Bottleneck

by Henry, Max

  The three of us freeze, jolted by the sound of scraping metal.

  “Fuck.” I don’t want to look.

  That goddamn SUV in front of us was not only bigger, but it couldn’t be more than five years old. I really don’t want to look.

  “How bad is it?” I whisper into the eerily quiet cabin.

  Shanae tugs her bottom lip between her teeth before answering. “Bad enough that she’s getting out.”

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  “I told Shanae I should have driven,” Fria snaps, folding her arms.

  “Not helping right now,” I holler while twisting to survey the damage.

  I can’t even get my foot to ease off the brake I’m that terrified of accidentally making it worse. The SUV’s driver taps her nail on my window. With a painful whine of a worn-out motor, I roll the glass down.

  “I hope you have insurance.” Her sharp gaze assesses the contents of our vehicle, passing clear judgment over each one of us.

  I note the stark difference between me—a rough, tattooed, alternative woman—and her—a perfectly styled, smooth, and clean-skinned professional who appears as though she takes no shit.

  “Can I give you our details once we’re through the drive-thru?” I ask, gesturing to the line-up building behind us.

  Her large eyes narrow, a firm set of her curvy lips confirming my initial assessment of the woman. “I have your registration plate written down, so if you try to do a runner, you bet I’ll be after you.”

  I have no doubt. “I promise. We’ll order and then pull up next to you.”

  She sighs, eyes roving over each of us again. I find myself envious of how fierce she looks with a simple black bob and a loose chiffon blouse over a plain pencil skirt. Here I am, adorned with ink, jewelry, and makeup to achieve the same look, while she can probably roll out of bed that way.

  “She scares me,” Shanae murmurs.

  “She barely said a thing,” Fria gripes as the SUV pulls forward, revealing the significant dent in her fender.

  “It’s not what she said.” Our bassist leans forward again, hand on both of our seats. “It’s because she looks like that lawyer lady from How to Get Away with Murder. Don’t you think?”

  Come to think of it, she did have that same scarily confident look in her eye. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah.” Fria scoffs. “Totally fine with all that non-existent income you were just talking about.”

  Nostrils flaring, I stare straight ahead and count to five in my head. “I said, we will be fine,” I grit. “Now, tell me what the fuck you’re having before we reach the speaker.”

  “I’ve lost my appetite,” Fria mumbles, turning her head toward her window.

  And again—one, two, three, four, five. Remind me why I thought a band would be easier to manage than a solo career.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Emery

  “Kickstart My Heart” – Motley Crue

  Run.

  I spent half the goddamn night lying awake in this exact position with an empty bottle of scotch in my hand like a fucking pacifier, and that was the only solution I could come up with. Run.

  Sure. It’ll devastate Mom and Dad if I take off, but I can’t see any other way of getting enough distance between Deanna and I to make this work once I drop the bomb.

  I can’t say no to the devil woman when she’s in the same room. It’s like some weird sci-fi fucking hold that she has over me. Always the cocky asshole when I’m out on tour being myself, but when I’m home? Whipped and pathetic.

  “Where should we go, buddy?” I click my fingers to beckon Mosaic over.

  Usually, I’d leave the big guy with my parents to save the hassle of finding pet-friendly accommodation, but I can’t bring myself to do it when the pup is in recovery. Best friends don’t bail on each other.

  Unless they’re jealous of what the other one has. I can’t find any other logic on why Alice fell off the face of the fucking earth when I took that first tour with Dark Tide. We struggled together and shared our dreams, but only one of us has seen them come to a reality.

  Although it isn’t so much of a dream but a goddamn lucid nightmare. I know this is my life. I know this is who I am now. But none of it registers as real.

  I keep expecting to wake up in a local ER with my mom hanging by my bed, ready to tell me I’ve been in a drug-inflicted coma for the past ten years. I give up signaling Mosaic when he continues to ignore me and choose to jab a firm fingertip into my leg instead. Surely, if I were out cold in some weird-ass state on a gurney, then I wouldn’t feel every facet of my digit bruising my thigh as I do?

  My phone vibrates on the coffee table for the sixth time since the sun rose and pierced through my aching eyelids. I scowl at the slab of plastic and fight the curiosity that burns in the pit of my gut. I want to ignore her and pretend she doesn’t exist already, but I also want some fucking warning if she messages to say she’s on her way over early.

  “Fuck it.” My bottle-shaped pacifier hits the hardwood floor with a clink and rolls underneath the table.

  I balance on the edge of the sofa cushions, leaning off as far as a I dare before I need to drop a leg for balance and reach for the phone.

  To my surprise, and admittedly relief, only four notifications are Deanna. The other two are Toby. I tap his number first—no duh—and lift the phone to my ear.

  “You’re awake now that it’s past ten, huh?”

  I snort. “Good one, ballbag.”

  “Just been trying to get hold of you because, you know, we have like commitments and shit.”

  “There’s still a week until we hit the studio. What’s the panic?” I slide around to sit upright.

  He sighs. “Wallace wants us to get together beforehand to have a fucking meeting about the direction of the band,” he recites mockingly. “In other words, he wants to lay down rules after what Rey did this past tour, and we’re expected to bend over and take it dry.”

  “Got no choice when he controls our income, right?”

  “It fucking sucks,” he grumbles. “The cunt knew he’d do this to us; build us up to such a level that we choose to take his controlling shit rather than leave and lose most of what we have.”

  I hear what he’s saying, but it’s not our label boss whose face fills my mind’s eye—it’s Deanna. She did the same. Played me until I let her splinter embed so deep that I choose to take the pain rather than suffer more by pulling it free.

  “You at home this week?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Thought I might come hang.”

  Toby stays quiet a moment. “What’s going on?”

  “Why does something have to be going on?” I ask. “Can’t I just want to hang out and jam for a few days?”

  “You don’t hang out with us between tours,” he levels low and calm.

  Nope. I don’t. “Why can’t I start now?”

  “I don’t know.” He sighs. “I’ve got a lot going on between keeping Rick happy while he relays the shit his old man throws our way and dealing with family stuff.”

  Family stuff. Meaning Rey in rehab and his cold and uncaring parents pretending they have one less child.

  “Yeah, okay. No problem.”

  “I’m sorry, man. Normally I would, but this shit has got me running in fucking circles keeping everyone happy.”

  “Nah. I get it. It’s good.”

  He hesitates before quietly asking, “What’s got you needing out?”

  “Just after a change of scenery to inspire some new shit, man.” No way in hell I’m telling him I’m running from my psychotic girlfriend. I ain’t letting him have that moment of glory—not yet. “You heard from Kris?” Dude didn’t respond to the bars I sent him.

  “Yeah. Only to finally answer the phone so he could tell me to fuck off.” Toby chuckles. “I think he’s done well with that Henley chick.”

  “They suit each other. Yin to yang and all that shit.”

  “True.” He huffs
in amusement. “Anyway. You need to be in town two days before our first session. Rick will email you the booking details and all that.”

  “Sure thing.” At least I get two days legitimate escape. “Say hi to Rey next time you visit him, yeah?”

  “Not sure I will.”

  I jerk out of my seat, frowning. “Why the fuck not?”

  “Things are strained between us, man. We both need the time to breathe.”

  This is it—the beginning of the end that Kris harps on about. “He’s your brother, man. He’s blood.”

  “Doesn’t mean I have to forgive him for things he isn’t sorry for.”

  I’ve got nothing. Literally. Being an only child means I don’t understand their beef half the time, and the other I’m sitting on the sidelines envious that they have somebody who cares enough to get that angry about them.

  “I’ll catch up with you next week, ‘kay?”

  “Sure thing.”

  He disconnects, leaving me staring down at my miserable fucking dog and wondering where the hell we’ll go instead. My phone vibrates in my hand, and I lift it to find another rage-fueled intro from Deanna staring back at me in shouty caps.

  If I’m after change, then I need to seek something I normally never would, right?

  “Think I just figured out where we’re going, dude.”

  Whether we’re welcome or not.

  I figure I might as well start at the top and open the unanswered thread from Deanna.

  D: Answer the fucking phone.

  D: You can’t ignore me this easy.

  There’s a two-hour break before the next message, time-stamped after midnight.

  D: I’m coming over tomorrow. You can tell me why my card declined.

  And,

  D: You better be OD’d, because nothing else is good enough asshole.

  Before the showstopper just now,

  D: I’m on my way, fucker. I spoke to the bank, and they said you canceled the payments. What kind of fucking coward does that without saying a goddamn thing? You can’t ignore this, Emery. You’re the reason we’re so fucked up—you owe me.

  I flop back on the sofa and softly chuckle, the phone falling from my hand. It’s perfect, really. There’s no other way we could have come to an end other than with the majestic poise of a fucking car-crash on the highway.

  The morning sun plays leapfrog across the ceiling beams while I lie flat on my back and wait her out. The colors are pretty, rich auburn highlights in the timber that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. It’s incredible the tiny details you see when the bullshit of the world floats away.

  My eyes dart between the red hues that sneak in between splits in the timber and my Music Man the same color when the telltale rumble of an engine as it dies steals my bliss.

  I take a deep breath and pull myself upright, prepared to face the shitstorm that awaits.

  She busts in the door without hesitation, leaving it open as she strides across the room.

  “Hey, baby,” I sass, rising to my feet.

  “Did you fuck her?” she growls through a stiff jaw.

  “Who?” What the fuck did she smoke last night?

  “Don’t play dumb with me.” Blood-red nails shine where her hands rest firmly against her hips. “That cunt, Alice.”

  My blood chills with such ferocity that I check I haven’t iced over with a palm to the back of my neck. “Why are you talking about her all of a sudden?”

  “You think I’m stupid, huh?” She smirks. “That I wouldn’t check where you were. Lords of London,” she scoffs. “You expect me to believe you hitched a ride with a band that can’t stand your drunken ass?”

  “You checked up on me?”

  “Yeah, the Lords played that venue, but imagine my surprise when I saw who the support act was. Your pet fantasy, Alice fucking Walker.” She shifts her arms to cross over her full chest. “I’ll ask you again. Did you fuck her?”

  “What do you think?” I shoulder past, eager to get packing so I can get the fuck out of here.

  She shunts me from behind. “Answer me, Emery. Did you share a bunk with the bitch?”

  “She’s not a bitch, Deanna. Or a cunt.” I jerk a duffle from the top shelf of my closet before turning to add, “And no because unlike you, she doesn’t have to flash her gash get people to spend time with her.”

  Her palm collects the side of my face, fresh nails raking a path through my cheek. “You asshole.”

  My palm finds her throat before I have time to think about what I’m doing. “I fucking told you never to hit me again.”

  “Get your hand off me.”

  “Don’t hit me,” I challenge.

  Her brown eyes narrow, the dare clear in the tilt of her lips. “Squeeze harder.”

  “No.” I loosen off, yet she stops me letting go entirely, pinning my hand to her throat with both of hers.

  “Dig your fucking fingers in, you pussy.”

  I know what she wants: bruises. And I think I understand why. “You can’t bully me into leaving marks that you can use against me.”

  “You’re a fucking wimp,” Deanna hisses, releasing my grip.

  I drop her ass, shaking free of the toxic mess before it starts to spread. “Whatever.” She can’t goad me into a fight. I won’t let her.

  “Such a fucking coward.” Her attack continues. “Scared of a little bad press, huh? That incident in LA give you nightmares, baby?”

  “Bad press doesn’t just affect me.” Otherwise, I might have done a hell of a lot more in the name of self-defense by now. “It damages the reputation of the whole band.”

  “They deserve it.” Her skinny ass hits the sofa as she brings her hand before her face to inspect any possible damage to her nails. “If Toby had an ounce of respect for me, he wouldn’t have loaded you on a bus with Alice.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” I hurl random clothing into the bag, hoping it will all make sense at the other end. “I missed the flight. He thought he was helping by making sure I’d get back to you.”

  “Why did you miss it?” Her glare could force a third-world dictator to sign a peace agreement. “Wait.” She scoffs. “I bet I know.” Deanna rises to her feet, invading what little space I had. “You were too drunk, right?”

  I say nothing. She has no fucking right to berate my drinking when she’s one of the fucking reasons I do it.

  “God, you’re pathetic.” Her lip snarls, movements lax as she takes a step away.

  “And yet,” I grate. “Here you are.”

  “You think I’m here because I care about you?” She laughs. Far too long, and far too amused. “Fuck, no.” The side of one finger dabs invisible tears from beneath her eye. “I’m here because I need somebody to support me while I decide what the fuck I want to do with my life.” Her stare hardens. “Call it payback for what you fucking did to me.”

  I take a step back, but the closet hinders my escape.

  Blood red nails curl beneath the goods, her palm taking hold of my cock with such ferocity I once again wonder what the fuck is so damn wrong with me that her grip turns me on.

  “Don’t get confused all up in that pretty head of yours,” she purrs. “This.” Squeeze. “Is mine, and I’ll stick around as long as I have to until certain blonde bitches get that through their goddamn head. If I have to ride this out until she fucking dies, then I will. And you’ll keep paying my way until she does.”

  “You can stake your claim all you want—” I forcibly peel her hand from my thickening dick and set it against my chest, “—but this will never be yours.”

  “Huh.” She lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t need your heart to own you, Emery. You should have figured that out by now.”

  I have—that’s what disgusts me the most. It’s also the reason why this has to end.

  “You know what?” I say with a chuckle as I slip out of her hold. “I thought about marrying you.”

  She goes deathly quiet, tracking me as I continue to pack my bag.
r />   “I thought that perhaps if I put a ring on your finger, you’d stop looking elsewhere when you knew I was serious. Thought you might settle down, be less of a bitch if you didn’t feel threatened.”

  She shifts slowly—me, for once, the center of her attention.

  “And then I realized, why the fuck would I marry some woman who can’t stay faithful,” I count out on my fingers, “only wants me for my money and fame, and I would never,” I stress, “ever have kids with?”

  “Why not?” She doesn’t seem upset as she approaches, just offended.

  “Because you’d kill the fucking darlings before they were old enough to tell you what a loveless bitch you are in their own words.”

  Her palm strikes the side of my face—exactly where she hit me minutes before.

  I shunt her hard enough in the shoulder that she stumbles back, falling on her ass and smacking her head on the bed.

  I don’t feel an ounce of regret. Not one iota of shame. Nothing.

  I feel fucking good for a change. Energized. Alive.

  Her accusing eyes glare up at me, one hand touching the back of her head. “What the fuck, Emery?”

  “You touch me, and I touch you.”

  “So, you hit women now?” she scoffs.

  “When they hit me first.” I take a step over and offer her my hand.

  She stupidly accepts, so I yank her to her feet, just to push her onto the bed. The skinny bitch hits the mattress, bouncing with the impact.

  “Not so much fun when somebody does it to you, huh?”

  Deanna crawls back against the headboard, confused as all hell.

  I love it.

  I itch to play more, to see how far I can push her before she bites, but I’m not that kind of guy. At least, not outside of my twisted daydreams. Her wary gaze tracks me as I make my way to the door, opening it and stepping aside.

  “Go.”

  Tentatively, she slides off the bed.

  “I don’t need you anymore. I’m done. Go see if Jack-Jack will stand for your bullshit.”