When he came in to meet his nephew, he had vibrated with anger at the sight of us both.
“My family didn’t know exactly what happened to me, but they had a sneaking suspicion that it was Richie’s fault. After all, we’d grown up with an abusive father. We knew what it looked like, what it felt like.”
“You sound ashamed,” Dr. Rootham assessed, the corners of her lips drawn downward in a slight frown.
I nodded. I remember being unable to meet any of their eyes. I was so ashamed that I’d ended up with someone so much like the devil we’d grown up with, so ashamed that I had put my own child in danger because I’d been too afraid to leave when I should have. I felt weak and stupid.
“I felt like my mother, and while I loved my mother…I also hated her for staying with him, for keeping that monster in our home for so long. If he hadn’t died, there was no way of telling if she ever would have left. Then I did the unspeakable…I’d let the monster remain in my child’s life too, until it was almost too late…until he had almost died. I failed to protect my baby.”
There was no greater shame than that, and the guilt of it nearly consumed me to this very day.
“I remember laying my head against his incubator, my shoulders shaking as I cried. The movement was excruciating for my ribs, but I didn’t care. I deserved the pain. Then I met Christina.”
“Christina?” Dr. Rootham asked, her pen gliding across the page as she jotted the name down.
“Over the eight weeks that Aiden was in the NICU, Christina was our primary day nurse. She was the nurse to first place Aiden in my arms, a few days after his birth. She was forever patient and gentle, and she didn’t let me stew in grief or guilt. That woman is the reason why I went into nursing,” I explained, smiling at the thought of the friendly nurse who saw me through one of the darkest times of my life.
“It sounds like she helped you,” Dr. Rootham noted, her eyes fixated on me.
“She did,” I nodded. “She wanted me to talk to the hospital psychiatrist. My patient file had been referred to Dr. Kennedy as the nurse on the maternity ward thought I was at risk because of the trauma, my age, and the fact that my son was born nine weeks early. She was also the one to set me up with a room in the Ronald McDonald House for five weeks, since I lived over two hours away and wouldn’t be able to drive myself to the hospital once they discharged me.”
“You’ve spoken before about your hesitance to seek psychiatric help,” Dr. Rootham pointed out. “Why were you so against it?”
“I was a mess,” I added, shaking my head. “Given the emotional traumas I’d been through, the fact that I’d just given birth and my hormones were completely messed up, and the fact that my older brother was sitting in jail—I was a complete mess. But I hadn’t been able to talk to Dr. Kennedy about it. I was afraid that more people would get hurt with my words.”
Dr. Rootham furrowed her brow in confusion. I knew I was shoving a lot at her, and I gave her an apologetic smile. In our previous sessions, I hadn’t mentioned Brock’s stint in jail. I mostly discussed my grief over Mom dying, and how my antidepressants were making me feel.
“After seeing me and Aiden, Brock went straight to the apartment. Richie was there, and he beat the ever living hell out of him. He inflicted as much pain on Richie, as Richie had on me—broke a few of his ribs, his wrist, and went one further by breaking his jaw. It was a crime of passion, I guess. Brock was sick of watching people hurt me, hurt us. He’d always been tough, but he was never violent. He went to jail because of me. He spent two years locked behind bars, and when he came out…he was different.”
“How so?” Dr. Rootham asked gently.
“He stayed away,” I replied, my heart aching. I still felt like it was my fault, and I worried that he blamed me. “For years, he kept his distance. He took a job far away from home, and he’d send us money and occasionally talk to us on the phone…but he didn’t come back to Parry Sound until Mom was dying.”
“But, you said he was planning on staying now,” Dr. Rootham pointed out with a small smile.
“I guess he is,” I replied. “He built a cabin, he’s seeing someone in town. He’s happy—and I’m happy for him. She’s a really great girl.”
“I sense a but…” Dr. Rootham ventured.
“There’s no but,” I replied honestly. “I just…I guess I sometimes wish it could be that easy for me. I wish I could fall in love.” The revelation escaped my lips before I could stop it, and I inhaled deeply. The problem wasn’t that I couldn’t fall in love, the problem was that I wouldn’t let myself.
“Why can’t you?” My psychologist actually sounded surprised.
“I vowed that I would never put myself—or Aiden—in that position again,” I answered, somber. “That kind of love breaks you.”
I purposely avoided thinking about hazel eyes and blond hair. I wouldn’t allow myself to get sucked into another realm of maybes and what ifs. Even if my thoughts had no trouble circling back to Travis on their own.
“I don’t think that’s necessarily true, Becky,” she said, her eyes gently assessing me. “It’s normal, and understandable, to feel hesitant, but I wouldn’t close yourself off to the possibility of something real just because of your past experiences. Not every man will hurt you.”
I said nothing. I didn’t believe Travis would ever physically harm me, but I didn’t expect to feel what I felt in that hotel room. It unnerved me, it wasn’t simple like I’d hoped, and I resolved that it was done between us. It had to be. There could be no more Travis and me, not in any sense. He had to be my brother’s best friend again, and I had to be his best friend’s sister.
Dr. Rootham’s timer buzzed on her desk, and she sent me an apologetic look. “We’ve made a lot of progress today, Becky, but I’m afraid we’re out of time.”
“I understand,” I stood up, bringing my purse with me. “Same time next week?”
“Absolutely. Take care of yourself Becky—and please remember, you are not a coward. You’ve been through so much and you’re still standing. Try to be a little more forgiving and be kinder to yourself.”
“I’ll try,” I replied, knowing that she was right.
Four years ago, I picked up the shattered pieces of my heart and spirit and vowed to get better by any means necessary. In the early stages of my recovery, that meant telling Dr. Kennedy about my childhood and my time with Richie and taking the anti-depressants she prescribed to help me cope with my post-traumatic stress disorder. Now, it meant therapy sessions with Dr. Rootham, just to keep my issues at bay, and it meant keeping romantic love the hell away from me.
I was too fragile for love.
I would only break.
Travis
October 2013
I was almost finished recording the final track for my upcoming album I’d been working on for the past three months. My last visit to Parry Sound had been incredible for my creative flow. I’d had a lot of good times with my old friends which got my creative juices flowing. There was nothing like being back home, especially when the entire gang was there, including Brock.
It was the first time I’d seen him in years. Brock had avoided Parry Sound since his release. We were both infamous in this town; we couldn’t go anywhere without people noticing us. Our stories were known by everyone, but the community’s perception of me was pride and awe, while their perception of Brock was judgement and contempt.
When he left, things didn’t feel the same. With him back, it almost felt like the good old days. It brought back a lot of memories, memories that definitely helped craft the fun in the final three songs I’d written for the album.
Then there was the inspiration Becky Miller had left in me. It lingered, this creative high that I felt whenever I thought about her.
That night had surpassed my expectations. I hadn’t anticipated things to feel so intense with her. I hadn’t counted on feeling a connection as strong as the one I felt with her. I’d had sex with plenty of women before, only
I could honestly say that with Becky, it was different.
Her scars ran deeper than I could have even imagined. The ache and vulnerability in her sky-coloured eyes had told me everything, even though she said little.
She shared a few morsels of information with me before ultimately deciding that serious conversations were off the table for us. I followed her lead, because I wanted to keep the smile on her face…and I was captivated by the way she looked when she felt free.
After that night together, my mind refused to quit, inspiration was running through my veins. I grabbed my notebook and my acoustic guitar and took a walk down to the docks, where I sat with my legs dangling off the end of the dock and played for hours, pausing only to write down lyrics and musical notes. I worked until the sun rose high over the lake and the blisters on my fingers bled.
I hadn’t composed like that in months, and it birthed one hell of a single to complete the album.
In the studio, I played my last guitar riff and crooned the final vocals on one of my favourite new songs, Back Forty.
My producer, Rick O’Malley, gave me a standing ovation. “That’s a wrap!” he announced excitedly, tossing a look at my personal assistant. “We’ll put the finishing touches on it, and in the meantime…get some rest! Tour starts in a couple of weeks!”
“Great!” I said, forcing a smile and ignoring the strange feeling pressing down in my chest. The usual excitement that typically came with a tour was vacant. Instead, I felt a little homesick.
The tour was kicking off in November. If I was lucky, I’d get to fly home for Christmas, then it’d be straight back to the tour bus. My next real break wouldn’t come again until the summer, which I’d always insisted were mine.
The next two weeks were also mine for the taking, and I knew I wanted to spend them at home. It had been a grueling three months with long hours spent in the studio recording, but I was proud of the album. I was excited for it, but in all that time…I hadn’t forgotten Becky.
Images of her bathed in the hotel light constantly played in my mind’s eye. I couldn’t wait to get home.
I didn’t know what would come of this visit, but I knew I had to see her again.
Placing my trusted guitar back in its case, I prepared to leave. My personal assistant, Barbara, was waiting for me in the hallway.
Barbara was a pure southern belle with strawberry blonde hair, brown eyes and her debutant beauty. There was a time when I lusted over her double Ds, but now…the only woman I thought about was back home, constantly on my mind.
“Your flight leaves in an hour,” Barbara told me before relaying a few messages and going over the upcoming week’s schedule. “Your return flight leaves two weeks from today, and you’ll hit Nashville just in time to board the bus. I’ve emailed you the itinerary.”
“Thanks,” I said, flashing her a flirty grin. Even if I wasn’t feeling like my usual self, it was still easy to flirt. I wore my charm like a mask.
“Your bags are in the trunk of the car and Rob is waiting for you out front,” Barbara added, her eyes raking over my chest and arms. She drew in her bottom lip, gently biting down on it. A couple months ago, I’d be having a hard time keeping my dick from jumping at the sight of her looking at me like that, but no lust stirred within me. It was all reserved for that dark haired, blue eyed beauty.
Besides, I’d learned a very hard lesson after sleeping with my last personal assistant. Don’t mix work with pleasure.
“Thanks,” I said before walking around her.
I slept for most of the two hour flight, pulling my baseball cap down over my eyes. There weren’t many people on the plane, but the airport was jammed with travelers. I made it through customs and was waiting for my baggage when an eager fan spotted me.
“Oh my God, it’s Travis Channing!” she squealed, practically diving at me. My bodyguard, Rob, stepped in front of her before she could make contact with me.
“That’s close enough, Miss,” he warned, keeping his voice respectful yet assertive. Rob looked like a guy even I wouldn’t want to fuck with, but the girl was young—maybe sixteen.
She flushed a deep shade of crimson, stuttering her apology out with wide eyes. I stepped around Rob and held my hand out, flashing her a smile that I knew would dazzle her. “What’s your name?”
“Natalie,” she practically whispered, her eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to run at you like a maniac, but my sister is your number one fan and she would be so happy if she got to meet you.”
“Take me to her,” I said, grinning. Rob frowned and made a move to follow us. I held my hand up to stop him. “Grab my bag when it comes around, eh man?”
The girl, Natalie, lead me over to where the rest of her family was waiting. “This is my mom, my dad, and that’s Alexis. She’s your biggest fan, her entire room is like a Travis Channing shrine. She has a 6 foot cardboard cut-out of you!”
Alexis grinned up at me from her purple wheelchair with an ecstatic smile and reached out to me with shaky hands. She looked to be about fourteen or fifteen years old. “Travis Channing!” she said, working hard to pronounce each syllable in my name through her excitement.
“Hello darling,” I grinned at her, reaching out to grasp her hand in a gentle shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet my biggest fan!”
Alexis screeched with excitement, putting her hands to her cheeks in awe.
“Maybe we could get a picture of you two together?” Natalie asked timidly, holding her cellphone up.
“Sure!” I crouched so that I was level with Alexis and smiled like an idiot while Natalie took a few pictures. Alexis’s happiness was contagious, and I couldn’t help but feel humbled that I had brought so much joy to this girl’s day, simply by being at the same airport as her at the same time.
“It was really great meeting you Alexis,” I told her, smiling warmly.
“Nice to meet you too!” Alexis responded slowly, her eyes sparkling. I stood up and fished a card from my wallet, turning to offer it to the girls’ parents. Their father was holding their mother in his arms, and both of them were looking on with expressions full of love for their daughters and this moment. “Call this number and I’ll hook you up with free backstage passes for any concert on my upcoming tour.”
“Thank you,” the mother said, a tear escaping down her cheek. “You have no idea how much this means to Alexis. She’s been a fan of your music for years now, it’s helped her through some hard times.”
“My pleasure! Your daughters are wonderful,” I replied honestly, watching as Natalie showed the photos she’d taken to Alexis with an indulgent, loving smile on her face. Giving this family VIP passes was the least I could do.
I said goodbye to Alexis and Natalie and started walking toward the parking lot, pausing only to send a quick text message to Barbara about the family and the backstage passes. “You know, you don’t have to follow me everywhere all the time,” I pointed out to Rob, catching him in my peripheral intimidating folks left right and centre. “Isn’t there somewhere else you’d rather be?”
“I love coming out to rural Northern Ontario,” Rob replied dryly, arching his bushy brow at me. Born and raised in Arizona, Rob found weather in Canada to be too humid. The man’s dry sense of humour about it always made me chuckle. He was close to twenty years older than me, but he didn’t look a day over thirty.
He’d been on my security team for five years, but Rob still wasn’t forthcoming about himself. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he had been a Navy SEAL at one point. He was intimidating as all hell and he could cut a man down with one steely look. Even the paparazzi would give him a wide berth when he was by my side.
“Well you don’t have to come to Parry Sound with me,” I reminded him. “You could rent a hotel room and spend your days in the strip club. Or borrow a boat and go fishing on the lake. Do you know how to drive a boat? You probably do. Necessary knowledge for a SEAL, right?” I quipped.
“I know how to drive a boat,” Rob grumbled da
rkly.
An autumn blanket had fallen over Lake Rosseau. The trees that lined the water’s edge were bathed in rustic paint, and the air had a crisp bite to it. Winter always came quickly up North, and I knew it was only a matter of weeks before it started to snow.
I made a mental note to remind Grady to tend to the driveway and road. During the winter months, my buddy relied on his snow removal company to earn an income, and I hired him every year to make sure that the cottage was accessible for my mom.
Walking through the front door, I was greeted to the scent of Mom’s homemade spaghetti. My mouth watered, and my stomach growled.
“Travis!” Mom gave me a quick hug, standing on her tippy toes to kiss my cheek. She barely came up past my sternum. My charming smile wasn’t the only thing I inherited from my sperm donor. “I’m so glad you could make it home before the tour started!”
“Me too,” I told her, giving her a tight squeeze before releasing her. “Is there enough spaghetti for Rob? I told him he could stay in the guest house this time. Makes sense, if he intends on following me everywhere.”
“I’ll be staying at a hotel,” Rob corrected, shaking his head with exasperation.
“Well, join us for dinner at least,” Mom decided, gesturing to the kitchen. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”
My mom and Rob were around the same age, and I figured if I kept tossing them together, they’d hit it off, and maybe he’d be distracted enough to leave me alone for a bit. So far, both of them remained impervious to my feeble match-making attempts.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket before I sat down at the kitchen table. Unlocking it, I pulled up Grady’s number and sent him a text, asking if the guys were still planning on meeting up for wings and beers. It had felt like ages since I’d seen everyone, and I needed the distraction—otherwise, I’d show up on Becky’s doorstep, and I knew that wasn’t a well thought out plan. I needed to give it a day or so, just so I didn’t seem too eager.
Rebel Song: (Rebel Series Book 3) ((Rebel Series)) Page 6
