“I brought up to Kai a hypothetical situation of us recording another album, and his recommendation was to record when you are ready and not delay. You can record all the guitar parts, and hopefully we can find someone who is the right fit while we are still in the studio. I know you want the newest member involved in the creative process, but I agree with Kai. We shouldn’t postpone recording based on that.”
“I think it sounds like a good idea, but I don’t want the search for a guitarist postponed by recording either.”
“I agree, Hen.”
A man interrupts our conversation and introduces himself as Jeff Davis, the new Vice President of our record label. Here we go. He looks to be mid to late forties, attractive, but in that stuffy, arrogant way. I’m immediately put off by him.
“Ms. Hendrix, how lovely to see you out and about.”
I simply stare at him and offer no pleasantries. Bitch, I know.
“I just want to remind you, Ramses Records is owed another album by Abandoned Shadow per your contract. The record label felt it only right to provide you with enough time to grieve over the death of Caleb King, and I think four and a half years is quite enough time. I will have my secretary call and schedule an appointment with you since you are in town.”
He extends his hand once again, and Rhys and I look at one another and begin another conversation like the douchebag isn’t standing there.
“Hey, Hen, did you hear about that dick Jeff Davis over at Ramses Records? Apparently, he has a little dick, so he dresses in $20,000 suits, and talks down to people to make himself feel more like a man. Apparently penile implants aren’t even an option. Sad, really.”
“No, Rhys, I haven’t heard about him yet. I wonder if he has been advised not to fuck with me because my grandfather owns a controlling share in the company. It would be nice if someone would tell him so I don’t have to deal with little-man syndrome.”
“Ms. Hendrix, Mr. Ryan, I by no means meant any harm here, I simply...”
Rhys interrupted him. “Jeff, you were probably about to say something like, it’s only business, nothing personal, and all that jive. When you bring up Caleb King, you better fucking have known the man, or someone at this table will beat the shit out of you. It’s personal to us. I’m sure you saw the videos of his death at some point. Hell, most of the globe has seen them. And, if from that video you could not deduce how personal a loss we felt, then you might want to consider some serious classes in interpersonal skills. You don’t get to tell us how long we can grieve. Hence, the record company has not pushed for another record just yet. For your information, we have discussed recording another album very recently. We will record when we are ready, we will use whatever producer we want, and we will release when we are ready. So, if you don’t mind, have a nice night and go fuck yourself,” Rhys said in a very businesslike manner. The smile on his face almost had me rolling in laughter.
Jeff Davis turns on his heel and left. It is clear the man is not accustomed to being spoken to so frankly.
Chapter 22
“WHAT DO YOU mean, you are replacing me?”
“Caleb, I thought you would want us to move on. I never thought I would, but this little boy Noah made me realize that life is short, and I have to live it to the fullest. Music is all I know.”
“Henley, I’m right here. I’m still the guitar player.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hen, what’s wrong with you?”
“Caleb, you are... you’re gone. You can’t play anymore.”
“I most certainly can. Watch this.”
Caleb picks up a strat and plays Jimi Hendrix’s Red House. I close my eyes as the bluesy notes wash over my soul, and the warmth of the music takes over. I feel every last riff and am afraid to open my eyes. He might be gone if I open them. I haven’t heard him play in four years. I miss the sound of him playing. When the song is over, I still haven’t opened my eyes.
“Henley, open your eyes.”
“I can’t. You will leave me again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You always leave me.”
“I’m right here, baby girl.”
I feel him touch my face, and my eyes fly open. His face is just as I remember it. When he frowns, the area between his brows scrunches up, and it always makes him look so young, younger than he really is. I lift my hand to touch his face, but I can’t seem to make contact.
“I can’t feel you, Caleb.”
“I’m always right here.”
“You always leave.”
“You haven’t been looking.”
“We have to hire another guitar player.”
“I know.”
“But you said...”
“You aren’t listening.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m always your guitar player. I will always play music with you. You won’t replace me. You won’t ever be able to. You have to supplement the music, not replace. It’s always been right in front of you.”
“What has?”
“You will know it when you see it.”
“Caleb, stop with the cryptic shit. What in the hell are you talking about?”
“See that right there? That’s the fire that has always burned inside of you. You will never replace me or the bond we have. You will find someone who has a different bond with you. It will fit, and it will feel more right than anything you have ever felt. You will know when, Henley.”
“I’m scared.”
He kneels down in front of me, and touches my face again. I want to touch his face too. I lift my hand once again, and when I reach his face, it goes straight through him. I jump back, startled, and he fades away. I scream for him not to go. He always leaves me. I just need a little more time with him. I scream again and again. I need him to come back.
“Henley, wake up!”
I shake my head. I need to go back and find Caleb. I need to know if I can hire another guitar player.
“Henley, wake up, baby.”
Someone is shaking me. I want to scream for the person to stop, but my eyes pop open and Rhys instantly brings me into his arms. I claw my way to get even closer and I sob. I sob loudly. I sob until my body can’t physically cry any longer, and I fall back into sleep.
I wake with the California sun in my eyes. I stretch and pad my way to the kitchen for some coffee. Rhys is standing in my kitchen with a cup already in his hand. He pours me a cup and adds sugar and creamer, but he sets in on the counter and envelops me in a hug.
“I didn’t know you were still having the nightmares.”
“It’s not like it used to be. I have them infrequently.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“I get it.”
After our morning coffee and cigarette, I find my phone to call my grandfather to inquire about Jeff Davis. A text from Jagger is waiting on me when I touch the home screen.
I saw the photos from last night. You looked gorgeous as usual. It made me smile to see you out with Griff and Rhys. I hope you enjoyed your evening. I miss you so much. I’m so sorry I hurt you.
I sigh and throw the phone on the bed. I miss him too. It hurts to breathe when he isn’t around. The steady ache in my chest hasn’t subsided yet, and my daily life seems forced without him here. I feel a song here somewhere. I lounge around in bed for a few hours and try to pull the song from my thoughts.
You held my hand through it all
With your gentle touch and kind eyes
I knew all I had to do was call
And you would hold me while I cried.
The days without him are so damn long
I can’t remember the last song.
Will you cut me w
ith your words?
And show me who I really am?
Will you tell me how I failed?
And remind me of why I ran?
Will you scream my faults?
So I know you never really gave a damn.
Seeing me through your eyes,
Shows me what the world must think.
I was once the one who shined,
So brightly against the background.
I let it all slip away in time,
Just to find some measure of peace.
Will you cut me with your words?
And show me who I really am?
Will you tell me how I failed?
And remind me of why I ran?
Will you scream my faults?
So I know you never really gave a damn.
I won’t stand by any longer and wait,
For the world to make sense of it all.
I can’t leave it all to fate,
And let you destroy me.
The decisions are mine to make,
I have to leave you behind.
Will you cut me with your words?
And show me who I really am?
Will you tell me how I failed?
And remind me of why I ran?
Will you scream my faults?
So I know you never really gave a damn.
Rhys and I spend the afternoon on the beach with his drumsticks and my guitar. We manage to write some chords and a beat to go with it. I usually write on an acoustic guitar to gain some semblance of what the song will sound like. Lyrics are words on paper until you pick up an instrument. Instruments somehow guide us into what the song will evolve into. The song begins as a ballad, and then I scream through the chorus with all my emotions pouring into the words on the piece of paper. This is the first song in four years that I have completed from the writing to recording.
Chapter 23
I KEEP GOOD ON my promise to Dale, and that Saturday night, I join Shaun on stage for Broken. He is so surprised when I walk on stage with an acoustic guitar. It takes him a few moments to speak. The crowd grows crazy loud as I sit on the stool Dale places in front of a second mic.
“So, I hear your birthday is in a few weeks? I figured I would join you on stage tonight before you leave L.A. for the last few gigs of the tour if that’s okay with you?” I ask, and the crowd grows even louder.
Shaun smiles and nods.
“You originally sang this song with a very talented artist, but let’s see if we can make our own version.” I pick the guitar. Shaun and I sing our hearts out, and the crowd is lit up by their lighters and cell phones as they sing along with us. When the song ends, I take the strap off and hold the guitar by the neck. I wish Shaun a happy birthday again through the mic and hug him. As I kiss his cheek, he requests my favorite Resin song.
“Definitely Gasoline. I like the grittiness of it.” I smile.
“Let’s do it then, yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
We rock the fuck out. Shaun, Dale, and I extend the song and shred like metal gods on our guitars. Dale eventually stops playing, and Shaun and I keep going. It lasts for over ten minutes, and the fans are wild. I’m pouring sweat from the lights and the energy I poured out on stage. God, it feels so good to be back up there. I’m back! Shaun walks me off stage and hugs my neck again.
“That is the most amazing birthday gift ever! I have a penchant for female musicians,” he says with a wink.
“I’m happy to do it. Maybe I can hit you up for some collaboration on my new album?” I ask.
He is excited at the possibility, and I exchange numbers with the guys. As I exit stage right, I follow the black curtain behind the stage and see Jagger standing stage left with Koi, Kip, and Cam. Most of the other musicians on the tour are there too. I guess they showed up to watch me play. I don’t see anybody else though... I only see Jagger. He is so gorgeous, but he looks empty. His blue eyes are void of their usual fire. I smile at him, and he returns a sad smile of his own. He steps forward as though he is going to cross the area between us and speak, but Koi and Kip jump in before he goes any farther.
They are full of hugs and smiles for me. I never get tired of hearing how awesome I am from these guys. The rest of the musicians are full of hugs and smiles too. As the guys trickle out, I search for Jagger, but he’s gone. I really try not to be disappointed, but it is consuming me. Seeing him makes my resolve waver. I miss him so much. I miss his smell, his smile, his touch, his eyes, his body, his heart, and the sweet little things he does for me. That familiar ache in my heart is now front and center. Maybe I overreacted two weeks ago. Maybe I should’ve let him apologize and rebuild what we had. I hug my brother and Kip goodbye since they are leaving in a few days to play the last two gigs of the tour.
I wind my way around the backstage area until I find the exit. I carry my guitar on my side and am still riding high from performing. You have no idea what a screaming crowd and music will do for your soul.
“I miss that smile,” I hear him say.
He sits on the side of his Black BMW M6 hood with his legs crossed. He looks so fucking gorgeous. I want to tear his clothes off right then and there and ride him to kingdom come on that hood. I don’t care if the world watches me fuck his brains out. I need him like I needed air in my lungs. Poor Henley my subconscious says. I wish she would shut the fuck up. I’m horny, but those words pester me. He holds up a bouquet.
“You looked amazing out there. The Guitar Goddess is back.” He smiles a small, sad smile at me again.
The empty eyes are what tug at my heart strings most.
“Yeah. It felt good,” I finally say.
He moves to the side of his car, and walks toward me. He reaches down and grabs my guitar case. As he does, his touch on my hands sends tingles down to my toes. And, might I add, all the parts down south are screaming at me that my principles don’t mean a damn thing in this very moment.
“These are for you.” He hands me the bouquet.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“Come on, I’ll load this up for you.”
We walk slowly to my car. I can see him glancing down at me every few steps, but I can’t meet his eyes. Whatever resolve I’m holding on to will snap and leave me stranded, holding my heart in my hand.
He holds his hands out for my keys, and I hand them over. He opens the back hatch on my Range Rover and sets my guitar in the back.
“Will you sit and talk to me for a minute?” he almost whispers, but he won’t meet my eyes.
Jagger may have hurt me, but he is hurting too. I have known this beautiful man since the sixth grade, and the sentimental part of my heart takes over.
“Yeah.” I sit beside him.
“Whatever I say tonight, I mean from the bottom of my heart. The only ulterior motive I have is to get you back in my life. If that means I can only ever have you as a friend, I will take it. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I have some heavy shit weighing on me. It’s not something I can share with anyone right now, but it’s there. I snapped that night. It isn’t anything you did. You definitely didn’t deserve it. When I say that I didn’t mean those words, I mean it, Hen. I don’t even know where they came from. I just saw red and was left lying at the bottom of your porch wondering how in the hell I let it get that far. I picked myself up and went straight to the bar. You know what it’s like when we walk into a place. I was alone and vulnerable, and I hurt the only woman I ever loved. I know the bartender, and he took one look at me and knew I was nursing a broken heart. The people just started hanging off me, and I tried my best not to explode. I wanted to tell them to leave me the fuck alone, but I couldn’t. The only picture that ran through my head again and again were the tears rolling down yo
ur face, and I was holding back my own tears the rest of the night. I poured as much alcohol down my throat as I could to stop seeing you cry. Everyone wanted to take pictures, and so I just smiled through it. I smiled to keep from breaking every one of their necks. The bartender finally called me a cab, and I rode by your house several times trying to get up the courage to grovel. It isn’t that I was afraid to grovel. I was afraid of what you would say. I couldn’t handle you leaving me at that moment. I checked into a nearby hotel and passed out. By the time I woke up late the next night, the pictures from that night were all over the news, and your statement ending our relationship was playing on repeat. I went crazy. I trashed the entire fucking room. I screamed and cried until I didn’t have anything left. And do you know what I saw next?”
“What?”
“I saw you on Star Gazer being hounded by the paparazzi. I saw the sadness all over your face, and yet you were more concerned about getting an old lady away from them than you were your own broken heart. So, all those things I said that night are bullshit. I never meant them. I hurt you, and I was a weak coward who can’t deal with his own shit so I took it out on you. While I was drinking and fucking up our relationship, you selflessly gave yourself to others. That isn’t ‘Poor Henley.’ The girl on that TV is the girl who told me in sixth grade that I needed to toughen up against Brian Carrington right before you punched the bully in the nose.”
We laugh at the memory. “I had forgotten about that. The look on his face was priceless. He was such a mean kid, and he got his ass handed to him by a girl.”
“You made sure he never forgot that either.” Jagger smiles. It is a real smile this time.
“Hell no, I didn’t. I even wrote it in our eighth grade annual.”
“You didn’t?”
Dear Brian, middle school has been a blast. I hope you remember you should always play nice with others. I will kick your ass again if you don’t.
“I drew a little heart and signed my name under it. His mom called my mom a week later and read it to her. She took my guitar away for a month. It almost killed me.”
Broken (The Guitar Face Series Book 1) Page 23
