mean, ease up on social media? Social media is our one shot at this thing taking off, and you want to go back to just dicking around in the barn house? Our video views dropped by five percent over the past few weeks, and you all are acting like it’s not Armageddon out there!”

  I smiled at my extremely nerdy yet passionate bandmate.

  If there was one way to ruffle Eric’s feathers, it was by having Marcus tell him the social media aspect wasn’t of importance. The two argued like the brothers they were.

  “Maybe because it isn’t Armageddon,” Marcus said with a shrug.

  Eric took off his glasses, popped out his hip like my grandmother after a hard day of cleaning, and pinched his nose. “Thirty-seven percent,” he said.

  “Oh, great. Here he goes with the statistics again.” Marcus groaned.

  “Yes, here I go with the statistics again, because they really fucking matter. Thirty-seven percent of United States citizens are on Instagram. Our biggest followers are in the United States, and do you know their age bracket?”

  I joined the group and sat down on the edge of the wooden stage Big Paw built years back, listening, knowing Eric was about to take Marcus to school with the lesson.

  “Please, do share,” James said, obviously interested.

  “Ninety percent is younger than thirty-five years old. That means we are dealing with a world of millennials and Gen Z, who have the focus of a puppy chasing its tail. If we don’t capture their attention and give them a reason to give a damn about our sound and our brand, then they will be on to the next faster than a Kardashian moving through a basketball team. We need to focus. We need to think bigger. Otherwise, we’ll lose the footing we’ve gained over the years.”

  Everyone shut up after Eric’s words, because it was clear he knew what he was talking about. Plus, I agreed 100 percent. Lately, I felt stale. As if the music wasn’t going the places I’d hoped it would go. I had massive dreams and goals, the same way the other guys had, but it felt as if we were stuck. I hadn’t figured out how to break through to the next big thing. I knew Eric was right about the social media side of things, but if we didn’t have the music, no amount of pushing was going to make us a success.

  We needed hits, not just mediocre sounds.

  “What about that new stuff you were working on, Ian? Maybe we could do some of those tracks for the livestream,” James offered.

  I cringed. None of the stuff I was working on was ready to be explored. My mind felt stuck, and when a mind was stuck . . . “I’m still working through some things with it.”

  “But until that’s ready, we have to push forward. We’ll play our best tracks within the next few weeks. Invite all of the townspeople and livestream. It will at least get traction going again,” Eric offered.

  “Good deal. So how about we run through a set list and rehearse that?” Marcus offered. “Make it shiny and neat and shit.”

  We finally all got on the same page and began doing what we loved—making music.

  Hours passed as we rehearsed with only a dinner break, where Eric shared the knowledge with us that pizza was the most Instagrammed food—sushi and chicken taking second and third.

  I swore, the amount of information in that guy’s head was destined to be used on Jeopardy! someday. You couldn’t know that much stuff and not end up on some nighttime game show.

  When the barn house doors opened, I was shocked to see Hazel walking in. She looked a complete mess. Her hair was pulled up into the messiest bun I’d ever seen, her eyes were flashing exhaustion, and her clothes were tattered, torn, and covered in shit—literally. Her combat boots were destroyed, and her spirit was clearly broken, but she still stood there. Battered, but not ruined.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m done with the pigpens,” she said to me, nodding once. “If you want to come and check my work.”

  I stuffed a piece of garlic bread into my mouth and rubbed my grease-covered hands against my jeans. “Took you long enough. I’ll head over there in a few.”

  She didn’t say a word, just turned around on her heel and walked away.

  James cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t really make her clean those pigpens all on her own, did you? You know Big Paw normally has three guys on that task.”

  “Hell yeah, I did. I figured if I broke her down now, I wouldn’t have to waste my time for the rest of the summer.”

  “I would’ve thrown in the towel,” Marcus commented. “It looks like she’s got a lot more heart than you think.”

  After enough hardships, hearts had a way of giving in. Maybe Hazel had made it through the day, but over time I’d break her down.

  I said good night to the guys, and as I started toward the pens, James chased after me. “Ian, hold up.”

  I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “Yeah?”

  “That Hazel girl—she’s Charlie’s stepdaughter, right?”

  I nodded. “Yup.”

  James blew out a cloud of hot air and shook his head. “Listen, don’t be too big of a dick to her because of that. She’s not Charlie. You can’t put your resentment for that asshole on her shoulders.”

  “Anyone who’s kinfolk with that man is an enemy of mine.”

  “But Hazel didn’t get your parents hooked. She’s not responsible for what happened with them.”

  I clenched my jaw and nodded toward the barn house. “How about you make sure everything�
��s locked up. I’ll deal with Hazel the best way I see fit.”

  He didn’t argue, because he knew I was a stubborn asshole and there wasn’t much getting through to me. Like I said, James was the peacekeeper.

  Me on the other hand? Not so much.

  I headed to the pens, where I found Hazel leaning against one of the gated areas, still looking as if she’d lifted the whole damn moon on her shoulders that evening.

  I walked around the pens, and to my surprise, they were fucking perfect. She’d handled every task I’d given her and somehow managed to do better than any of the guys who normally took care of the stables.

  Color me shocked.

  I wasn’t going to let her know of her job well done, though. I was still convinced she’d screw up somewhere down the line. “It’s a mediocre job,” I told her.

  Her jaw dropped. “Mediocre? I worked my ass off in here, and it looks great.”

  “How would you know? I doubt you’ve ever spent time in a pigpen before.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t know what looks good. This place looks the best it can.”

  I shrugged. “Whatever. Be back by sunrise tomorrow for more work.”

  “That’s it?” she snipped. “Just a ‘be back by sunrise’ comment? No ‘job well done’ or ‘great work, Hazel’?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was in the business of handing out compliments for employees just doing their jobs. If you need applause for every task, then you’re in the wrong place. Now, if you could get a move on so I can lock this place up and get on out of here.”

  She pushed her purse strap higher up on her shoulder and walked toward the front door. “Eight hours.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She looked over her shoulder toward me. “Eight hours. I lasted eight hours longer than you thought I would.” She gave me a “fuck you very much” smile, and I swore the girl almost curtsied toward me in the most sarcastic fashion before walking away.

  Why did I get the feeling that girl was going to be a pain in my ass?

  3

  HAZEL

  Every single inch of me ached, and when I said every inch, I meant every single freaking inch. From the top of my head down to my toes. I hadn’t even known toes could ache until I’d worked a day at the ranch. By week’s end, I was certain my body was going to rebel against any form of movement. But I kept at it, falling asleep around midnight and waking before sunrise to trek my way to the ranch.

  Ian hadn’t been letting up on me either. I was certain he was determined to break me, and truthfully, I wasn’t sure why. It couldn’t have been all because of the blow job, because if it was, that made Ian the pettiest man in the history of the world.

  I was certain his anger and grumpiness came from a deeper place than that. I just hadn’t a clue how to figure out where. Truth was, I didn’t really care to figure it out. As long as I did my job well, I didn’t have anything to worry about.

  He couldn’t get rid of me if I didn’t showcase any reasons for him to do so.

  After walking home after yet another physically draining workday, I found a trashed house. Since I’d begun working, Mama hadn’t picked up the chores that I normally handled. The sink was piled high with dishes, and the laundry was backed up. There were cigarette butts throughout the house, tossed around like the humans who lived there had never heard of an ashtray, and empty beer cans were scattered everywhere.

  Mama sat on the couch watching TV. She’d fallen asleep on that couch the night before, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d moved from that position since then.

  “About time you made it home,” she commented. “Charlie said you need to clean this place up before he gets home.”

  A cigarette sat between her lips, and that made my stomach turn. “Mama, I thought we were going to work on you giving up smoking for the baby.”

  “I am giving it up. I’ve been cutting back. Don’t come on in here judging me.”

  “I’m not judging. Just making sure you’re taking the best care of yourself.” Which she wasn’t, of course. Mama smoked a pack a day. Her cutting back wasn’t very likely.

  “I am. Plus, I smoked like a chimney with you. You turned out decent.”

  “Well, thanks, Mama,” I said, rolling my eyes. I pushed up my sleeves and walked into the kitchen to start working on the dishes. It was stupid that I was in charge of cleaning up the house even when I didn’t mess it up, but I wasn’t interested in getting on Charlie’s bad side. It worked best if I did the household chores and kept my mouth shut. Cinderella had two evil stepsisters and an evil stepmother; I only had an evil stepfather and an uninterested mother. I could’ve had it worse.

  After I finished the dishes, I tossed in a load of laundry and headed back to the kitchen. I swung the refrigerator open and noticed the lack of food. It seemed that if I didn’t go grocery shopping, it didn’t happen. I was sure Charlie was out picking up food along the way for himself, but Mama hardly left the house. If there wasn’t food in the fridge, she probably wasn’t eating, which was a problem. Especially when she was supposed to be eating for two.

  “Mama, did you eat dinner?”

  “Charlie said he was bringing Chinese.”

  I glanced at the time on the microwave. It was already past ten. Knowing Charlie, he could’ve been out for hours. Who knew when he’d bring the food for Mama?

  “I can make you a grilled cheese,” I offered.

  She accepted, and when I finished, I walked into the living room and joined her on the couch. She looked too skinny to be carrying a baby. She was almost five months but was hardly showing. Mama had always had a small frame, but I worried that she wasn’t getting enough nutrition throughout the day. When I received my first check, making sure the refrigerator was stocked up would be at the top of my list.

  “Are you done cleaning?” she asked, biting into her sandwich.

  “Yup. I just have to dry the load of clothes; then we’re all set.”

  “Good. That means we can talk now before Charlie gets home.” She placed her plate on the coffee table and took my hands in hers. “Charlie and I think it’s best if you move on.”

  My heart caught in my throat. “What?”

  “He said all your stuff needs to be out by today. He doesn’t like how it feels as if you’re always judging our way of life, and you don’t really keep the house together. You’re always running around to God knows where—”

  “I work, Mama.”

  “Sounds like an excuse to me. Anyway, you can’t stay here anymore. There just isn’t enough room with the new baby coming and all. Pack up your things and go.”

  “But I don’t have anywhere to go, Mama.” Did she really have me clean up the whole house before she kicked me out? Was that the woman I called my mother?

  She pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “You’re over eighteen, Hazel. It’s time for you to fly the coop. We’re not going to support you forever. So get a move on.”

  I wanted to argue with her and tell her how I’d done more for her over the past few years than she’d done for me. I wanted to yell and shout that if anyone had been acting like a burden, it was her and Charlie. I wanted to cry.

  Gosh, how I wanted to fall apart. My mother was all I had in this world, and she was pushing me away without a split second of guilt or remorse. She was back to watching the TV, blowing smoke from between her lips.

  When Charlie walked through the front door, my stomach churned. It was a good thing I’d made Mama a grilled cheese, because that man had no Chinese food to speak of.

  His eyes darted from Mama to me and back to Mama. “I thought I told you to have her out by the time I got back.”

  “I did. The girl’s hardheaded like her father,” Mama blurted, blowing out a cloud of smoke. She hardly ever spoke of my father. I didn’t even know his name, but whenever she brought him up, it was to insult him. I couldn’t really back him up much, seeing as how he meant nothing to me.

  “I have nowhere
to go tonight,” I said, standing from the couch.

  “Tough cookies. When I was eighteen, my parents kicked me out too. It’s called being an adult. If I figured it out, you can too,” Charlie ordered. “I’m done with you being a moocher and not contributing to the house. Get your shit out in the next hour and move on. Gotta turn that room into a nursery.”

  “It’s already past midnight.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” Charlie replied as he lit up a cigarette. “Just get out.”

  Mama didn’t say a word. She was back to watching television as if she hadn’t just taken part in crushing my soul.

  I swallowed hard and walked toward my bedroom. I didn’t know where I was going to go or what I was going to do. All I knew was I had sixty minutes to gather up my life and leave.

  There was something so unnerving about realizing your whole life could fit inside two garbage bags. I walked out of the house without any send-off and fought the tears that were pushing at the backs of my eyes.

  My first thought of places to go was Garrett’s trailer—my on-again, off-again boyfriend. He was also Charlie’s nephew and his right-hand man in their family business. Garrett’s big dream was to take over for Charlie at some point down the line. He idolized his uncle, which was a major flaw in my mind. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to be like Charlie. He wasn’t someone to look up to at all.

  Garrett’s and my relationship was currently off, due to the fact that he had a way of sleeping with women who weren’t me. He said it was my own fault, because I wouldn’t have sex with him, but that was idiotic. I’d never understand how a cheater could blame anyone other than their unfaithfulness, but then again, I was the dummy who went back to him time and time again.

  It was amazing how low self-esteem could make you fall into the wrong arms.

  As I approached Garrett’s place, I was reminded of a trait I’d inherited from my mother: dating assholes.

  “You can’t stay here, unless you get on your knees,” Garrett said, blowing out a cloud of smoke from his cigarette. He wore a plaid top and jean shorts that were too big for his slender frame. A ratty old belt held them up on his hips.