Rock Me Deep

by Nora Flite

  Under his boot, I saw the edge of my admission letter to Goldman's.

  I'd started yelling at some point. My throat was ragged from it. Lurching onto his back, I struggled to get him to the floor—to anywhere away from my mother. Together we rolled into a tool bench, metal instruments he'd once used to lovingly carve his guitars showering down on us.

  I didn't see the chisel until it was too late. Pure pain radiated from my lower back.

  He'd stabbed me. My own father had stabbed me.

  I was screaming again, just one long, strained vowel. Would this ruin my vocal cords?

  Who cares if I can't sing again? It doesn't matter if I'm dead.

  If she's dead.

  Ignoring the sickening weight of the chisel in my flesh, I punched down into my dad's jaw. Again and again, the thud of my knuckles bounced off his face. I didn't stop until he went limp, wet bubbles of red hanging on his lips.

  Groaning, I made myself stand. Purple and yellow tickled my vision, my insides threatening to come out of my mouth. Determined not to give up—if I stopped now, I was sure I'd never get up again—I stumbled towards the phone on the wall of the workshop. I could tell my mother was breathing, but wasting another second without calling for help was madness.

  As I dialed for an ambulance, my bare foot found the ragged letter from Goldman's. Blood from my dad's shoe stained most of it. It was funny, how important that piece of paper had seemed to me just hours ago.

  Now, as I looked over my beaten mother, endured the waves of pain from my wound...

  I wished it had never arrived.

  ****

  Present Day

  There were half-moon cuts in my palms from how hard I had been clenching my fists. For so long, I'd avoided thinking about what had happened that day. How my father had gone so far in his jealousy that he tried to murder my mother, and no doubt, would have killed me as well.

  Standing there watching me, he said nothing. I almost preferred it that way, but that wasn't why I was here. I wouldn't waste this trip.

  Honesty.

  “Why.” The word had been on the tip of my tongue for years. “Why would you do it?”

  “Listen, kid—”

  “Don't!” Curling back my lips, I gripped my own skull. “Never call me that again. I'm not a fucking kid.” My guts balled up, thinking about how I'd called Lola 'kid' initially. I'm nothing like him. I won't be—I can't be. “Just tell me why.”

  His mouth fell open, a pathetic expression that I just loathed more. “I've—been seeing someone about that. Therapy, you know? I'm—”

  “Tell me why!”

  Lines grew deep along his forehead, around his eyes; eyes that were so tired and nothing like they used to be when I was just a child. “Did you really come to see me, after all these years, to ask that?”

  “No.” The why doesn't even matter. “I don't need your answer. I figured it out soon after they sentenced you. I wasn't stupid, I fucking got why you turned into such a pathetic, desperate piece of shit over the years.”

  He crumpled like a dying balloon. “Then, what do you want from me? You want to talk to me, right? You're here for me.”

  The back of my neck was sweltering. “I'm not here for you, I'm here for me.” I'm here so that I can get over my past. I'm here for...

  For Lola.

  My dad eyed me with new suspicion. “Fine. You came here to mock me. You proud of that? You proud of looking down on your own father, Anthony?” My hackles went up in rows. “You proud of taunting an old man who struggled to give you what you have now?”

  “I used to be proud of you!” My bottom lip split with my hard growl, the blood a distant note on my tongue. “I was so damn proud of everything you did, I looked up to you!”

  Whatever perfect speech I'd written in my brain on the flight here, it was washed over by the one that had been scratching itself into place since the day my dad had started to ignore me. He erased me. He hated how good I was becoming, how I'd surpassed him, so he turned me invisible.

  Until he couldn't any longer.

  “You looked up to a failure like me?” he asked, eyes going dull; doubtful.

  “I did.” Raising my arm, I wiped at the burning cut on my mouth. “Until the very first time you hit me, I just wanted to be like you.” I wanted to show you I could be the star you wanted me to be.

  Turning away, Donnie closed his eyes and breathed out. “Well, you've made it further than I ever did. I've seen you on television, son. You're famous—like I always wanted to be." There was a hollowness in his gaze as he looked back at me. “Guess we weren't very similar, in the end.”

  “No,” I said, feeling my lower back twinge where my scar was. “We're nothing alike.” And we never will be. “I'm here to remind myself of that. I'm going to make sure I never, ever become anything like you.”

  In the shadows of the cell, my father didn't flinch.

  From the start, I'd demanded perfection from Lola the way my dad had from me. I'd felt the fear when I saw her talent soar, recognizing the world would crave her as much as I did every second. I'd lost my mind at the idea she'd slip away, told myself I would do anything, anything to keep her at my side.

  But I was not my father.

  Even though our blood was the same, our hearts were not. I'd never let myself become the bitter man he was.

  His face was a map of misery. I burned the memory deep into my mind. Turning on my heel, I stuck my hands in my pockets. “One more thing before I leave and never waste my time thinking about you again.” My lungs fluttered, mouth tasting like rust and satisfaction. “What does it take to be a good guitarist?”

  He finally stood to his full height; I had his attention.

  I'd never wanted it more.

  “Honesty,” I whispered. The single word cut through the stagnant air of the prison. “The answer is honesty. That's why you could never make it.” And why she could. That beautiful, genius fucking girl knew the answer from the start.

  His lips moved, mouthing the word softly. “Honesty?" He was rigid and motionless. "You think that's what matters?”

  “Yeah.” There wasn't a tremor of doubt in my voice. How could there be? “It's what allows people to be themselves, to be free and unconstrained.” It's what will keep Lola and I together.

  My heels sliced down the concrete hall like machines on a war path. I was slashing and burning everything in my past. Not to erase it, but to clear it away so I could see the roots of who I was beneath the blackened char.

  I was finally done with my father.

  But there was more to do before I could return to Lola.

  - Chapter Twenty-Six -

  Lola

  Johnny took a sip from his coffee. It looked cold, made me curious how long he'd been nursing it. I thought he was nursing the information, too, like he was counting the seconds, enjoying being the center of attention again.

  Finally, Johnny bent low in my direction. “I'm only telling you this because you should know the kind of man Drezden is.”

  The kind of man he is. I reminded myself to breathe.

  “His name isn't Drezden Halifax.” There were shiny purple circles under his eyes. “It's Anthony Holland.”

  I was crushing myself, bracing myself, and then the reveal came and I just... deflated. Sean had already warned me that Drezden wasn't really his name. “So what?” I asked. “Lots of rock stars use fake names. Why does it matter?”

  Under the table, something poked me; the tip of Sean's shoe. We shared a look, his saying, Take this seriously! Mine saying, This is what you brought me here for?

  “It's not that he has a stage name,” Johnny went on. His excitement grew along with his rising volume. “It's the reason.”

  My heart wouldn't stop racing. “Give me the reason.”

  His smile was wicked, lacking sympathy in every corner. “Drez uses a fake name so that it can't be traced back to his dad. The bastard put his own fucking father in jail.”

  “I—he
what?” His father? What the hell?

  “Drez beat the shit out of his dad, yeah.” Thin fingers ran through his greasy, unkempt hair. “Got him arrested, too. Guess the cops took Drez's side because his dad was known to drink a bit heavy."

  When had I started shaking my head? “That doesn't make sense, why would he attack his dad?”

  “What does it matter?” Sean snapped, gripping the edge of the tiny table. “If he could do that to his own dad, the guy has fucking issues! I told you he was dangerous.”

  Johnny snorted, peering at us both. “That's for sure. He cold-cocked me, remember? I didn't do fuck all to him. If he wanted me out, he didn't need to punch me to do it—”

  “Stop.” I don't understand. “Just stop a second.” This makes no sense. My temples were throbbing. “If his dad went to jail, it means he did something wrong.”

  Drezden had to have a reason.

  The man across from me scowled. “What, you think they needed a reason to put me in jail, too? Sometimes people end up behind bars because they're in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Then you don't even know what happened between him and his dad, right?” I asked slowly.

  Johnny's forehead wrinkled, his scowl going deeper. “Maybe I don't know the details—”

  “And it doesn't matter!” Sean cut in.

  “—But I know the important shit. Drezden hates his dad, and if anything, would love to see the guy dead.”

  Acid bubbled in my stomach. “You know that how?”

  “Why change his name, why would he want nothing to do with the guy?” Johnny's voice had a wild edge; I watched the coffee cup shake, ready to topple. “You tell me! You fucking put the pieces together. The night after we officially formed the band...” He stopped, shooting a look at Sean.

  Right. Johnny took the spot Sean auditioned for.

  It had been easy for me to forget the connection my brother had to all this. I'd only learned about it recently.

  In the back of my brain, my intuition buzzed. Does Sean have some other reason for wanting me to meet Johnny? Something beyond trying to warn me away from Drezden?

  My brother's 'kindness' was suddenly suspicious.

  “Anyway,” Johnny mumbled, scratching at the side of his neck. “Me and the others—Porter, Colt... We all ended up in this graveyard, and Drezden was drunk as all get out. Guy was nuts!” Johnny was gesticulating, growing more and more manic. “Got angry when I tripped over a headstone. He, like, jammed me hard in the ribs with his fist.” For emphasis, he stabbed at the air. “Like that! Fucker hit me so much, just kept pummeling me! Bam! Told me to respect the dead, even as he went on yammering about the dead being forgotten or something.”

  I was leaning backwards. Johnny was acting unstable.

  “It's where the name comes from,” he said, blinking like he'd just noticed me. “Four and a Half Headstones, I mean. Drezden figured it fit us—something like, a half headstone exists to remind us we'll be forgotten someday or... I don't know. He was just crazy. Okay? Drez was always a crazy fucking—” A sharp ringing came from my brother's pocket.

  Sean fumbled for his phone. “Sorry,” he said, doing a double-take at the number. “It's Shark, hang on. I need to take this.” Shoving the chair back, Sean stood and cupped the phone to his ear. “Man, hey,” he whispered, walking towards the door. “I'm in the middle of a thing—wait, what? Shit!”

  I jumped, stunned by how Sean was hunched over, grumbling into the phone and walking back and forth. The man behind the coffee counter was staring, too. My brother was acting like a caged lion.

  “Fine, yes. I'm on my way.” He shut his phone violently. “We need to go back. Caleb's a fucking moron. Shark just called to tell me he got himself drunk in public this morning, now he's in a holding cell.” Shaking his head rapidly, my brother laughed. “The asshole started drinking at ten this morning." It was after five now. "I need to go down and break him out.”

  I was fine with this excuse to cut the meeting short. Johnny had to be exaggerating about Drezden, he just had to be. I stood on eager legs. “Alright. Let's go back.”

  A hand touched mine, freezing me. “I want to tell you more. Hell,” Johnny snorted, “I feel like I need to. There's so much shit. Stay and hear me out.”

  I jerked my arm away; his touch had been so oily. “Maybe another time.” I looked to my brother. He was antsy, bouncing on the balls of his feet. I understood his worry; he needed to get his singer out before tomorrow, or his band couldn't play at all. “We're in a hurry.” There's no way I'm hanging around here alone.

  “Oh, okay! I'll just—okay, another time then,” Johnny shouted after me. “Nice to finally meet you, Lola!”

  I didn't feel the same.

  “I'm going to drop you off at your tour bus,” Sean said, guiding the van out onto the road.

  Eyeing the sky, mulling over Johnny's words, I shook my head. “Actually, could you drop me off at the Hilton?” I want to talk to Drezden in person.

  The clouds were a foreboding black as we drove. Sean's headlights made the pavement a muddy yellow, the color reminded me of Johnny's skin. Frowning, I wiped at where he'd touched me. “Has Johnny been living in a gutter or what? He looked awful.”

  My brother's laugh was tight, sour as bad wine. “Close enough. I met up with him this morning at the Greenmill Motel. Guess that's where he's been for a few days.”

  That sounded strange. We only rolled into the city last night. Was Johnny here, waiting for us? He had to know the tour would end in Seattle. Thinking of the guy, gaunt and edgy, hanging around in a filthy motel just waiting for everyone to arrive...

  It made my insides queasy.

  “Did you believe what he said?” Sean asked casually, not glancing at me.

  Fidgeting in the seat, I watched the road. “Not really. Some of it, but—come on. Sean, that guy is losing it. One look at him and you could tell.”

  “He could be crazy and right about Drezden.”

  Twisting, I narrowed my eyes on my brother. “What was this really about? Do you want to help me learn about my boyfriend, or are you just trying to prove to me that he's some sort of violent psycho?”

  Sean just clenched his jaw in silence.

  Slumping in the cushion, I pulled my hood over my head. “Guess I already knew the answer to that.”

  “Lola—”

  “You brought me to meet someone like Johnny Muse because you wanted me to think Drezden was dangerous.”

  “He is dangerous!” Sean snapped, crushing the steering wheel.

  No, I thought morosely, it's Johnny's who's dangerous. Not the man I—what? Love? Closing my eyes, I pictured Drezden's face; his hard edges and wild green eyes. All I wanted was to see him, even just to talk to him and confront him with Johnny's accusations. He might get mad. But let him.

  There were nuggets of truth in Johnny's words. I wasn't sure which parts, but Drez had to explain. He just had to tell me what had happened with his father.

  The drive to the Hilton couldn't go fast enough.

  It was drizzling as we rolled up to the tall building. Even with the surge of bleak weather, people were milling around, covering their heads with jackets to stay as dry as they could.

  My seat belt was unlocked; Sean's hand on my shoulder kept me sitting. “Lola, I know you're confused.”

  “I'm not confused.” There were a lot of questions running wild, jabbing at me, but I had come to a conclusion as we drove. There was one person who could tell me the truth, and chasing after other sources had given me nothing but a bitter aftertaste.

  Drezden is the only one who can tell me everything.

  “I—Lola, just...” Letting me go, Sean leaned back so fast his elbow banged the window. Amazingly, he didn't act like he felt it at all. “You're stuck on wanting to believe that Drezden isn't to blame for any of the crap he's pulled.” Though I listened, I never took my attention from my knees. “But even if you imagine he has 'reasons' or whatever, can't you see he'
s still responsible for the violence? Hitting Johnny, fighting with his father, and... and the bastard even got into a fight with me.”

  My neck ached from how fast I turned to stare. “He what? When?”

  Shame danced on the corners of my brother's lips. “The day you came back late, the night we played in Aspen. It got a little tense in the parking lot.”

  “A little tense?” What the hell? “You and my boyfriend fought and neither of you told me! Why would you hide that?”

  Sean flicked his gaze at me, then away, all too fast.

  Pinpricks of heat traveled up my neck. “You didn't tell me because you started it, didn't you?” He stared blankly through the windshield. “Sean. Sean, that's it, isn't it? Why else would you not—”

  His fist came down, hitting the wheel with a thud. “I thought you were hurt, or worse! I thought he knew where you were. Either way, trust me, your shitty boyfriend was more than happy to be in that scuffle.” He was no longer avoiding my glare, but the rage in his face didn't make me shy away.

  I was pissed off, too.

  “Why are you so obsessed with making Drezden into a monster?” I didn't breathe, I even wondered if my blood had gone still. I wanted Sean to say something—anything—to justify his actions.

  A flicker of pain bloomed in his stare. “I need to go pick up Caleb.” He reached across me, opening my door.

  If I left now, I knew he'd never tell me what was going on. He'd double down and hide it deeper. Gripping the door, I slammed it shut. “Please, Sean. Why is this all so important to you? It's not even about me anymore... is it?”

  “Of course, it's about you.” His voice was weak, unconvincing. “It's always been about you.”

  On instinct I jumped at him. It could have been an attack—it wasn't. My body folded across the middle of the van, encasing my brother in a hug before he could fight me off. His claim was a cry for help. “I'm sorry,” I mumbled against his shoulder. “Sean, I'm really just—I'm so sorry.”

  “Lola? What the hell?” His body was tense, but he hugged me back like it was muscle memory. The times he'd protected me flooded back into both of us. I felt the barrier cracking in a sudden shatter. “Why are you apologizing?”