by T. I. Lowe
Brina stopped by so I could give Will some love before school. I’ve sent Dillon another message and filled him in on the night and that Mave is in a sleep coma. He sent back that it is probably exactly what Mave needs right now, and he promised to give us a few days before sending someone to escort Mave back to rehab. I have only a few days to help out the best I can. My sole duty is to feed him constantly and to let him rest.
After about another hour, Mave shuffles out looking rested, but boy does his head need a combing in a bad way. He sits by me and without a word I hand him the bag of biscuits and the quart of orange juice. After the five biscuits are gone and the juice chugged, he rewards me with another smile, although it’s a weak one.
“What happened, Mave?” I ask, needing the answer.
He shrugs his shoulders. “Curiosity nearly killed this cat,” he says. He looks at me remorsefully and gives me a sad smile that doesn’t make it to his bloodshot eyes. “I sure wish I could go back and stay on that dang path Preacher Floyd introduced me to. That dude was so right.”
“It’s not too late. You’re still here. God’s giving you a second chance,” I say to reassure him.
“I know. I’m not gonna squander it.” He shivers and looks lost in thought. “I’ve been scared straight,” he murmurs.
“I need you to get healthy.” Then I lay it on him. “You’re an uncle now and I need you to be a good one.” I know he’s not blood kin, but he might as well be.
“What?” he asks as he eyes my belly. “You don’t look pregnant.” His eyebrows are pinched together in confusion and he scratches at the side of his head.
I laugh at the hilarity of his statement. “Me and Dillon have a four-year-old son,” I say, and his jaw nearly hits the floor. I have his full attention now.
“Does Dillon know?”
“He just found out and that’s why he’s not speaking to me at the moment.” I pause before I finish my confession. I think it might do Mave good to focus on something besides his own personal demons at the moment. “Me and Dillon got married that night before y’all left for that first tour.”
“Holy sh…crap!” He stands up at this and looks like he’s about to laugh. “You’re joking!”
“No. No joke, Mave. That’s why I really need you to focus on getting better. We need you. Will needs you.”
“Will?” he asks.
“Yes. He gave me the will I needed to get through these years without Dillon and Aunt Evie. And I bet if you allow it, he can give you the will to get better too.”
He’s laughing now, and although it’s not the best timing, it sounds like music to my ears. “No wonder our man acted so weird all these years. You wouldn’t believe the number of babes that have thrown themselves at him. All the time.”
I shake my head. “I can just imagine.” I cross my arms and my blood starts to boil. Those are images I could live a lifetime without.
Mave laughs some more. “No. The dude wouldn’t even look at ‘em. We called him Saint Bleu,” he says. “Me and Max figured you must have broke him of all females. That man has loved you all his life.” He shakes his head. “It all makes sense now.” Mave’s words cause my throat to thicken with emotion. “You both are creeps for keeping it from us, though.”
Mave grabs me up in a fierce hug and I hold him tight back until I get a good whiff of him.
“Whew. Okay, buddy. Let’s head over to my cabin. Dillon left some clothes and I think we can make do with them. You gotta wash your hide.” I release him and Mave follows me out to the golf cart. The sun seems to hurt his eyes so he shields them the entire ride. He really looks rough and it’s got me seriously worried.
We pull up at my new place and I see the confusion in his features. I quickly reassure him the treasure trove still exists, and as we push through the front he eyes all of the toys scattered around.
“This is gonna be fun. I can’t wait to meet the little dude.” He smiles over at me.
I get him set up in Will’s bathroom and head to the kitchen to figure out if I have enough food to keep him fed. I seriously have my doubts. I hate to bother Jen, but she is going to have to do a grocery run for me. I’m making the list out when there’s a knock at the door. I hurry through the house to open it and find Tate standing there, with an overnight bag, and wearing his usual warm smile.
“What are you doing here?” I’m worried Dillon has sent him to collect Mave already.
“Dillon says I’m to help you in any way needed,” he says. This is a relief to me so I move out of the doorway and welcome him in.
“Perfect. I need you to grab groceries first thing.” Thank goodness for personal assistances, even if mine is only on loan.
“Sure thing.” Tate looks around, placing his bag by the couch. “How is he?”
“Showering at the moment. You might want to pick him up some clothes too.” I pause, trying not to get emotional because Tate is still waiting for me to answer. “He’s in bad shape, but please don’t worry Dillon about it right now. I just feel like I need some time with Mave. If he doesn’t seem any better by tomorrow, I promise I will call Dillon myself.”
“Okay,” Tate says.
So I finish writing out the shopping list and he heads back out for the groceries. I know Tate gets paid to do this, but the dude is just so pleasantly accommodating.
Mave reemerges later on, looking a bit more human with his long, wet hair tangle free and clean. Dillon’s clothes are way too big with the shirt nearly hanging off Mave’s bony shoulder, but they are going to have to work for the time being. The bottoms of the pants are dragging past his bare feet, but Mave seems not to mind. I notice he has to keep hitching the pants back onto his bony hips. I would offer him one of my belts, but I don’t think he would accept it. He places a kiss on my cheek, as he passes me. I know that’s his way of saying thank you. A few memories of Mave doing that very gesture to Aunt Evie flicker through my mind. I choke the emotions of it back down and follow after him. I seem to hardly be able to hold it together these last two days.
He shuffles into the kitchen without a word and grabs two family-sized bags of chips off the counter and a container of dip out of my fridge, along with the other gallon of tea I brought over from the trailer, and sets up shop in the hammock on my back deck. After the chip bags are empty and the tea drained, he is out like a light again. He seems so exhausted.
As we watched him sleep, Tate explained to me Mave had went through a pretty rough spell of insomnia. So all of this sleeping is making perfect sense. I asked Tate a few other questions that Dillon seemed to rather not answer. The main one I wanted answer was, “Did Mave overdose?”
He nodded his head grimly. “Pretty much. Talk about a wakeup call. Dillon found him backstage after the London concert and thought he was dead.” I gasped at this admittance. “He was close too. I saw something in Dillon break that night.”
I don’t ask any more questions after this. I don’t think I can stomach to know anything else. I leave Tate to watch over him as I busied myself with fixing Maverick a home-cooked meal.
He sleeps until Will gets home from preschool and starts worrying him to no end. The afternoon is filled with Mave going to town on Will’s little drum set. The set is so small that he has to kneel in front of them in order to play. It’s quite comical to watch. I shoot Dillon another text that Mave is going to break his son’s drums, but I don’t get a reply. The next thing I know, a van pulls up and unloads a full set of drums. How does Dillon make these things happen so quickly? I haven’t a clue.
So, for the next several days, I feed Mave abundantly with Will in awe at how much food the scrawny man can consume. Tate has had to make a few food runs in this short of time. Mave spends most of his time cramming food in his mouth and beating away on those darn drums until my ears won’t stop ringing. Will has loved it. The little guy would wear these ear protective headphones Dillon sent him and play his drums right alongside Mave. I’ve sent Dillon lots of pictures and videos. Still with no replies. Mav
e has shared a few video chats with Will and Dillon. I’ve eavesdropped and have not like what I’ve overheard. Mave has had a field day, ragging Dillon on our little secrets. I can tell by Dillon’s tone, he’s not taking too kindly to it either. I beg Mave to stop adding fuel to the fire. I desperately need Dillon to forgive me and Mave smearing it in his face isn’t helping my cause at all. The guy has been relentless.
Mave is definitely acting like his old self, albeit a puny one. He still sleeps a lot. Maybe it’s his body’s way of repairing the drug damage and giving him a break from the withdrawals. I’m thankful he gets those reprieves because I’ve seen his demons sneak up and attack him. He’ll break out in a cold sweat from out of nowhere and will wander off outside until the episode passes.
All in all, the last several days have been great. We talked Dillon into stretching the visit for two weeks, much to my relief. I’m not ready to let my friend go just yet. Mave is looking healthier and like his old self. We even snuck the boat out at sunset last night, with Tate captaining, for a cruise around the lake. It was a peacefully clear night, and Mave really enjoyed it. He also gave Will a more animated version of the whole boat explosion incident. He even included the arrest part, which I had omitted from my version.
But all things have to come to an end, it seems. So this morning after Will was off to school, Tate sat us down and said the rehab center is requiring Mave to return for another month. He also said that the band thought that it is in Mave’s best interest to finish out the program. Mave had nodded his head solemnly in agreement.
With a heavy heart, we said goodbye an hour ago. I hate goodbyes. I’m sick of being left. I feel like I have spent my life telling people goodbye.
Chapter Nineteen
I’ve been sick to my stomach with worry for the past week ever since Mave left. Dillon is keeping quiet and I’m becoming unnerved by that. I’m back in my office desk at the computer, trying to dig up anything on the band. Word is the band is back in the studio, recording a new album. I haven’t the faintest clue if this is true or not. Dillon won’t speak to me still. It’s been two and a half months and I’m getting right tired of it.
There’s a knock at the door and it brings me out of my depressing thoughts. “Come in,” I call out as I close my laptop. I’m not expecting the gentleman that enters. He’s in a perfectly tailored suit and is wearing horn-rimmed glasses. My stomach gets queasy at the sight of a fancy briefcase in his manicured hand.
He heads over with his free hand stretched towards me. I take it as he introduces himself. “I’m Bernard Rivers.”
“Jillian Whitman,” I say as I see Jen wander towards the door like a fly to the bug zapper. I ease over and close the door in her face.
I hear her call out on the other side, “Well now. That’s just flat out rude.”
I ignore her and head back to my desk. “How can I help you?” I ask as I motion for him to have a seat as I do the same.
“I represent Bleu Streak, and I have just a small matter of business to take care of that involves you.” Now my stomach plummets completely. I can barely breathe from the pain.
“Okay,” I say, nervously.
He pulls out a thick set of papers from his briefcase and hands them over to me. “The band label would like to compensate you for the songs you have written for previous albums.” He then passes over a check with more zeros than I have ever seen on a check with my name on it. I’m instantly dizzy from it. My songs have made their way on albums throughout the last several years, and I always thought it an honor they continued to use my lyrics.
“What?” I look at the check in disbelief.
“You realize your songs have been a major contributor to the success of Bleu Streak. It’s only fair business for you to be compensated. You will also begin receiving monthly royalty checks based on sales. This was decided upon by Dillon Bleu, and each band member has signed legally binding contracts in agreement to Mr. Bleu’s request. Your name is already on the albums, indicating you are the songwriter of the songs. Mr. Bleu wanted to settle this matter sooner rather than later.”
I can barely swallow at this point. It’s like Dillon is getting all of his ducks in a row. I try clearing my throat as the lawyer shows me where to sign on the documents. I should probably have my own lawyer look these over, but I’m in shock, and to be honest, I don’t care. The check sitting on my desk is much greater than my last five years’ worth of paychecks combined. I really never thought twice about ever making money off of Bleu Streak. This one definitely took me by surprise.
“You have any other papers with you that need my signature?” I nearly whisper and cannot meet his eyes.
“No. I only handle legal matters pertaining to the band. Not personal matters of Mr. Bleu.” Mr. Rivers answers without meeting my eyes either. It’s like we are playing don’t catch the eye game and it’s making me even more uncomfortable. So I guess he knows more papers are on the way. My eyes prick with tears at this realization.
The lawyer stuffs the papers back into his briefcase. “I represent other bands as well, Ms. Whitman. You are one talented songwriter. I would be happy to get you in contact with them.” He hands me a business card.
“I appreciate that, sir. But there’s no way I could ever write for another band. Bleu Streak is where my loyalties lie.” I try to hand him the card back, but he won’t accept it.
“Keep it in case you ever change your mind. You never know what the future holds,” he says with one more handshake, and then leaves me.
I stare at the check for the remainder of the afternoon with a feeling of pure dread. I worry my future is holding divorce papers and my last goodbye from Dillon Bleu.
Another week passes with no other lawyers turning up. But I’m still waiting. I just know it’s coming. I don’t want it to happen, but I’m just ready for it to be over with, all the same. I’m back in my office, trying to focus on work, but my focus is fuzzy. My brain is a constant haze lately.
“Hello, sunshine,” Jen says as she enters my office carrying her usual coffee cup along with a thick package. She plops the package down and sits opposite of me. I have already spotted that it is from California. “It came certified. I had to sign for it.” She’s waiting for me to open it but I can’t bring myself to do it just yet. I push it to the side and ask her to go check on the pool guy. Jen eyes the package suspiciously once more, but heads out the door without one word of comment.
Later this afternoon, Jen is about to climb the walls. “Open that dang package right now or I’m going to do it for you!” She lunges for it. I snatch it away before she can get ahold of it good. It’s driving her mad that I’ve not opened it.
“Your freaky nosiness is not healthy,” I bicker.
As it is, I can’t put it off any longer. I want the sting of it over with before Will gets home from preschool. I take a deep breath and tear into it. I am confused and then shocked at what I find. This was nowhere near what I thought would be in this envelope.
There are two first class plane tickets to California and two tickets to a private Bleu Streak performance, along with hotel reservation details. Dillon has scribbled a quick note: It’s time my son knows who I am. I expect you to be there. I want to call and scream at him that I’ve been working on that, but there’s no use. He won’t answer.
Jen sees the tickets. “Hot dang!”
I roll my eyes. “So I guess me and little man fly out in two days.” I rise from my desk on unsteady legs and set out to getting everything ready for this unexpected trip. Feelings of relief and apprehension wash over me at the same time. I guess it is literally time to face the music.
By the time the plane lands in California, Will is overjoyed and I’m overwhelmed. My nausea got the best of me twice during the flight. I’m a bundle of nerves, but feel a bit better when I spot Tate waiting for us in the terminal. He takes care of loading our luggage, and we set off towards our hotel in record time. This guy is quite efficient. I’m starting to see the tru
e value of having a personal assistant. I wish I could steal him away from Dillon. But Tate is a smart young man, and I think this is just a pit stop along his way to success.
“Dillon said to get you settled in and then escort you to the auditorium later,” Tate says as he opens the doors to the luxurious hotel suite.
“Okay,” I mumble as I take in the lovely space. Everything is plush in creams and light greys. Will spots a massive welcome basket, full of baked treats, and beelines straight to it. I follow behind him and rummage around for some plain crackers. I still don’t feel so good after my first-ever flight. I grab a ginger ale from the fridge that is conveniently stocked and plop down on the super-soft couch. Tate goes right to work on putting the luggage away in the bedrooms. Then he grabs Will a juice box and is leading him out to the balcony before I have enough wits about me.
“Tate,” I call weakly after him. “You don’t have to do all this, but thank you.” I lean my head back on the couch and shut my eyes, but open them again when Tate speaks.
“You don’t seem to be doing too well. Was the flight rocky?” he asks as he pauses by the French doors.
“First time flying, so I don’t know,” I say.
Tate quietly chuckles. “You’ve got a good hour before we need to get ready. How about you rest while me and this little dude hangs out.”
I whisper, “Okay,” and doze off immediately.
* * * *
The auditorium is only a few miles from the hotel, and we are there in a flash. I’m feeling a lot better after the nap and a soak in the massive tub. I’m wearing a simple white maxi dress that Leona dropped off while I was packing. She demanded I wear it to the concert. Will is sporting a Bleu Streak T-shirt that Dillon sent him with his jeans. He looks so handsome with his shorter hairdo. I styled it with some gel. He’s just so darn cute.
We enter through a side door and Tate escorts us to the front row. The place is already packed, and the crowd is murmuring away. I can’t help but be nervous. I make no eye contact as we take our seats. The person sitting next to me clears his throat, and it’s all I can do not to cry. I look up through watery eyes and see Kyle sitting beside me.
