Betrayal of the Band

by Sarah Tipton

  “No.” He headed into the kitchen to nuke a frozen breakfast burrito in the microwave.

  “This is the second week in a row you’ve slept in on a Sunday.” She raised her voice over the hum of the microwave. “And last week you cleaned the house, today you cleaned yourself. What happened to my son?”

  “You make it sound like I never clean.”

  “Because you don’t.”

  “But I do shower.” The microwave beeped. He juggled the hot burrito onto a plate and carried it into the living room.

  “Rarely before eating.” She scraped the spoon along the sides of the plastic yogurt container.

  “So? I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Right.” She nodded, a knowing pucker between her brows. “Something’s up.”

  He bit into the burrito burning his tongue so he didn’t have to answer. If he told her about Chey, then Chey didn’t show, Mom would tease him. Not that he cared, but he didn’t want to spend the day listening to her.

  “So what are your plans today?”

  He shrugged and chewed. At least his drums were in his room. Playing would fill up his afternoon if Chey didn’t show.

  A knock interrupted his thoughts.

  “Ah-ha! You do have plans.” She poked him with her spoon. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere.” He gulped down the last of his breakfast, and leaving the plate on the kitchen counter, he opened the door.

  “Hey.” He held back a smile, a wise decision judging by the look on Chey’s face.

  “Hi.” Her mouth formed a tight line, and flames flashed in her orange-brown eyes.

  OK, he was good at annoying people, but how could she be angry with him before she even stepped into his house?

  He moved aside, and Chey entered.

  Mom twisted around on the couch. A slow grin spread across her face. “Hi, I’m Sawyer’s mom, Lexi.”

  “This is Chey,” he muttered.

  Mom’s smile stretched wide. Any moment she’d say something embarrassing probably on purpose.

  “We’re going to hang out in my room,” he said.

  “You invited a girl over.” The wonder in Mom’s voice lit a fire in his cheeks. “It’s about time.”

  Sawyer hooked his head toward the hall. “C’mon.”

  “Nice to meet you, Chey.”

  “Yeah, you too.” Chey’s voice sounded clipped, and her smile was more of a twitch like she was being polite while anger seethed under the surface. He didn’t get it. Why would she show up if she was ticked off with him? But he led her away from Mom.

  Inside his room, they stood awkwardly. With his drums crowded between the desk and chest, there wasn’t much floor space left. But at least it was clean today, though a jeans leg and shirt sleeve poked out under his closet door. The drumsticks were all together—how had he collected so many?—lined up on his desk next to the laptop Mom had bought him two Christmases ago.

  He flipped up the edge of his blanket on his made-up bed and pulled out some shoeboxes. “We can listen to music, if you want.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of music.” Chey’s eyes turned as round as CDs as he set more boxes on the bed. “Do you buy everything on CD?”

  “No. I’ve got more on my computer.”

  She removed the lid of one box and scanned the plastic cases. “You belong to those mail-order clubs? ’Cause they must love you.”

  “Yeah, but I only buy when the albums are like a penny each.”

  “My dad and I used to listen to this all the time.” She held up a case featuring a horned skull. The angry look faded, replaced by sadness. “It was our road trip music.”

  “You don’t listen to it anymore?”

  She shook her head and dropped the CD into the box. “Deanna doesn’t like that kind of music.”

  Ouch. A couple of guys Mom had dated brought with them their opinions on music, TV, food. He hated when Mom changed her interests for those men. “How long have they been married? Your dad and Deanna.”

  “Three years.”

  “What happened to your mom?” He didn’t know why he was asking such personal questions. Maybe because he recognized the ache in her eyes whenever she talked about her dad and Deanna. He’d felt the same way.

  “She ran off when I was two. I don’t know where she is now.”

  “My dad disappeared when I was born.” The words slipped out of his mouth. He’d never talked about his dad with anyone.

  “Stinks, doesn’t it?” Chey lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “They say it had nothing to do with you, but you always wonder if that’s really true.”

  “Yeah.” No one had ever admitted that before. Justin and Zoey definitely didn’t get it. Justin’s parents had stuck together even after his mom cheated, and Zoey’s mom had died. They had no idea what it meant to be left behind by choice.

  “OK, you’ve got every kind of music here, but this one really surprises me.” Chey raised a CD and her eyebrow. “Country?”

  “I went through a phase a few years ago.”

  “A few years ago?” Chey pulled out another case. “This album came out this year.”

  “But she’s hot.”

  Chey’s eyebrow went higher, and a smile tugged the corner of her mouth.

  “I don’t mean her, I meant her music.”

  Chey looked at him barely concealing laughter.

  “Her music’s hot,” he finished lamely and swore under his breath.

  The humor vanished from Chey’s face, and she turned away from him. “The rule about your language still stands, drummer boy.”

  He scowled, ready to launch a defensive about his right to say whatever he wanted in his own house.

  “Sawyer?” Mom called.

  Relieved, he escaped his bedroom, but in the living room, his heart froze.

  Mom held the door open for Felicia.

  Good thing Chey couldn’t hear what he muttered next.

  Felicia grinned as if she’d won a grand prize, and Mom looked more amused than confused about his visitors.

  He dragged his feet across the room.

  “Hi.” Felicia’s brightness dimmed. “You said I could come over today, remember?”

  “I did?” Why would he have done that?

  “Yeah, on Thursday? After the devo?” She bit her lip.

  Thursday? All he remembered about Thursday was the look in Justin’s eyes when he confronted Sawyer. And Chey touching his drums.

  “I asked you about your CDs?”

  Oh, right. She’d said something about coming over to check out his CD collection. This couldn’t be good. Was it too late to shove her out the door and pretend like no one was home? He glanced at Mom for help. But she only smiled and leaned against the door.

  Didn’t look as if he had any options.

  “My room’s down the hall, on the right.” He pointed.

  Felicia lit up again. “OK.” She headed that direction.

  Sawyer didn’t move.

  “You’ve become awfully popular.” Mom pushed the door shut. It clicked like the lock on a torture chamber.

  “This isn’t funny.” He frowned.

  “Oh, yes it is.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. What was he supposed to do now? Join both girls in his room? They’d never agree on music. Felicia probably liked country. And she’d fill the air with her annoying giggles. He preferred the teasing gleam in Chey’s eyes. Maybe he should escape, let the girls fight over the CDs alone.

  Before he came anywhere close to a real solution, Chey stalked through the living room. The spark in her eye was far from teasing.

  “I better go.” Her nostrils flared.

  He blocked her exit. “Don’t.”

  “Why should I stay?” She crossed her arms and tapped a black-shoed foot radiating more heat than a wood-burning stove.

  “Because I want you to?”

  The air warmed a few more degrees.

  “Look, I forgot about Felicia. And, anyway, she invi
ted herself over. I agreed because her music knowledge is pathetic. She needs serious help.”

  “Excuse me?” Felicia stepped from the hall. “I’m pathetic?”

  Things were getting worse. How was that even possible? “Well, yeah.”

  Felicia’s jaw dropped, her face turned red.

  Mom and Chey stared at him shaking their heads as if he was the pathetic one. They were probably right.

  “You’re a total jerk, Sawyer.” Felicia shoved past him, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut rattling the windows.

  “I agree.” Chey’s voice was low and hard. “Who do you think you are anyway?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re going after every girl who speaks to you.”

  “What do you know? You’ve known me, like, two days.”

  “I know why your band broke up.” She lifted her chin. “It’s because you kissed Zoey, isn’t it?”

  He heard Mom’s sharp intake of breath behind him. His chest tightened, and his heart ached as the knife he’d stabbed himself with drove deeper. “Who told you about that?”

  “Zoey.”

  Was she going around confessing to everybody? “That girl needs to keep her mouth shut.”

  “You’re blaming her? Seriously?” Chey shook her head. “I don’t know why I even came.”

  “Why did you?”

  The diamond stud wiggled. “I guess I’m a slow learner.” She reached around him, opened the front door, and marched down the steps.

  Typical fail. Why’d he think he could keep a girl interested?

  “That went well,” Mom said.

  “Why didn’t you make some popcorn while you watched the show?”

  “Hey.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “Don’t get mad at me.”

  He slumped against the door wishing he could disappear into it. The only person he was mad at was himself.

  “Was that true, about you and Zoey?” she asked.

  Actually, he was angry with Zoey too. “Yeah, so?”

  “You kissed Zoey? Justin’s girlfriend, Zoey?”

  “Yes.”

  “How could you do that?”

  “It was a mistake.” He shoved away from the door. He needed to get behind his drums before he exploded.

  “A mistake?” She grabbed his arm and forced him to face her. “You don’t make mistakes that involve kissing, Sawyer.”

  “It didn’t mean anything. It was an accident.”

  “No! You don’t accidentally kiss someone.”

  “Mom, it was just a kiss.” What was her problem?

  “What if it had turned into something more?”

  “More? We were behind the ice cream shack. What ‘more’ could happen?”

  “A lot.”

  He stared at her, trying to follow her warped logic. “This isn’t about me kissing Zoey, is it? It’s about you.” He yanked out of her grasp. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’m not stupid enough to make a mistake that will leave me stuck with a kid.”

  His words hit their mark and hurt flickered across her face. He ignored the knife twisting in his heart and walked away.

  ~*~

  Sawyer banged the drums in endless rhythms beating away the events of the day without success. So what if Chey knew about the kiss? He didn’t care if she hated him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He and Chey weren’t dating; he had every right to invite Felicia over too. And the kiss happened before he met Chey.

  Movement in the doorway caught his eye, and he glanced up to see Mom. She shoved aside the shoeboxes still on his bed and sat.

  He stopped playing.

  “I’m sorry.” Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying.

  Was that his fault too?

  “I don’t want you to think I regret you,” she continued. “Because I don’t.”

  Sure she didn’t. He lightly drummed his sticks against a tom. If it wasn’t for him, maybe his dad would’ve stuck around. And even if his dad left anyway, she could’ve found someone else if she hadn’t had a kid.

  “I want you to know that the hard part was never what I had to give up when I became a mom.” She raised her voice over his quiet rhythm. “It was knowing I was responsible for another human being. Someone I had to raise without messing up when my own life seemed to be a mess.”

  “You think I’m messed up?”

  “I hope not.”

  He stilled his sticks. “If I am, it’s not your fault.”

  “Are you sure? As far as I know, you’ve never had a girlfriend, but today you invite two girls over, and I find out you kissed another one. No offense, but that sounds a little messed up.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sorry. Just trying to understand what’s going on inside your head.”

  He was trying to do the same. “I don’t know what happened with Zoey. She was crying, I was trying to make her feel better, and it just happened. I wish it hadn’t.” He’d do anything, promise anything, sell anything to take back that kiss. “And Felicia just won’t leave me alone.”

  “She the movie girl from last week?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But Chey’s the one you really like?”

  He shrugged. What was the point of admitting it? He’d never see Chey again.

  “She is. You cleaned your room, showered, and practically begged her not to leave.”

  His face grew hot. “So?”

  “So call her up and apologize.”

  “For what?” he demanded. “I didn’t do anything.”

  She frowned that want-to-try-the-truth mom-frown.

  “I didn’t do anything on purpose.”

  “Whether you meant to or not, you hurt her. So apologize.”

  “Maybe I don’t like her.” He jutted out his chin sounding and acting like a ten-year-old. Why did he care if Mom knew he liked Chey? But he did care.

  “If you want me to believe I haven’t failed you, be a man who apologizes when he hurts a woman’s feelings, got it?”

  “Fine.” He picked up his sticks again.

  “Thank you.” She started to leave but turned around at the door with that sad smile. “Guess I know now why your drums are in your room. I’m sorry.”

  And then he was alone.

  He drummed. Apologize? He’d have to play all night to find that kind of courage.

  But maybe Chey was worth an apology. Or a million apologies.

  30

  Welcome to Your Life

  Justin walked into the kitchen Monday morning. A new week hadn’t provided a fresh start or a new outlook. His guitar was still broken. His relationship with Zoey was still broken. His life was still broken. “I’m going to Rhythm and Notes to price guitars,” he said.

  Mom glanced up from the dishwasher, eyebrows raised in Mom-speak meaning, did you forget who you were talking to?

  “If that’s OK.” Justin added the words of an obedient son and pulled a box of cereal from the cabinet.

  “That’s fine.” Dirty dishes clinked into place on the top rack. “You should see if they’re hiring. A music store would be a perfect place for you to work.”

  Justin scowled at the flakes and nut clusters cascading into his bowl. He’d hoped she’d forgotten about the job thing. “If I get a job, I won’t be available to babysit whenever you want.”

  “I know, and I’ll miss the free labor.” Mom’s voice was light teasing.

  But Justin’s insides felt heavy, weighed down by all these changes. No Zoey. No band. No guitar.

  “You’re seventeen. It’s time you had a job.”

  “Fine.” He shoved a spoon into the cereal splashing milk onto his hand. Now a job and no life.

  “Speaking of babysitting, can you be home by three to watch Savannah and Tristan? I’m meeting someone for coffee.”

  Coffee? His heart seized, stopped for a beat, two beats, and then it raced. Coffee had been her excuse all those years ago, when that “someone” had been Vance’s dad. Maybe he wouldn’t make it home
so she couldn’t sneak off.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’d really appreciate it.” She rinsed a bowl in the sink and stuck it in the dishwasher. “But call me if you can’t, and I’ll ask Carrie next door if they can play at her house instead.”

  He hovered on the brink of confronting her, but she was still Mom. He couldn’t accuse her of cheating on Dad without more proof than a random coffee date.

  He carried his breakfast into the next room. Regardless of who she was meeting and why, she’d be sorry when he started working. Between a job and band practice...

  He sank onto a dining table chair. No band, so no band practice. Just him, alone. Maybe he shouldn’t even waste money replacing the acoustic.

  “Justin!” Tristan burst into the dining room and scrambled into a chair. “What are you doing?”

  Justin pulled his thoughts from the band. “Carving an elephant.”

  “No, you’re not,” Tristan giggled.

  “I’m not?” Justin faked surprise. “What am I doing then?”

  “You’re eating, si-we.”

  “Oh, you’re right.” Justin grinned and took a bite. His little brother had a way of cheering him up. Tristan was a reminder that his parents still loved each other, even after his mom cheated.

  “Pway a game with me.”

  “Can’t, buddy. I’ve gotta go find a job.”

  “Me too. I go with you.”

  “Sorry, you’ve gotta stay here.”

  “Pwease?”

  “You can’t.”

  “But I want to.” Tristan’s lower lip jutted out.

  “I know. But you can’t.” Justin ruffled his little brother’s hair. “I promise we’ll play a game when I get home, OK?”

  “O-tay.” Tristan slid off his chair and ran out of the room. “Bye.”

  Justin finished eating and put his dishes in the dishwasher.

  Now to find a job.

  ~*~

  Justin parked in the empty gravel lot next to Rhythm and Notes and headed into the converted house. As he always did, he stopped inside the door to scan the flyers and business cards on a bulletin board.

  Band looking for bassist.

  Keyboard for sale.

  Piano lessons.

  Lessons? Why hadn’t he thought of that? He’d taught guitar lessons before, but he hadn’t charged much. If he raised his rates...