by BB Miller
I ignore his enraged shrieks and concentrate on not hyperventilating. It’s not easy. Spots dance in my vision and I want to throw up. I almost can’t believe I remembered how to do that. Dad would be so proud.
Glancing around wildly, I realize I’m stuck. Zach’s immobile, but now what do I do? I can’t call anyone; my phone’s in the car.
My question is answered seconds later by a loud command that cuts Zach’s screeching short. My eyes snap up to see the stern smirk of the motorcycle cop I’d passed on the street. “Let him go, miss. I’ll take it from here.”
Matt is never going to believe this.
Matt
“I’M GOING TO fucking kill him.” The tension rises as I glare at Tucker. He’s been keeping his spot at my door with his arms crossed, blocking me from getting out for the last few hours. Those hours have done nothing to calm the rage that I feel coursing through me.
It’s been chaos outside the loft since Zach was arrested, due to the flashing lights and the ensuing news crews once word got out that there had been another incident involving Redfall. The band and Tucker arrived quickly, only stirring the already boiling pot. Tom’s with Tess at the police station while she gives a statement. Tucker had to physically hold me back from going with her.
And there’s more. Tess shared her suspicion that Zach was the one who keyed my car when she took it while the band was touring in Australia. Worse, that she thinks he was following her on a dirt bike the day it happened. I’m not sure which I’m more pissed off about—the fact that she kept it from me, or the fact that it happened. I told her when this started, no secrets.
“You’re not doing anything,” Tucker says, his voice firm and steady as always. “He’s in custody. He’s confessed. He’s going to be spending some serious time in juvy. You need to let it go.”
“Don’t tell me to fucking let it go! He had a knife!” I holler, pacing the floor.
“And Tess took care of it, Grasshopper. Badass girlfriend you got there.” Sean grins at me from the couch in the living room. I shake my head at him and his ridiculous hair. He’s got it dyed pure white this week. Some shit about wanting to see what he’ll look like when he gets older.
“Shut it.”
“Would you have preferred she couldn’t take care of herself?” Cameron asks from the kitchen. I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m being serious. It could’ve been a lot worse if Tess was some wallflower who didn’t have a Navy vet as a father.”
“I know that. I know it could’ve been worse.” I move to the window to observe the growing crowd on the street below. Even though the police have packed up Zach and carted his sorry ass away, the fans and the intrusive paparazzi just keep coming.
“She’s fine, Matty.” I turn to see Kennedy, moving to the line of guitar stands against the wall.
“Would you think that if it was Abby? Would you be this fucking calm?”
“No. Probably not. But you’d all be talking sense into me, just like we’re doing now.” He lifts a Gibson from one of the stands and slides the strap over his shoulder. “Tucker is right.”
Tucker coughs from across the room. “Sorry, what was that again?”
Kennedy glances at Tucker with a half-smile before focusing back on me.
“The kid is going to do his time for what he did. You need to let it go,” Kennedy says, lifting one of my Fenders and holding it out to me. “You want to get some frustration out? Play.”
An uneasy silence takes over the loft while I stare back at him. Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I stare at the familiar lines of the guitar. “I haven’t since the accident.”
Kennedy holds the guitar out. “Don’t care. Play.”
“I don’t know if I can.” My voice sounds hollow with my admission. It scares the hell out of me not knowing. Tess’s famous shrink friend would probably say that’s the biggest reason I haven’t tried. Fear of the unknown makes you do stupid things, keeps you from moving forward.
“I know you can. We all know you can,” Kennedy presses.
“You’ve been doing the rehab exercises. Tucker says you’re stronger than ever,” Cameron adds, joining us. I watch as he lifts another guitar from the stand, plugging it into an amp before he strums a few chords.
I look over at Sean as he bolts up from the couch, reaching for my favorite Rickenbacker. He slides the strap awkwardly over his shoulder. He looks ridiculous. “How fucking hard can this be? Honestly. There are only four strings on this one.”
A laugh slips out despite the stress of the day. I don’t deserve these guys, but after everything we’ve been through, I know I’m stuck with them. Brothers to the end. I might doubt a lot of things in my life, but I’ll never doubt that again. “When in the hell did you learn to play bass?”
“Right the fuck now. That’s when. Come on then, Matty, dazzle me with your legendary ways.”
“Shit.” I reach for the neck of the Fender, feeling it ground me as it always has. Lifting the strap over my shoulder is as familiar as breathing. I let the weight of the guitar settle, the strings taunting and tempting me.
With my heart pounding, I take a look at my bandmates, the years we’ve spent playing to handfuls in dimly lit bars and then thousands in packed stadiums looping back to me. Memories we will have for a lifetime. It’s time to make more. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“I don’t like this,” Tom says, scowling at me as we sit in the small visiting room at a juvenile detention center just outside San Fran. It’s Zach’s home for the next couple of years as he serves out his sentence. It’s about as bad as you expect. Claustrophobic, depressing, slowly sucking the life out of you.
“I know you don’t.”
“If I had just listened to you and Aaron—”
“Don’t go there. Just don’t. If it wasn’t me, it could’ve been you on that bike, and that? That would’ve killed me.”
Tom huffs and shakes his head. “He just needs to do his time and get on with his life.”
“I know that.”
He pins me with one of his stern glares. “You could’ve died, Matt.”
“But I didn’t. I could’ve also ended up like Zach. That could be me in there. You’re the reason I’m not. You gave me a chance. Hell, you gave me dozens.”
“And talking to him is going to do what exactly? Nothing I’ve said or done so far has made a damn bit of difference.” Tom drums his fingers against the worn wooden table.
“Maybe this won’t, either. Maybe he doesn’t really give a shit. But I want to try. I need to see him. Call it closure.”
His expression softens, a hint of a smile replacing the concerned frown he’s been wearing since we got here. “When did you get to be so smart, kid?”
“Learned from the best.”
The steel doors opposite the table open up, and Zach shuffles in with a burly guard. Gone is the cocky air of defiance Zach used to wear like a badge. He looks like he may have gone a few rounds with a prizefighter and lost.
Glancing between Tom and me, he drags out a chair from under the table across from us, scraping it over the linoleum floor. He winces as he sinks down into it. He’s beaten and exhausted. His head’s been freshly shaved, and he’s sporting a few good cuts.
An awkward silence hangs in the air until I break it. “Guess I don’t have to ask how you’re doing.”
No response from Zach. He just scowls at the empty beige wall on the other side of the room.
“You need to eat at least,” Tom says, his voice clipped.
Zach’s sunken eyes dart between us. “Why do you give a shit about me? What? Cameras following you around again? Good photo op?” The words come out of his mouth flat, like he’s lost his fire.
“No cameras. No bullshit. It’s just us.”
Zach folds his arms across his chest, shaking his head.
“You like living this way? Looking over your shoulder all the time? Sleeping with one eye open?” I lean forward.
Zach slides his hand over his
shaved head, and then down across his face. “I’ve never stopped doing that.”
There’s a hint of desperation I’m sure Zach regrets in his voice. It’s obvious that the past few weeks in here have taken a toll. I know how this works. The new kid is typically the punching bag, bottom of the established pecking order. You have to earn respect. In the group home, Zach was on top—King Shit. In here, he’s nothing.
“They offer programs in here you should probably take a look at. Job placements to get you on your feet when you’re out.” Tom’s voice fills the room as it always does. I’ve learned over the years to listen to him. I may not always like what he’s had to say, but the man commands respect.
Zach eyes both of us warily. “I don’t get it. What’s in this for you?”
“I want to know what you were thinking, Zach.” There’s a disappointment in Tom’s voice. I’ve heard it more times than I care to remember.
Zach slumps forward and, for the first time, I see the cracks in his armor. “I didn’t think,” he mumbles, eyes fixed to the table. Tom glances at me with a subtle shake of his head. “I screwed up. I never meant to hurt anyone.”
“You could’ve said something. I’ve always had an open-door policy and you know it,” Tom’s gravelly voice shows signs of breaking. This has rattled Tom more than I realized. It’s more than just me getting hurt. It’s Tom’s entire life’s work; his faith in these kids and the system he’s put in place has been rattled.
“I thought I could fix it.” Zach grinds his hands together. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Would you at least think about the courses? It would help pass the time if nothing else.” I watch his jaw set as he considers what Tom’s saying.
He gives a noncommittal shrug, slouching down further in the chair. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Pushing back from the table earns his attention. He lifts his head to glance up at Tom and me, and I can recognize the panic in his eyes. The last thing he wants to do is go back inside to whatever nightmare his daily routine has become. Unfortunately, it’s his reality for now.
Tucker’s right. Zach needs to do his time, and I need to let it go. Nothing is going to make him miraculously turn a corner unless he wants to do that himself. “Take care of yourself in here,” I say, gripping the back of the chair.
“You’re going to be okay, right?” Zach’s eyes dart to my shoulder.
“I am. You will be, too.”
Zach huffs, shaking his head. “Whatever. You’re not the one in here.”
“Listen to the guards, do the work, and if you’re lucky, this will be the last time you’re in a place like this.”
I don’t know if Zach hears me or not. If he believes me, or if he’s so far gone that he just doesn’t care anymore. At this point, I’ve done all I can.
“Are you sure you want to go for a ride?” Tess asks as I steer her downstairs. My Victory custom sits in the quiet garage, gleaming under the overhead lights.
“Oh, I’m very sure,” I whisper, pressing my lips against her neck. It earns me a hitch of her breath, and one of those laughs I live for.
“It’s just that you haven’t been out since the accident, and you’re leaving for the tour in an hour.” The tour is back on, six months almost to the day of the accident. The weeks and months I’ve put in with Tucker and in Cameron’s pool with rehab exercises, and the countless hours spent playing into the middle of the night, have been painful and at a lot of times frustrating, but they’ve made a difference.
It hasn’t been without adjustments to the band. Three-and-a-half-hour concerts are going to take a toll, so I’ll be at the piano for a few songs to give my shoulder a rest. Kennedy calls it the next evolution of our sound. It’s a little more introspective, but the guys are all on board with it. My recovery has given us all a much-needed break from the grueling schedule of touring, and now, we’re itching to get back on the road.
“I know. But I love to ride, Cardinal. You do, too. We’re making time.”
“Look at you getting all philosophical on me.”
“It’s time with your favorite shrink, Sheila Mercer. She’s a woman of many talents,” I tease. She narrows her eyes in response.
Over the last couple of months, I’ve started seeing the therapist Tess suggested. It’s awkward and draining, but I also know I need to do it. The nightmares still loom large, and probably always will to some degree. At least now I have an outlet that doesn’t involve me going off on Tess or Tom. I’ve never been someone who believes the psychobabble you hear about. Sheila isn’t like that at all. She’s no-nonsense, direct and to the point. I get the feeling she doesn’t put up with a lot of shit, which I fully appreciate.
She’s challenged me to look at things differently. To see that what happened with my mother was her fault, not mine, and that the choices I made to survive on the streets are things I can’t change, and that I can’t let them define me. I still believe the past affects the future. I wouldn’t be who I am without it, but a little perspective is a good thing.
We’ve only scratched the surface in the sessions we’ve had. Old wounds that never really healed are cut open and allowed to bleed, maybe for the first time. I know it’s progress. Slow and painful, but progress.
“She’s sixty, and unless you’re into something I don’t know about, I’m going to assume I don’t have to worry about those talents,” Tess says, lifting her helmet from the handlebar.
“You never have to worry about anything with me, Cardinal.” I grip her luscious hips as she straddles the bike. “My heart is yours and always will be.”
“Smooth talker. And you’re stalling.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, and I straddle the seat, facing her. Her eyes widen as I cup her face between my hands, my thumbs brushing over her cheeks.
“Are you sure you can’t come with me?” Those dark eyes stare back at me, and I can see the want, the aching need we share.
“I can’t. You know I have to work with Kennedy’s brother on the NASCAR event.” I know Tess is excited about starting on this particular dream fulfillment. Kennedy’s brother Adam, a star on the NASCAR circuit, is helping out giving a little girl with MS her dream of spending the day at a racetrack. I know it’s for a good cause. I’m ready for the tour, but playing for the first time since the accident to our die-hard fans also scares the hell out of me. Tess has a way of calming me, bringing me back to reality. I guess she’s going to have to do that from a distance.
“You’re adorable when you pout,” she teases.
“I’m not pouting.” I lean forward, nipping at her bottom lip, skimming my palm along her thigh.
“Sure you’re not,” she whispers against my lips. “And I thought we were going for a ride.”
My hands slide up under her shirt, feeling her warm skin as my fingers tease higher. Her helmet falls from her hand, landing with a loud thud on the floor of the garage. “We are, Cardinal. We are.”
“Grasshopper! Kiss your girl and move your arse!” Sean’s voice bellows from behind the door as I spend my last few minutes with Tess.
“I hate that he’s rushing me,” I mumble against her neck. “Two more minutes, right here.” I breathe her in, feeling her press against my torso. Fuck, I’m going to miss her.
“You have to go!” Tess swats my ass as she pushes away from me. “Before he breaks the door down.”
“Don’t make us use the spare key.” Tucker’s threatening voice drifts through the door.
“I’m coming,” I growl, turning to open the door.
“That’s what they all say.” Cameron leans against the wall beside the door. “Plane’s waiting, Casanova.”
“Make yourselves useful.” I roll over my suitcase to Tucker, passing Sean and Cameron a few guitar cases. The others will already be loaded with the rest of the equipment en route to Montreal, the first stop on our tour.
Tess smiles as she leans out to the hall. “Make sure you look after him.”
“Always do, Tess. Don’t worry.” Tucke
r gives her a salute.
“You know, I can look after myself.” I tighten my arms around her waist.
“I know that, but it’s nice to know you’ve got people in your corner. You always will.”
I gently brush her dark hair behind her shoulder. “Always?”
She looks at me with all the promise and hope I never thought I deserved. “Always, Matt.”
Tessa
“She’s so excited, I think she could power a small city!”
I look over at April and mirror her enthusiastic grin. We’ve been like that all day. Amanda Blakely, a twelve-year-old from Folsom whose dream was to spend a day at a racetrack, has gotten much more. She’s been the special guest of Adam Lane, Kennedy’s brother, for today’s NASCAR race at Sonoma Raceway. She visited the pit and helped the crew, and then watched the rest of the race in one of the VIP boxes with her family. After he’d won, he’d taken her for a victory lap in his car, which sported an enormous Redfall logo on the hood, snuggled amongst his other sponsors. I thought she would explode from happiness.
Although the entire day has been carefully documented by our photographers, Amanda and her family were now posing with Adam and a few of the other drivers by their cars. As April says, you can never have too many pictures.
The day has been an adventure for me, as well. I’ve never been to a race before. As breathtaking as the actual event was, the organized chaos afterward is just as amazing. Pit crews and techs haul equipment, and carriers stand ready to load the precious race cars. Fans, groupies, and autograph hounds swarm everywhere. In fact, I think there are as many groupies here as there are at one of the guys’ concerts. April and I found a spot at the foot of the now mostly empty stands where we can be out of the way and still keep an eye on everything happening on the track.
Smells of exhaust and gasoline are heavy in the warm air. I spy Abby standing at the edge of the track, looking for us among the swirling mass of bodies, and I wave to catch her attention. Her relationship with Kennedy made this an easy dream to fulfill, but that didn’t mean we haven’t been busy with months of planning, negotiations with the raceway’s own charity, lodging details for the whole Blakely family, and the press, of course.
