Heartstrings: A Dirty Affliction Novel

by Regina Frame

  I wasted no time climbing in the driver's side and pulling away. I just hoped that I could find some small amount of closure in knowing that vile piece of shit wasn’t still breathing.

  ***

  "Please tell me that what you're cooking is for me and not the dog this time."

  I walked over to where Honor was sitting at the counter with her laptop open, leaned in, and kissed her on the top of the head. Her eyes never moved from the screen in front of her.

  "What the fuck?"

  There on the screen staring back at me was the picture of the little medical assistant from Dr. Perkins’ office. My arm around her, smiling for the picture. There were even hash tags. #ChanceRobertsLooneyTunes #NutcaseRockstar #CooCooNest

  "We've got to get this taken down," Honor declared.

  "It's too late. It's already out there. Look." I pointed to the screen. "Five thousand likes already. There are over three thousand shares, and increasing by the second. It's out there for the world to see." My hands went to my hair, and I pulled hard. "Mother fuck!" I shouted. "She said she was a damn fan. I only agreed to the picture because she said she was a fan. The bitch sold me out!"

  Honor closed her laptop and stood, wrapped her arms around me, and pressed her cheek against my chest.

  "Chance." I took a deep breath and met her gaze. "Don't shut me out. We can get through this together. Okay?"

  Her eyes searched mine, reading me like a book. She knew my thoughts before I did, because she connected with me like no one else. I was thinking about the drugs, and she knew it.

  "Yeah. We need to get Jinx over here. Get a plan of action together."

  "I'll call him."

  I gave her a nod in understanding.

  "I'm going to shower."

  I turned on my boot and headed down the hall to my room. I closed the door and turned the lock as slow as I could so that it wouldn't be obvious that I'd just locked my girlfriend out. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I sat on the bed and pulled up my contact list. My finger hovered over Teake's name as I warred with the drug addict sitting on my shoulder.

  Go ahead and call. She doesn't have to know. What harm could it do? Just this one time, and then you can stop.

  My shoulders sagged, the feeling of defeat weighing heavy on me. My heart stuttered in my chest when Honor knocked on the bedroom door.

  "Chance?" She rattled the doorknob. "You locked the door?" I tossed my phone on the bed and opened the door.

  "I was taking a piss. Didn't realize I locked the door." That lie rolled off my tongue easier than it should have.

  She smiled at me. A big, beautiful smile that warmed my heart, but one that I didn't deserve. Her eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for some sign that I was using again, and she had every right to. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I had been only seconds away from making that call and blowing any chance that I had with her.

  "I talked to Jinx," she stated, dropping down on the bed and eying my phone where I had tossed it when she knocked on the door. "He's going to call the band's lawyer and see if he can meet with us here. He seems to think that doctor can lose his license, or at least have a big fine slapped on him for this. Even though it was his staff that leaked the information, he can still be held responsible."

  "I knew to a certain degree that my life would be on display for the world to see. The drugs, the women, and even my rowdy behavior over the past few years would be the topic of many gossip sites and magazine articles. It sucks, but I expected it," I admitted, staring straight ahead, shaking my head. "What I didn't sign up for is my childhood, my medical history, and all the shit that goes with it to become public knowledge. That's where I draw the fucking line."

  ***

  Honor

  My fingers trembled as I scroll through comment after comment on Chance's social media page. It made me sick to my stomach, and I'd like nothing more than to tell them all to go to hell, but I know that would not be wise, so for now I grit my teeth and kept scrolling. Fans were so quick to judge. They'd practically written him off, saying that he'd been a train wreck waiting to happen and now he'd finally derailed. Gone off the tracks, so to speak, but it was nice to see posts from other celebrities and fellow rockers who had struggled with some of the same issues, encouraging him to hang in there. Promising that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

  When we met with the lawyer last night, he advised Chance to sue Dr. Perkins’s office for leaking his guarded information. He explained there was a HIPPA law in place that was supposed to protect patients from that type of stuff.

  Chance agreed to proceed after a little coaxing from Jinx. He finally agreed to take a stand, not only for himself, but so that that type of thing didn't happen to someone else.

  ***

  We'd been holed up in the studio all day, practicing some of the new music that Linc had written for the band in order to be ready for the upcoming tour in a couple of months, while trying to avoid the paparazzi that was currently pressed up against the wall of windows with their zoom lens.

  "Fucking buzzards," Levi growled.

  "Ignore them. We've got work to do," Jinx remarked, pulling his drumsticks out of his boot and taking his place behind his drum kit.

  "That's easier said than done. Have you seen the media this morning? They're counting on us to crash and burn," Chance spoke up. "They're hoping to be there when it happens so they can get their damn money shot."

  "Like I said, damn buzzards," Levi reiterated.

  I'd watched Chance struggle over the last few weeks ever since the fact that he was in therapy was leaked to the media. He'd barely slept at all, and it was starting to show in the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his skin.

  He finally admitted to me that he'd gone to confront his dad only to find out that he had died a few years ago. I really wish that he'd told me that he was going, because I would have gone with him for support. Actually, any or all of us would have gone with him.

  "That's it for today, guys. Let's plan on 10:00 a.m. Monday," Jinx said, walking around his kit, stopping in the middle of the floor. "I wanted to let you guys know that I'm going to be gone this weekend, but you can reach me on my cell if you need me."

  "Got some kind of promotional thing going on? I can tag along if you want and help out," Levi responded.

  I had to look away to hide my smile because I knew where he was going, but he didn’t know that I knew. Harmony called me yesterday to tell me that he'd been in contact with her ever since she was here over the holidays. From what I heard, they'd been communicating pretty regularly.

  "Nah, man. I'm good. Just heading out of town to meet up with a friend. I'll be back late Sunday night."

  Levi let it go without any further questions, and so did the others.

  "Chance, everything cool with you?"

  "All good, man. Go get your dick wet, or whatever it is you and your friend have planned." Chance spoke from where he stood across the room, leaning against the wall, staring at his phone.

  Jinx’s eyes moved from Chance to me in question. I forced a smile and gave him a reassuring nod, and that was totally for Jinx's benefit because I wasn't totally convinced that everything was or would be okay.

  We started down the hall toward the back door when Chance stopped in his tracks and dug his phone from his back pocket. His eyes scanned back and forth over the screen as his face turned an ashen gray, immediately sending up a red flag.

  "What's wrong?" Popping up on my tiptoes, I tried to get a look at the screen, but I wasn't quick enough. He pressed the little button on the top of the phone and the screen went black. "Everything okay?" I asked again.

  "Yeah," he mumbled as he shoved his phone back into the pocket of his faded jeans.

  "Chance, you don't look okay. What was that about?"

  For some reason, I had a lump in my stomach the size of a boulder and I felt like I was going to hurl any moment. He was shutting down on me once again. I could see it coming from
a mile away. His spine stiffened, his shoulders squared, and anger burned behind his emerald green eyes.

  "You know, I wish everybody would leave me the fuck alone. I've already got the media hounding me, and now it's you guys. I can't take a damn breath anymore without somebody questioning it or making it into something it's not. You know what?" he barked. I quickly scanned the room, but the guys had already walked out. We were the last two to leave.

  "What?" I lifted my chin and narrowed my eyes. I'd be damned if he was going to treat me like shit.

  "I kind of expect this shit from the guys, but not from you. You of all people are supposed to be on my side," he snapped.

  "I am on your side, asshole!" I said, a little louder than I meant to. "If you remember, I chose to stay because of you." I pushed his shoulder, causing him to take a step back. "We agreed to do this together. No secrets. We agreed that no matter what, we'd talk things out and together we could make it no matter how bad things get. I told you that I loved you and I meant it, but I will not stand by and let you treat me like dirt. If you decide you want to talk to me, I'll be at the children's home. We promised Matt a guitar lesson, and I plan on keeping that promise!" I hissed as I pushed my way through the back exit.

  I had no clue what I was doing at the moment. Only that I needed to walk off some of this steam or I was going to pop my top like champagne bottle. I decided that it was not such a good idea to continue to walk up the sidewalk with my guitar case. That would just be calling unwanted attention to me, and I really didn't want to get trapped by the reporters like I had in the past, so I flagged down a cab and had them take me to Heartstrings.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chance

  I couldn't believe my fucking eyes. The private investigator that I'd hired to find my mom sent me a text earlier, stating that he'd found her. Holy shit. He asked that I give him a call with a time and place for us to meet. That was over an hour ago, and I was still trying to work up enough courage to call him.

  Are you really ready to face your mother? I don't know that I'd ever be ready to face her, but at the same time, I knew I couldn't move on with my life without some much needed answers from her, so I pulled my phone from my pocket and made the call.

  "Can you meet me at my place in an hour?"

  "That'll work. Just text me your address."

  "Sure. Thanks, man."

  I texted him my address, and then placed a call to the security guy to get his name on the list so that he was not turned away once he showed up. I told the guy to be there in an hour, so that should give me plenty of time to call Honor and get her there.

  I should kick my own ass for the way I treated her earlier. It just seemed that everything was closing in on me, and I could barely breathe. Sometimes, I felt as if there was an elephant sitting on my chest, preventing me from catching my next breath. And then there was that damn tornado of emotions wreaking havoc in my mind.

  I forced myself to stay awake, because when I slept, I dreamt, and, for me, dreaming was not a good thing. I didn’t dream of hot women and fast cars. I dreamt about cigarette burns and broken bones. Dr. Perkins kept pushing the idea of medication, and I refused every time.

  I tried Honor's phone one last time before the doorbell chimed. Looked like I'd be doing this alone.

  "Mr. McCoy," I said, offering him my hand. "Can I get you something to drink?"

  "No, but thank you."

  He followed me into the kitchen and pulled out a chair at the table. He placed his black leather brief case on the table and pulled out several thick folders. My guess was that one of them contained the whereabouts of my mother.

  "You said you found my mother."

  He looked up from the papers in his hand. "Yes; I found her in Denver just like you suspected." He studied me a moment, and a painful knot formed in my stomach.

  "Well? Spit it out. Did you tell her I have changed my mind and that I would like to see her? Did you tell her that I have some questions?"

  "No," he said, quick and to the point.

  Martin McCoy was at least 6'4" and weighed probably three hundred plus pounds. He was wearing a dark blue Armani suit with a steel gray tie and expensive black loafers. At the moment, it didn't matter to me that he was a hulk of a man. I was ready to knock him the fuck out. He had one job and one job only, and he didn't fucking do it.

  "Why the hell not?" I shouted, shooting to my feet, knocking my chair into the wall behind me.

  "Because your mother is deceased." All the air left my lungs, and my head began to spin. That elephant I mentioned earlier was back sitting on my chest. "I have the information for you here in this folder." He tossed it onto the table and papers spilled out of it, some landing on the floor.

  My eyes automatically went to a picture that landed next to my foot. A picture of a woman sprawled out on a dirty mattress with a needle sticking out of her arm. With shaking hands, I picked it up and inspected it. It's her. It's not her. I was fighting desperately with the emotions flooding my brain, squeezing my heart and threatening to do me in.

  "How can you be certain that the woman in this picture is Victoria Roberts?" I lifted my chin and looked him in the eye. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Who did you pay to get your hands on such sick photos?" He pushed up from the chair, standing at his full height, and pinned me with his dark brown eyes.

  "Those photos were obtained from the Denver drug task force. Your mother had a record, and they had been watching her. They were getting ready to arrest her again, and when they finally had enough on her, they made their move, but it was too late. She had overdosed on Heroin in a crack house in the slums. You see, she sold crack and, in turn, her pimp kept her in Heroin among a few other drugs."

  "Leave your invoice on the counter and see yourself out." I turned and started out of the room when he spoke again.

  "I've sent it to your email." I gave him a quick nod over my shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss."

  I didn't respond. Instead, I grabbed the keys to my bike and stomped out the door. I didn't even take the time to put my motorcycle helmet on. I sped past the guard house and out onto the interstate.

  I weaved in and out of traffic, taking curves at a dangerous speed. When I came upon exit 22A, I took it. My bike rolled to a stop in front of building A, apartment 1. The one with the warped metal screen door.

  "Chance, man. What are you doing here?" Teake asked when he flung the door open and saw me standing there. I'd only been to his house one other time, and that was over a year ago and I was high then. I surprised myself that I got it right.

  "I need to make a purchase." He stuck his head out the door, looked left, then right to be sure no one was in sight.

  "Come on in."

  I followed him through the tiny room where his mom and some dude sat in front of an old T.V., watching Wheel of Fortune. We stepped into his room, and he closed the door and slid the night stand table in front of the door so no one would walk in. He saw the confusion on my face.

  "Frank." He jerked his thumb in the direction we'd just came from. "He's bad about coming in and stealing from me. I don't mind as long as he pays for it, but the guy’s never got any money. I'm not about to get my ass kicked when I tell Roger I can't pay him what I owe. Hell. I've seen him put a bullet between a guy’s eyes one night because he was short a few bills.”

  "Damn."

  "Yeah, man." He dropped to the floor and pulled a shoebox out from under his bed. When he tossed the lid to the side, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I'd hit the damn mother load. I grabbed the zip lock bag of pills and tossed a wad of cash in the box. His eyes widened as he stared at the money.

  "Dude, that's way too much money," he said, picking up a few bills and holding them out to me.

  "Keep it. Consider it a tip from a happy customer." I pushed the plastic bag deep into the front pocket of my jeans.

  "Hey. You alright, man?" he asked as I slid the night stand table to the side so that I could open the bedroom door.


  "I'm about to be a whole lot better," I said, walking from his room and to my bike.

  ***

  It took me about thirty minutes to make it to my next destination. I killed the switch on my bike and let it roll to a stop around back of the old garage. The garage my old man used to spend so much time in drinking when he was supposed to be working on that old car.

  Walking up the back steps, I tried the doorknob and found that it was unlocked. I guess it really didn’t surprise me. The guy next door had said that no one had lived there in years, and who would want to steal anything in that piece of shit neighborhood, anyway? The motorcycle I just got off was worth more than two houses in the neighborhood, put together.

  Turning the flashlight on, on my phone, I shined it around the old kitchen. Wallpaper peeling. A cupboard door hanging by a hinge. The old, gold refrigerator we had still sat in the corner.

  "You better close that damn door. You're letting all the cold out. If I take one beer out of there and it's not ice cold, you're gonna be sorry, you little shit." That was the first time he ever put his cigarette out on me.

  Walking across the room, I flipped the broken light switch up and down a few times, just to hear the clicking sound, even though there was no electricity to the house now. My body physically shook as I left the switch in the on position.

  "What's it gonna take for you to remember to turn the damn light off?" He dragged me from my bed and into the kitchen where he shoved my face against the wall beside the light switch.

  "I'm sorry," I cried. It was the wrong thing to do. Tears were a sign of weakness.

  "Let's see how sorry you are."

  He wrenched my arm behind me, and the snap of the bone echoed in the small room. Pain radiated up my arm and into my shoulder. My stomach rolled and bile rose in the back of my throat.

  I slapped the wall with my open palm as I made my way down the hall and to my bedroom door. Pressing my fingertips against the wood, the old door creaked on its hinges as it swung open. Holding my phone in the air, I looked around the room. It was completely empty, and I had to wonder how long it took my dad to throw out my stuff after child services took me away. I bet he had my shit in the yard before the social worker’s car reached the stop sign at the end of the block.