The Invisible Thread (The Unbreakable Thread Book 2)

by Lisa Suzanne

  If the child inside Maci is mine, I don’t want it to have the same life I did growing up. I don’t want it to have an absent father and a mother who doesn’t want it around. I can’t speak for Maci, but it’s fine if this is what she wants…though our conversations have made me think otherwise.

  The life of a traveling musician isn’t ideal for raising a kid. I’ve seen the trials Steve and Angelique have gone through to get pregnant and have a baby, and it wasn’t easy on their marriage—and that’s talking about two people who are in love and actually wanted a baby together. Why was it so easy for the two of us who barely know one another and so hard for people who really want it?

  It’s one thing thinking I might be in love with this woman, to want to spend more time getting to know her to see where our path might lead us. It’s a completely different notion to think about raising a child together.

  I don’t know much about her beyond the fact that she’s a great lay and she gives me some weird feelings that tighten my chest. Hell, that could be heartburn from the goddamn pizza I ate. There’s this elephant between us, an omission on her part and a conjecture on mine about who she really is, and it just feels like there are too many lies between us for this to ever work.

  “Well this one is,” she says. “It can’t be anyone else’s.” She lays a protective hand over her stomach and I realize she has no reason to lie to me. She’s not after my money—she has plenty of her own. She’s not after my name or my reputation like others might’ve been. “And every single time I look into his or her eyes, I’ll regret that.”

  Another painful emotion stabs at me, this time one of grief. She rolls out of bed and sets her hands on her hips. “Get out of here,” she says, and then she turns to rummage through one of her bags. She pulls out some clothes and heads toward her bathroom without another look in my direction. “I want you gone. I don’t want to see your ugliness when I get out of here. In fact, I don’t really want to see you ever again.”

  The door slams shut behind her, and I lie on her bed on my back for a minute and stare up at the ceiling. I breathe in the scent of lavender in her bedroom, and then I decide to give her what she wants.

  I walk quietly through her bus as I try to comprehend what just happened, but I’m overwhelmed with it all. And when I’m overwhelmed, my path turns destructive.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ETHAN

  It’s not even eight in the morning yet, but it’s five o’clock somewhere, right? I take another long pull from a fifth of whiskey as I watch my joint burn out in the ashtray. I blow out a breath. The shit that usually numbs sure as shit isn’t numbing today. The last time I took more than just marijuana and alcohol, though, my best friend ended up in the hospital with a close call.

  That was him, though. Not me.

  He was at rock bottom the last time it happened, and I’m not in that place. I still have a long way to fall before I hit it.

  I don’t admit to myself I’m on the fast path to get there, though.

  Instead, I text Chuck the code word, and a half hour later, he shows up on my bus with exactly what I’m looking for. It’s in a small brown paper bag, and before he hands it over, he says, “What else have you taken?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I need to know what I’m getting into, Ethan.” His dark eyes are serious, but he’s always serious. I realize not for the first time I don’t pay this guy nearly enough for the shit he does for me.

  “My two favorite Ws.” I reach for the bag, and he lets me take it.

  “Weed and whiskey?”

  I nod.

  “How much?”

  I hold up the nearly empty fifth of whiskey that has had zero effect on me so far. Fucking tolerance. I miss the days all this shit was new to me and I didn’t have to do twice as much to feel the effects. “This and one joint.”

  He sighs. “Fine. Be careful.”

  I roll my eyes as I open the bag. “Yes, mother.”

  “You wanna talk about why you wanted Xanax on top of that other stuff?” He’s always professional. I’ve never once heard him use a curse word, hilarious given my penchant for them.

  “Nope.” I take a pill out of the bag and swallow it with some whiskey. “How many milligrams?” I ask.

  “Two.”

  I pop another pill.

  “Ethan.” Chuck’s voice is a warning, and I stop at two pills. I don’t do a lot of Xanax, but I’ve had it before. He checks his watch. “It’s still early.”

  “I just want to sleep a few hours.”

  Mark appears behind Chuck. “What stupid shit are you up to now?” he asks.

  I hold up the bag in one hand and the whiskey bottle in the other. My movements already feel a little slow and I’m hungry as fuck all the sudden. “Chuck, go get me a breakfast sandwich.”

  He nods and leaves, and Mark starts in on me. “Can I ask why you’re drinking before nine A.M.?”

  I shake my head. “No, you cannot.”

  “I’ll do it anyway. Why?”

  I blow out a breath. “No reason.”

  He gets in my face. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “Fuck off. I don’t owe you shit.” I turn away from him and collapse on the leather couch lining one of my bus walls.

  Mark sits down beside me, stretching his legs out in front of him and putting his feet up on the bench across from us. “I’ll assume that’s whatever shit you’re on talking because we both know that’s not true.”

  As the Xanax starts to work my system and a haze of calmness rolls through me, I realize I don’t want to fight with Mark. He’s right—I do owe him a lot. This whole life is because of him, and more than one time over. He does his best to stop me from doing the stupid shit I do.

  “Dude, you’ve been here before,” I say, fiddling with the label on the whiskey bottle, “but not like this.”

  He leans his head back and stares up at the ceiling of my bus. “Not like what?”

  I shake my head.

  “Is that mustard up there?” he asks, squinting at a yellow mark on the ceiling.

  I look up with him and laugh. “Yeah.”

  “Do I want to know how it got there?”

  “Probably not.” I laugh again at the memory.

  He glances over at me. “I’ve been where before?” he asks.

  “What?” Confusion rolls over me as I try to process an actual conversation while three different drugs start to mingle together in my muddled brain.

  “You said I’ve been here before, but not like this.”

  I stare at him a minute, my brows drawn so tightly together that I feel it tingle in my nose. “Where? My bus?”

  Mark sighs. “Have you talked to Maci?”

  Maci. Dani. Sweet Dani Mayne. Maci Dane. Dani Dane Maci Mayne. “Yeah, I talked to her.”

  Mark says something, but my eyes won’t stay open and his words are just noises like in those old Charlie Brown cartoons when the adults are talking. They’re so heavy, my eyes, like someone’s balancing tiny weights on the end of each hair follicle of my eyelashes and the weights are getting progressively heavier. I allow them to slip all the way shut as a blackness pulls me under.

  * * *

  Strange how the numbing blackness is such a distinct contrast to the brilliant white light that shines into my retinas.

  I close my eyes to that damn bright light.

  I have no idea where I am. Don’t know how much time has passed. Not sure who is here with me.

  When I try to reach up to take care of a scratch near my forehead, I can’t. My arms are strapped down.

  “What the fuck?” I scream.

  My ears don’t hear the scream I’m sure my mouth is making, though. Instead, it’s a quiet rasping sound, faint and so soft that it doesn’t draw the attention of the others in the room.

  Seems accurate. I’ve been struggling my entire life to be heard and this time is no different—except I feel like if I’m not heard right now, I might die.

  “
He’s awake.”

  It’s the voice of an angel cutting into my consciousness, the sweet, beautiful sound that will save my soul. When I open my eyes again, though, it isn’t Maci standing in front of me.

  It’s Dani Mayne. Her long, brown locks dance around her shoulders and those genuine brown eyes look upon me with something akin to ardor. It’s more than love, more than admiration, more than affection.

  She’s holding a baby. Whose baby is that? The words form in my head, but they don’t seem to spit out of my mouth or roll off my tongue.

  I’m jumbled with confusion and a little dizzy, but I’m the only one in the room lying in a bed. I still haven’t pieced together where I am. It’s not my bus, not my home. Not Maci’s bus. It sort of reminds me of my childhood bedroom, but it’s too spacious and there’re too many people here. This many people wouldn’t fit inside my childhood bedroom.

  I turn my head to one side and see Mark, Steve, and James on one side of the room. They’re performing for the party, performing without me. Mark’s singing and Dani sings along with him. But who’s drumming? I turn my head the other way to see if I can find the drummer, and that’s when I realize I don’t actually hear any drums. Oh shit! I’m late for my gig.

  I scramble out of bed, but my arms are still tied down.

  “Let me go!” I scream. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!”

  Nobody hears me, though. I’m stranded as Mark and Dani sing, and I realize it’s a lullaby. It’s so soft and soothing, smooth and melodic and rhythmic that the weights pull on my lids again and I fall fast asleep.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MACI

  Prove it...prove it...prove it...

  Two words play on repeat in his pitch, just like the words talentless pig have for so damn long.

  I’m tired of his words hurting me. I’m tired of his words breaking me.

  Most of all, I’m just tired.

  Griffin has plans to take me somewhere in Hartford, but I’m not in the mood for tourism today. I sleep until I have to go to my soundcheck, hoping against hope once again I’ll be lucky enough to avoid running into Ethan. I don’t even know what to say to him at this point. Fuck off seems like an appropriate response.

  As I work the stage and fake enthusiasm for my short vocal check, I can’t help the rage that pulls at me.

  How am I supposed to get past his words?

  I get that he was scared, and I can even sort of understand if he was angry. He lashed out at me, though, and that wasn’t fair. I’m scared and angry, too.

  I don’t know how I can ever forgive him. I don’t know how we move forward together from here.

  Yet I keep thinking how it’s not just the two of us to consider anymore.

  When I leave the stage, Mark stands where Ethan has stood at the end of my set in the past. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m disappointed it’s Mark there when I want it to be Ethan. The thought is overwhelmingly confusing because he’s hurt me so many times.

  But of course I want it to be Ethan. Dani Mayne wanted it to be Ethan, and Maci Dane does, too. It’s fucked up and unfair, but...well, it is what it is.

  “Everything working right?” Mark asks.

  I nod. “Ask the tech, but it sounded fine to me.”

  “Sounded great from here.”

  He pauses, and I wait for him to fill the quiet space. He seems like he wants to say something—maybe to talk to me about Ethan. I wonder for a split second if Ethan already told Mark about the baby. I haven’t told anyone aside from Ethan. I’m not ready to share the news yet since I haven’t even allowed it to sink in myself yet.

  Griff hands me some water and a cigarette, and I’m just about to take a puff when I realize I can’t.

  I can’t smoke.

  I’m pregnant.

  I’m fucking pregnant.

  It hits me as I stand backstage after a soundcheck thinking about how I haven’t allowed it to sink in. This is the moment it finally does.

  I’ve known about it, I’ve processed it, I’ve started making sacrifices, and I’ve even told Ethan about it.

  But for some reason, the routine of my manager handing me a cigarette I can’t smoke is what makes it real.

  I’m bringing a life into this world. As strong as I claim to be, I’m not sure if anything can weaken a woman the way a child can—if we do it right, they take every last bit of our defenses, our emotions, and our love. They test our patience and they need us and they push us into sleepless nights and busy days. People say it’s worth it, but it’s hard to comprehend that when the person I’m supposed to be depending on the most to help me with this life-changing event is Ethan Fuller.

  I turn away from Mark and Griffin and pretend to take a drag before I toss the cigarette on the ground and stub it out with my shoe. I fake a cough because it’s the only viable excuse. Smoking will only exacerbate a cough, which would be hell on my voice tonight.

  “You okay?” Griff asks with concern.

  I nod and wave him off as I open the water. I avoid eye contact with both men staring me down. “I’m fine. I could use some quiet time on the bus.”

  I don’t say goodbye as I walk away from them. It’s rude, surely, but I’m too wrapped up in my head to notice or care.

  As I walk back to the parking lot still hoping to avoid Ethan, I crash into ten different walls of emotion. I want to let the anger stew and I want to hate Ethan for what he said earlier, but there’s a small part of me that understands.

  I pass by his bus and wonder what he’s doing. I said some pretty hurtful things right back to him. I was in the moment and I was angry, so I blurted the things that have been preying on my mind...even if they’re not true.

  Can I look at this baby and not see the boy who broke my heart? My first response is absolutely. Somehow despite everything, I already love the little peanut with a ferocity that surprises even me.

  Ethan and I obviously can’t leave things where they are right now. I don’t know how to make a future with him work, don’t even know if that’s something either of us wants...yet I know we have to find a way to at least be civil to one another because of the baby.

  I’ve created this persona of a strong woman, but today I need to dig deep to find her. A weak woman would let the man win. Weakness would allow the anger to win.

  It takes a strong woman to give him some compassion, to see he was just a scared little boy when he said those mean things this morning.

  And it takes the strongest woman of all to put this baby first as I find a way to forgive him and move forward.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ETHAN

  My arm is moving but the rest of me isn’t, and that’s what pulls me back to consciousness. My eyes fly open and land on Mark, who is trying to rouse me from slumber. It’s bright on the bus, but not as bright as that light in whatever weird psychedelic dream I just had.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I ask. My voice is raspy, but I hear it.

  “You passed out.” Mark looks pissed, and I’m a little worried I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up lots of times, though, and Mark always comes through for me.

  Somehow.

  “What time is it?” I ask as I sit up. A pain stabs through my skull, and I strongly regret the fifth of whiskey from this morning since I’ll be playing drums all night—something that, by the way, isn’t exactly an ideal remedy for a headache.

  I stretch my arms above my head.

  “Six,” Mark says, picking up the empty bottle of whiskey that lies on the floor beside me, as if it was dangling from my fingertips before it fell to the floor.

  “Fuck. Did I miss check?” I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms.

  He nods and sits across from me. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands in front of himself before he looks up at me. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About what the fuck you’re doing to yourself. We have a meet and greet in an hour and you’ve be
en passed out on your bus all day. You missed our afternoon meeting and soundcheck, and you’re not yourself. That’s saying a lot for someone as fucked up as you are, Ethan.”

  I blow out a breath and glance out the window toward Maci’s bus. I can see a light on over there, but my shade is drawn and so is hers.

  “What’s going on with you?” Mark asks.

  I scrub my hand down my jaw. “It’s this whole thing with Maci.”

  “I get it. You’re in love with her.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t show any emotion as he speaks to me. Just stares at me like he’s staring through me. “Remember the shit we went through when Reese and I were apart?” His eyes soften as he says her name.

  I nod, hating that he’s bringing that up again. He overdosed, but I’m the one who handed him the drugs. It could’ve been a lot worse, and we made promises to each other then that we’d stop being stupid and destructive.

  I guess I’ve broken more than a few promises over the years.

  “Go get her,” Mark says softly.

  “I can’t,” I mutter.

  “Why not?”

  I finally get up the courage to look my best friend in the eye and form the sentence I only learned about earlier today. “She’s pregnant.”

  Mark just stares at me silently for a moment, and I’m not sure how to judge that particular reaction. “And it’s yours?”

  I nod grimly.

  It feels like a lifetime passes before he finally responds, and when he does, his face breaks out into a huge grin. He stands and slaps me on the back before he tries to get me to stand. He gives me a hug. “Dude! Congratulations!”

  I shake my head. “No, not congratulations. This might be what you want, Mark, but it isn’t what I want. It’s never been what I want.”

  His smile fades slowly. “But you want Maci, right?”

  “Yeah, I want Maci. Of course I do. But now I’ll never have her. I’ll never get to experience life with her, just the two of us. I’ll never get to take her skydiving without worrying I’m risking the life of someone’s mother. We won’t get drunk or stoned together because we’ll be fucking parents. Don’t you see that?”