by Ella Goode
“Get it together. It will be fine.” I look in the mirror. My eyes look tired. This cannot be good for the baby or me. “You and Linc will be fine. You always are.” I let out a long sigh, washing my face and using the bathroom before I make my way back into the kitchen. Brian has made himself at home cooking us breakfast. I know I didn't have any of the groceries he’s using to make all this. Which means that he brought everything with him. I’m lucky to have him.
“Did he call?” he asks, setting down an orange juice along with my vitamins onto the table.
“No.” I shake my head, downing the pills and half the OJ. I debate if I should call Nick or Benjy to make sure everything is okay. But I decide not to get them involved. They probably already know, and neither one of them reached out to me or tried to talk sense into Linc. None of this makes any sense to me. How could he send me a text like that and then up and disappear? This is not like him at all. I’m fighting with myself not to believe what Brian said was right. That people change. That explanation doesn’t sit well with me.
“Want bacon?”
“Who doesn't want bacon?”
“Good point.” He pulls the bacon out of the fridge. I am lucky to have a best friend who can cook. “Are you social media stalking?”
“No. Linc doesn't do social media.”
“But do his friends?”
“Nick does.” I’m not big on social media either. I was before when I ran theirs. Now a professional does it. Nick is heavy into it, though. He is always posting something. I go to his Instagram page and see that he does in fact have new stories. I anxiously click through them. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see but I feel nervous.
The first one is of them at the studio. I can’t help but smile when I see Linc off to the side. I’m not even paying attention to whatever Nick is going on about. The next one starts outside of a strip club. He pans over to the sign. My stomach drops at the thought of where this is going. The next is hours later. He’s got the camera out. I can hear Benjy loud and drunk in the background. A woman is walking toward them, her mouth moving but the music is too loud for me to hear what she’s saying. Her clothes leave nothing to the imagination and I’m guessing she works there.
“Come help me get your boy Linc. He’s in the champagne room. He’s done for.”
“Shit, man.” Nick says. He fumbles the camera around. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t realize it's still recording. The screen may be black but you can still hear every word they’re saying. I should stop watching but I can’t.
“He passed out on me.” The woman laughs. “Hey. Is that thing on? There’s no recording in here.” She snatches the phone from him and the video ends.”
“That fuck,” Brian yells, snatching the phone from my hand. I didn't realize he’d moved over to stand next to me. I can’t seem to find any words for what I just watched. But Brian looks as though he’s going to murder someone.
“He really was in the strip club.” I didn't want to believe it. How could everything have changed in such a short period of time? I am having his baby and he’s out drinking and partying. My whole body feels numb. “I think I’m going to be sick again.” I run toward the bathroom. I try to throw up, but nothing comes out.
“Cherry.” Brian rubs my back. “You can’t keep doing this. It’s not good for you or the baby.” I nod in agreement as I wipe my face again. My life is falling apart. Everything I thought I knew no longer seems to be true. I reach down to touch my belly, knowing that what Brian said was true. I have to get myself together.
He isn't texting me because he couldn't face me. Last night was an easy out for him. He sent some bullshit text like I’m the one that wants out of this. Making it seem as though I might be cheating on him. Then to top it all he goes and does this. To add insult to injury, Nick and Benjy were right there along for the ride. Brian was right. All of them have changed. I did everything to make their dreams come true and in return they shattered mine.
“Give me my phone.” He hands it to me. I decide that I’m going to do for Linc what he didn’t have the balls to do. I let him go. I’ll be the bad guy if that's what he needs. As much as all of this hurts, I still love him, and I’ll always do what I think is best for him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Linc
“The reporter for Music Times emailed me her article. Do you want to read it?” asks Hal.
I make a face at our manager. “I don’t know. Do I?”
When we were approached about this feature, I wanted to say no because it required us to allow a stranger to follow us for three days and watch our music-making process. That’s a lot like having someone you don’t know inspect your underwear. To say I wasn’t a fan is putting it mildly. But Hal pushed. Treats pushed. Some bigwig investor with a trophy wife younger than Cherry pushed. Music Times is the oldest, most venerated music magazine in the business. It has a subscriber count in the millions and people like Grammy voters read these pieces. It would be great promo for our album and so, ultimately, I caved.
I didn’t love the experience, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated. Nick and the reporter got along well, whereas Benjy pretended like the reporter didn’t exist. I floated somewhere between Nick and Benjy—not actively ignoring but not inviting the guy to analyze all aspects of my life. I’ve read enough of these pieces to know the reporter would be doing that without my help.
“It’s good,” Hal says. “Really good. It should help with your Best New Artist nomination and your album sales.”
“I’ll read it,” Benjy volunteers, to my surprise.
“I thought you hated that guy?” I say, twisting away from the mic stand. We’re on stage at the Forum, doing sound checks in anticipation of our next show.
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about what he said.” Benjy grabs the printout.
“It’s day two and my eyes feel like they’re coated with sand, which could be possible since we spent most of our day at the beach yesterday,” Benjy reads. His brows bunch together. “Day two? Why isn’t this person starting with day one? Who starts at the second day? It’s like listening to a song a minute in or starting a movie at the second hour.”
“Just read it,” Nick interjects.
Benjy heaves a put-upon sigh and clears his throat. “‘Linc, the frontman and main songwriter, is mainlining coffee like he’s a drug addict who just got a delayed delivery from his local dealer, while Nick, the drummer and main beatmaker, thrums a rhythm only he can hear into the air with his fingers.’ Where am I?”
“Next sentence,” murmurs Hal.
“Next sentence? We’re a band. We should be in the same sentence,” he complains.
“He has a point,” I agree. “None of us would be here without the other.” In the days after I got Cherry’s message, the break-up one, I was a mess. Nick and Benjy carried me through those days, making sure I didn’t drink myself into an early death, seeing that I ate food and even showered from time to time. Funnily enough, being a drunk fool didn’t deter any of the label people. No one watching us seemed to mind that I always had a bottle on stage with me either. I played my guitar, sang every sad tune with so much feeling that I made the audience cry every night, and even wrote a ton more songs—more than we’d need for at least three more albums.
Someone, I don’t remember who because he was fired after I punched him in the mouth, said that I should get dumped more often. It was good for my music. I don’t think so. The best music I made I’m playing right now and that’s in the album we made while I still believed Cherry loved me.
“Keep reading,” Hal insists.
“The band’s bassist, Benjy, typifies the play hard/work hard mantra. At the beach, he was collecting phone numbers and Instagram handles like they were pennies in a wishing well.” Benjy contemplates this for a minute before deciding he’s not offended. “I don’t mind this,” he admits.
“We’re going to be a year older before you finish this article,” Nick wh
ines.
“Not my fault you have a birthday tomorrow.”
“Here.” Hal hands out two more copies. He’s spent almost ten months with us. I guess he knows us by now. I pick up where Benjy left off.
He doesn’t call any of them, though. For a rock band, Local Hero is curiously scandal free. There are no drugs around them. They don’t drink much. Their entourage is very small and, but for a former stripper who goes by the name of Miss D, there are no women. Miss D isn’t there to serve their physical needs, but rather their emotional ones. “I’m their tour mom,” she explains. “These boys are hardworking musicians whose greatest love is their music. A lot of people want a piece of them and I’m here to make sure that they aren’t taken advantage of.” After you get past the pound of makeup and the hot pink Lycra jumpsuit, you realize that there probably isn’t anyone that understands the male psyche better than a former stripper. The men of Local Hero, only nineteen and twenty, treat her like a mom, too. The only sexual tension that exists is between Miss D and the band’s manager, Hal, although the band themselves seem to be oblivious to it.
All three of us pin Hal with surprised looks. He coughs and turns around, adjusting his shirt and pretending he’s busy with something on his phone. Miss D and Hal? I guess I could see it.
“Let us know if you need an assist, old man,” chortles Benjy.
Hal flips us off.
There is an anxiousness to the band, though, and no one gives me a reason why. They aren’t planning to release new music. The twenty-city tour has been wildly successful, growing with each stop. They’ve moved from opening acts to their own theaters to booking arenas all in less than ten months. Is it the success that is making them nervous? Or something else? It’s not until day three that I get an answer.
It’s been a year since they pushed their first single out into the world and four months since the album has been released. Their Metacritic score is the highest of any album out there for the last four years. They’ve played in front of crowds of over one hundred thousand people, but their harshest critics are yet to come. The boys are about to go home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cherry
“I hope she never loses this new baby smell.” I run my nose along the top of Bailey’s blond curls. She passed out on my chest after eating her second round of lunch. My half-eaten burger sits on the table. It’s cold now, which happens a lot lately. Things sure are different these days but I wouldn’t change any of it.
That’s a lie that I like to tell myself these days. It helps me sometimes. The thought of Linc not being here can get overwhelming at times. I take a deep calming breath and try to contain my thoughts. I need to get out of the house so I can go up to the diner for lunch. I’m hoping the place isn’t busy so there’s a chance that Brian could get off early.
“I didn't know babies had a smell. They should make it into a candle or something.” I snort a laugh. My baby girl is the only thing that’s kept me going some days. She helps fill up the hole that Linc left in my heart. The pregnancy wasn't so bad. I’d get emotional at times, but other than that I did really well. Minnie and Brian had been a huge source of help and support for me. I couldn’t have done any of this without them.
The worst part had come toward the end. I kept telling myself that letting Linc go was for his own good. That it had been his choice and ultimately what he wanted. But in those final weeks, I broke. In a moment of weakness I decided that I had to tell him that we were going to have a baby.
I’d called him again, only to be dealt another blow from their new manager, Hal. He informed me that Linc had made it clear that he didn't want to hear from me. That he’d moved on. I’d been so mad and hurt that I’d told him to let Linc know he was going to be a father before I hung up the phone. But it wasn’t before I’d heard the manager laugh and ask if I was sure it was his.
I’d been so upset I’d gone into labor. Thank God it had only been a few weeks early. Bailey was a big girl and ready to enter the world. There had never been a more perfect moment in time than when she entered into it. I finally knew the real meaning of unconditional love.
Brian stares at me, his eyes going back and forth between Bailey and me. “What?” I try to move to see if she spit up in her sleep. I don’t see anything. I know all of Brian’s tells; he’s holding something back from me. He’s trying to figure out how to tell me. Which can only mean one thing: it’s about Linc.
“I saw something today.” His eyes remain on mine this time.
“Okay. What did you see?” I pick up my strawberry shake, taking a sip.
“About Linc. They did some interview.”
“I don’t want to know.”
Brian rolls his eyes. “You’re full of shit. You’ll google it at three in the morning when I’m not there to read it with you. You won’t be able to help yourself. Then you won’t be able to sleep.”
“Whatever.” I don’t deny it because it’s true. I can’t help myself. At least once a week I break down and social media stalk them. They’ve achieved what they set out to. They are wildly popular. It all happened so fast. They’ve made it. I am happy for them but it still hurts seeing them out there living their lives without looking back.
Not even when it came to me, their number one fan back home. The girl that was always in their corner, cheering them on and believing in them. From day one I always worked hard to get them new gigs. I did everything in my power to give them a chance at their dreams coming true. I sent songs to anyone that would listen, no matter how big or small they were. They forgot about all of it. At least Linc gave me the gift of Bailey. For that I will forever be grateful.
What would have even happened if he wanted to be a part of her life? Would he try to take her from me? Would I only get her half the time? How would that even work? I push that thought from my head because he doesn't want anything to do with us either way. It’s still hard to believe that. When I think back on our time together, I wonder if I imagined our relationship to be better than it was. Because in a million years I never would have thought this would have happened to us.
“You want the Cliff’s Notes or you want to read it?” He holds his phone up for me.
“Give it here.” I take it from him, reading the article. “Why are there always strippers?” I hand it back. That is still a sore spot to me.
“She’s like a mom to them, it says.”
“Are you defending them?”
Brian lets out a very long sigh. “No, but it sounds like the man isn't burning through women.”
I shake my head no. “As much as it hurt to know he went into a strip club, I know the boys took him there. Maybe that night he had some crazy lapse in judgment. I don’t know, but it’s so hard for me to think of Linc as some man that hops from girl to girl. He’s a lover. Full of heart.” A lump forms in my throat. “There I go again.” I quickly wipe away a tear. “Trying to act as though he hasn't changed. The Linc I knew wouldn't have sent me that text or not showed up here when he found out I was pregnant.” That is one thing that my mind can’t even comprehend. He knew that I didn’t have the best home life. That my parents had never really loved me. It feels like the ultimate betrayal by him, the fact that he hadn’t loved me enough. Bailey deserves better than that.
“If he thinks you moved on with someone else, he might think the baby isn't his.”
“Then he doesn't know me at all.”
“Agreed. Sorry I brought it up. He’s an asshole. He should have fought for you.” Brian pushes his plate away. “Want to get out of here? Get some fresh air?”
“Yeah.” Brian goes to the back of the diner to grab the stroller. I slowly get up, trying my best not to wake Bailey. When I stand, my eyes briefly meet the same ones I see every day in my daughter. He continues to enter into the diner.
“Linc.” I breathe his name out, not believing he’s here. He finally turns, his eyes meeting mine.
“Motherfucker,” Brian grits out. Before I know what’s hap
pening, he’s across the diner. “Let’s see how well you sing after this,” he says before punching Linc right in the jaw.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Linc
I don’t know what was more surprising—the baby Cherry was holding or the fist across my face.
“Motherfu—“ Nick launches himself at Brian and it’s only because Hal jumps in to help Benjy that Cherry’s boyfriend doesn’t end up on the floor next to me. Miss D hustles off to get me a bag of ice while Nick and I are forced into a corner booth.
I peer around my friends to get another look at Cherry. There’s something about the way she holds the baby with her hand up behind the infant’s head and her arms across the body that makes me think she either doesn’t want me to see the baby or is afraid I’m going to do something to it.
And I am. I push by my manager, Nick, Benjy, and Miss D returning with a cup of ice and make my way to Cherry. Her pretty mouth is pressed into a tight line and there is a tenseness in her frame. Brian steps into my path.
“Don’t,” I say with a shake of my head. I’m not in the mood to hit Cherry’s boyfriend in front of her. It would make her sad. I’m not about to make her sad. “What’s his name?” I ask when I reach her.
“It’s a girl.” Cherry blinks a couple times, as if she’s trying to keep tears at bay.
My own throat closes up. A girl. The unfairness of the situation threatens to put me back on my ass but I manage to keep my knees locked. “Can I hold her?”
Cherry hesitates, as if contemplating whether I’m worthy. I keep my hands at my sides, but I can’t stop them from forming into fists. I’ve never been anything but good to Cherry. Never raised my hand or voice. “I’m not going to hurt her.”
