by Jayne Frost
Jake Cage.
My father.
Even from the back, I recognized him. Pale blond hair, a shade lighter than mine. Broad shoulders. Imposing frame. Sitting in front of the big screen TV I’d purchased.
I didn’t realize I was moving until Laurel stepped in front of me, small hand pressed against my chest. “Logan, you don’t understand.” Tearing my gaze from the back of Jake’s head, I looked down into my sister’s pleading eyes. “He’s … sick.”
Truer words were never spoken. Jake Cage was the most twisted motherfucker I’d ever known. Sick didn’t begin to describe the man. But then the haze lifted, and following my sister’s line of sight, the air punched from my lungs when I spotted the wheelchair.
“What do you mean ‘sick’?” I forced out, disgusted when my voice cracked.
Jake had no hold over me. I made sure he knew that the night I beat him to the ground in front of the trailer where we lived. Until then, I’d never fought back. Not in all the seventeen years of my life. But that day, when he’d signed over his parental rights and banished my sister to foster care, I won my freedom using my fists. And since violence was the only language my father spoke fluently, he’d let me go.
“He has early onset dementia,” Laurel explained, gazing at the monster with soft eyes. “Most likely brought on by a traumatic brain injury from …”
“All the people he tried to beat the shit out of who fought back?”
Any hope I harbored that I’d kept that last thought imprisoned behind clenched teeth faded when my sister flinched. “Yeah.”
Ignoring her wistful tone, I shifted my focus back to our father. “How did he find you?”
That hint of a smile touched Laurel’s lips once again. “He didn’t. I found him. At the homeless shelter when I was dropping off canned goods from the food drive we had at work.”
Of all the cards fate had ever dealt my sister, this was the cruelest. How many stars had to line up for Laurel to be in that exact place at that exact time? If I were Christian, I could probably form an equation to explain the odds. But I wasn’t Christian. And my dad wasn’t a mathematician. He was a bare knuckles brawler who made his living by driving men to the canvas with his fists. And once, I’d been his favorite punching bag.
Gut twisting from the memories, and drawn by some unseen force, I took a step. And then another. When I was parallel with Jake’s chair, I fought the lump in my throat and replaced my spine with a steel rod.
“Hey, old man.”
Until that moment, I wasn’t sure if he was real. But then his gaze found mine. And something sparked in the pale blue orbs. I hated myself for leaning in just a fraction to hear what he was about to say.
“Jeremy.”
My uncle’s name fell from Jake’s lips, hesitant. And it was like he’d punched me.
Laurel rushed forward. “No, Daddy.” She gripped my arm, fingers digging in. “It’s Logan.”
Confusion clouded his features as he shifted his attention to my sister. “Beth?”
A tsunami of emotions battered me from the inside. Chaos and fury and a hatred so pure, I could barely speak. But I did.
“Don’t you ever say my mother’s name again,” I spat, shaking off Laurel’s hold. “Do you hear me?”
Jake blinked slowly. And for a second, I could swear he saw me. That he knew me. But then the light seeped from his watery gaze, and he turned back to the television. “I’m hungry.”
My fury quickly gathered force, and I retreated a step, unsure if I could stop myself from wrapping my hands around his neck if I stayed that close.
Shooting me a cold stare, Laurel rushed to adjust the blanket on Jake’s lap. “God, Logan.”
But God had nothing to do with it. Because what kind of God would spare my father the torment of his memories? Of my mother’s death? And my hatred? Finding no good answer for that, I stormed out, ignoring Laurel’s pleas.
Propelled by a rage I hadn’t felt in years, my fists clenched and unclenched as I rode the elevator to the ground floor. And as much as I despised the part of me that was exactly like my father, when I got into my car, I knew exactly where I’d end up.
Pulling the Rangers baseball cap low on my head, I kept my eyes downcast as I descended the stone stairs into the dank basement.
Straight into hell.
Smoke, sweat, and blood hung thick in the air, and I wrinkled my nose.
Spotting Dex’s shock of black hair, I shouldered my way through the raucous crowd to where he stood at the side of the ring. Transfixed by the two men wailing on each other inside the ropes, he didn’t notice me.
Dex had run the underground fight scene in Austin for as long as I could remember. Back to the days when my dad was a regular on the circuit. But Dex kept a low profile, and most people didn’t know he was responsible for covering all the action.
I didn’t care about the money, though. Not anymore. When Caged was still a struggling band, I’d pick up a fight now and then to make the rent. Or cover the cost of studio time. Or buy food.
Besides music, fighting was the only thing I was good at.
Dex finally turned his head, and looking up at me, his eyes widened. “Logan?”
It wasn’t a question. He knew who I was.
I held out my fist for a bump, which he returned automatically. “Hey, man. Long time.”
Brows drawn together, his gaze darted around the room. “Um … yeah. What are you doin’ here?”
Leaning a hip against the ring, I shrugged. “Thought you might be able to hook me up.”
“With what?”
Were we really playing this game? Apparently so.
“A fight, dude. What else?”
Since I didn’t look like some of the meatheads who frequented the circuit, I’d made Dex a lot of money from my fights. I was tall. But not overly muscled. Which drove down the odds. But I was also fast. And I liked the pain.
Dex contemplated for less than a minute before a laugh broke free. “Yeah, right,” he scoffed and then took a drink of his beer. “What are you really doing here?”
Pulling some tape from my pocket to wrap my knuckles, I twirled the spool around my finger. “Send someone over with a shot. Bourbon, I don’t care what kind. I’ll be good to go whenever you are.”
When I turned to find a dark corner to get ready, Dex’s meaty paw curled around my bicep. “That ain’t about to happen, Logan.” I glanced down at his hand, and he pulled away, like he’d just touched a live wire. “Listen,” he continued in a whisper. “I don’t want no trouble. And I don’t want any publicity. Whatever your game is, I can’t help you. If I put you in that ring, it’ll take about two minutes for someone to snap a picture or a video. And then where would I be?”
Following his gaze, I noticed a couple of people staring. Fuck. My days of being anonymous were long gone. Even in this shit hole.
Patting me on the back, Dex shook his head. “Just like your old man. Always looking for the rush.”
His comment snapped me back to reality. Because even though it was true, I didn’t want to hear it.
One of the guys in the ring hit the canvas with a heavy thud.
“Stay!” Dex shouted over the cheers that erupted. “Let me get you that drink.”
Rooted to my spot, I watched blood drip from the loser’s nose. Two of Dex’s men hopped into the ring and pulled the dude to his feet.
This wasn’t me. Not anymore.
“Some other time,” I mumbled, pocketing the roll of tape. “See you around, Dex.”
Without waiting for a response, I headed for the stairs. Busting out the door and into the dark parking lot, I took in a lungful of humid air to vanquish the acrid smell of blood.
Halfway to my car, I heard footsteps behind me. More than one set.
“Are you looking for a fight?”
Raising a hand, I waved them off without turning around. “No, I’m good.”
And then I was on the ground with a knee in my back. “Well, I
guess that’s too bad,” the stranger hissed in my ear. “Because I’m gonna whoop your ass, rock star.”
Laughter. And three voices, maybe four, egging the dude on. But I’d learned long ago, the size of the audience didn’t matter. Instinct took over and I grunted, flipping the clueless fuck onto his back.
Wide eyes blinked up at me, then shifted to my fist, cocked and ready to fly.
I eased up so he could wiggle free. Just enough to make it a fair fight.
And then I smiled. “Tell me, son. How bad do you want me to hurt you?”
5
Just before midnight, I parked at the edge of the sloping hill at the far corner of Oakwood Cemetery. Tomorrow there’d be a million people here. Singing. Crying. Celebrating.
But not tonight. Tonight was just for us. By design, I arrived before everyone else. Checking my reflection in the rearview mirror, I ran a hand through my long, dark locks. Normally, I wore my hair in a bun or a ponytail. But Rhenn liked it loose.
Before, I’d always worn it loose.
On nights like tonight, it was apparent my life was divided into before and after.
Before I was carefree. Fearless. Happy.
So fucking happy.
And after, I was none of those things. Troubles weighed me down. And my fears, too numerous to count. Living. Dying. Grief. And the void in my heart.
In almost six years, I’d never had one solid day of happiness. There were moments, even hours, of bliss. But always, the darkness came for me. And the worst part? Nobody knew it. Or they refused to see.
After the accident, my friends and family poured all the hopes and dreams they had for Rhenn and Paige into me. Like I was a vessel. When really, I was a sieve. Broken.
But still, time had passed. One year, then two. More. And every moment, I got closer to dead center, the day I’d wake up to the knowledge that I’d lived longer without Rhenn than with him.
He’d promised me forever. And I guess in some strange way he’d made good. I’d been his forever. And today, he would’ve turned thirty.
With a sigh, I stepped out into the Texas night, the pink box from Rhenn’s favorite bakery clutched under my arm. A half-moon hung low in the starry sky, illuminating my path as I trudged up the grassy knoll. One hundred and thirty-seven steps. And then I was counting. At twenty paces my heart stalled as I took in the two granite headstones, one black and one white, gleaming in the sparse light. I sank onto the lush grass beneath the oak tree and set the box in front of me.
A wave of sadness rolled in like the tide as I ran my fingers over the inscription below Rhenn’s name. A quote from Beauty and the Beast.
Take it with you so you’ll always have a way to look back … and remember me.
Wicking away the first tear, I whispered, “Happy birthday, baby.”
A breeze picked up, and I smiled, my watery gaze shifting to the right where the other piece of my heart was buried. To Paige.
Taking the single rose from the pocket of my hoodie, I placed the flower on top of her headstone.
And then I sat quietly with my knees tucked to my chin, watching the wind rustle through the big tree.
A half hour passed before the first car door slammed. Another quickly followed. And then another. And soon, the warmth of my friends surrounded me.
Taryn knelt by my side and took my hand. “Hey, Belle. We’re all here.”
Smiling, I nodded, too choked up to speak.
If the paparazzi only knew that they could find the members of the three biggest bands in the country in the same place, at the same time, every single year, they’d have a field day.
Taryn took the cake from the box and then lit the single candle nestled in the center of the fluffy, white frosting. Then fourteen voices rose up, and we sang “Happy Birthday” so loud you could hear it all the way to heaven.
My phone alarm beeped promptly at eight a.m., and I rolled over with a groan.
We’d ended Rhenn’s birthday celebration sometime after two. And when I got home, I came here. To his studio on the third floor of the house we’d built on Lake Travis. Even though construction was completed months before the accident, we’d never fully moved in. At the time, we were too busy. Touring. Recording. Living.
But this room, his room, we’d unpacked. And to this day, it remained exactly the same. Fifteen hundred square feet untouched by time.
Pushing off the couch, I looked around. Rhenn’s guitar sat propped against the chair facing the window overlooking the shore, his favorite Dallas Cowboys T-shirt slung over the arm. On the table next to the notepad was a cup filled with pencils, erasers either chewed off or worn to the nub.
Shuffling to the console where Rhenn had spent hours mixing the band’s last recording, I plopped down on the leather chair and picked up the page of sheet music with “Down To You” scribbled at the top.
It all came down to you …
I’d read the single line a million times, wondering what it meant. Rhenn never left a song unfinished. Even if it took him all night.
A light knock at the door hurtled me into the present, and I dropped the paper back into its spot.
Schooling my features, I swiveled my chair to the door. “Come in.”
Taryn peeked her head in, a strained smile tugging the corners of her lips. “Are you coming down?”
Are you coming in?
I didn’t say that though. Because I knew she wouldn’t. That she couldn’t.
“Depends,” I replied, hauling to my feet. “Did you make coffee?”
“Yep. And Dylan’s cooking breakfast.”
I faked a smile. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Dylan. But he was Rhenn’s childhood best friend, and the two were so alike, it was almost eerie. Same gestures. Same slow, southern drawl. Same look in his eyes when he turned those baby blues my way.
I pushed that thought aside because I’d never go there. Not again. The one kiss we’d shared two years ago left me wrecked and Dylan ridden with guilt. And I had enough complications in my life without adding to them.
“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Grief marred Taryn’s expression as she paused to glance over all of Rhenn’s things. When our gazes collided, I saw the thought forming on her lips.
“Someday,” I said in answer to her unspoken question.
Someday, I’d pack it all away. All the memories. The tokens of the life I once had.
But not today.
“Okay, Belle,” she said softly. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
I waited until I heard her footsteps on the stairs, then made my way to the window. Gazing out at the grounds, Rhenn’s voice rang in my head.
Look at that view. We’re going to be so happy here.
And we were. For the twelve whole days we’d spent under this roof.
Fishing the key from my pocket, I headed to the door, and with one last look around, I stepped into the hallway, sealing my memories on the other side.
“Shouldn’t you be packing?” I asked Dylan as I strolled into the kitchen. “You’re running out of time, buddy. Four days and counting.”
Frowning, he slid a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me as I eased onto the barstool. “It’s not my first rodeo. I’ll get it done.”
Taryn and I exchanged a look, and she shrugged.
Picking up my fork, I pushed my food around my plate. “You know I appreciate this, Dylan,” I said sincerely. “We couldn’t pull this off without you.”
In truth, I wasn’t sure if we could pull it off at all. But we had to try. Metro Music had enjoined every group Twin Souls had signed to our new label in their bogus lawsuit. Originally, I thought the case would be dismissed in a month, but the proceedings had now dragged on for over a year.
I had no doubt that we’d prevail. But at what cost?
The smaller bands didn’t have the reserves to withstand months and months of litigation. And soon they’d cut a deal with Mac and return to Metro. Which is why Twin
Souls had organized the Sixth Street Survival Tour. To keep the money out of Mac’s greedy hands and put it back where it belonged. With the artists.
But the whole plan was dependent on the biggest bands on our roster driving ticket sales. And Dylan’s band was the biggest draw of them all.
“You don’t have to sell me, Belle,” he said wearily. “I know what’s at stake.”
As the words left his lips, his gaze flicked to Taryn, and she quickly picked up her coffee cup and turned toward the window.
Dropping my toast on the pile of eggs, I shifted my focus to my best friend. “Spit it out, Taryn. What aren’t you telling me?”
She let out a little groan and gave Dylan the stink eye before meeting my gaze. “Skye Blue is out. Off the tour. I just found out this morning.”
“What do you mean ‘out’?” I snapped. “They can’t be ‘out.’ They signed a contract.”
Taryn scowled into her cup. “Apparently Mac offered Skylar a solo deal. And he’s going to cover the legal costs if we decide to press the issue.”
I let my head fall back. “Did we call our lawyers?”
“What’s the point?” Dylan grumbled. “Metro’s legal team will stonewall us for at least a few months. The tour will be over by the time a judge makes any ruling.”
Suddenly it became clear why Mac had been spending so much time in Austin. I always knew he was a shark. But I’d never expected him to turn those teeth on me. My heart squeezed at the betrayal.
“Whatever,” I said, tossing my napkin on what was left of my breakfast. “Nobody is paying to see Skye Blue. They want the headliners.”
Taryn bit her bottom lip and looked out the window. “I’m not worried about Skye Blue. But how many other offers do you think Mac has thrown out there?”
Even with Leveraged, Revenged Theory, Drafthouse, and Caged sewn up tight, it would be difficult to pull off a festival of this magnitude if bands started defecting. And of course, Mac had waited until right before the tour kicked off to pull this shit. He didn’t just want to win the lawsuit, he wanted to destroy me and everything I’d built since the accident.
