by Jackson Kane
I bedded whoever I wanted without risk or attachment, easily moving from woman to woman. I did it all on my own terms, in full control.
I liked my life!
Feeling sorry for myself wasn't going to change anything.
The first step was to find a woman who wanted kids. Unfortunately that eliminated Gloria right off the bat. My heart sank a little. Gloria was just a pleasant distraction, one I'd have to get rid of if I wanted to seriously beat Lucas.
I walked into the kitchen fully dressed; swabbing the last bit of water out of my ears with a small towel I kept on my shoulder. I could smell that Gloria was cooking something, maybe even several somethings. When I finally turned the corner I saw that the counter top, stove and sink were full of pots, pans, dishes and utensils.
Had she used every piece of cookware I had?
“Hey,” she said, looking a bit flustered. “I started making some eggs, but I think your stupid oven is busted.”
“It's just unplugged,” I laughed. “All of this was for eggs?”
“That's what it started as. Then I looked up a quick recipe to make in the microwave, but that came out like garbage.” Gloria had the water running and was washing some of the messy dishes. “I just said the hell with it and ordered some food through the Foodler app on my phone.”
I laughed again, walking over to give her a hand cleaning up. “You didn't have to make anything.”
“I'm usually a good cook!” She protested “I just—I don't know what happened. I blame your kitchen. I think it hates me.”
“You're probably right. It hates me too.” I rolled up my sleeves, stood next to her and took a large glass casserole dish into the empty sink. Her shoulder brushed against my elbow, and sent goosebumps up my arm. I swallowed away the notion that forgetting about Gloria would be easy. “So what's for breakfast?”
“I hope up you like Chinese food.” Her smirk had a tinge of self-consciousness about it. It was actually kind of cute. “I couldn't find any diners that delivered.”
“I'm just impressed you found a Chinese place open at nine-thirty in the morning.”
Almost like clockwork, when we finished doing the dishes the food arrived.
“So what did they end up charging you with?” Gloria asked with half a mouthful of fried rice some time later.
She'd ordered a small mountain of food, which was good because I didn't realize how hungry I was until I could smell it. I didn't answer her until I downed half a container's-worth of Beef Pad Thai. “Possession with intent to sell.”
Gloria smiled mischievously. There was a glinting spark in her gray eyes. “Who'd of thought you had a wild streak in you?”
I opened my mouth to explain that it was my brother's doing, and because it was only a little over the limit, it being my first offense—and who my family was—I was most likely going to get the charges dropped. Maybe I'd have to pay a fine.
I was going to tell her all that, but I kept quiet and shrugged instead.
Let her think what she wants, I thought with a thrill.
I was always a bad boy in my own right, but I'd never been the wild one. That was always Lucas. Breaking the law and living by your own rules was liberating, I could see why it was so compelling to Lucas.
We chatted lightly as we finished our meal. When I put my chopsticks down triumphantly, the mountain of food was just scattered wreckage.
“Who was that guy at your party? The one that looked like the dirty biker version of Fabio?”
“Lucas,” I replied, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “My brother.”
“Ah,” Gloria pushed a small battered piece of chicken across her plate idly. “I take it you two don't get along.”
“That's a bit of an understatement.”
“What's the deal with you two? I have an older sister out in Washington and yeah, we fight a lot on holidays, but who cares? We're family. Why do you hate each other so much?”
The topic had come up a few times, and each time I was able to redirect it. It was hard for me to open up to strangers, even the ones I liked.
“We have our reasons,” I said cryptically. Gloria scowled at me. I sighed, lounged back into the couch and accepted that she wasn't going to let it go this time.
“Lucas is everything I'm not.” I paused and attempted to clarify. “Lucas— He should've been so much more. He's naturally talented in many ways, not just with music.”
“Wait, Lucas King—Lucky Luke from Gunmetal Tears?” I could see the realization dawn on her, followed by a feeling of foolishness that she didn't figure it out sooner. “How do you mean more? Those guys had at a few bestselling albums...when they were still together. Not many people can pull off the whole rock star thing.”
This wasn't coming out right.
Gloria quickly texted a message then set her phone back down.
I could talk for hours about so many things, but my family was not one of them. It was easier for me to compartmentalize all that pain and anger, push it away, and focus on other things that were important like running my business.
“I worked my ass off for my degree in some of the toughest schools in the world, then had huge shoes to fill when my father got sick and couldn't run the family company anymore.
“My brother should have been right there with me the whole way. My father prepared us to take over an empire and when the time came, Lucas wouldn't answer the call. He'd rather go off do drugs and be a waste than to uphold the King legacy.”
“Who’s to say the King legacy ends at business?” Gloria asked, playing the devil's advocate.
“That's how we are though. For generations the King family ran businesses. Ever since the eighteen hundreds when Gerald King came to America with the fleet of ships he owned.”
“Gunmetal Tears were a big deal for their genre. Your brother definitely built something there.”
“That's just a flash in the pan,” I waved it off, not able or willing to hide my disdain for his band. “Everything I struggled with in high school, he just breezed through. Lucas could've been every bit the businessman I am, probably even more so. He's naturally cunning and brilliant, but would rather squander that immense potential than use it for anything productive.”
“I don't know... It sounds like he's just doing what he loves.”
There's doing what you love, then there's being selfish.
After everything our father did for him, taking a stake in the family business was the least he could do. If anyone should understand what it was like to be a part of something greater it should've been Lucas. He'd be nothing right now if it wasn't for my father.
And he repays him by abandoning everything the King family stands for?
For as mad at Lucas as I was, I couldn't tell Gloria any of that.
“Your sister in Washington—” Instead, it was better to just change the subject. “What does she do?”
“She's married to a Navy seaman and has two kids.” Gloria snorted in exasperation. She must not approve of the guy her sister is with. “That's what she does.”
Gloria's phone vibrated. It was a text from a friend.
“Looks like Lucky Luke is playing an acoustic show this Friday at the...” Gloria's face screwed up like she'd drank some spoiled milk.
“What is it?”
“He's playing at the Family Room. I thought they shut that cesspit down.” She glanced up at me then added, “It's this shitty rundown venue the next town over that's been around way too long and needs to get bulldozed.”
“I take it you're not a fan?”
“Absolutely not. The owners are assholes. It's got a reputation for letting minors drink. My friend's underage sister left there drunk one night and wrapped her car around a tree.”
I wanted to ask if the girl was alright, but the dark expression on Gloria's face told me she wasn't.
“Sorry to hear that,” I said. During the lull in conversation that followed, a wicked idea came to me. “Are you free Friday?”
“Hmm.” Gloria thought about it, then shrugged. “I should be able to have Judy cover for me. What do you have in mind?”
“Payback.”
Chapter 13
Lucas
“What's up, guys? I'm from Gunmetal Tears. They call me Lucky Luke.” I said into the microphone at the Family Room.
The packed house lost their fucking minds.
I felt the vibration of their screaming worship deep in my chest. It made me smile. This was my first time back on stage in years. There was this ferocious energy you get while you perform, it was a drug all its own.
I knew a lot of guys that chased that high off stage and never lived to tell about it.
Music was always different for me. It wasn't about a god complex. It wasn't about the money or prestige, or even fucking whoever you wanted. It was about releasing all the anger, pain, hope and love that threatened to tear me apart now that Molly was gone.
It was the same reason I started playing professionally to begin with.
I ran my fingers through the frets of my Fender guitar and began to strum out the opening to our first number one hit. The guitar and mic were hooked into the same acoustic amplifier stack, otherwise they'd have been lost to the roar of the nearly two hundred people packed into this club.
Sadness, discord, longing, and rage; our dark, melancholy rock tapped into the pain that so many other people felt when they lost someone they loved. Was it really such a wonder that our songs resonated with so many people?
To fuck up and hurt people was all so human.
The first song bled into the second, then the third, then the forth. My fingers ached from a lack of practice. It had been a long time since I played any of these songs even privately. I didn't need to play them often anymore to do them justice. The notes, the words, it was all just as much a part of me as the nose on my face.
One of the two color changing spotlights on me popped loudly, then went dark. I'd never played the Family Room before. The place was a fucking joke. I was told that it used to be an Italian restaurant twenty years ago. In that time, all they'd done to the place was tear out the seating to open it up into a big hall.
The only modern thing about it was the sprinkler system that was no doubt forced onto the owner. That was one of the few things I always checked in person when I booked a gig. No pyrotechnics and a working sprinkler installed. As long as the venue was safe for my fans, I could give a shit about the color of the M&Ms backstage.
Honestly I didn't give a damn about the room's natural acoustics or even about the audio quality. My style always had a dirty sound to begin with. I'm glad they liked the music, but I didn't play for my fans.
I played for myself. This was my church. Molly was my God and this was how I prayed to her.
I hadn't talked to her since I dropped her off after the party. I spent that night outside, about a block away keeping vigil over her in case her asshole ex-husband came back.
He didn't.
The following week I kept my distance and watched over her silently in a rented car. The inheritance war was on in full. Dick and I fucked with each other as much as possible. I spread rumors that he had gonorrhea, he made sure that every time I stepped into a public place I was mobbed with people.
We were little boys throwing toys at each other and sneaking painful jabs in when the adults were out of the room, except we were all grown up and could do far worse than throw tantrums.
The thought of fucking anyone but Molly now that she was single felt like a betrayal, even if she didn't want me any more. For as ruthless and corporate as Dick was, I was still pretty sure he wasn't going to knock some random girl up to win a bet.
We were at a stalemate so we just made the other's life as miserable as possible.
“Fuck all this shit.” Halfway through my fifth song I stopped. I couldn't do it. I couldn't mindlessly play Gunmetal's hits. All I did this past week was watch over Molly and write music. I barely ate or slept.
“You guys want to hear something new, something bloody, something downright heartbreaking?” I walked the stage, pausing between certain words to thrust the mic toward the audience.
The crowd cheered after new, bloody and heartbreaking. Cell phone cameras switched from flash to record. There were a few songs and stories kicking around my mind and heart, but nothing was finished enough to be recorded yet.
In the grand scheme of things it didn't matter. I had no idea what I was going to say or play. I opened my mouth and let out the words that I needed to get rid of.
“I wanna tell you a quick story of this prick I knew once. Lets call him... ” I set the mic on the one stool in the middle of the stage and took a long draft of the beer that was resting there. “Unlucky Luke.”
The crowd laughed.
“Luke once knew this girl. Dark haired, dark eyed, bright-souled. You always hear about the one that got away.” I plucked at my strings somberly. “But I'm not talking about her. I'm talking about the one he stupidly pushed away.
“Seasons turned to dust and memories, stars fell from the sky, and the fiery heart that led his way cooled and quieted.” I walked my fingers higher up on the guitar's neck like a hangman's noose as I played. “Y'see he waited too long.
“Waiting is a game for fools and Unlucky Luke was their king!”
I couldn't tell when it happened, but at some point my speaking voice had become my singing voice. I hadn't planned on playing Molly's song. It was like a cough that itched the bottom of my lungs, it needed to come out.
“Fate stole him, but fear kept him. He won every battle, but lost every war. Time and victory defeated him.”
I strummed hard, squeezing the head stock tightly just below the tuners and let the instrument hang by one hand. The thrum choked off into a flat, uncomfortable sound. I didn't wear a strap so the motion gave the effect that the gallows had gave way and the guitar hung by its neck until dead.
“When he finally came home to his castle someone else had already fallen out of his throne. All she wanted was love.”
I snapped up the guitar and started playing again. The sound was rough and loud, discordant at first, then it settled into a fast melodic rhythm.
“The king of fools should've moved heaven itself—” My hands moved automatically, continuing the same melody, but my words broke off when I saw Dick enter with the dark haired girl I saw him with at the party.
Were they a thing? Thoughts of losing to Dick twisted my stomach into a knot.
Right behind the smug looking couple, another man walked in. He had a dark formal uniform and badge, but no gun. The man didn't look happy. When he pulled a pad out of his breast pocket I realized he wasn't a cop.
He was a fire marshal.
The only thing fully up to code on this place was the sprinkler system and that was probably done only to avoid suspicion. How the Family Room snuck under the radar with everything else for so long was a testament to the power of bribes.
This place was about to go down. Hard.
There was a burst of movement behind me. I snapped a glance over and saw the club's owner run out the back entrance where the bands load in their gear. He realized he was fucked and decided to escape and cut his losses. By the speed he was running there must've been more going down than selling beer to minors.
He must've been selling drugs too.
On the way out, that unbelievable prick pulled the fire alarm.
Well that was one way to ensure people don’t chase after you.
That new sprinkler system sputtered for half a second then rocketed into action, water seemed to rain down in buckets. I immediately stopped playing as a look of abject terror washed over the crowd.
For the second time in one night the crowd lost their minds, but this time for a darker reason. There wasn't any fire, but there was a real threat that people could be hurt by trampling.
“Everyone, calm down!” I shouted through my microphone. The water hadn't knocked out the power to my speakers yet. Eve
n with the added amplification my words were still only barely audible over the frenzy of fear. “There is no fire!”
Both Richard and the fire marshal were doing their best to herd the horde of people through the open double doors. The utter mistake of Richard's timing was written all over his face.
He thought he'd close the place down as I was on stage and make me look like an asshole for not completing the show. It actually wasn't a bad plan. Unfortunately he had no idea it would turn into a goddamn riot.
I wanted to jump down and help the people who fell, but I'd just be adding another body to the chaos. I stayed on the stage and tried to calm everyone as best I could. I told them a fire marshal was already here. I told them where the exits were and to pick up the damn people they pushed over.
For nearly five minutes it was madness in that little club. It took so much longer for people to get out of there than it should've. I shivered to think what the place would've been like had it really been on fire.
The thought made me nauseous.
Soon enough the last of the stragglers walked or were helped out the door. Fortunately it didn't look like anyone was hurt too badly. No one had to be carried out, thank Christ!
The sprinklers never stopped. I was soaked to the bone as I did a final sweep to make sure no one was trapped anywhere or needed help.
And for a short time I was the only person left inside the sad, waterlogged building.
I stepped back up on the stage and attempted to finish my song to Molly.
The mechanical rainfall had long since shorted out my amp and ruined all my equipment. The guitar wasn't electric, so I ripped out the chord and continued to play. The hollow laminated spruce and mahogany body filled with water, making the guitar heavy and giving the music a tinny sound. The course strings made my water-wrinkled fingers bleed.
I still couldn't find it in myself to stop.
“The king of fools should've moved heaven itself to get her back,” I sang to no one.
In a movie, Molly would've walked in, heard my song and seen me soaked and pitiful. We'd have met halfway in a sweeping hug, then I would've kissed her under the fake rain.
