Finn Beckett

by Mj Fields

  The door opens and Sonya walks in. She’s wearing pants today, some sort of cargo army green things, instead of a skirt. Her hair is down as an alternative to her usual uptight bun, and she has on a Forever Four T-shirt … covered by a Mr. Rogers ‘won’t you be my neighbor’ looking sweater.

  “You got the memo that we’re more casual here?” Nickie D gives her a wink, and I don’t like it. I especially don’t like the blush it produces on her face.

  “Yes,” she says as she sits down in the only available chair that’s not next to me.

  She’s avoiding me. Good.

  I cross my arms and sit back.

  “You two need to be able to get along,” Xavier says, and I look up to find he’s looking at me.

  I point my thumb to my chest. “Me?”

  “Yes, Finn, you,” Xavier says with a nod.

  I throw my hands in the air. “What the fuck did I do now?”

  “You growled,” Billy answers.

  “Did fucking not,” I retort.

  Memphis smirks. “You did.”

  “Moving along,” Taelyn says, refocusing the attention on business.

  I look over at Sonya to see her face is blazing red now, and I take satisfaction in that. I made that shit happen, not Nickie D’s casual comment.

  “Are you okay with that?” Taelyn asks, and I glance up again.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, Finn. Da’ fuck’s your deal?” Memphis laughs. “Still feeling the effects of last night?”

  “No happenings last night.” River points to Billy. “Buzz kill Bill made sure of that.”

  “I broke up a fight,” Billy snaps at him.

  “Shouldn’t have,” I snarl. “Preppy fucking pushers deserved that shit.”

  “But seriously, that ganja was fucking epic. A couple hits and my hand became Rhianna.”

  “Thought it was Beyoncé?” I remind his ass.

  “Rhianna first. Then I needed darker, thicker, sexier, so I switched hands. From then on, my hand was called Beyoncé.”

  Memphis laughs. “You are so fucked up.”

  “I’m fucked up? Finn camped out on the patio. It was cold as a hairless lion out there.”

  “Finn would sleep outside in February.” Billy nods, looking at me. “Insane, but I did read up on the health benefits.”

  I shake my head. “Me, too.”

  “Really?” River asks.

  “Fuck no.” I chuckle.

  “Okay, focus,” Xavier laughingly interrupts. “Go ahead, Irish.”

  She smiles at his endearment. “Sonya, Tally, and Memphis have agreed to do the auditions, but we want to make sure the rest of you are there when you can be. I know Billy is finishing up some classes, and it may be hard for him—”

  “So he gets to skate?” I ask.

  “I never wanted this life to begin with,” Billy says, then looks at Xavier. Xavier’s eyebrow rises slowly, and Taelyn smacks his shoulder.

  “And that’s why we only want you to do it when your class demands aren’t as high.” She looks at the rest of us. “Tomorrow, you all leave for Texas—Houston on the eighth and Dallas on the ninth. So you have three days to find two bands. Over twenty acts are coming to auditions tomorrow night. A local radio station Nick reached out to is setting it all up. You just show up, smile, give constructive feedback, and pick two groups.”

  I sigh. “The first two sound perfect to me.”

  “I’d like to interject something if I might,” Sonya chimes in.

  Taelyn smiles at her. “The floor is yours.”

  “I am compiling data on the reach and fan base of those bands who will be auditioning. I am not saying I encourage picking someone who already has a following, but it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Good.” Xavier nods, then looks back at us. “Take it under consideration, but remember you were them once.”

  “Finn, you’re the only one who is strongly opposed to this; will you remember it won’t hurt us one damn bit?” Xavier stands and bends down behind his desk. When he stands again, he holds two bottles of champagne in his hands.

  “Congratulations, Steel Total Destruction, you have nine sold out venues.”

  “No shit?” Memphis claps his hands together.

  “None.” X winks then looks at me. “We’re a fucking family here. We take care of each other, we work together, and we win.”

  Nick takes the bottles, pops one cork then another, pours us all a glass, and hands them out.

  “To the four of you,” Nick says, raising his glass.

  “Lame,” Xavier says and steps forward. “To guys who strum, to guys who drum, to the guys whose voices make women dumb.” He winks at Memphis, then me.

  “To girls who make us fucking come.” River laughs.

  “Forever Steel.” Taelyn raises her glass.

  I watch Sonya out of the corner of my eye. She smiles in a polite manner, but doesn’t take a drink, only sets the glass down.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out.

  A message from my old man.

  I hold my thumb over the home key, but it doesn’t open. I try the last password I remember, and it’s wrong.

  I look up to see Sonya staring at me.

  “Fuck,” I say in a low tone.

  “I have some things to do. Taelyn, I will be at the hotel if you need me.” Then she skates out the door.

  I am just about to my car when I hear his voice boom, “Stop, dammit.”

  “I’m in a hurry,” I call over my shoulder and quickly slide inside my car. I can’t take being in the same room as him. How will—

  The door opens, and I lose all train of thought as he reaches in then takes my hand. My body comes to life again¸ remembering what his hands did to me less than twelve hours ago.

  “Finn, please—”

  He pulls my hand toward him, holds out his phone, and holds my thumb against the home button. Then he lets go and starts to turn around.

  “Wait!”

  When he stops and doesn’t turn around, I get out and walk around him.

  “You can’t just do things like that. You can’t play games with me. Last night, I was drunk and—”

  “Last night?” He lets out a maniacal laugh. “This has nothing to do with last night.” His jaw muscles flex, and for a moment, I am reminded of his mouth and all the ways it brought me pleasure like I never experienced before, like I am sure I never will again.

  “If one of them saw the stunt you just pulled—you chasing me out here—what would they think? Let me answer that question for you. They would have thought I was just as stupid as every other girl in Stevie’s band.”

  He crosses his arms in front of him and looks amused¸ which pisses me off.

  “I’m not. I’m not going to chase after you. I’m not going to let you try to have me waiting in the wings for you to use your, your ‘rock’ status to seduce me.”

  He bites his lip and cocks his head to the side. “You done, None-ya?”

  I throw my hands in the air, exasperated. “You smug son of a bitch—”

  “You do have that correct.” He laughs haughtily.

  “Stop playing with me. Forget about me. I don’t understand why you just won’t leave me alone. I mean, find someone else to have ‘under you,’ ” I sneer.

  He grimaces, then clears his throat. “Did I chase after you this morning?”

  “No, but—”

  “But nothing. The minute you walked, I showered the scent of your pussy off my face, my beard, and my fingers. Then I scrubbed it out of my mouth with a fucking toothbrush. I erased your fucking print from my phone. You were gone, poof.” He makes an explosion with his hands. “Then I realized it was my fucking print I erased, so don’t kid yourself, None-ya. I don’t chase ass. Ass chases me.” He turns and stomps away.

  I feel like an idiot. Each step he takes crushes me. And I know, each step he takes, he is deliberately doing so when he holds his middle finger up in the air at me.

  ***r />
  I sit on the bed, finally holding my coat. Stevie had it. She said it was an accident. I know she was snooping through my phone, and I know there is no way in hell she found whatever it was she was looking for.

  I keep my treasures locked safely away.

  I click on the app, the one password protected with my most treasured photos.

  I look at him and his perfect, beautiful, cherub face, and my heart immediately swells. Then I punch in the number, the one I have called almost every day for the past four years.

  “Hello.” He is smiling; I can hear it and feel it.

  “Noah,” I say, trying to mask the sadness in my voice.

  “Mommy?”

  I force a laugh. “Who else calls you?”

  “You done with school? You coming home? I miss you. I have trucks, lots of them, and cars, and they are lined up in a row. Do you wanna play?” His words seem more pronounced than they did yesterday. How is that possible?

  “School is fine,” I lie to him. I hate lying.

  “When are you coming to visit? Auntie Margie is tired a lot. She can’t play. She coughs, too.”

  “I’m not sure when I will be back to visit, but I will, Noah. I promise.”

  “Cross your heart?” he asks.

  “Eat a pie?” I reply.

  “Say our prayers to the night sky,” he says with a little yawn.

  “You in bed?”

  I hear him moving, the clinking of the trucks. Then I hear them all drop into what I assume is a bin he keeps on the bookshelf I bought him when I was home last and Margie complained about the mess and disorganization. Finally, I hear the bed squeak.

  “Am now. I picked up my toys, put them on a shelf.” He sounds so proud.

  “You are such a good boy, Noah. I am so proud of you.”

  “Did you pick up your toys?” he asks because we typically do it together.

  “Sure did. You ready to tell me about your day?” I ask.

  “Yep. I went to school.” His story continues for ten minutes until I hear him yawn again, and then I hear his little, sleepy voice, next the whisper voice, and then comes the part I hate.

  “Okay, Noah, hang up. I love you, okay? Mommy loves you so much.”

  “I lo—” He stops and yawns again. “Love you so much, too, Mommy.”

  “Sweet dreams, sweet boy. I love you.”

  Once we have hung up, I call Margie and endure her wrath for fifteen minutes. It’s the usual.

  “How long will you be gone?” she asks.

  “The tour ends October third. A few of the shows have a couple days between the next, so I may be able to fly in,” I answer.

  “He needs you. I’m getting too old for this.”

  I want to say, You insisted. You told me I could go to college so I could give him the life he deserves. You made me feel horrible for even thinking about giving him to a family who could have given him so much more. I want to scream, You did this, but she wasn’t the only one who made me feel like giving him away was wrong.

  Instead, I thank her, then assure her the mortgage will be paid and that she will receive a little more money in the next few weeks, and she stops complaining.

  ***

  I pick up the journal and open it to the page I always turn to when I am feeling low or down.

  His dark hair, his dark eyes, the darkness that surrounds him is beautiful. He is beautiful, and he loves me. He loves me and wants to be a family.

  He wants to protect me and save me from my self-doubt and from what he considers my problems. He loves me.

  I deserve a family. I deserve it after all I have been through. So does he.

  He is my dark knight.

  Three pages later, she writes:

  He is my light, my smile, my escape. He knows when I need to fly, and he soars with me. I feel freer with him, young, carefree, not old and held down, even though I am carrying our child. He assures me I can live like this forever. I believe him. I believe that all my troubles are behind me. I believe he is beside me and will be always.

  I close the book and toss it on the nightstand. Reading the journal I found when I was forced to live away from my home is different now than it was when I was sixteen and pregnant.

  Like everything in life, with age, we gain wisdom. It’s a pity this Jesse girl didn’t live long enough to realize it. She had a man who loved her, or at least, she said he did.

  Each entry had a high and a low; each day was different. Hell, she was a mess, but so was I.

  I believed I could be stronger than her, that when I was able to go back home after Aunt Margie finally moved into the house, and I could sleep in my own bed again, I would tell him I was pregnant. Then, just like Jesse, I would have someone who wanted a future with me.

  I lie back and look at my phone, at my Noah. He is so precious, so beautiful, and deserves so much better than me. He deserves bedtime stories and hugs that are so tight they could never be broken. He deserves … more.

  I place the phone on the hotel bed and begin packing up my things. It’s been months now, months that I have told him I am away at school, and Aunt Margie plays along. Of course she does. She is living the same privileged lifestyle she has always lived, even though all of our circumstances changed dramatically almost five years ago.

  ***

  I am picked up by a Town Car at seven in the morning and taken to LaGuardia. After going through security, I wait to be called to my seat in first class. This is a first for me. Honestly, I would prefer to sit in business class. First class is wasteful.

  Waste not, want not isn’t something I was raised to worry about. We had everything we could ever dream about and then some. Even after Father’s legal issues, Mother kept things unchanged. Well, all except for Father no longer living with us and her tearful performances when the detectives periodically checked in to question her about his whereabouts, which of course she didn’t have a clue about.

  A year after he was gone, I remember breaking down, telling her I missed him. She rolled her eyes and told me he obviously didn’t miss me. I remember the hurt, the pain of hearing that from her, but what she disclosed next was far worse.

  J.T. Silver was, in fact, not my real father. My real father was a lowlife nothing who also wanted nothing to do with me.

  A few years later, I saw him for the first time at his funeral. Mother, Aunt Margie, and I were the only ones in attendance.

  I watched as her cold façade crumbled that day. I still like to imagine they were in love once. They were in love enough to create a life. Mine.

  I wonder if Noah will ever feel like I do now.

  “Flight 2737 is boarding at gate twenty-three,” comes over the loud speaker, interrupting my thoughts. “First class passengers, please come to the gate.”

  I look around for the others and see no one. I am sure Madison said we are all flying together, but I guess I am wrong.

  I sit in my assigned seat. Row four, seat two. It’s an aisle seat, more legroom if I actually needed it. The seat next to me is empty. So are the ones across from me and the two in front of me. I am a lucky girl, I think as I dig through my purse and pull out a Blow Pop.

  Gum never helps with the pressure in my ears at takeoff.

  When Noah was a baby, Margie was flying with him out West to visit some friends. I breast fed Noah—not because I was concerned with it being a healthier option, but because it was cost effective—so I expressed enough milk for her for an entire week. Right before they left, he got an ear infection, and the doctor told her that, if he sucked on his bottle during takeoff and landing, it would help alleviate the pressure.

  The next time I flew, I decided, if it worked for him, it would work for me, and it did. Now I won’t fly without a stash of Blow Pops in my purse. Another thing I won’t fly without is a sleep mask.

  I have been stuck too many times next to a chatty person who thinks, because I am polite and smile, I am going to be their entertainment for the entire flight. The mask wards off t
hose problems completely.

  “Final boarding call for flight number 2737 from LaGuardia to Houston,” is announced.

  I unwrap the sucker, readying it for takeoff, place the mask over my eyes, lean back, and try my best to relax.

  I yawn as I hear shuffling. Then I smell a familiar scent, and I hear a groan.

  “You have to sit by the window.” River chuckles.

  “Like I give a shit right now,” Finn says in a low grumble.

  “Ask her to switch seats,” River huffs as I hear a bag being shoved in the overhead compartment. “You awake, Sonya?”

  I lift the mask from my eyes to find Finn shoving his bag above my head.

  “Yeah,” I say quietly.

  “Finn hates to fly.”

  “Dude, shut up,” Finn says, then looks down at me. His eyes are bloodshot, his expression blank. “Excuse me.”

  I move over to the window seat.

  “See? She doesn’t bite.” River chuckles.

  “Could you take your seats please?” the flight attendant asks River, then turns and looks at Finn. “Sir?” she stammers when she meets the glowering face of darkness.

  He nods, pulls his sunglasses down, and sits.

  The plane begins moving.

  “You got any gum?”

  “No. Shit, man,” River sputters. “Fuck. Billy, you got any?”

  “No. Just yawn a lot,” he grumbles, leaning back in his seat.

  Finn’s knee taps mine and he rasps, “You have any gum?”

  “Blow Pops,” I say, holding up my sucker. “You want one?”

  River chuckles under his breath.

  Finn looks down at my mouth. “Yeah.”

  River leans forward and looks across the aisle. “Blow Pops?”

  “If you suck on it, it helps—” I begin.

  “That’s what I have always told them.” River laughs. “Blow Pops, blow jobs. It’s a sucker, man; treat it as such.”