Backstage

by A. m Madden

  I decided to divorce your father. He made things very difficult for me, but I was relieved to be free of him. I moved in with my sister shortly after. Your Uncle Abe moved into the house once I left.

  Trestan, your father died in prison of a heart attack. It was sudden and unexpected. What was left of your father’s fortune went to Abe. I was left with nothing, neither were you. What Abe did receive is barely enough to live on.

  Abe came to see me a few months ago. It was then I discovered what your uncle was truly up to. He became obsessed with your whereabouts. He thought I knew where you were, and was covering for you. Truth is, I did know where you were.

  I saw your picture on a billboard in Vegas. I was there on a short getaway with your aunt. You’ve changed, but I would recognize you anywhere. I hired a private investigator to find you. I wanted to be sure you were safe. If I could find you, so can he. I led your uncle to believe you wrote to me once, and that you left the country years ago.

  The reason your uncle’s looking for you is because your dad’s will detailed several secret vaults located in the old house. When Abe opened them, they were empty. He accused me, of course. I had no idea they even existed. He said the only other person who could have known was you.

  He knows Trestan. He knows you stole the cash. He’s hunting for you. He does not know you changed your name, or that you are in New York. Please be careful. He’s a dangerous man, probably more so than your father was.

  I hope you take this letter for what it is intended. I want you to be aware of his plans, and protect yourself. I’ve told no one that I found you, not even your aunt. It will go with me to the grave. I want you to know, I’d die to protect you. Please believe that.

  I have resigned myself to the reality I will never have the chance to make amends with you. I understand, and I’ll have to live with that. Please know I do love you, I am sorry, and I wish you only happiness.

  Your mother,

  Monica

  What the fuck am I supposed to do with this info? I take the beer bottle I was drinking from and throw it against the wall.

  Motherfucker!

  I start pacing my apartment like a caged animal. My eyes dart around, looking for something else to destroy. My next victim is a lamp on my end table.

  FUCK!

  I can’t stay here. I need air. I grab the keys to my bike and yank the door open, practically pulling it off its hinges. I come face to face with a wide-eyed Tara.

  “Trey, what’s wrong?”

  “What are you doing back?” I ask, my voice devoid of all emotion.

  “Um…I wanted to make sure you were ok.” Wordlessly, I push past her into the hall. “Where are you going?” she asks, reaching for my arm.

  “I need to go.” I storm down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time. I don’t even know if I shut my apartment door.

  So the prick is looking for me. He’ll find me. I don’t have a doubt that he’ll find me. Eventually, he will show up in my life. I need to be ready, but how? How am I supposed to prepare for this?

  I practically sprint to the lot where I keep my bike. Once on it, I push it as fast as these city streets will allow. Needing an open road, I head over the bridge and drive for hours in Jersey.

  I run through the worst-case scenario. He knows I have evidence against him. That’s what will drive him. The cash I stole is a pittance compared to what my dad had, but if he were penniless, even what I took would be better than nothing. If he were to find me, he’d also know I’m a successful rock star. Besides wanting money, can he ruin me? My crime is killing Trestan Barton. That’s all I can be accused of. If my past were exposed, sympathy would be more probable than disappointment. So how can he hurt me? What am I afraid of?

  It’s miles later when I realize what it is that I’m afraid of. It would bring Trestan Barton back to life. It would resurrect him and that’s not acceptable. I buried him a long time ago. It would resurface feelings and emotions that I buried a long time ago.

  I feel like a sitting duck. I don’t operate this way. I don’t wait for things to happen. I actually debate on contacting him first, beating him to the punch. And do what? Bribe him?

  My arms are numb from the chilled air whipping against my skin. It feels like knives shredding me to pieces. When I lose sensation in my hands, I head back to the city. I drove a lot farther than I thought. It takes me hours to get back.

  By the time I pull into my lot, my body hurts and my brain hurts more. I’m no closer to figuring out my next move than I was before I left.

  She sits waiting for me on my couch. I’m surprised to see her. This chick simply won’t give up on me. The shattered glass is gone. The letter sits on my table, just where I left it.

  “Hey,” she says when I close the door behind me.

  “Why did you stay?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admits, frowning. “I debated on leaving. I guess I felt that you needed me right now, even if you don’t realize it yourself.”

  “You cleaned up,” is all I can come up with.

  She nods, her eyes never leaving mine. I have no idea if she read the letter. My guess is she did. Part of me couldn’t blame her, but the other part feels it’s none of her business. I glance at it, sitting open and exposed on my table.

  “Did you read it?”

  “No. I wanted to, but I didn’t. There’s no reason for you to believe me, but I swear it’s true.” She sighs, her eyes pleading with me. “Trey, it’s up to you if you want to tell me what that letter says. I hope you do. Whatever is in that letter had you throwing things against walls and disappearing for hours.” She stands and walks to the window. Her arms are folded around her body. Her back is rigid and stiff. When she turns, her eyes are glassy. “I care about you, Trey. I don’t want to see you hurting. I guess I stayed to tell you that. To tell you I’m here for you…for now.”

  For now? She’s at her limit. She’s going to give up on me.

  I can’t fucking blame her. Why the fuck should she keep subjecting herself to my bullshit? The thought of her walking away causes confliction. It would solve a lot. It would put the lid back on my emotional ineptness. She goes, problem solved. Except that I’m still a fake, and I’d miss her.

  “Tara, I…”

  Shit. I don’t know what to say to her. I’ve been standing this entire time, awkwardly by the door. The distance between us is metaphoric. I robotically move to the furthest chair from where she stands to sit heavily. Instead of looking at her, I stare at the floor between my bent knees.

  “I’ll wait for you to call me.” She’s giving me time, a window of opportunity to work out my shit. I nod, wordlessly, still staring at the floor. Tara comes to stand before me, her feet now in my line of vision. I lift my head to meet her stare. She bends, places the softest kiss on my lips, and leaves my apartment.

  When the door clicks shut in its jam, I feel a tiny pinch in the center of my chest.

  I haven’t seen her. I haven’t spoken to her.

  I’ve spent every moment since she left thinking of her.

  I think I fell in love with her, and I need to end things because of it.

  Running would be my normal response. Leave it all behind. I don’t handle shit like this well. I was never trained to. I was trained to suppress and survive, but running is no longer an option in my life. I have no choice but to stay, which is why I need to end it with her. I can’t drag her into my mess. For selfish reasons, I can’t worry about her when I need to worry about myself. I need to focus on me: my life, my choices, my plan. She never had a place in my plans. She doesn’t fit into my life. She doesn’t belong in my future.

  The last time I loved someone, I clung to her. I desperately tried to keep her in my life, conjuring up a bright and shiny future where we could live happily ever after. It got her killed. I didn’t have the balls to protect Taylor by walking away. I dragged her into my hell, and it got her killed. I refuse to repeat that pattern. My penance for killing her is to be alone
. It’s all for the best.

  I talk a great game as I sit alone in my apartment when Tara is nowhere near. Her smile, her gorgeous eyes, her scent, her touch aren’t here to influence my decision. I’ll have to pull out my inner-prick when I do see her. I can’t let her presence influence me. I’ll need to send her away. Once I do, I’m sure that this nauseous, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach will eventually go away as well.

  It did once before.

  To add insult to injury, I have the twin’s party today at Jack and Leila’s. I’m not in the mood to play nice with my friends and pretend all is great in my life. I should have left for the party already, but I’m stalling. If I don’t show, I’ll hurt Leila’s feelings. Jack will be pissed at me for hurting his wife’s feelings. I’ll have to explain why I didn’t show. Further dragging the people I love into my septic pool.

  So instead, I need to put on my “Trey Taylor” mask and play that role. Even though, I’m tired of playing this fucking role.

  “Ugh, fuck,” I sigh.

  I snatch my keys, resigning myself to face this torturous day. With each mile marker I pass on the stupid parkway, I feel like turning around and heading in the opposite direction.

  By the time I arrive, the party is in full swing. I can hear the chatter as I walk around the house to the deck.

  “He bet me a hundred bucks that Leila will get pregnant by the time the twins are a year old,” Scott tells Jack as Leila looks on.

  Jack exchanges a look with his wife, and then levels Hunter with a glare. “Really? You’re betting on my wife?”

  “Whatever,” Hunter says, waving at him like he’s a bug. “So are you going to slip out?”

  “Who’s slipping out?” I ask as I approach their circle. “Lair, you’re having slipping problems? Sorry, Dude.” I kiss Leila’s cheek before adding, “Actually, I should say sorry to you.”

  She shoves me with a scowl, “You’re late.”

  “No, I’m not. It’s still the twenty-fourth.”

  “You rode your bike here?”

  “No, I walked the seventy miles.” I lift my helmet and add, “This is just in case I got hit while walking the shoulder on the parkway.” Leila huffs at my little joke.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Tara stepping onto the deck from the kitchen door.

  Fuck. When I look down at Leila, guilt is written all over her face.

  Fuck me!

  “She’s my friend. What’s the problem?” Leila asks, becoming defensive at my reaction.

  “She’s upset with me. So, thanks,” I shake my head and walk over to where Tara stands.

  “Hey.”

  She doesn’t respond, but gives me a timid smile. I kiss her quickly and ask, “Can we talk?” I motion for her to go down to the beach. I wasn’t prepared to do this today. I guess the universe doesn’t give a flying fuck. Its clearly telling me that it’s time to get it over with.

  We walk side by side around the dune to a secluded spot on the beach. She removes her shoes and sits on the sand. All I can focus on is her bottom lip that’s pulled tight between her teeth. Her short skirt rides up from her bent legs. Her golden hair blows gently in the breeze away from her face, exposing the smooth skin of her neck that I love to kiss.

  Taylor is dead because of you. I remind myself. Let Tara go.

  As I sit beside her, she blurts out, “I know what you’re going to say.” She turns her head to stare at my profile.

  My admission comes from avoiding her gaze.

  “Why?” She reaches out, placing her cool hand on my arm. “Why do you constantly push me away?” She only gives me a few seconds before she barks, “Why, Trey?”

  “I’m not good for you.”

  “Bullshit!” She stands abruptly, putting some distance between us. “Bullshit,” she repeats, looking at me with a pained expression. “You are good for me. I feel something when I’m with you. I know you feel it, too.”

  I shake my head in denial. “I don’t.”

  She drags in a quick, shaky breath as if my words punched her in the gut. Now it’s her turn to avoid my gaze. She comes back to where I’m sitting, snatches her shoes and storms off.

  I’m not done yet. I haven’t said anything to sever all ties to me. I need to close this lid now, even if it means saying something to hurt her. I follow her to her car and stop her from getting in. “Tara, we need to talk.”

  “Really? I’ve been trying to talk to you for months. You chose to shut me out. Now, because you have something to say, I need to sit here and let you? Even though I have no interest in hearing what you have to say? Don’t I get a choice now?”

  Ignoring her point I ask, “Please follow me to my place?”

  Shockingly, she does. On the ride back, I can only imagine it’s because she feels we’ll work this out. She must think that we’ll get over this, just as we have every other time I was being a prick toward her.

  Once in my apartment, her proximity clouds my resolve. So I slip back to what I’m comfortable being…a prick.

  And now we’re at an impasse. She sits across from me, probing me with her big brown eyes.

  “Do you feel anything? After all these months, do you feel anything for me, at all?” she asks, tears swelling in her eyes.

  If she only knew.

  If she only could read my thoughts to know how I can’t stop feeling for her. I wish I could shut it off, turn it the fuck off. Sometimes, I wish I never met her. How fucked up is that? How damaged and broken am I? I finally find someone I can’t breathe without, and I’d rather it had never happened?

  With this comes shit. Tons and tons of fucking shit that I don’t want to deal with. I never wanted to deal with it again. And here I am, knee deep in all the shit that comes with a relationship…all the shit that comes from being accountable to someone…all the shit that is making it hard for me to not reach out, pull her into my arms, and tell her how I really fucking feel.

  But I can’t.

  I can’t tell anyone how I really feel. I’ve become a master at hiding my feelings. Not even those closest to me have a clue who I am. And I like it that way, because that way I can’t get hurt.

  “I’m going,” she says when several long minutes pass, and I still haven’t said a word. She stands at my door, one hand on the knob. She’s waiting for me to stop her, and I can’t.

  She pulls in an audible, ragged breath, turns to meet my gaze and says, “I’ll say it. I’m not a coward. I love you.” With that, she walks out the door, never turning back.

  And still, I can’t.

  I’ve prepared myself for days. I visualized this exact scene in my head. So why do I feel a crushing pain in my chest when it becomes reality? It’s the same pain I felt the day I found Taylor. Even though it’s been a decade, the memory of it crashes into every fiber of my being. I’m reliving it. I promised myself I would never allow someone to make me feel this pain ever again. Here I am feeling it again, but this time it’s worse. Because, this time I can easily stop the pain…and I’m choosing not to.

  When I lost Taylor, there was a finality I couldn’t change. She was gone. I would no longer ever be able to see her again. Knowing Tara walks this earth is only enhancing my pain. Knowing that I pushed her out that door is causing tiny cracks in my cement walls.

  It’s been four days since I broke up with Tara. I’ve kept to myself, not leaving my apartment. We left the party minutes after I arrived. Leila called me the next day to be sure we were ok. I apologized for ditching so soon, but she said it meant a lot to her that I showed up at all. Jack called me yesterday. They were having everyone at the house again and asked me to join them for their Memorial Day barbeque. I declined, as I normally do. He understood, reminded me of our meeting this week to discuss the new album, and he said he’d see me then. Leila called again last night to remind me of said meeting and to nonchalantly ask if I had spoken to Tara. She tried reaching out to her the day after the party to see if she was ok. She has yet to hear back from her.<
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  I asked Leila to give her space. Without going into detail, I explained whatever was going on between us was over. The silence on the phone was a very clear indicator of the disappointment Leila felt in me. When she finally did speak, all she said was that she was there for me if I needed her, but she would no longer be bothering me about Tara.

  It is what it is.

  With time, I’m hoping my world will return back to normal. I can accelerate it by going about my Trey-like ways. After my call with Leila, I needed a distraction. I needed something to cancel out the heaviness I felt in my chest. There’s only one thing that can. Fucking. I headed to one of our regular hangouts, sat at the bar and scoped out the possibilities. A few beers later, one of the chicks that often hangs out there approached me. I’ve fucked Kristin before so all pleasantries of first encounters weren’t needed. We went back to her place because I’m not ready to have someone in my bed yet.

  Kristin was just what I needed. Seconds after we entered her apartment, while still fully clothed, she was on her knees sucking my cock back to life. I came like a fucking geyser. Still, I had enough left to fuck her against her wall, bent over her kitchen table, and on her hands and knees on her living room floor. Not bad for one night. Better than three hours of therapy. I left Kristin in the wee hours of the morning, hoping to also leave behind my emotions. Normally, my emotions would disappear after a night of mindless fucking. This time they didn’t. They followed me all the way home, into my apartment, and into my sleepless night.

  They are still with me even now as I’m sitting in my apartment, staring at the walls, and thinking about Tara. A knock on my door causes my stone cold heart to flip. A tiny part of me is hoping it’s her when I open the door.

  It’s not.

  A tall, scruffy kid asks, “You Trey Taylor?”

  “Yeah.”

  He hands me a sealed envelope and takes off. “Hey, who the fuck are you?” I call after him in the hall. The only sound is his pounding feet on the stairs. What the fuck? Any wacko can easily find me now? Regret hits me that I didn’t listen to Jack and move into a doorman building.