by Rhys Ford
“Would you ever have told him?” she prodded gently.
Tears burned his eyes, but Miki refused to give in to them. Not now. Not yet.
“I don’t know,” he choked out. Opening his eyes, he was caught in Penny’s soft brown gaze. “I told Damie a little bit, but we were kids then. He knows. I mean, he knows what happened. I woke him up back then. Because I’d have nightmares and—shit—I can’t tell you how many times I hit him, because he couldn’t wake me up.”
“And he stuck by you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Miki cracked a smile he didn’t quite feel. “Even came back from the dead for me. I guess I’m scared if I talk about it—Vega and Shing—with Kane, it’ll make it real again. Which is crazy, because it’s not like I don’t have problems. Hell, I hate getting hugged. And the Morgans, they fucking hug for everything. It’s freaking weird. I can’t get used to it. Swear to God, they hug each other when one of them comes back from the store. Like they fought a battle to get some eggs.”
“You deflect again then?” she pointed out in a gentle reproach. “Poking fun at what makes you uncomfortable?”
He pondered his words, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do. Habit? Maybe? I don’t know.”
“Could be just how your mind works. It makes things less scary sometimes.”
“I’m not—” Miki caught himself. There was no denying the thick fight-or-flight thread holding his sanity together. Penny saw it nearly as soon as he’d walked through her office door. Admitting to the monster curdling his insides was why he was sitting on the damned couch letting a perfectly good cup of coffee go cold, because he didn’t think he could pick it up without trembling. Another damned breath, then he said, “Yeah, it does.”
“Fuck.” Tilting his head back dragged his attention to the ceiling and its odd pattern of recessed lights, but the dotted, creamy surface gave him something to focus on, something to distract him from the scabs he was about to pull up. “I’m scared all the damned time. I feel cornered, especially now, and I just want to be free of all this shit. I want to be able to lie in bed on Saturdays with half of Kane’s body pinning me down because he’s a goddamned mattress hog, and I have to get up to let the dog out but I can’t. I just want to play music. I don’t even care if we never make another record again. I just want to play. And write. And—shit, go to their fucking dinners on Sundays and sit on the couch so I can make fun of Kane’s whole damned family because—”
The tears finally hit, as did the stew of emotions he’d stirred up. It was too much to handle, too strong of a wave for his feeble control to hold off, and Miki simply let go, allowing himself to weep. A tissue box appeared in his lap and he looked down, grateful for its presence. Scrubbing at his nose with a soft white square, he sat and let himself ride his sorrow while Penny looked on.
“I never wanted to fall in love. Hell, I couldn’t even imagine anyone wanted to fall in love with me. It just wasn’t a thing. It was never going to be real,” he whispered, talking more to the sage-green box cradled against his stomach than the woman with her hands on his knees. “I’d lost Damie. Lost Dave and Johnny. That was it, you know? My shot at family. There wasn’t going to be anyone else. I didn’t want to be anymore, and if it wasn’t for Dude—well, he kind of gave me a reason to get up in the mornings. Because I knew he’d need something. Food or maybe to go out. He waited for me most of the time. Go walking with me when I went for groceries or takeout.
“Then he brought me Kane. Stupid fucking dog went and stole a damned piece of wood—expensive fucking wood—and dragged it home because it’s what he did. He’d bring me shit and leave it in the garage, like if he could just find the right thing, I’d be happy.” Miki snorted. “Guess he found the right thing, because one day, there was Kane. All pissed off and Irish in my face because the dog stole his shit.”
“When did you know you’d fallen in love?” Penny cocked her head, wrinkling her nose when Miki chuckled at her. “I’m serious. Because from where you started, I think it would have taken you a bit to discover that about yourself.”
“A long time.” She wasn’t wrong. Loving Kane snuck up on him. They’d fought and butted heads, but Miki’d found himself missing the cop who’d appeared in his life. Much like the scruffy canine who’d moved into his house, Kane crept into Miki’s heart and took up residence before Miki even realized it. “It was when I needed him with me. When all of the shit was going down—before Damie came back—he was there. I thought maybe Kane’s the kind of guy who fixes stuff. Like maybe I’d lost my mind and just wanted someone to deal with everything so I didn’t have to. It’s what Damie did, you know? Take care of the crap because he’s bossy.
“But it was more than that. It was me needing him. All the time. For stupid crap like keeping me warm in the morning or making me laugh when I was scared.” Miki balled up the sodden tissue in his hand, then took another one. Sniffing, he worked to separate the thin layers of paper. “I liked when he touched me. I didn’t worry he’d go too far or that he’d hurt me, and I should have because he’s fucking huge. He could do some damage if he wanted to. All of them—the Morgans—can. But Kane’s… so damned gentle with me. He makes me feel safe. And I don’t have to pretend with him.”
“Pretend what?”
“People always seem to want something from me, and I never know what. It’s like I’m broken inside. Like I don’t fit in the hole made for me. I can’t figure people out and I never know what to say, but Kane doesn’t care. Sure, I fuck shit up between us all the time, and sometimes he does too, but we work it out.” Miki let go a real laugh, a short burst of bubbling humor breaking free of the receding shadows. “He’s there. Steady. Constant. He’s my rock. My fucking cop. Sometimes he’s there too much because he’s that guy who’s got to fix things, and I have to shove him back once in a while so I have room to breathe, but that’s okay. We’re okay.
“He makes me happy inside. So him holding on to all of the shit I’ve been through. Seeing those pictures,” Miki whispered, shaking off the residual anger in his chest. “I’m not angry he saw them, but I wish I’d been able to tell him. You know? Because he’d have believed me without needing that proof, but I still feel dirty inside. Like everything Vega did to me—what Shing did—made me like them. Like they rubbed their filth on me and I can’t ever clean it off. So yeah, maybe I’m angry at that too. Maybe that’s why I don’t talk to the people I care about. I don’t want them to see that. Maybe I’m scared they won’t love me anymore.”
“Do you really think that? After everything you’ve been through with your band and Kane’s family?” Penny left her words there, hanging in front of him like bait for him to take.
“No. I don’t. Not now. Not if I look at it rationally.” Miki obliged and swallowed, squeezing his weary brain to bleed the truths it held. “The guys—the band—they’re my brothers. My family, as ugly as we get sometimes, they’re my band. And Donal, he’s my Dad. Shit, even Brigid is something to me. I just can’t figure out what yet. But they’ve been there. Solid. Behind me. I’m just so fucking scared of doing something wrong, even when I fuck shit up and they tell me it’s okay. I don’t want to lose them. I don’t want to ask them to help me wash this crap off of me, even though I know it’s slowly choking me to death. Because if I don’t clean it off, they’re going to get tired of dealing with me not handling it.”
“I don’t think that’s true. They love you and you’ve taken a lot of steps forward, trying to heal over a lot of old wounds. You know you’re not responsible for what those men did to you, and even when you lash out, you’ve learned how to care for your relationships. That’s big, Miki.” Her hands pressed down again, a light pressure to gain his attention and Miki glanced up, her face blurred behind the sting of his tears. “I asked about the photos because it was a defining moment for you and Kane. He saw the worst of your life and remained by your side, loving you at every turn. I want you to think on this when you go home today. Kane opened up that box, sa
w your demons and still loves you, right?”
“Yeah.” Miki nodded, wiping at the thick saltiness on his lashes. “He’s an idiot, but yeah.”
“He put that box down at some point, Miki. Kane carried it out of that room, catalogued it for his case, then put it away. And continued to love you. Still loves you.” Penny leaned back, leaving the memory of her hands on his knees. “So answer me this, why are you still living in that box? And what is it going to take for you to close it and leave it behind?”
Chapter Eleven
Metal on my fingers
Whiskey on my mind
Singing a tune to my baby
Wasting none of my time
Flip the record on that turntable
Pull the rug from the middle of the floor
Gonna spend the night with my baby
Send my blues out through that door
—Keeping Back The Blues
“IT’LL BE about another half an hour, Mr. St. John. Traffic’s a bit tight today.” The burly bald security guy Sionn assigned to him glanced over his shoulder at Miki sitting in the back seat of the glossy black sedan. “I should have you home soon enough.”
Miki couldn’t remember the man’s name. He couldn’t remember any of their names, and the thought of having to dredge them up from his body memory stressed him out. He’d already called one of them Dave, only to be told there wasn’t a Dave on the security detail, and he’d spent the rest of the day huddled in his bedroom, wrapped around the guitar in the hopes of finding stray notes to play. Much like the team’s names, his mind wasn’t giving up anything other than white noise, much less the genesis of a song.
He’d argued for a visit to Edie, refusing to budge when Sionn suggested he hold off for another day. As expansive as the warehouse was, its walls were slowly moving inward, stiffening the air and throttling Miki’s mind. He hated having Damien’s lover as a gatekeeper. The normally affable Sionn had morphed into a stern taskmaster, throwing blockades into Miki’s routine. He understood the Irish man’s reasoning, but he didn’t have to like it. The rambles he’d take every morning with Dude were now short peeks into an alleyway with barely enough time for the dog to go to the bathroom. The terrier didn’t seem to mind, but the ache was growing in Miki’s knee and thighs, a constant reminder he wasn’t stretching out the old injury with his customary long walks.
And there was the incessant presence of someone near him every time he turned around.
If there was one thing Miki knew he failed at, it was being human. Not in the way that Quinn fought with. Or least he didn’t think so. It was more that he really had no idea how to interact with anyone who didn’t know him. He could wear a mask for short periods of time, a social construct that let him say hello or begin a conversation centered on the food choice or what kind of coffee he wanted that morning, but beyond that, he was often left adrift. Having a phalanx of dark-suited men shadowing his every move didn’t just make him uneasy, it was slowly driving him insane with the need to interact every second of the day.
He must have missed yet another social cue, because the driver kept making eye contact with him in the rearview mirror, as if waiting for Miki to say something. A smile seemed to be all the man needed, because as soon as Miki stretched his lips back, the man nodded pleasantly and returned his gaze to the road.
The late afternoon sun gilded Chinatown’s busy streets, turning dross into gold. He found something comforting about the chaos, a spangled, multicolored storm of signs and noise. He knew its streets like the back of his hand, and like his knife-scarred and guitar string–pocked skin, the streets were beaded with age and violence. The district’s buildings wore a hard elegance, a spackle of Asian influence over sturdy New England bones. The Chinese influence over the area was draped on with its hanzi signs and pagoda streetlamps. The scent of dark teas flavored the air along with the coppery sting of boiled water and slightly off greens. It was a smell he’d missed when the band was out on the road, a nostalgic perfume he woke up to every morning alongside the hard, warm length of his lover. The driver gave him a warning look when he cracked open the car window, but Miki ignored him. He needed to drown out the new world he was living in with a wash of the familiar.
The tinted windows made it impossible for anyone to see into the car, but Miki felt everyone’s eyes on him. Or that sensation could have just been the result of being handed off from person to person nearly every waking hour of the day.
“I am going to take a turn down here to the right,” the driver said. “Maybe we can get clear of some of the crowd and I can get you home sooner.”
This time, Miki remembered to nod and smile before the man looked away.
It was a road they’d taken too many times for Miki to count, but each slow cruise over the weather-beaten blacktop was a trip down memory lane. This time, Miki needed more than a glimpse. He was so lost, and something broken cried out inside of him.
“Stop the car.” Miki slapped at the seat in front of him. “I need to get out over there.”
“I can’t do that, Mr. St. John,” the driver replied with a shake of his head. “I have my orders.”
He was tired of being pushed around and boxed in. Slamming the leather seat stung Miki’s hand, but the hard slap woke something up inside of him.
“I swear to God, if you do not stop this car, I’m just going to jump out. And if you lock the doors, I am going to break the fucking window.” The traffic was slow enough they were inching down the street, and a thin crowd wandered across the sidewalks, drawn to the beacon of a row of crimson and white signs advertising fine jewelry at low prices. The brick buildings never seemed to change, only slapped with another coat of bright, cheap paint that quickly dulled under San Francisco’s relentless weather. “I’m serious. Stop the car. I need to get out. Over there by the noodle factory.”
The driver—Dan, Miki remembered—visibly debated his options, his placid features twisted by the two sides of a silent argument going on in his head. He edged the sedan to the right side of the road, cutting off a minivan filled with children driven by a harassed-looking older Chinese woman. They were a few feet short of the alley, but luck was with them as a parking space opened up, and his security detail slid into the spot. Throwing the car into Park, Dan locked the doors quickly, then turned around to face a fuming Miki. The professional demeanor on the man’s stoic face had been replaced by something more human, more raw, and he turned, looping his arm across the back of the bucket seat.
“Look, when I first got this job, I figured I was going to be babysitting some spoiled rock star who would spend most of his time drunk and passed out on the couch. You seem to be going through some shit, and while I don’t know what it is fully, it seems to be more than just some random asshole trying to hurt you.” Dan leaned across the seat, the fabric of his suit jacket catching on the leather, exposing the thick gold watch around his wrist. “Up until right now, you’ve been an easy job. So, I am going to ask you to be honest with me about getting out of this car. If it’s something that you have to do, you’re going to have to do it on my terms. I need to know where you’re going to go, because I’m going to need to cover you. So what exactly are you going to do?”
The man was a stranger, asking Miki to bare his soul and rip open his secrets to be rifled through. He paused, wondering if the mewling want crying out inside of him truly needed to be succored or if he could just go home and pretend the emptiness inside of him didn’t exist. He looked away, losing himself in the kaleidoscope patterns of people walking by. It was easier to talk to the translucent reflection of his face staring back at him from the darkened windows.
“That alleyway over there is where it all started. Where I started.” Miki bit his lip, unsure how to unravel the Möbius strip of his confusion. “I need to be there for a moment. I’ve got to find where I began because, right now, I have no fucking clue where I’m going.”
Dan studied him for a while; then, with a flick of his fingers, the doors
were unlocked. Nodding toward the alley, he said, “Letting you go down there is risky. There’s too many doors leading to places I can’t secure, but if I don’t let you do this, you’re going to find a way to get down here without one of us to cover you. Am I right in that?”
Miki smirked, curling his lip as he answered. “Nobody lets me do anything. So yeah, you’re right. One way or another, I’m going to be walking down that alleyway.”
“That’s what I thought.” Dan sighed. “I’m going to stand at the mouth of the alley, and you go do your thing. But if there is any sign of trouble, I need you to promise that you’ll listen to me when I yank you back to the car.”
It was a compromise Miki could live with, and he nodded, reaching for the car door’s handle.
“Don’t make me regret this, St. John.” Dan undid his seat belt, then opened the door to get out. “I’ve got a husband and kids to go home to tonight, and I really need this job. So if you fuck this up and I go down—”
“I’ll take care of you,” Miki vowed. “And if it’s any consolation, Sionn knows how I am. I’d bet money he wouldn’t fire you if something goes wrong. He’d just pat you on the back and buy you a bottle of whiskey to apologize.”
THE SHADOWS were the same even though the colors were different. The wall he’d leaned against while eating his cobbled-together meals of customers’ leftovers and slightly burnt castoffs was now a light blue, and the fire escape gleamed a glossy black, a far cry from the peeling cream paint he’d picked out of his palms every other night after his shift. His fingers ached with the memory of washing dishes and his shoulders twinged at the thought of busing tables, but there’d been a simplicity in his life then. Newly freed of Vega and Shing, Miki lived surreptitiously, always keeping one eye open in case his monsters came looking for him.
