Rock the Heart

by Michelle A. Valentine

  He sighs. “If you say so. I would just hate to see this great thing you all have going fall apart.”

  “We’re not going to fall apart,” I say with a slight huff.

  We’re quiet for the rest of the ride. I don’t really feel like rehashing band issues with Kyle when I’m not even sure what in the hell is going on myself. After I spend a few hours sleeping and getting my head clear in my hotel room, I take a long hard look at myself in the bathroom mirror. My sandy-blond hair is a bit shaggy, a far cry from the short buzz cut I used to sport. Lately, I haven’t really felt the need to be so clean-cut. The green of my eyes looks a little dingy, a little lifeless, but that’s not completely my fault. Anyone in my shoes who’s losing everything they’ve ever worked for would look the same way.

  I rake my hair back with both hands and sigh. We just have to get back on track. I’ll go to the guys and promise to stay sober, as long as they agree to start taking this band more serious. What we need is a heart-to-heart, as brothers. We need to squash this beef between us so that we can get back to doing what we do best—making great music.

  I grab my backstage pass and slide it around my neck and slip out the door. I call a cab to take me back to the arena. It’s time to get this shit back on track.

  With a clear head, I set out to have a discussion with the guys about us all changing our ways, mending what the last few years have broken.

  The cabbie drops me off near the back gate of the arena and with the help of my pass, I have no problem slipping into the backstage area on my own.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. It’s nearly nine, the time we are scheduled to take the stage after Gabby’s band, Sex Arsenal, opens for us. A few of the roadies nod at me as I pass by them on the way to the stage.

  One roadie I’ve been partying with quite a bit lately, Lou, stops in front of me the moment he recognizes me. “Tyke? What are you doing here, man?”

  My brow furrows instantly. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  Lou’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, but he quickly closes it and shakes his head. “You’re right. Forget I said anything.”

  I clap him on the back as I pass by. “All right. Catch you later.”

  I shove my hands deep into my pockets as I keep pushing forward, thinking about how odd Lou’s reaction to seeing me was. I mean, why wouldn’t I be here? We have a fucking show to do. He’s obviously been smokin’ something.

  The rumble of Gabby’s voice blasts through the arena. “You guys have been an awesome fucking crowd! Thanks for coming out early to hear our set. I need beer money, so make sure you pick up our newest record and buy a goddamn T-shirt out front.” There’s a roar of support from the fans. “Give it up for Black Falcon! They’re about to come out and rock your faces off. You assholes will love that shit! We are Sex Arsenal! Goodnight!”

  After a couple thumps on the bass drum, the only noise left is the hum of the buzzing crowd. It won’t be long until we take the stage, so this little talk with the boys will have to wait until our set is over.

  I begin tapping out the beat to “Ball Busting Bitch” with my thumbs which are still wedged in my pockets. Even though that’s one song I didn’t write, I still love it. It’s the song that put us over the top, and I’ll be forever grateful to it for our success.

  I nod my head to the melody repeating in my brain, but the moment I round the corner and my gaze falls on the guys with Sergio Alvarez from Embrace the Darkness, the song drops out of my mind.

  What the ever-lovin’ fuck? We hate those douchebags. Since when did we decide to get fucking chummy with their bass player? I don’t know the guy personally, but if he’s in Embrace the Darkness, then he’s got to be just as big of an asshole as Donovan and Striker.

  I lift my chin and head straight for them, determined to get to the bottom of this.

  Noel elbows Riff, who is busy explaining chords of some sort to Sergio while Trip looks on with a frown on his face. After Noel spots me, he nods to Trip who finally notices me, too. I hate this tension between us. I’ll be glad when we squash all this later tonight and shit finally gets back to normal.

  “What’s up, guys?” I meet each one of their stares a little longer than necessary, but I’m trying to get a read on the situation.

  “Sergio.” Even I can hear the tension in my voice as I greet him with uncertainty, trying to figure out why he’s here, since his band isn’t on this tour with us.

  Sergio’s mouth twists as his eyebrows shoot up like he’s surprised to see me. He looks to Riff, who only shrugs at him, before he says, “I’ll give you guys a minute.”

  Sergio rotates the strap on his shoulder, sliding his bass onto his back before walking away. I turn back to the guys and Noel runs his hand through his hair while Riff pinches the bridge of his nose, drawing my attention to his crazy Mohawk. I know these moves; both of them revert to their nervous tics when they are frustrated and don’t know how to handle it. I swing my gaze over to my brother, who grabs the bill of his baseball cap and adjusts it so it’s covering most of his jet-black hair.

  I fold my arms over my chest. “All right, fucking out with it. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Trip puffs his cheeks and blows a rush of air out through pursed lips. “We just didn’t expect you to show up, that’s all.”

  I scrunch my brow. “Where else would I be? We have a show—of course I’m going to be here.”

  My twin licks his lips carefully and then swallows. “The thing is, Tyke, we thought we were pretty clear earlier—”

  I don’t even give him a chance to finish. “You mean about throwing me out of the band?” I wave him off dismissively. “You guys were pissed, and I get why you said it, but we can sort all that out after the show. I’ve already forgiven you guys.”

  They exchange expressions bordering on surprise and sadness.

  “Look, Tyke, we—”

  My brother throws a hand out to stop Riff from saying anything else.

  “Let me,” Trip says, turning to me. “Tyke, we love you, man, but you need help. I know you believe you have a handle on all this partying you’re doing, that you’re in complete control, but the truth is you don’t, and you aren’t. I’m not sure what’s going on with you because you won’t talk to me—or any of us—but whatever it is, you need to figure it out.”

  I don’t know whether to be excited that we’ve finally come to a point where a discussion about this band and my issues with what’s happened to it is finally going to happen, or to get pissed that my own brother can’t tell that I don’t have addiction issues. I’m in complete fucking control.

  “I’m so glad that you’ve finally seen there’s a huge problem with the dynamics of the band and are ready to fix them. After we play tonight, I’d love to sit down and talk about adding more dates to the tour.”

  “No, Tyke.” Trip shakes his head. “We’ve tried talking with you before, and no matter what we say to you, I know you aren’t going to stop partying.”

  I roll my eyes. “I can stop any time I want. I just choose not to. I don’t see what that has to do with the band.”

  “We can’t have you with us while you’re using,” Noel chimes in. “I know more than anyone how easy it is to get out of control. If it weren’t for you guys being by my side while I went to rehab—”

  “Jesus Christ, are you fucking serious? Rehab? I don’t need fucking rehab.” Just where in the fuck do they get off? I’ve never been as bad as Noel was. Okay, so maybe I missed a few shows where he never did when he was using, but it was only a few times.

  I scrub my hands down my face. This is so fucking stupid, but I know they won’t let me get out of rehab if they’ve made up their minds that I need treatment, so I might as well give in and get this over with.

  “Fine. You want me to go to rehab? I’ll go as soon as we wrap up the tour.”

  Trip takes a step toward me and starts to put his hand on my shoulder but hesitates, then shoves it
back into his pocket. “You can’t wait until after the tour, Tyke.”

  “Of course I can.”

  He shakes his head. “No, you can’t. You can’t resist Gabby, and she’s on the rest of the tour with us. We think it’s best if you went now.”

  “Now?” I question. “But, who will—” I stop myself because I don’t even need to ask the question. I’ve already figured out the answer. “You assholes already replaced me? Before I get a fucking say? Sergio Alvarez? You’ve got to kidding me. He couldn’t hold a fucking candle to me on his best day.”

  “Come on, man. Don’t be a dick,” Riff says. “Sergio’s a good dude.”

  I lick the corner of my mouth. “A good dude, huh?”

  Just because someone’s a nice person, it doesn’t mean they’ll work in the band. These assholes will find out soon enough that I’m not replaceable. Hell, I’m going to teach them a lesson. Leave them high and dry, not giving them the satisfaction of kicking me out.

  “You know what? You don’t have to worry about me anymore because I fucking quit. Have fun keeping this piece of shit band together without me because none of you will put in the work like I do.”

  I turn and head away from them, listening for them to call my name and beg me to stay and work things out, but it never comes. I sigh and shake my head. Before long, they’ll be begging for me to come back. It’s only a matter of time.

  The rest of the night is a hazy blur...

  Going to a bar downtown with Lou...

  Music...

  Women...

  Lots of women...

  An assortment of pills...

  A bottle of Jim Beam...

  Getting behind the wheel of the Escalade I borrowed from Kyle. Driving down the road, drinking straight from the bottle, wondering how my life got so fucked up. Feeling lost. Unwanted, and unloved.

  Seeing a concrete wall blocking a housing development and thinking it would be better if I weren’t around anymore. After all, who would fucking miss me?

  The last thing I remember is mashing the gas pedal to the floor.

  Unlatching my seatbelt...

  Then...nothing.

  Chapter 2

  “Mad World” –Gary Jules

  FRANCINE

  People say there can be no light without darkness. It’s a nice quote and all, but I’m convinced it’s just a load of shit people love to hang onto so they feel better. There’s been more darkness in my life than I care to admit, but light? There’s been no trace of that in a long time.

  I watch silently as fat raindrops pound against the window of the train. This—starting over—is a good thing, and has been my main goal since I started my journey to straighten myself up. I’ve already completed the first two phases of my plan: admitting I had a problem, and taking a stand to overcome it while getting my degree in psychology. Now I’m moving on to the third stage: helping others conquer their personal struggles, too.

  It’s my new mission.

  “Excuse me?”

  My eyes drift away from the window to the man standing in the aisle next to me, wearing what I assume to be a very expensive tailored suit. He’s clean-shaven; his dark hair is neatly styled. Stunning blue eyes and a perfectly white smile complete this alluring package before me.

  If I were still the old me, I would give him my best flirty smile and, despite the gold band on his left hand, I would’ve invited him to sit down. But I’m trying hard to forget that woman. Absurdly handsome men who never really gave a damn about me are my biggest weakness—a weakness I’m desperate to break away from. Messing around with unavailable men with no hint of remorse was how I knew I had problems: hurting people in order to get my fix is something I did for years. The thought alone is shaming. It got to the point where sex was no longer just a physical escape, but an addiction, too. Like I would die if I didn’t have it.

  I blink a couple of times, bringing myself out of my thoughts while I do my best to repress my inner flirt. I notice the man’s still standing there wearing a mischievous grin. “Yes?”

  The stranger’s grin widens. “Is this seat taken?”

  I lick my lips and swallow hard as the temptation to invite him to snuggle now and fuck later in the bathroom crosses my mind. But as I’ve learned through my own psychological studies on resisting temptation, no matter how hard it may seem at the time, it’s far better than dealing with the fallout of giving in.

  I set my purse in the seat. “It is.”

  The man frowns and takes one last look at my long legs and voluptuous chest before he nods and continues down the aisle to find a seat.

  As soon as he’s out of sight, I breathe a sigh of relief and allow my head to fall back against the seat. Annie would’ve been proud, although she wouldn’t have approved of how I was living my life to begin with. If she would’ve been there, things might not have gotten so out of control in the first place.

  The train begins pulling away from the station, and I pull out my phone, flipping through my pictures until I find one of her. My fingers press against the screen as I trace the features of her beautiful face. As identical twins, people always said we looked alike, but other than that, there weren’t many similarities between us.

  Annie was so vibrant; her blue eyes were always so alive with wonder and hope, while mine were dull, filled with dread and despair. She was so optimistic about life, while I was the queen of pessimism. Physically, our bodies were identical—long legs with hour-glass figures like our mother, blue eyes like our father—but our spirits were polar opposites, so I never got why people lumped us together as the same person.

  “I miss you,” I whisper only loud enough for me to hear, before I kiss my two fingers and press it to her smile.

  I quickly lock the screen and stuff my phone back into my purse, picking up the pamphlet for the posh facility I’ll be working at. Serenity Hills: Recovery for the Mind, Body, and Soul. When I interviewed last month, the director of the place, Dr. Wayne Shepherd, had gotten me excited to be involved with their program and their mission of helping individuals become the absolute best person they can be.

  After nearly eight hours, the train slows as it approaches Cincinnati, the nearest town to Serenity Hills, I begin gathering my belongings and stuffing the books and pamphlets I’d been reading into my handbag. The man who approached me earlier on the train stands and turns toward me, offering a final wink in my direction before heading out of the car. He’s leaving the door open if I wanted to follow him, I guess.

  I take a deep breath and stand, straightening my shoulders and tilting my chin up as I walk in the opposite direction of the handsome man. Every day that I fight against giving into my addiction, it becomes a little easier to walk away from temptation.

  Once off the train, I search around in the crowd for my ride. It doesn’t take me long to spot the doctor who interviewed me. He’s just as I remembered him; tall, broad-shouldered, with neatly trimmed graying-hair and an athletic build—probably from running. Dr. Shepherd has that whole “distinguished” thing happening, and it totally works for him.

  Dr. Shepherd smiles as his gaze locks on mine. He extends his hand in greeting as I approach him, and I set my bag down to shake his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Dr. Shepherd.”

  “Wayne, please, Ms. Mead.” His smile is sincere.

  “In that case, you can call me Frannie.” I want to roll my eyes at myself for sounding so much like a lame-o.

  Wayne picks up my bag and ushers me toward the parking lot. “Did you have a good trip? I must say picking someone up from the train station is a first for me. Most people travel by plane or car these days.”

  I shrug, not wanting to reveal my issue with flying just yet, so I give the best excuse I can come up with. “I prefer it. It’s relaxing and flying isn’t that much shorter in the long run.”

  Wayne nods as he leads me to a black Mercedes. “I can appreciate a woman who knows what she likes and doesn’t. Flying is overrated, I suppose, with its cramped s
eats and germ-filled cabins.” The amused tone in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, and I smile, glad that he’s accepted my rationale so easily.

  Once Wayne places my bag in the trunk, he escorts me to the passenger side where he proceeds to open my door and help me inside. As I watch him walk around the car, I notice how attractive he is, even though I know he’s quite a bit older than my twenty-eight years. I can already tell working alongside him and keeping things completely platonic might prove difficult if he decides to make a move on me, but I’m determined not to sleep with anyone I work with. I’m confident I can keep things strictly business. I have to. My professionalism means the world to me, and I can’t allow my demons to influence me and cause problems with this new career that I so desperately want. It will be a challenge, but at least Wayne is a far cry from my normal type—irresistible tattooed, bad-boy man-candy. I just need to keep my distance from him, and any other man who may pose a threat to my newfound vow of celibacy.

  It’s about an hour drive through the hills of Kentucky before we come to the entrance of Serenity Hills, tucked among a thick line of trees that hide the rest of the property from sight. We turn down the paved drive and wind our way up the gentle slope and through the woods.

  The large white Victorian-style home with a wraparound porch that’s featured on the cover of the brochure comes into view. Wayne told me how beautiful this place was when he interviewed me in my hometown of Chicago, but I never expected this. It’s peaceful and serene—the perfect place for people to relax and recover from whatever demons they’re struggling with away from the harsh realities of the real world.

  “It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” Wayne takes the words right out of my mouth.

  “It is,” I agree. “I can’t believe I’ll be staying here.”

  “Actually...” Wayne pulls around the circular driveway and then continues to drive around to the back of the house, where a series of tiny white cottages sit spread out about fifty yards from the main house. “You and the rest of the staff get your own cottages. They’re fully equipped—sort of like an efficiency apartment. They’re quite nice.”