Hitting That Sweet Spot

by Lara Ward Cosio

  Shay thought he had more time to sort this out, at least time enough to finish enjoying dinner. But Danny Boy stood up and gave the group a weak wave and thanks just before dessert was served. As he started out of their semi-private dining room, every alarm went off inside Shay.

  “Listen, love, I just need to go see where Danny Boy’s off to,” Shay told Jessica.

  “You’re coming right back?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course.” He kissed her quickly and got up.

  The streets were crowded with tourists and locals bar-hopping and it took Shay a few seconds to find the back of Danny Boy’s head as he pushed his way through. Shay called his name but got no response and set after him down Bay Street. There was something about the determined way Danny Boy was walking that led Shay to slow up a step so he could see where he was headed.

  Turning down Pfeiffer Street, Danny Boy sped up. Shay followed at a distance until Danny Boy reached Grant Avenue. It looked like a dead end but instead of turning left or right, he walked across the street and up a few steps between two houses built into the hillside. There was a closed wrought iron gate but Danny Boy easily scaled it and headed up the dark stairway.

  “Fuck’s sake,” Shay muttered as he went after him.

  There was a sign proclaiming the narrow entryway Danny Boy had gone up as “Jack Early Park.” A park in this congested neighborhood seemed improbable. Shay knew Danny Boy wasn’t looking for recreation in any case. He looked around to be sure no one was watching, and then climbed over the fence.

  Some sixty-plus steps later, Shay found Danny Boy standing at the top of the small landing. He wasn’t alone. There was a long-haired, wiry built man with him. They had just exchanged something in a quick motion of their hands, and the dealer was turning to head down the stairs.

  “Who the fuck are you, dude?” the dealer asked.

  “It’s all right,” Danny Boy said. “He’s my brother.”

  “Whatever.” The dealer brushed past Shay and skipped down the stairs.

  Shay, resigned, joined Danny Boy at the viewing point of the “park.” The park consisted of two concrete single-person benches from which to view Alcatraz Island. To the left, the top of the Golden Gate Bridge was visible. It was an intimate setting to enjoy some of the best scenery in the world.

  They sat in silence for a long time as Danny Boy’s knee bounced restlessly. When they spoke, they kept their eyes on the view.

  “Thing is,” Danny Boy said, “San Francisco has some of the best H.”

  “Why are you going down this road? You’ve come so fucking far,” Shay said.

  “I can handle it, kid. This time, it’ll be different. I know how to control it.”

  “What’ll happen if I take that shit and throw it down the hill there?”

  Danny Boy laughed. “I’d either go find it or find more.”

  “You’re killing me. You’re killing you.”

  “Nah. I’ll be grand. I always am, amn’t I?”

  “You know I can’t have you around while you’re doing that.”

  “You wouldn’t have me anyway.”

  Shay looked at him now. “What’s that mean?”

  “Ah, I heard the talk of you moving here to be with Jessica. I’m not part of that deal, I know. It’s one thing to stay at your place in Dublin, but I know I’m not part of the moving package.”

  “So, what? Doing heroin again is some sort of pity party because I’m back with Jess?”

  “Hey, you got what you need. That’s cool. I’m getting what I need. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “I hope you don’t think I’m abandoning you—”

  “No, Shay I don’t. Fuck, everyone wants to take on the blame, don’t they?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Ah, I heard Felicity and Conor talking that time I was at their house. Conor was all righteous, saying he would be accused of putting the needle in my arm if he didn’t let me back on tour. And now you’re acting like you’re the one driving me to this. But I blame no one. I’ve known since the day I first started this shit that it was on me. My choice. And I’m fine with that. So everyone else can relax and stay out of it.”

  Shay struggled to come up with an argument that would resonate with Danny Boy. But no matter what accommodations he might make to have him in his life, he knew that his brother had gone as far as he could with this stint of sobriety.

  “Listen,” Shay tried, desperate, “have you ever had any sort of therapy to talk through all the shit from our childhood? Mightn’t that help you find other ways to cope?”

  Danny Boy smiled sadly. “Thanks, kid. I know you care. I do. But this is what I need. I’ve got some mates that are over in Oakland at the moment. I’m going to go hook up with them for a bit.”

  “Don’t go. Don’t do it, Danny Boy.” Shay felt like the muscles of his heart were tearing apart.

  “How about you come with me, yeah?”

  Shay physically recoiled at this invitation. “What are you on about?”

  “Come on. Just once. Just once, I’d like my kid brother to party with me. Let’s let loose together. It would be fantastic, I’m telling you. The freedom, the disconnection from that never-ending cycle in your head will go away. It’s the best sensation. So much better than the best fuck you’ve ever had. What do you say?”

  Danny Boy’s description offered no temptation for Shay. It only made him sad.

  “I need to get back to Jess.”

  “Fucking go, then,” Danny Boy said.

  “Fuck you, man,” Shay snapped before he was even aware of his sadness turning to anger. “I’m not going to be guilted by your shit. You going to play the ‘I’m your brother, I looked after you’ card next? Well, fucking give it a rest.”

  Danny Boy shook his head and feigned hurt. “Well, come on—how many brothers do you have, anyway?”

  “You’re my brother, but I’ve got three others.”

  “What do you—”

  “Gavin, Conor, and Martin are my brothers.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you see how they dropped everything and came to help me here?”

  “So did I,” he said petulantly and Shay shook his head in frustration. “And Marty’s doing fuck all, so don’t include him in this.”

  “Fuck’s sake, Danny Boy,” Shay groaned. “You drive me up the fucking wall.”

  “You’re not saying you’re choosing them over me, are you?”

  “It’s not like that, exactly.”

  “Exactly?” Danny Boy sniffed, insulted.

  This moment had been months—no, years—in the making. Shay couldn’t hold back, no matter how painful it was for him to say it, or for Danny Boy to hear it. “Okay, you want to know the truth? The truth is, if I ever had to choose between my band and you, you’d be on your own."

  Danny Boy took this without flinching. His eyes were blank, accepting. His protest in response was weak, as if he knew Shay expected him to put up fight but his heart wasn’t really in it. "How can you say that? Honestly?"

  "I can say it 'cause I am so fucking tired, Danny Boy. I’m tired of worrying for you and feeling like I’m the only one that can ever help you. I’m tired just from being near the weight of your hurt. Most of all, I’m gutted over the fact that I know I can’t fix you, even if you ever really let me try. I can’t give up on you, but I can’t hang on either. And believe me, I know that you did more than any kid should ever have to do for their brother. I'm sorry you got the raw end of things, truly I am.” He had said all that in a rush but now stopped and took a deep breath. "Thing is, I have to look after myself now. I have to live my life. I'll always be there for you, man. But I can't be the only thing to hold you up."

  Danny Boy looked away, staring at the lights of Alcatraz in the distance. Shay fought with himself not to apologize or somehow backtrack from what he had said. It was the truth, but it still hurt.

  “I’m really glad for you and Jessica,” Danny Boy finally said as
he stood up. “And listen, if you’ll have me, I still want to meet up for the rest of the tour. Got my lighting apprenticeship, haven’t I?”

  Shay stood up. He knew this attempt at a consolation was empty. Danny Boy wasn’t coming back in a matter of weeks, and if he did, he wouldn’t be sober.

  “What can I do? Tell me what I can do to help you,” Shay said, unable to help himself. He felt so guilty for having survived the emptiness of their childhood while Danny Boy had taken all the burden of it. Why did he end up finding lifelong friends, a job he loved, and a woman who was his perfect match? His brother got none of this. Danny Boy couldn’t even seem to imagine he’d be capable of such things and instead only found solace in the disappearance that drugs offered.

  Danny Boy shrugged and offered the only thing he could, saying, “It’ll be okay, kid.”

  It was the expression Danny Boy had used since they were little. He’d started saying it to comfort Shay when their mother first took to locking him into his room during the day so she didn’t have to bother with him. As a two-year-old, he raged against the closed door, bruising himself until the anger and fear and loneliness turned to tears and he fell asleep, exhausted, in a heap at the door frame. When Danny Boy returned from school, he’d clean Shay and the mess he had made, feed him, and take him outside for long walks, pulling him along in a battered wagon just to get away for as long as there was light in the sky. Every few minutes, he would murmur a sort of mantra of “it’ll be okay, kid.” The words were spoken as much to himself as they were to Shay.

  “It better fucking be, Danny Boy,” Shay said and pulled him into a fierce hug. “I expect to see you soon for the tour, yeah?”

  Danny Boy nodded his head, squeezed him hard in return, and then released him. “I’ll see you.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Shay knew he should hurry back to the restaurant, but instead he sat at the top of Jack Early Park after Danny Boy had gone. He felt heavy and tired and drained. His chest ached. Though he’d never lost anyone close to him, he felt a profound sense of mourning.

  As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t save Danny Boy. Like he said, he couldn’t fix him—nor was it really his responsibility to do so. Danny Boy had gotten a rotten lot in life, but he had to be the one to pull himself out of it. He had made it clear he wasn’t able to do that right now, however, and Shay had to accept that. Fighting it wasn’t going to get him anywhere or anything. Because it wasn’t his fight, even if he desperately wanted to return the favor of saving him like his brother had done for him.

  And so he would have to go back to the way he had lived all these years, seeing Danny Boy only sporadically. At the same time, there was a part of him that couldn’t help but hope deep down that he really would see him again for the tour. Maybe Danny Boy would figure out the balance he needed between escapism and reality and come back. He had done so well, after all, these last months. Maybe he would be back.

  ~

  When he got back to the restaurant, their crowd had dwindled. The students were gone as were Conor and Felicity. Gavin was still there, chatting with John Riley. Gloria was trying to engage an obviously distracted Jessica who kept glancing at the cell phone she had face up on the table in front of her.

  Fuck, she must have had Morocco flashbacks with his sudden departure. Shay went to her, leaned down to kiss her cheek, and wrapped his arm around her.

  “Oh!” she said, surprised. “You’re back.”

  “Hey, Seamus,” Gavin said. “We were thinking about tracking down some live music. I’ve got an early flight, so thought, fuck it, might as well stay up all night. What do you say?”

  The idea of checking out for the night, fueled on music and alcohol, was tempting. But he begged off and wished Gavin and the others a good time.

  “Are you okay?” Jessica was watching him intently.

  “Yes, grand.”

  She touched his cheek. “What happened, babe?”

  “He’s, em, he’s decided to go away for a while.”

  There must have been something in his expression because it only took her a few seconds to seem to understand what he meant by that. Her eyes softened with sympathy. She reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “You’ve got me,” she told him quietly. “I know it’s not the same. But you’ve got me.”

  He buried his face into her neck and held her. It wasn’t the same, she was right. But it was enough. And he was grateful. Grateful to have her, and to have found a path to his own happiness.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Looking out from behind his drum kit, Shay surveyed the scene before him. The warehouse the band used for rehearsals like today was outfitted with a stage and all their gear. In addition to the standard catering set up, there was a long table that would be used for a group dinner. Sophie had arranged for it to be dressed in fine linen and set with china, crystal glassware, candles, and elegant flower arrangements. Though it was incongruous in contrast with the industrial, wide open space of the warehouse, it was her effort to wish them well as they were about to resume the tour that had been suspended when Shay broke his wrist. She wouldn’t be traveling with them just yet. Daisy was only eleven weeks old.

  Sophie had left Daisy in Celia’s care while she attended to the details of the dinner. Celia would bring her boys and the baby with her in a few hours. For now, Sophie was free and seemed to be enjoying her usual role as caretaker for the band. Motherhood had amplified her innate calmness and stability. Shay had always known her to be strong—she would have to be to have endured all of Gavin’s troubles over the years—but now it was backed by a sense of peace that was yet another quality that drew others in.

  Gavin and Conor had their heads together as they worked on the set list for their first show back in Auckland, New Zealand in less than a week. This would be the start of a separation from Jessica for Shay. They had spent the last two months together in San Francisco, creating a life together. That included exploring the city and house hunting. They’d settled on a gorgeous five bedroom house in the much-coveted Marina District. The contemporary design was sleek and chic and the home itself was bright with large windows to showcase the stunning views of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Bay. It even had a small backyard and garden, a rarity in the city. They had moved in but hadn’t fully furnished it or settled in yet.

  Much to both Shay and Jessica’s surprise, Anton had been cooperative with the arrangement Gavin had brokered. His mind was on the prize of his upcoming placement with the prestigious Ballet de l'Opéra national de Paris, and he wasn’t interested in fighting for Jessica. Still, Shay had made a point of being a presence at the school at random times, wanting to catch Anton off guard should he revert to his old possessive ways.

  The Rolling Stone article, combined with the instant positive posts to social media by the crowd that had witnessed the photography shoot, had both boosted the visibility and reputation of the ballet school and won Shay and Jessica a huge amount of sympathetic publicity. Jessica had brought in new teachers and staff to meet the growing demand of kids wanting to study there. Once Jessica was able to buy Anton out of the business (with Shay’s help), she would change the name to Ballet Pour Tous, French for Ballet For All. Her mission would be to recruit as many kids of color as she could.

  But now she had taken a short vacation to accompany Shay to Dublin for this rehearsal time. Shay looked for her in the cavernous space and found her speaking with Felicity by the beverage station. She had her hair loose with relaxed curls the way he liked it and wore cropped skinny jeans with a gold silk pleated blouse and the Harry Winston necklace Shay gave her on their first Christmas together. Every time he looked at her he had the same the reaction: how did I get so lucky?

  They had moved forward in their relationship in a more open and honest way that they ever had before. Upon their reunion in San Francisco, they had realized how much they had each held back about themselves. Those things held back had been so defining
of who they were, that it necessarily meant they weren’t able to support one another the way that they really needed. They were conscious not to repeat those mistakes.

  “Holding up?” Martin asked, gesturing to Shay’s wrist.

  “Seems to be.”

  This was the band’s third day of rehearsals. They’d have two more days once they got to New Zealand. Though he was wearing a soft brace on his wrist, it had so far done well under the strain of playing.

  Martin looked over at Gavin and Conor. The two were standing closely together as they debated whether to introduce the new song they had written, “Thoughts and Prayers” while on tour.

  “What do you think, Shay?” Martin asked.

  “About what?”

  Martin nodded to their bandmates. “Think those two have ever done what Conor said that time? You know, when you both were over at my house?”

  Shay burst out laughing at the idea that Martin was stuck on the picture Conor had teasingly painted of him and Gavin having had some sort of sexual thing with each other. “For fuck’s sake, Marty. Give it a rest, would you?”

  Turning beet red, Martin grinned. “I’m just saying, it’s possible, right?”

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man.”

  “I’m not meaning it like that,” Martin. “I’m just saying, is all.”

  “Got it, sure.” Shay shook his head and laughed again. Martin was this close to coming out as gay at this rate.

  When he looked out over his kit again, he saw Jessica watching him. She was gorgeous, and even more so when she smiled and showed those dimples. He was going to miss her terribly. But knowing she would be there, in their San Francisco home, when he got back was all the comfort he needed.