Hitting That Sweet Spot

by Lara Ward Cosio

  “It’s time for me to go home,” she replied.

  Though she said it without wavering, he could see it pained her. He looked away, trying to process that this was happening. He couldn’t quite understand how they got here.

  “To New York?” he asked to buy time. “For a visit?”

  She looked at him with that thing she had always been careful to avoid: pity. They had been so good together, in part, because she had always respected his need not to be seen as a victim. Unlike his brother, he always took responsibility for himself. He never looked for excuses or played the “poor me” card. But she was now clearly under the impression that he misunderstood her intention of breaking up with him. And she pitied him for it.

  “No, not for a visit. For good,” she said in the gentle tone one uses with a child.

  “Right. Yes, of course,” he said quickly. He wanted to do away with that look on her face, with that tone. “If that’s what you feel is best, then, absolutely.”

  That response had the effect he wanted as her shoulders seemed to sink inward. He had just let her know he wouldn’t fight for her. If she wanted to go, he would let her. Later, he would tell himself it was for the best since by taking her away from New York, the place that allowed her identity as a biracial dancer to flourish, he had already asked too much of her. But their conversation ended without that discussion.

  They had, in fact, barely scratched the surface of things, Shay now realized as he reached for his cocktail from the sand beside his Adirondack. Danny Boy had only been half the story. He was determined to fully understand the rest once he got to San Francisco. Because it was only when he knew everything that he could fix things and win her back.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  A crack in the drapes allowed a laser-like beam of sunlight to shine through and land perfectly on Shay’s face. He felt the heat of it before the light bothered him. This Florida weather was a shock to his Irish system—at once bracing and welcome. Turning over in bed, he reached for the pack of Lucky Strikes on the nightstand. He wouldn’t light up, but he liked the feel of having one in his hand, the promise of the nicotine rush to come.

  It was only seven-thirty. Normally he’d try to go back to sleep, but it was no use today. In fact, he hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past few weeks. The resulting state of perpetual fatigue heightened his agitation, but he wasn't able to do anything about it. Sleep was hard to come by when he had Danny Boy’s escalating fuckups, including the one that had taken the band off their touring schedule, and his reunion with Jessica dominating his thoughts.

  He got out of bed, set down the cigarettes, and shuffled into the bathroom. Their two-room bungalow gave him and Danny Boy their space. A piss, a teeth brushing, and a quick shower revived him enough to function. He dressed in board shorts but skipped a shirt, as he headed to the ocean-view patio with a cup of coffee and a smoke.

  He had drained his cup and was contemplating making another when he realized the lump in the distance near the shore wasn’t a stray piece of driftwood. It was Danny Boy, curled up into a fetal position on the sand, unmoving.

  “Fuck’s sake,” Shay muttered as he got up.

  Walking unhurriedly toward the shoreline, Shay glanced around to see if anyone else was witness to this. He didn’t notice anyone and felt a measure of relief.

  Danny Boy’s left cheek had been exposed to the sun for some time and he had the complexion of a lobster because of it. Shay used his bare foot to push at his brother’s thigh.

  “Aye, wake up.”

  It took a couple more light kicks before Danny Boy groaned and rolled over.

  “Good idea. Go on and get sunburned on the other side to match it up,” Shay said.

  “What?” Danny Boy asked, still not opening his eyes.

  “You’re a fucking mess, man.” Shay took a few steps away and sat under the shade of the generous palm fronds overhead. He watched as Danny Boy slowly roused himself. It took a minute, but he pulled himself halfway up and walked on his knees over to join Shay.

  “Time is it?”

  “Near about eight.”

  Danny Boy nodded.

  “Got yourself legless, then?” Shay asked.

  “Looks like it,” Danny Boy replied without shame.

  Shay had long both envied and reviled that lack of accountability. Danny Boy never appeared to regret the effect of his actions on himself or others. He had an uncanny ability to just move on.

  “You should have stayed with us,” he said. “Had a good time with those girls.”

  “You remember how you ended up here?”

  “Em, yeah a bit. My girl wanted to check out the stars, I think.” He furrowed his brow as he fought to remember more but came up empty. Looking up and down the coast, he said, “Hope she didn’t wash away.”

  “Yes, let’s hope not.”

  They sat in silence for a while. The gentle lapping of the tide was soothing, hypnotic. The swooshing rhythm reminded Shay of a slowed down wire brush ballad stroke. The technique wasn’t something he used with Rogue because it requires restraint. When he played with the band, he was the opposite of restraint and could often be seen leaving his stool as he hovered over his kit, smashing down on the drums and cymbals. It was the purest form of release he could ever imagine.

  “So, you think you can stick with this gig for a while?” Shay asked.

  “I’m gonna give it socks, kid. Really, I’ll make a go of it. I mean, why fuck this up? Paradise, isn’t it?”

  Shay smiled. “That it is. In fact, doesn’t feel like the real world at all here.”

  “Why make that sound like a bad thing?”

  “I guess I’m just wondering when it is you might try your hand at something more like the real world. You’ve been bouncing from thing to thing for a whole lot of years, Danny Boy.”

  “I like variety. Couldn’t stick with some dull routine for the life of me.”

  “But mightn’t something more stable be what you need to keep you right?”

  “Where’s this concern coming from? You know I’ve been clean for more than six months.”

  “Trevor is trouble. Living in this fantasyland with hardly any responsibilities is trouble.”

  “If you’re so bloody worried, why don’t you stay on and continue to babysit me like you’ve done all this time. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been minding me all the while.”

  “Because you fucking need it. You’ve proven time and again you need someone to watch over you.”

  “I’m doing fine,” Danny Boy snapped. “And what kind of ‘real’ world have you been living in all this time, Mr. Millionaire? Just ‘cause you hit the bleedin’ lottery with this band shite doesn’t mean you know more than me.”

  “Well, I’m not a fucking addict who doesn’t know how he ended up sleeping on the beach, though, am I?”

  “At least I deal with my shite instead of burying it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means the reason I ever did any drugs is ‘cause I recognize what a fucked up childhood I had. You just ignore that and anything else that makes waves. I wish you’d fucking confront life now and again.”

  “Let’s not pretend you know all that much about me, yeah?”

  “Let’s not pretend you’re all that complicated, yeah?” Danny Boy shot back. “I’ve been with you for half a year now. You never once say a bad thing about our loser parents. You never once object to whatever Gavin fucking McManus and Conor Quinn want. You let your girlfriend leave you without a fight. You’re passive to a fucking fault. The only thing you’re aggressive with is drumming.”

  This assessment rang true, but damn if he would give his brother the satisfaction of knowing it. “I’ll not be taking life lessons from the likes of you, Danny Boy,” he said mildly.

  Danny Boy shrugged and looked out at the crystal water for a long moment. He touched the burned side of his face, only now realizing the shape he was in. “Fuck. I’m on fire.”


  After a second, Shay laughed and Danny Boy joined him. The contentious words they had exchanged before were disregarded. Neither would hold a grudge. After all these years they were confident in the unconditional nature of their relationship.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  It was late afternoon when Shay arrived in San Francisco. It was a city he knew well enough after having spent time there in the last dozen years as a part of one of Rogue’s tours. Oddly, he hadn’t spent any time there with Jessica. They had been focused on New York when they were in the States.

  Checking into Hotel Vitale right off of the Embarcadero, Shay took a moment to enjoy the view of the Bay Bridge and the Ferry Building from his suite before taking a quick shower. By the time he got out and dressed in jeans and a tee shirt with Animal from the Muppets on it courtesy of Martin’s kids, the sun had mostly set. The lights coming up on the hills across the bay in the distance and along the Embarcadero below were faint but would soon pop against the night sky.

  Standing near the floor to ceiling windows, he dialed Jessica’s number. It rang four times before going to voicemail. Her greeting was short and simple.

  “Jess, this time I do want you to reply,” Shay told her. “Can you call me first chance you get? I’m really keen to talk with you.”

  He had just pressed the button to end the connection when the phone vibrated in his hand. Jessica was calling him back before even hearing his message. He liked that urgency.

  “Hi, Jess,” he said.

  “Shay, um, I wanted to catch you in case you were on your way or making plans to come here,” she said quickly. “In case you were serious when you said you’d come to see me.”

  “I was serious, as a matter of fact.”

  “Then I’m glad I caught you. Please don’t come.”

  Shay hesitated, but decided to go with the truth. “Thing is, I’m already here. In San Francisco. I really want to speak with you.”

  There was a long silence and then she said, “Where are you exactly?”

  “A little hotel near the Embarcadero. Got an amazing view of the Bay Bridge, in fact.”

  “Oh.” Her voice was unmasked resignation.

  “Remember all that time we spent at my hotel in New York, back when we were first getting together?” he asked. “That view of the Empire State, the way the lights shone into our room at night—”

  “Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

  Fuck. This wasn’t going well. Though he wasn't sure exactly what he had been expecting. Why should Jessica want anything to do with him after how they had ended?

  “No, it isn’t. Listen, could you spare me a half hour? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. I just want to talk over a few things.”

  “Can’t we talk on the phone?”

  “Jess, I’m here. Please.” It was disconcerting that she was now so resistant to seeing him. He knew that things hadn’t ended well, but this seemed almost cruel.

  “Okay. Let’s meet somewhere near you. How about Epic Steak? It’s right on the Embarcadero. You can walk.”

  “Grand. What time will I meet you?”

  “Half an hour. And I can’t stay long.”

  “Understood. Thanks, love.”

  ~

  Right off the San Francisco Bay Trail, a popular pedestrian and biking path along the water, the restaurant had an even more spectacular view of the Bay Bridge than Shay’s room. The hostess recognized him immediately. Her cheeks turned bright pink as she haltingly asked for a selfie. He took one with her and then she guided him to a small table with leather back chairs in front of the wall of windows. Shay thanked her and said he was expecting someone. She backed away from the table, nodding and mute.

  Shay looked out at the view, struck by the way the bridge’s lights created a soft glow on the water. He sensed others looking his way, some discreetly, others gawking. He wasn’t often recognized, but he sometimes seemed to draw the attention of groups of people at once. And it always threw him. He grew up feeling invisible and preferred that anonymity. Being the center of attention felt surreal, and he usually dealt with it by ignoring it as much as possible. Shay mused that this is exactly what his brother had accused him of doing in most things. Before he could examine that further, he heard his name.

  Jessica wore a fuchsia wrap dress with a long gold pendant necklace and had her hair straightened. The long bangs trained to the side were new but lovely, Shay thought as he stood up to greet her.

  His smile died the minute she got within reach.

  “Who the fuck did that to you?” he asked, unable to contain his fury.

  Though she had tried to cover it with both makeup and her long bangs, her left eye was bruised. Shay felt a rush of heat fill his chest and he was never more glad that his right hand was still functioning since he planned to use it to beat the shit out of whoever had hurt Jessica.

  She held up her hand. “If you’re going to make a scene, I’m leaving right now.”

  It took a full thirty seconds and several deep breaths, but he managed to calm himself. He tentatively leaned toward her and when she didn’t pull away, he kissed her on the cheek like he used to—slowly, lingering against her smooth skin. Then he helped her into her chair and sat opposite her.

  “It’s lovely to see you. Thank you for coming,” he said perfunctorily. “Now, tell me what the fuck I’m looking at with that black eye on you.”

  “This is why I was hoping a phone call would be enough. But knowing you, your old stalker tendencies would probably come out and I’d have no choice but to see you anyway,” she said with a smile.

  The dimples that smile revealed almost took his breath away. She was a beauty, no matter what bruises colored her face. But her attempt at a playful remark to lighten the mood fell flat with him.

  “Good evening, folks,” the waiter said, approaching their table despite the obvious tension they exuded. He quickly advised them of the evening specials and asked for their drink order.

  “Gin and tonic for me,” Jessica said.

  Shay looked at her in surprise. Since when had she been partial to hard alcohol? He ordered a Heineken and the waiter moved on.

  “So, that was quite a dramatic way to break your wrist. Danny Boy coming out of nowhere and crashing into you like that,” she continued.

  She was nervous as hell, he could see that. But he wasn’t going to let her get away from telling him what he wanted to know.

  “Jess, you’d better just tell me because you know I won’t let it go. Who hurt you?”

  Tears filled her eyes before she had a chance to look away. She pretended her dress needed smoothing while she regained her composure.

  “It was an accident,” she finally said. “My boyfriend, Anton, he was trying to get my phone. He wanted to see who texted me. I didn’t hand it over right away and when he tried to grab it, he accidentally knocked it against my face.”

  The story seemed phony, like something an abused woman would concoct to avoid admitting what she had suffered. But then something occurred to Shay. The bruise wasn’t that fresh. It was a mixture of dark purple and dark yellow.

  “When did this happen?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head and kept her mouth shut as tears returned to her eyes.

  “It was my text, wasn’t it?”

  “Shay, what did you want to talk about?”

  He knew she wouldn’t confirm his suspicion, but it was clear to him that her new boyfriend was threatened by her being contacted by her ex. That could have been why she never responded. And why she was so reluctant to meet with him. What would her boyfriend think of her not only speaking with him, but meeting with him.

  “Fuck,” he said under his breath. This had all gone bad.

  “What—” Jessica stopped when the waiter returned with their drinks. He could see they hadn’t gotten anywhere on menu selection and offered to give them more time.

  “Jess, you and I are being watched and photographed and filmed. This will all be on TMZ,
Twitter, Instagram, and the like before we get our starters.”

  She looked horrified and glanced around the restaurant. Several of their fellow diners had their phones out and pointed in their direction. Looking back at Shay, she watched him with eyes that seemed even darker than he remembered as she picked up her drink and finished it in several gulps.

  “I hate to see that look on your face,” he told her.

  “What look?”

  “Fear. The look of fear, love.”

  “I just don’t want Anton to end up with the wrong idea.”

  “And what’s the wrong idea?”

  She shrugged. “That I’m trying to get back with you.”

  “How did you end up with an arsehole that puts that look on your face?”

  “You don’t understand. It’s not what it seems.”

  “It’s not what it seems? Honestly, tell me—what on earth are you doing?”

  “Shay, it’s none of your business, okay?”

  He pounded his cast on the table and leaned close to her. “It will always be my business to want you to be okay. Don’t twist this to make it seem like I’m in the wrong for being worried about you.”

  She recoiled from him, inadvertently providing the ten second clip that would make the rounds on the internet, showing him as threatening her and leading to suggestions that he had been the one to give her the black eye.

  “Why’d you even come meet me? If you knew it would be an issue with your boyfriend?”

  When she looked away from him, he realized she had come to meet him because it would cause problems with her boyfriend. Only, she hadn’t counted on it being such a public spectacle. It wasn’t like her to play games, and it made Shay think she had gotten in over her head and wasn’t sure how to get out.

  Shay leaned over the table. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked.

  All it took was the barely imperceptible nod of her head and Shay was pulling cash out of his pocket and throwing it indiscriminately on the table. He got up and offered her his hand. She took it and he quickly led her out of the restaurant.