Finding Storm

by Samantha Towle

  “It’s more than okay,” he says, smiling.

  “So, are we getting the fuck out of here and going for a drink?” Tom slings his arm around my shoulders, leading me toward the door.

  “Can’t. I’ve gotta be in the studio in ten minutes, or Zane will kick my ass from here to kingdom come.”

  “Jake, call Zane and tell him that Storm won’t be going in the studio today.”

  “I’m not fucking ringing him.” Jake laughs from behind us.

  “Come on!” Tom turns to face Jake, taking me with him. “It’s your fucking label. Call him, say, Storm’s not coming to make music today because there’s drinking and strip bars to go to.”

  Laughter bursts from Jake and Denny.

  “Oh, yeah, sure, you’re going to a strip bar.” Jake nods, smirking. “Let me just call Lyla and check on that with her.”

  “Fuck off!” Tom flips him off.

  “Strip bars?” Den chuckles. “Really, Tom? Christ. It’s like I’ve flashed back twenty-five years.”

  I don’t bristle when Den says that. I don’t feel like he’s comparing me being here to Jonny being with them all those years ago.

  And even if he were, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, being compared to Jonny.

  God, I never thought I’d think that.

  I guess things have changed.

  And two weeks was all it took.

  Two weeks with Stevie.

  And now, I’ve left her behind, and I’ll never again get to feel the way I did when I was with her.

  I just … I wish I knew a way where I could have Stevie … and have my music.

  But I don’t.

  So, this is the way it has to be.

  And I fucking hate it.

  It’s been four days since I got back to LA.

  Four days without Stevie.

  And I’m climbing out of my fucking skin.

  So many times, I’ve picked my cell up to call her, just needing to hear her voice.

  My fingers fucking itch to text her.

  But I can’t.

  What the fuck would I say?

  I miss you. I need you.

  I know you can’t come to LA, and you won’t do long-distance. I understand all of this. But … I just fucking miss you. I’m desperate for you, and I need a fix.

  Four days, and I still feel as empty as the day I left her there in bed and got in my car and drove home.

  Only … LA doesn’t feel like home anymore.

  It just feels lonely and empty.

  I’m surrounded by people.

  And all I want is her.

  I just wonder if she’s missing me like I am her.

  I’m driving home after another day in the studio. Me and the guys have been working on what I already wrote because I’ve got nothing else.

  The words have dried up. I can’t find a goddamn thing to write about.

  When I was with Stevie, the words flowed easily.

  Without her, I’ve got nothing.

  Usually, after a day in the studio, me and the boys would go grab a drink after to wind down and relax.

  They’ve been going without me. I keep making up bullshit excuses as to why I can’t go.

  But the truth is, I don’t feel up to socializing. I’m too stuck in my own head. I’m not really feeling very fucking rock ’n’ roll these days.

  I pull my car into my space in the building’s lot and turn off the engine. I open the door, and I’m just getting out when something down the side of the seat catches my eye.

  Something white.

  I reach my hand down, and my fingers grab hold of what feels like fabric. I pull it out and stare at it.

  Stevie’s panties.

  The ones I ripped off her.

  How have I not noticed them there until now?

  They’ve been there since the night I tore them off her body.

  The day I got my car back, and I took her for a drive and parked.

  The first time I made her come. The first time I felt her. Tasted her.

  God, I miss her.

  I lift the torn panties to my nose and inhale. Her scent is all over them. Memories flash through my mind.

  Sliding into her for the first time. How she felt around my bare cock. Feeling her come around my dick. Squeezing me so tight.

  Her soft skin.

  Kissing her.

  Laughing with her.

  My chest aches with missing her.

  Fucking hell.

  I’ve officially hit my lowest. I’m in my car, sniffing her panties.

  Even still, I’m not parting with them. I stuff them in my pocket. Leave my car and head to the elevator.

  I let myself in my apartment, kick off my boots, and slump down on my sofa.

  Getting my cell out of my pocket, I unlock the screen, open Photos, and stare at the one picture I have of Stevie.

  I took it one day when she was lying on my bed. Hair fanned out on the pillow. That gorgeous smile on her face. She was wearing one of my T-shirts. She was also giving me shit about something—I forget what now. But I know I was laughing, like I always did when I was with her.

  I thought she looked so fucking beautiful in that moment, so I grabbed my cell and snapped a picture of her.

  I’m still staring at the photo thirty minutes later when there’s a knock on my door.

  There are only a handful of people it could be, who are on my authorized list. Everyone else has to be announced.

  I click off the picture, pocket my cell, get up from the sofa, drag my ass across the room, and open the door.

  Raze, Cash, and Levi are standing here, holding a couple of six-packs and some pizza boxes.

  “Didn’t I just get rid of you fuckers an hour ago?”

  Not that I’m unhappy to see them. But I was looking forward to lying around on my sofa all night, torturing myself with that picture of Stevie, while listening to eighties music.

  And, apparently, I’ve turned into a teenage girl.

  “Yeah, and we fucking love you too.” Grinning, Cash blows me a kiss as he walks past me into my apartment.

  Raze and Levi follow him. I shut the door behind them and follow them into the living room.

  Pizzas and beer are dumped on my coffee table. Raze grabs the remote and turns the TV on. I sit down on the sofa, and Levi tosses me a bottle of beer.

  “Cheers, man.” I pop the cap and take a drink.

  “So, what the fuck is going on with you?” Cash asks me, getting straight to the point, like always.

  “Nothing.”

  Cash frowns. “You’re walking around like someone killed your dog.”

  “I don’t have a dog.”

  “Shut the fuck up. You’re as moody as a preteen who hasn’t discovered what his dick is for. Does it have to do with this girl? The one you met in Arizona.”

  My eyes go immediately to Raze, who shrugs. He’s the only one I’ve talked to about Stevie. And I haven’t told him a lot.

  “They asked what I thought was up with you. I figured it has to be the girl. Not that you’ve told me much about her.”

  Because talking about her makes it real … reminds me that I no longer have her. And it hurts like a motherfucker.

  “So, you met this chick and what?” Levi asks.

  I fell in love.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  I fell in love with her.

  How am I only just realizing this now?

  I love Stevie.

  I’m in love with her.

  “Well, it was … awesome. Stevie’s fucking amazing. She’s different to the kinds of girls we know. She’s just real. Smart as fuck and so beautiful—but like a natural beauty, you know? She doesn’t take my shit. If anything, she gives it to me. And she doesn’t care about the stuff other girls do. She had no fucking clue who I was when I met her.”

  “What?” Cash looks confused. “She didn’t know who you were?”

  “Nope.” I shake my head, smiling at the memory. “Stevie’
s not into … recent music. She likes the old stuff.”

  “Huh,” is Cash’s response.

  “Yeah,” I say. “And when she did find out who I was, she still didn’t give a shit. I guess”—I sigh—“I was myself around her, and I really fucking liked who I was when I was with her.”

  They’re all staring at me like I’ve lost it.

  Maybe I have.

  “So … basically, you love this Stevie chick, and you’re walking around like you lost your dick because you miss her.” That’s Cash.

  And he’s just hit the nail on the head.

  “Basically, yeah.” I take another swig of my beer.

  “Well, go back there and get her. Bring her back to LA.” That’s Raze.

  “I can’t …” I swallow down my embarrassment at admitting this. “I already asked her. She said no.”

  “She knocked you back?” Levi looks like I just told him Santa wasn’t real.

  “She runs a B&B with her grandmother,” I’m quick to explain. “Stevie pretty much runs it now. But she’ll take over full-time when her gran is ready to retire.”

  “Okay … but she knows you’re loaded, right?” Cash asks.

  I shrug. “I guess so.” I mean, I figure she knows I have money from the car I drive and then when she found out what I did for a living. “We just never really talked about it. Stevie’s not really into money.”

  “Everyone’s into money. Even the people who say they aren’t,” Levi adds.

  I shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you. Stevie’s just not a materialistic person.”

  Levi and Cash look at each other. Then, they look at Raze like he has the answers, but he just shrugs, looking equally perplexed.

  “So, when you said she’s different,” Cash says slowly, “you meant, she’s actually different.”

  “Yeah, man. She’s actually different.”

  There’s silence in the room.

  “And she doesn’t want your money?” That’s Levi.

  “No.” I laugh, exasperated.

  “Or your fame? Or to spend your money? Or live in your big apartment? Or drive your nice car?” Cash asks.

  “Fuck’s sake, man! No! She’s not interested in any of those things.”

  “Well, what does she want then?” Cash asks.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head. “She didn’t want anything.” Except for me.

  She wanted me.

  And I left her.

  I take another pull on my beer. Holding the bottle between my palms, I stare down into it.

  “Those songs you brought to the studio,” Raze says, bringing my eyes to him, “you wrote them while you were there? While you were with her?”

  It’s not a question because he knows. But I still answer, “Yeah.”

  “They’re fucking good, man. Really fucking good.”

  I stare back down to my bottle, hoping the answers I seek are in there somewhere.

  “So, we’ve established that you’re miserable as fuck without her. And that you write really good fucking songs when you are with her,” Cash says.

  I laugh without humor. “Pretty much.”

  “So, what the fuck are you doing here?” That’s Raze, and it brings my gaze back up.

  “If you’re miserable without her, go back to Arizona. Be with her.”

  “I can’t. I need to be here.”

  “Says who?” Raze challenges.

  “Zane. I came back because he said if I didn’t get my ass back here and we didn’t get in the studio and start putting this album together, he’d bring in songwriters to do it, and we’d lose all creative control.”

  “Fuck what Zane said!” Cash says. “Well, actually, don’t fuck what he said because he’s our paycheck at the end of the day. But why do you have to be here to do the album?”

  I give Cash a stupid look. “Because you guys are here. The studio is here.”

  “And Arizona is what, four hours away in a car? An hour on a plane? Commute. Or what-the-fuck-ever. You’re rich; buy a fucking plane. Write the songs there in Arizona. Because, honestly, the shit you brought to the studio is the best you’ve ever written, and if that’s because of this Stevie chick, then I’ll marry you guys myself. You move there, be with your girl, and then fly back here to record the album when needed. And when it’s time to tour, just figure that shit out as it comes. That’s the beauty of music, man. You can make it anywhere. Even in Arizona.”

  Huh.

  Okay.

  Write the songs in Lake Havasu. Commute to LA. Why the fuck didn’t I think of that before?

  I feel this excitement start to bubble in my gut.

  But …

  “What if Zane won’t go for it?”

  “Why the fuck wouldn’t he?” Raze says. “He doesn’t give a shit where you live just as long as the album is done and you don’t waste the label’s money. Don’t ask him, man. Tell him how it’s gonna be.”

  “And what about you guys?”

  “What about us?” Raze says.

  I shrug. “We’ve just … we’ve always been together.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but I’ve been trying to cut the apron strings for years. You’ve just never fucking gotten it,” Cash says.

  “Fuck off.” I laugh.

  “We’ve got your back,” Levi tells me. “We’re friends first. Band members second. We’ve always said that. We want you happy, man. And you ain’t happy. You haven’t been for a while.”

  Levi’s more perceptive than I gave him credit for. They all are.

  “The only time I’ve heard you happy in a long time was when you were there in Arizona with your girl,” Raze tells me.

  I look at the three of them. “So … I’m really doing this? I’m really moving to Arizona?”

  Shit.

  I am.

  I’m really doing this. I’m going back to her.

  I’m going back to Arizona.

  To Stevie.

  But …

  “What if she’s already moved on? Met someone else?” I blurt.

  I can’t see it, but you never know. Stevie’s beautiful and cool and hot as fuck. Some little prick could have come to stay at the B&B and swooped in and stolen her from me.

  Well, whatever. I’ll kick his ass and take her back.

  Cash grins wide. “Then, you’re gonna look like a massive dick when you turn up there and get blown out.”

  “Fuck off.” I flip him off, and he just laughs.

  “Look, man, if Stevie is half the person you’ve told us she is, then she hasn’t moved on,” Raze tells me. “I reckon she’s probably as miserable as you are without her.”

  God, I hope he’s right.

  Not that I want her miserable.

  But I don’t want her to have moved on either.

  The guy I was before Stevie … with the one-night stands. The empty, hollow feeling inside of me. The anger I carried.

  I don’t want to be him anymore.

  I want to be the man I am when I’m with her.

  I want to be happy. But most of all, I want to make her happy.

  I’m going back there to Lake Havasu, to Stevie, and I’m just praying to God that Raze is right and Stevie’s not over me and that she still wants me like I want her.

  Otherwise, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.

  It’s early morning when I pull my car up on the driveway to Jake and Tru’s house.

  Home.

  Even though being with Stevie feels like home to me now, this place will always be home too. It just means something different than what it used to.

  I remember the first time I came here. Coming in the car up the driveway, I remember thinking it was the biggest house I had ever seen.

  Life was a hell of a lot different back then.

  I just hope my mom would have been proud of the choices I’ve made. Well, maybe not all of my choices. But most of them at least.

  I know she would have loved Stevie though. She’s impossible not to lov
e.

  Putting out my cigarette, I put the butt back in the pack.

  If I’m going to be with Stevie—and I’m hoping to be with her permanently—then I’m either going to have to find out how the hell to dispose of these things in the right way. Or stop smoking.

  I shudder.

  Okay, the cigarettes stay for now.

  I’ll look into the responsibly-disposing-of-them shit.

  Getting out my car, I head into the house.

  I hear the voices as soon as I enter.

  They’re all in the kitchen.

  I came early, so I’d catch them all at home. I want to tell them I’m leaving.

  God, I make it sound so final.

  I’m moving four hours away, and I’ll be back all the damn time.

  I spoke to Zane last night. He was surprisingly okay about it. Well, as okay as Zane could be.

  He basically said, “I don’t need to hear about your girlfriend problems. I’m not your fucking therapist. I don’t give a fuck where you live. Live in a fucking cave in the Antarctic for all I care. Just make sure the fucking songs are written, and your ass is back in the studio every fucking second I tell you to be there.”

  Then, he hung up on me.

  So, yeah, he’s okay with it.

  And I’m packed and ready to go. My bag’s in the trunk, and Jonny’s guitar is on the passenger seat. Everything I need is with me.

  No, that’s a lie. Because the only thing I need is in Lake Havasu, Arizona.

  I wander into the kitchen. Jake, JJ, Billy, and Belle are all seated around the breakfast bar. Tru’s at the counter, making coffee. She’s the first to spot me.

  “Hey.” She smiles. “What are you doing here so early? Thought you rock stars slept late. You want some breakfast?”

  “Hey, don’t be rock-star-ist,” Jake says. Picking up his cell phone from the counter, he starts tapping on it.

  “What the heck is rock-star-ist?” Belle’s face screws up.

  Jake finishes tapping on his phone and puts it back down on the counter. “Ist,” he highlights the word, if it even is one. “Like racist, ageist. Your mom was characterizing a person on the grounds of being a rock star. Like all rock stars sleep late. And drink. And smoke.”

  JJ’s brow goes up. “You do all of those things.”

  “I don’t smoke.” Jake’s voice goes higher at the end.