by S. E. Hall
Bubs instantly bounces back, heading to his room. “I got you a white one! Come on.”
I wait ‘til I hear them fully engaged in distracting conversation, then take a deep breath. Opening the eyes I’ve pinched shut, I fall in behind Rhett, who’s been standing frozen at the open door, waiting for me.
Chapter 8
The Vegas strip is nothing if not aesthetically pleasing. You can walk and walk and never run out of things to look at, which is extremely handy right about now because that’s all we’re doing—walking and walking. Neither of us is speaking or sparing a glance at the other; a battle of wits at its finest.
We have a show to do in just a few hours, though, ‘bout time for one of us to cave.
Any time.
Preferably in the time zone we’re actually in.
Fine.
“We’re alone, Rhett, please talk to me. What was that back there?”
“I shouldn’t have freaked Conner out. I’m sorry.” Shame is evident in his voice as he runs a hand down his face.
“Tell him that.”
“I will.”
We come to a crosswalk and I reach up to press the “walk” button, a perfect opportunity to start back the way we came. “That it?” I peek up at him, the anguish consuming his face and demeanor positively slicing into my heart. “Rhett, what else? It’s only me here. Since when can we not talk to each other?”
The sign changes for us to cross, and as we do, his hand sneaks up to take mine. I instantly squeeze back, trying to tell him with that tiny gesture that anything involving him and me is always fixable.
“I’ve never seen you the way you are with him,” he finally answers. “Since the first step in his direction, you’ve been different.” The statement loses strength at the end, pain-filled words fading into the noise of the city.
“Who, Cannon?” I ask, his answer a “really?” look thrown at me haughtily. “Everyone’s been different, Rhett. He’s different. Of course there’ll be adjustments when someone new joins. Even you. Especially you. One minute you’re grilling him, the next you’re telling him to write music. I turn around and you’re throwing food and laughing with him and then in the next breath, you’re starting fights over nothing. Honestly, of everyone, yours is the obvious head trip.”
He drops my hand; guess we’re back in defense mode. “You like him.”
“He’s all right, I guess,” I shrug. “Nice to Conner, great musician, trying awfully hard to fit in. Having a pretty hard time finding anything wrong with him, not that I’m looking for it. But why do you not like him? I mean, half the time anyway?”
Both our steps have slowed, the walk back seeming much shorter than that away, still so much left to resolve. In fact, Rhett’s not even picking his feet up, rather shuffling along noisily and biding his time. “I fucked a chick last night,” he blurts out.
I freeze abruptly in place, sure I’d heard him wrong. If a gun was held to my head and a question posed, the only options get this right or die…that would have been my very last guess at what he’d say next. “Um, o-okay?” I stutter, not a clue as to how I’m supposed to respond to that.
“Random girl, no idea what her name was.” He concentrates on the ground, tracing a crack in the sidewalk with the toe of his shoe. “I fucked her, cold and heartlessly, up against the wall in a casino bathroom.”
“Why are you telling me this? What’s that have to do with Cannon?”
He grabs both my shoulders forcefully and turns me to face him, the end of his nose touching mine. “I fucked her because she had short, bleach blonde hair and you want to fuck him!”
“Wh—” I suck in a deep breath and rub my forehead, searching for the right words, or question, or something. “I would never do that and you know it. He’s hot, no lie, but that doesn’t mean…I don’t…fu—err!”
I shake off his hold, taking a seat right there on the sidewalk. Daylight’s burning as fast as the time ‘til our performance, but there’s no longer a shit that I give. All I can do is try to sort through whatever the hell you call what’s just been flung at me, some said, some unsaid, all of it deafeningly perplexing. How do I begin to process how I feel about it and form the questions I now have?
I spread my knees and drop my head between them, concentrating on breathing…fifteen seconds on the breath in through the nose, hold for five, fifteen on the exhale through the mouth. Long ago, I was taught this very helpful technique that gets me past hyperventilation, which I feel precariously close to right now.
“Hey, you’re okay,” Rhett soothes, sitting down beside me and rubbing my back. “I’m sorry for the way that all came out, Liz. But I’m not an idiot. I see the way you look at him. You may think you trust no one, but you already trust Cannon. I know a lot of it’s because he’s awesome with Conner, and he is, I can’t take that from him. But a lot of it’s about you. A you I don’t recognize, don’t know every single thing about. He thought he needed to defend you back there, against me!” He slaps a hand over his heart. “Me!”
“Okay, let’s review. Basically, you’re freaking out and fucking randoms because I think a guy is hot? Big deal! I do have eyes and a vagina! And if he hadn’t stepped up, you’d be bitching about that too! Admit it, you’d think worse of any man who didn’t protect a girl. Things are new to him too, and he wasn’t sure, so he did the manly thing. And you screwed the girl before he did that. You’re right, I do trust him, a little, because thus far he’s proven to be nothing but trustworthy. I think he’s hot because he is—ask Webster’s Dictionary! But that doesn’t mean I’ll fuck him. I never, I mean besides…” I trail off, my voice and eyes filled with embarrassment.
He gently grabs my cheeks and lifts my head, holding it in place, forcing me to look at him. “Besides me?” he whispers, searching my face with his own glassy eyes.
“Well, yeah,” I mutter. “You were there.”
“You’ve never been with anyone besides me? Seven years ago?” He gasps out his questions, his shock blatant.
I shake my head back and forth in his hands. “You think I’ve been hiding some trustworthy true love from you? I’m a heterosexual young woman, Rhett, and some guys are attractive, but I’m safe controlling myself. You, on the other hand.” One brow lifts, calling him out.
“I lost it.” He chuckles, releasing my face. “I was mad and feeling insecure, and she was there. I don’t know.” He half smiles apologetically. “She was looking at me kinda like you look at him, so I pretended for a little while, with her.”
“Rhett?” I whisper shakily, bracing myself for an answer I’m not positive I’m ready to hear.
“Yeah?”
“Are you in love with me?”
He sighs loudly, standing and offering me a hand. “I love you more than anyone in this world, except Jarrett and Conner, with whom you tie. I would die for you, kill for you, and kill myself if ever my life didn’t include you. The time we were together will forever be the most beautiful, meaningful moment of my life, one I revisit in my mind often. But no, I’m not in love with you.”
We’re back to holding hands, our stride speedier. “Then why are you fucking my lookalikes and worried how I feel about Cannon?”
“Because I’m bi-polar, selfish, and codependent as hell.” He grins at me sideways, a saucy flare returning to his navy blue eyes. “For seven years, I’ve always been the number one man in your life. I could still get some on the side—this is the selfish part, please forgive me—and never had to worry about anyone touching or taking you away from me. But now…”
“So you knew, earlier, that I’ve never—”
“Of course.” He laughs, jiggling my hand. “I know everything about you. But it was nice to actually hear it confirmed out loud.”
“You bastard!” I reach across with my far hand and slap his arm. “That was selfish.”
“It was, totally, but it also told me what I already knew. I’ve never had to worry about losing you before. I knew you didn’t want me, bu
t as long as you didn’t want anyone else, I was fine with that. But Cannon’s different. He’s got a shot. And if he takes it, I could lose you.” He stops, pulling me against him. “You’re my best friend, my medicine, my proof not everyone sucks. I don’t want to lose you.” He gulps, a choking, painful sound against the top of my head where his cheek rubs.
Resting my forehead on his shirt, I wrap my arms around his waist. Onlookers might see a couple in love, but we’ve just established our kind of love. “You’ll never lose me, Rhett, ever, no matter who you sleep with and who I don’t.”
“About that.” He shifts to catch my eyes. “No one will ever be good enough for you as far as I’m concerned, but whoever you decide is good enough for you, go for it. You’re beautiful, and kind, and caring, and nurturing, with so much love inside you to give, just waiting for the right person to unleash it. Maybe that’s him, maybe it isn’t, but you deserve the chance to find out. You’re overly worthy of someone whispering how magical you are in your ear and making you feel loved. Don’t listen to me, Liz, my damage is done and irreparable, a cross I’ll carry for life. But you,” he trails a fingertip down my cheek, “are spectacular, and ready to live again. Ignore me when I try to stand in the way of that. This could be it for you—he likes you too.” He laughs and kisses me softly, the lips of a beautiful friend, then pulls back. “How could he not?”
“We’ll see, or not. I’ve only known him a couple days. I wouldn’t plan a wedding just yet.” I pop my shoulders casually, despite the anything-but-casual curiosity his speech has evoked within me. “But I’m glad we had this chat. I’m still not sure I understand it all, but I love you and I never want to hurt you, or lose you. Ever.”
“You won’t. And don’t totally dismiss instant connections. We had one, and look how great that turned out? A spark ignites like bam!”
“Whatever,” I brush it off.
“Love you, Liz, always.”
“Of course you do! Now gimme a ride back and step on it!” I yell happily, jumping on his back and spurring him in the sides with my heels. I lean my head down to place a soft kiss on his cheek and whisper in his ear, “A therapist would have no idea what to charge you by the hour, my precious, crazy Rhett.”
***
When we make it back to the bus, Jarrett has too, and is pacing, tugging at his hair in panic mode. His head jerks in our direction as we tentatively climb the steps, a look of relief flashing briefly across his face before a scowl sets back in. I don’t know about Rhett, but I’ve had all the outbursts and drama I can handle today, so Jarrett better cool those jets of his real quick.
“Where the hell have you two been? And where’s everybody else?” His arms wave frantically, voice three octaves higher than normal.
Wait, come again?
“Who’s not here?” I ask, already en route to Conner’s room, finding it empty. Panic creeping up, I fling open the bathroom door then the shades on every bunk—empty, all empty! “Where are they? Where the hell’s my brother?” I scream, ripping my phone from my pocket. Dead.
“Both of you, check your phones. Mine’s dead.” My hand shakes so much that it takes two tries attaching it to the charger. “Well, anything?” I spit through a quickly narrowing throat.
Jarrett holds up a finger, phone to his ear. “Hey, Bruce, you with Conner?” He’s nodding his head now, giving me a smiley thumbs up. “Huh, okay then. Yep, that’ll work. See you then.”
“What?”
“They went to eat. He and Conner will meet us at Fletcher’s for the show. House Drums.” He looks at Rhett. “Rest is fine, it’s not far.”
“And Cannon?” I ask.
“Don’t know, he’s not with them. What’d I miss?” He glances from Rhett to me, worry and suspicion a mixed cloud on his face.
“I’m getting ready,” I muster, not up for a recap, grabbing my stuff hastily and slamming the bathroom door behind me.
Fucking Rhett. I adore him and have already forgiven him, but one person’s volatile, sporadic, swiftly fleeting moods should not dictate the lives of everyone else around him. He runs off Cannon for no reason, taking it all back at his convenience, one walk too late later, and everything’s supposed to just switch back to good. For some people, especially those who don’t know him well, it’s not that easy to forgive his crazy outbursts in a snap.
Now we’re right back to square one—a player short.
But that’s not all that’s bothering me. One of us, the girl currently immersed in way too hot of water, scrubbing her scalp furiously, is far from back where she started.
Cannon has no phone to call and beg him back, which I’m not even sure I would do. I don’t strike myself as a beggar, but then again, I didn’t know I was a blusher before either. All I know for sure is I can’t unhear the words Rhett said or unfeel the things awoken in me the last few days any more than I can unremember how much I enjoyed Cannon’s company.
And Bubs? Yet again, my sweet, innocent, always kind and accepting brother comes out the worst. Confused and bereft, he won’t understand a damn thing about the politics that surround him, only that he’s lost another friend.
Is my father right? Am I dragging Conner through a maze of uncertainty and instability? Is my uncle miserable, faking wanting to be here only to make sure I don’t destroy his nephew?
Too bad I can’t simply say “things were better before, let’s go back to that,” cause that’s certainly not the case. Before sucked colossally, no one happy or stable.
And now’s not looking real great either. Which leaves only future…so I guess we’ll see what happens.
***
Tonight’s show is at Fletcher’s, a skeezy, way too big and too questionable venue for my brother, so not only am I dismal from today’s events and our wanderer having wandered, but I made Bruce and Conner skip the show, giving them free run of my credit card for a movie or something else fun instead.
With some last minute adjustments, Jarrett’s got his bass in hand and I’m about to shred on the guitar strapped around my neck. I usually prefer to play piano, but tonight I need raw, soul-searing metal in my hands—and we need a guitarist.
“Who’s already hammered out there?” I yell into the mic, pressing my boot to the foot pedal, ready to melt faces and ears alike.
The crowd roars and wolf whistles in response, feasting off my aggression. “Well good. After the show, I just might join ya. We’re See You Next Tuesday, but I won’t. Rolling out of here later, headed for some other bullshit. Anyways, this first one’s a favorite of mine and grossly appropriate.”
I lead into “Disarm” by Smashing Pumpkins, not found on our set list. The boys catch on seamlessly and join in, I knew they would, but cared nothing if they didn’t. Even if by myself, it’s my battle cry, to Cannon, Rhett, life…all disarming me, testing my strength.
Eyes closed, head back and whole world spinning around in my head, I leave everything in the song. Painfully personifying lyrics burn their way up my throat and damn near cry out my mouth, the words objectifying me so much so that I’m drained when it’s over, yet tempted to sing it again.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Jarrett laughs into his own microphone as I fall silent, pulling my eyes open.
It’s probably stupid and unrealistic, but I know who he means without the slightest movement of my head. Amongst the noise of the bar and the heat of the lights—more than anything, I can feel his return.
“Sorry I’m late,” that seductively rich voice rings out. “I must’ve misplaced our schedule.”
Frozen, losing my anger-fueled showmanship all at once, I fight to keep my focus straight ahead. Thank God Jarrett knows me so well, immediately commandeering the lead.
“Give it up for Liz on guitar!”
I use the break to unstrap and take the guitar to side stage, almost not wanting to walk back out. But I’m back, front and center, by the third bar of our original “Unapologetically,” a ditty written by all three of us, featuring j
ovial, more on the country side, lyrics with a mean bass line. One of my faves. Rhett sings this one with me from behind his drum kit, the ray of sun returning from behind the clouds evident in his harmonious tenor.
With Jarrett at the helm, of course there’s double meaning banter in between every song; he loves playing with the crowd. And his ornery segue to our fifth number seems to be a crowd favorite, judging by applause and raucous laughter.
“Say Cannon?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Say what?” the man to my right, who I still haven’t looked at, answers.
“I believe you may be in the doghouse with our lead mistress, bro. What’re you gonna do about that?”
My head flings to the left, shooting Jarrett a viscous scowl. How dare he broadcast band problems on stage? This isn’t a stand-up routine, especially at my expense.
“Well, if she’d afford me so much as a glance, I’d ask if I could sing her a song.” The audience, eating this up, cheers and whoops, loving Cannon’s charm. Even men are grinning and clapping.
I can either go with it and be humiliated or crack his teeth and labeled the villain. Both glaring choices suck, but I concede to the first and ham it up, turning to him with a defiant stance, crossed arms and raised-brow. With an evil smirk, I ask, “What’d you have in mind, hot shot?”
He saunters over to me, the effects of his teasing approach devastating, and leans into my ear. “What was your song, Siren? The one sung to you all the time?”
“I-I—” Tears threatening, I gulp them down and manage a whisper, “I didn’t have one.”
“You do now.” He winks, slowly moving backwards into place, mesmerizing eyes holding mine. “Grab somebody close,” he instructs the room, “this is a slow one, for Lizzie.”
Tunnel hearing, no clue if Rhett or Jarrett join in, I barely manage to remain standing and dry eyed as he sings “Girl,” by, you guessed it, my beloved Beatles. Transfixed, the entire performance undoes me, but the parts where he hisses air in through his teeth, lip curling as he does so, right after he coos out “ahh girllll.” Hot damn. Every feeling in my body is replaced with deliciously feminine longing.
