Maura shook her head, her eyes never leaving my face. “I’m confused.”
“Jordan has an obsession with Mila,” Noelle said. “A very unhealthy sexual one.”
The worst of the tension drifted from the back of my neck, easing the pounding in my skull as I finished the last of the liquid in my glass. There wasn’t enough. I still hurt. The fear clawed through me, ripping at my insides; I needed to be numb.
I looked at the ring on my finger, my chest aching with the need to scream building there, my mind clouded with memories of that horrible night that altered the trajectory of my life. The fear was overpowering, especially when Jordan held that knife and threatened to use it on Murphy, his brother, and mother. So, after leaving Murphy with the note, a note I’d struggled to write, I let Jordan pull me into his car and take me back to my mother’s house. I let the letch touch me, kiss me, pet me on that sagging couch. And because he still held the bloody knife, I kissed him and touched him, too.
When Jordan fell asleep, a sated smile on his face, I took all the cash in his wallet—over two thousand dollars. The bastard owed me, I reckoned. I walked to a bus stop. From there, I called the police with an anonymous tip, stating the Etsam brothers and their mum were in danger from a rabid fan. Sure enough, I read the police picked Jordan up in front of Susan’s house the next day. He’d threatened her with the big knife the night before in his car but no charges were filed.
I traveled aimlessly until I got short on funds. I ended up in Perth working at the hospital because it’s what I knew. For a month, I spent most of my time glancing over my shoulder.
One time, I hadn’t looked for Jordan fast enough.
2
Murphy
The song’s lyrics were a poison in my gut, and typically they were just waiting to burst out of my mouth. Tonight, though, the words felt thick and clunky on my tongue. I hated performing this song, always had. Sure, I should be thrilled with its success—this angsty rip into a girl’s character catapulted my band, Jackaroo, into the stratosphere.
But this wasn’t a girl. No, the woman I railed against was Mila. I sang the hell out of the next line because she was bad. She’d left me, not caring I still loved her, and never bothered to come back. And I’d proven I didn’t need her or her love. I made lots of points to prove it.
I missed my next cue, catching it a moment too late. To cover up the mistake, I bent down to do some fan hand-touching. The sheilas lapped that sappy tripe up. I would have my pick at the end of the night as I did every night.
I didn’t much care. Not about the women. Worse, though, I no longer cared about myself either.
Not since I near-ruined my best mate’s chances with his girl. I glanced over, but Hayden avoided meeting my eyes, just as he had every time we were in the same vicinity. Since that night in Amsterdam.
I finished the song on the building growl the fans seemed to love. I held my arms out wide, breathing hard, as I finished the last song of the second-to-last stop on what could very well be our first and only world tour. The audience screamed their love, a few sets of panties appeared on the stage and a girl just in front of me flashed her tits.
I glanced over in time to see Jake rolling his eyes. He expected me to take the girl back to the bus because I usually did. I didn’t know how to tell him what I was just beginning to understand myself: the sex couldn’t solve the problem. I was the problem—my hurt at Mila’s actions. But my actions caused the rift in my band.
Hayden walked over to stand next to me. He bowed and the decibel level went up, way past eleven. The girls preferred him. I smirked at him, my eyes dropping to the growing pile of ladies’ undies. His lip curled in distaste and he shook his head in an almost imperceptible negation.
The reason why stood not ten feet from him just in the stage wings. She and Hayden were pretty much surgically attached—either via hand, hip, or lips.
Briar’s eyes slid from Hayden’s back and caught mine. She crossed her arm over her chest and clutched her opposite elbow but she didn’t relinquish my gaze. Instead, she raised a brow. I’d made a point to stay out of her way—neither she nor Hayden were much interested in my apology even though I’d tried to give it multiple times. I tipped my chin to her, an acknowledgment of her status. Hayden stiffened, his hands fisting. Not wanting to push our tenuous peace any further, I turned back to the crowd and took my bow.
Jake stood on my other side. No one touched me. Just the women who didn’t know how deep my rottenness delved. Flip joined us. My gaze flicked down to the girl who’d flashed me. She was pretty. They all were. But I didn’t have much interest in her.
Fuck all, I wanted Mila. Stupid though it was, I missed her. At least, the woman I’d thought she was. Until she ripped my heart to shreds.
Might as well make the most of the tail end of the tour and try to forget my driving need for the one woman I couldn’t find, let alone have. Only the gig at the Tractor Tavern left. Flip was desperate to get back to Cynthia and his two-month-old son, John. But Harry’d added these shows in Seattle to the end of the tour so Hayden could spend more time with Briar, get her settled in her new counseling program and help her sort out some of her friend Rosie’s last wishes. At least, that’s what Harry said. More like, he and the rest of the record label knew as soon as we split, we weren’t going to get back together any time soon. If ever.
Probably to the guys’ surprise, I hadn’t argued the point. In fact, I was glad for the four days in one place. Key Arena was huge, but not one of the biggest venues we’d played. After the Tractor Tavern gig tomorrow night, I was at loose ends. Seven months on the road, pretty much a show every night. We were burned out from the constancy of seeing each other and working, sure, but I’d burnt too many bridges with my bandmates to call them my mates. Or us much of a band. Our chemistry had been sliding for weeks. Even before I made the fatal mistake of trying to keep Hayden away from Briar. Not my place, and I’d known it then, but I hadn’t wanted my best mate to fall into the same angry trap I couldn’t crawl out of—all because of a woman who wasn’t what he needed. I’d been wrong about them. Much as I shouldn’t feel it, under my anger with Mila and my shame for how I’d treated Hayden and especially Briar, was grief. Hayden got his girl in the end, and I . . . Bollocks. I hated feeling this lonely.
I slid the mic back into its stand and made my way off stage. I asked the roadie to find the girl who’d flashed me. If not her, then another pretty one as long as she didn’t have brown hair and brown eyes. I steered clear of any woman with features or coloring similar to Mila. Screwing a look-alike was too pathetic, even for me.
I made it to the dressing room and swiped at my sweaty forehead. No one joined me. Not that I expected them to. Sure, it hurt, Jake’s defection the most. My younger brother had long viewed me as his hero. Until I stepped so far over the line even he couldn’t defend me.
The girl entered.
“You eighteen?” I barked. I might be a complete arse, but I wasn’t going to jail.
“Yes. Of course,” she stuttered.
“Let me see your ID.” I held out my hand while she fumbled through her bag. “The real one,” I sighed.
Flustered, she managed to pull out a driver’s license with her actual picture. Pretty. Fresh. And too damn young.
Handing it back, I snagged my pen and a bottle of water. “What can I sign for you, sweetheart?”
Relieved, and angry because I was relieved, I pulled out one of our band tees and scribbled my name on it. I thrust it toward her as I called, “Harry!”
Our manager strolled in. He pretended to ignore me in favor of pulling a piece of lint on his bespoke suit. I scowled as I nodded to the girl and he moved toward her, cupping her elbow and leaning toward her. If he wanted her, fine. But I wouldn’t be the one written up on a gossip site for screwing an underage Yank.
Jake sauntered into the room. “Glad to see you aren’t a complete dissipate.”
“Not yet,” I said, sighing as I slid on
to the couch.
“I’m going back to the bus. Might grab a bite.” He hesitated. “You want to come?”
I glanced up, wondering if he wanted to offer or if he felt like he should. “No worries, Jakey. Do your thing.”
“Murphy, it’s just . . . you seem unsettled. Want to talk about it?” he asked.
I chugged the rest of my bottle before I threw it, hard, toward the rubbish bin. I missed but didn’t have the energy to pick it up. Not that I needed to worry about cleaning anything. Someone was happy to fix my—our—messes. Like the girl, our roadies and even the stadium staff thought of us as gods.
“I’m fine. Enjoy your night.”
Jake stepped farther into the room as if he planned to start the first real convo since he’d told me he planned to quit the band. Back in Europe. These last few weeks had been some of the longest and loneliest of my life.
“What’s the worry?” he asked.
“Not sure I want to go back to Sydney.”
“You haven’t been, have you? Since you wrote ‘She’s so Bad?’”
“Just the venues. Not to our old stomping ground,” I sighed. And I didn’t want to go back now. Mila shattered me, but staying away wouldn’t help. I needed to find her. I’d asked around. Mila disappeared the night she dumped me.
She left me and everyone who knew her, up and quitting her job with no notice. Totally out of character. At the time, I’d reckoned she’d been too ashamed of her cheating and the fact she’d left me to face the rabid bunch of journos, desperate to hear all the dirty secrets as to why she dumped me just days after that photo hit the Sydney paper.
Those sick, slimy bastards questioned me about her affair. I wouldn’t believe the allegations until I read in the papers a few weeks later that Mila Trask, ex-girlfriend of up-and-coming indie rocker yours truly, was in a car accident. Every instinct told me to go to Perth and see for myself if she’d survive. To find out why she was in Perth of all places. Couldn’t get much farther away from Sydney, which worried me further. I’d been about to hop on a plane when I opened another gossip site and found out she’d miscarried a baby.
And I’d hated her since.
I never did meet the bloke who stole and impregnated my girl. In fact, his name never went public. Probably for the best she’d managed to slip away with her new man. If she hadn’t, I might well have spent these months locked up for ripping him apart instead of turning to my guitar with a kind of singular focus that got me to the highest level of rock stardom possible. Multiplatinum levels, thanks to the song “She’s So Bad” and Hayden Crewe’s formidable talent.
Not my talent. After writing that song, I hadn’t completed any new material. “She’s So Bad” sold nearly as many copies as Adele’s “Hello” but our album sold over three million copies—and was still selling. We were being compared to the big guns—Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones, and the biggest thrill: The Beatles. I might have written the song that caught the world’s attention, but Hayden carried the band now. I was a one-hit wonder—the sad, pathetic former bandmate who would eventually star in reality TV shows and lose all his hair.
I flicked the tip of my tongue through my lip ring. I wasn’t quite thirty. I didn’t need to worry about aging yet, but I should slow down on the partying and booze. Too little sleep and too much alcohol weren’t as much fun as it used to be and didn’t help me focus on my goals. I needed another song to bring to the table, especially now that the label requested I consider a solo project.
In a month, I’d meet with the execs to hash out the agreement, but next week, I was scheduled to be back here in Seattle for a charity concert. I’d signed on as soon as I found out the proceeds were earmarked for battered women and children. I’d aligned myself with the cause early on, before we were famous, and I was pleased to have helped so many families.
But I didn’t want to go to the meeting with the record execs. I didn’t have anything worthwhile to show them. Worse, Jake didn’t know about the offer. I’d lied to my brother. By omission, sure, but didn’t change the fact. He and I weren’t in the best place, and our relationship wouldn’t take many more blows.
Since Mila left, everything I’d worked for skyrocketed into the stratosphere before I began the long and painful descent back to Earth. I hated feeling this unsure of my next step.
3
Mila
“Mila.”
“Wha—”
“Sweetie, it’s after seven. Are you going to work?”
“Leave me alone.”
The bed dipped, causing the worst sensation ever—somewhere between seasickness and death. I clamped my teeth shut, refusing to vomit. I hated being sick. Not like a normal, ick!, that’s gross feeling. No, more of a there’s no way in hell I’m letting that come up my throat feeling. Because I didn’t vomit. No matter what.
I’d powered through three months of morning sickness, and I could power through this as well.
“You are so hungover,” Noelle giggled.
“I hate my life. I hate you.”
“Aw, sweetie. No you don’t. I’m the reason you didn’t go to the hospital.”
I cracked open an eye, angry when it immediately swelled too large for the socket. I took the ibuprofen Noelle handed me and swallowed it quickly. “I hate being a patient at the hospital most.”
“I know. That’s why you’re thrilled with me right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“You wanted a third drink. Considering you never drink and those martinis were doubled, I think you owe me a huge thank you.”
I closed my eye and groaned again.
“I want to hear the words.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“You’re welcome,” Noelle chirped.
“Wait. Did I cry?”
“Buckets,” Noelle said, hopping off the bed. “But you’ve held those tears in for way too long. We’re going to talk again about the fact you dated Murphy Etsam and you didn’t tell me. Now are you going to work?”
“I never knew him when he was famous.”
“You knew him.”
I knew him then. I didn’t know the man he’d become now. I’d read everything I could find on him once I discharged from the Perth hospital. The pictures splashed all over the Internet showed the progression: each week, his eyes hardened more and his features tightened with disgust.
I’d done that to him. He’d loved me as much as I’d loved him. It wasn’t as though I could forget the expression on his face when I told him we were over. He would have pleaded with me, his pride be damned—that’s how much he’d wanted me—or kissed me until I told him the truth. So I gave him as much truth as I could while backing from the room.
I scrubbed my cheeks with the sheet, reveling in the slight scratch.
“Later. Please?”
“Has to be. I’m running late right now as it is.”
“I guess I’m going to take a sick day.”
“No, you aren’t. I refuse to let you sit around and stew.”
“I’ll work from home.”
“You aren’t home.”
“My office doesn’t know that.”
“You see patients. Can’t do that via Internet connection.”
“Fine. I’ll text them I’m coming in a little late because I’m recovering from a stomach bug.”
Noelle snorted. “College code for hangover.”
“I’m too old for this,” I moaned.
“’Kay. Well, I’m off. Hop in the shower, will you? You smell like the bar.”
“I feel worse. Why did I think going out for drinks was a good idea?”
“Because it was. You talked about all that crap you’ve been suppressing. Just wait. The whole world will seem better.”
“Not right now it doesn’t.”
Noelle patted my shoulder, and I squeezed my eyes and jaw shut. “Bye, sweetie. See you tonight!”
“Do we have plans?”
She tucked her mass of hair up inside a blac
k cap and tugged down her cute pink scrubs top. Must be raining outside. Noelle’s hair was even more out of control in the rain. “Course we do. You’re spilling the rest of your life secrets. Maura’s coming, too.”
“Can’t,” I rasped. “I have to go to the Tractor Tavern. I need to see Murphy, to finally let him go.”
Noelle smiled gently as she took my hand. “I know, sweetie. We’re going with you.”
“You are? How’d you get tickets?”
“Friend at work. I told him it was an emergency. You owe me two-fifty for the tix, by the way. He wouldn’t let them go easily.”
I crawled out of the bed, trying not to gag. I didn’t believe Noelle’s statement about an improved world, but she planned to be there for me tonight when I’d finally see Murphy again. She had hugged me while I cried, and she’d gotten me back to her place.
I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her in tight. “Thanks, Noelle. I appreciate your support. You are a great friend.”
“I’m an amazing friend. Now, I have to go to work. If I’m lucky Briar will be there.” She waggled her brows. “And where there’s a Briar, Hayden Crewe isn’t far behind.” She winked and waved before heading out the door.
I made it to the bathroom, my stomach still rolling higher than the waves at Bondi Beach. I glared at my reflection, hating my puffy, red eyes, the mascara streaks over my hollowed cheekbones. Fine, my gaunt features were because I didn’t eat much or often; I’d struggled with meals since I broke up with Murphy. Just the thought of Jordan finding me gave me chills and twisted my insides into a mass of emotions I was too tired to try to untangle.
I took a long, long shower. If Noelle paid for her water, she would have cursed me seven ways to Sunday. Thankfully, I knew the utilities were included in her monthly rent.
Stepping out, confidence built in me. I would survive the day.
I wandered back into the bedroom’s closet, wrapped in a towel, and pulled out some clean clothes I kept here. Noelle moved nearer her new job at a large clinic late last year—nearly an hour from my residency at the hospital in Federal Way. Because of the distance, we left a few outfits at the others’ homes for just this type of occurrence. The slacks and blouse were loose, courtesy of my difficulty eating a decent meal these days, and the only shoes in the closet were the low-heeled sandals from yesterday. I shrugged. The brown shoes weren’t ideal but I had much bigger issues to deal with. Like getting through the day. And the night.
Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five Page 54
