by Henry, Max
Moreover, why the fuck did I think getting sober here would be easier than dodging Deanna at home?
The sizzle of meat in a frypan accompanies the sweet smell of Chinese sauces drifting across the open-plan living room. I shunt the pillow into one end of the sofa, hanging the blankets over the back for now, and then take a spot on the floor beside Mosaic. He rolls to his good side, pawing me until I rub his belly. Reclined on my side, I prop my head on one hand, elbow bent, and marvel at how fucking simple his life is.
All he wants is company. A little love and a little care. He doesn’t give a shit what other people think about him as long as he gets what he needs in return.
The worst he has to worry about is whether or not some mug will eventually take him to get his balls chopped out.
“You’re better off without them, champ.”
He rolls further to his back before jerking forward with a yelp.
“Is he okay?” Alice calls from her spot in front of the cooker.
I check the time on my phone, sliding the device away again with a sigh. “He’s overdue for pain meds.”
First, the letters, and then the damn argument with the woman—no wonder I got sidetracked. Mosaic watches, eyes large, as I dig his pills out of the duffle that I packed for our week away. The fussy shit won't swallow them on their own, spitting the powdery entrails out over the floor each time I’ve tried to massage the rocks down his goddamn throat. So, I deviate to the easiest place to get what I need.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Alice cries, smacking the back of my hand with her wooden spatula.
I juggle the hot piece of beef for a second before gently blowing on it to cool it down. “I need this.”
“Yeah, well, I’m hardly going to ask you to put it back in the pan now, am I?” She turns slightly in a lame attempt to body-block me.
I pop the cooling piece in my mouth and then reach over her shoulder to get another—just to fuck with her. Any attention is better than none.
“Emery!” Alice jerks her elbow back, connecting with my ribs before I have time to move.
My bare heel connects with the underside of the kitchen cabinets. I’m damn sure I leave half an inch of DNA behind. “Fuck. Ow.”
“Serves you right.”
“Just trying to medicate my dog who’s in pain,” I bitch, leaving the scene of the crime with a limp. “Thought you might be sympathetic to that, but I guess your heart froze over colder than I first thought.”
Her sigh trails me back to Mosaic, who accepts the pill-stuffed piece of meat gratefully.
“There you go, buddy.”
The slide of metal on tile quickly follows the click of the cooker switching off. Alice drops a lid on the warm dinner before brushing her hands on the leg of her shorts. Long, lithe fingers sweep those golden locks out of her face, carefully tucking them behind one ear.
She’s as effortless as always, as captivating as ever.
“You love that dog, huh?”
I nod, seated beside the animal, too scared to move in case I startle her back into the kitchen.
“When did you get him?”
“When I came home from our second tour. We offloaded near this liquidated pet shop that had puppies reduced to clear.” I smirk a little at her shocked gaze. “Yeah. It’s as shit as it sounds.” I glance down at my boy, rubbing his wide head. “Couldn’t stomach the thought of what would happen to them if they didn’t get sold, so I went back the next day, and he was the last one there.”
“He’s lucky.” She takes a seat on the foremost edge of the single-seater.
“Yeah. He is.”
She jerks her chin toward the dog. “Do your parents take care of him when you’re away, or does she do it?”
The venom in that single word. I feel it. For once, I finally understand it. “My parents do. Gives my dad an excuse to get out and exercise.”
“How is he?” Alice ducks her head yet maintains eye contact. “Your dad?”
It’s unnerving and alluring all at once.
“He’s fine. Still creating art in his spare time.”
A small smile plays on her lips. “He was so good at it. I always thought I’d become famous enough that I could commission him to do pieces for my massive house.” She chuckles darkly, rising to her feet. “What an idiot, huh?”
“Nah, you ain’t an idiot.”
She pauses with her back to me. “I think history proves otherwise, don’t you?”
“History being the keyword, Alice.” I study the set of her shoulders, the way her fingertips tug at her shorts, and the steady rise and fall of each breath. “Our future is up to us, you know?”
“I’ve learned a lot in this career, Em.” She shakes her head. “But the ability to forget the past isn’t among it.”
“Good.”
She twists her head, peeking over her shoulder at me with a confused furrow to her brow.
“I wouldn’t want to forget any more of what we had, and I don’t think you should either.”
“You hurt me, though,” she whispers. “Why would I want to remember that?”
“Because it was also the best time of our fucking lives.”
THIRTY-THREE
Alice
“Don’t Let Go” - Deepfield
I hate that he’s right.
Winter nights with Emery, ducking between venues in the pouring rain, the moments after wrapped in his arms while he rubbed the heat back into my body. They’re just one of the many memories of my youth that I cherish.
I might not have had the support at home that I wished and prayed for, but I always had him. No matter what my mother said, or where my father hit me, I could find perfection in the stupid mistakes Emery and I would make as we shouldered our way into a career in music.
Dinner was a quiet and tense affair; the four of us seated in silence, leaving the table one by one as we cleared our plates. As uncomfortable as the stand-off was, I’m grateful that Emery chose to keep quiet rather than capitalize on the chance to wind Fria up further.
I’m not sure my patience can take much more.
After such amazing news from Shanae, the reality sunk in. We’re looking at three months minimum to get around two-thirds of these places for mainly one-night shows. The set-up and tear down alone will drain the life from me, not to mention adding in nights crammed on stages too small for us, fending off the hands of patrons who think we’re there to see and touch.
I’d hoped we were past this when we broke onto the big stages. That the long nights and hours spent crying until I pass out from the pain in my back were behind me.
The initial diagnosis alluded to a few years rehab, and then as long as I didn’t lift anything ridiculously heavy or put excessive strain on the joints, I’d be good as new. But as the years have passed, the assessment has changed more times than I’ve hot meals.
Five doctors dodging the truth of the situation before I finally found a lovely Indian woman who had the guts to tell me what all the upper-class white boys had been too afraid to.
Either I give up live music, or I accept a life of pain brought on by an active career.
I didn’t give it a second thought. Sure, I could forge a brand built around solo studio tracks. But the lights, the enormous spaces, the energy—that’s what I crave.
I’m a showman at my core, and feeding off the reciprocated joy of the patrons is what I love.
New rain falls outside our unit, casting a speckled shadow through the muted streetlight that filters in my window. I stare up at the changing shapes, the push and pull of the bright splinters where they reach toward my door.
I still haven’t returned my mother’s persistent messages about Christmas. Three weeks until I need to find myself a plus one or hear about it for the rest of my goddamn life. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone to her for the loan? I could have pawned off one of my older guitars and crossed my fingers for enough work to buy it back before the shop put it on display. I’m sure if I had put
my mind to it, there would have been options less risky than agreeing to walk back into the snake pit I barely escaped with my life.
The toxic hole my brother lost half of his to.
“Fuck this.” I’ve lain here for hours in the hope that I’ll eventually drift off, but my mind is too busy. Too many neural highways with noisy traffic tearing to and fro.
Kicking the blankets off, I swing myself out of bed and tug on the first sweatshirt I come across. No lights are on in the living room, which gives me hope that I can creep in and get myself a drink of water without disturbing Emery.
I expected more trouble from him to be honest, but he seemed content to get some much-needed rest. I don’t think more than fifteen minutes went by before the sounds of him stirring and muttering to his dog ceased.
Silence cloaks the girls’ room, not even the glow of Shanae’s tablet creeping through the crack in the door. I haven’t checked the time, knowing that if I do and I see how late it is, my subconscious will have me exhausted tomorrow. My best estimate is somewhere in the wee hours after midnight, but I really wouldn’t know.
Hesitating at the doorway from the hall, I wait until my eyes adjust to the dim light peeking in the shaded windows. A small tree blocks most of the streetlight from our living room, but the moon shines in uninhibited by the curtains we can’t afford to buy.
Emery’s outline sprawls over the sofa; one leg dropped off the side where he lies on his stomach. Mosaic snores tucked beneath Emery’s hand, his palm firm on the dog’s ribs.
Testing my weight on the pads of my feet, I creep toward the fridge and spend an excessive amount of time breaking the seal. Light spills across the wall in a brilliant arc of white, cut off when I slam the door shut again. Water clutched in my palm; I hold my position for a few seconds before starting the return course.
My feet round the counter at the same time as I catch the shift of muscle in my periphery. Mosaic pushes up on his front legs, ears pricked up as he watches me attempt my escape.
“Lie down, buddy,” Emery mumbles, face smooshed into the cushion.
I lock every muscle in place, slowing my breathing to a shallow crawl. The dog continues to stare at me. I count my breaths, averting my gaze in the hopes it’ll take the dog off edge.
I don’t break double digits before a raspy, “Why are you just standing there?” heats my panicked flesh.
Shit. “I didn’t want to wake you.” Twisting my neck, I find Emery now mirroring his dog, propped up on one arm.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Not really.”
He shifts, the blankets rustling as his legs drag them across the cushions. I should have given him one of my comforters; those blankets—although washed—never recovered from when Fria used them on the streets.
“You wanna sit and lighten the load?”
Yes. “No.”
“Come on.” He pats the cushion beside him, making Mosaic attempt to jump on our sofa. “Not you, you idiot. Her.”
I shouldn’t. But I do.
Em shifts against his side of the seat, twisting a little so he can see me better in the dull light. I tuck my legs beneath me, crammed into the opposite arm of the sofa, and uncap the bottle.
“What’s on your mind?” Moonlight highlights each alluring swell of his arm while he drags a hand down his face.
“Plenty.”
Even in the half-light, I can gauge the intensity in his unamused stare. “Alice …”
“What?” I snort, tucking myself into a tighter ball. “You think we’re going to hash it out like besties?”
“We used to,” he mumbles.
“Yeah. Used to.”
“Drop the shit.” Emery’s knee nudges my foot as he shifts position, turning to face me fully. “Lay it on me.” He makes a grand sweep of his arm, indicating he’s ready for the avalanche. “All of it. Get the shit off your liver before it fucking kills you.”
“I would if I felt it would make any difference for us.”
“It already has.”
My fingers still in their walking exploration of my fluffy sleep-socks. “How?”
“You wanna know why I’m here and not at home?”
I’d reach across to flick a light on so I could see his face if I didn’t think it would shut him down.
“I broke it off with Deanna,” he drops as though splitting up with his controlling girlfriend of ten years is nothing. “Mom and Dad are over the fucking moon about it, but she’s a bit unhinged as you’d expect.”
“So, you put distance between you?”
He nods.
“And shoved me in the middle of it,” I grumble. “Do you have any idea what she’d do if she knew this is where you came?”
“Don’t care to find out and don’t plan to.”
“Mature,” I sass. “Just stick your head in the fucking sand and expect it all to go away. You’re real good at that, huh?”
“Finished?” The single word stalls me in my tirade, freezing every restless muscle.
“For now,” I cede on a whisper.
“I came here, babe, because when I laid awake, racking my brain for the last time that I felt as though I could achieve anything I set my fucking mind to, all I kept coming back to was you.”
“Em—”
“You were there encouraging the shit out of me at the start,” he murmurs into the dark. “Every fucking time I wanted to throw in the towel and accept that I’d never get a half-decent band together, you kicked me in the ass and got me up and moving again.”
“To be fair, we did that for each other.”
He shrugs, stretching his bent legs out so that I’m caged behind his feet and calves. “It took me a while to understand why you’d let jealousy ruin what we had, but I did. I saw it echoed in so many bands we met at the festivals and all that. I figured that if the roles had been reversed, I would have been pissed as hell if you’d struck home, and I hadn’t.”
“But I wasn’t jealous. You know that now.”
“Yeah. I do.” His toes twitch against the side of my ass. “But it’s hard to shake a story I’ve told myself over and over for years, which is why I get that you’re still pissed with me.”
“Just give me time,” I plead. “Like you, I’ll understand the truth and move on. But you can’t expect that today.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head, the blanket slipping down his lap to show more of his naked torso. “I know that. I just want you to promise you won’t go anywhere while you work it out.”
“How can I?” I scoff. “You’re in my apartment.”
His smile is barely visible with the moon shining bright behind him, but I catch the slight crook of his lips. And still, after nearly a decade of silent warfare, it has the power to set my nerve endings alight. “I need you, Alice.” The twitch of his toes takes on a much more purposeful sweep against my exposed skin. “I want to do this, and I want you to help me get it right so that I don’t have to do it again.”
“Why do you feel I’m the only one who can help you do that, though?” I murmur. “Why me, Em? After all these years—accepting we were over—why do you feel the need to dig this up now?”
The sofa rustles beneath his weight, Emery pushing forward as he pulls one leg back to balance himself. “Because …” Calloused hands encase my arms, sliding up the backs until he has me firmly in his hold. “In all the years I taught myself how to stay mad at you, one thing became fucking clear the minute I finally set eyes on you again.”
My fingers rest on the cushion between us, burning to creep an inch closer.
“I never forgot how much I loved you,” he whispers; each word ghosts my face as the proximity of his lips becomes clear.
“You were the one thing that could always break me.” I close my eyes, relishing the familiarity of him as I touch our foreheads.
A satisfied rumble rattles in his chest, his clammy hands either an indication of how much his body craves the alcohol he denied himself or nerves mirrored in the r
apid rise and fall of my chest.
“Tell me what’s on your mind tonight, babe.”
I pull a slow, fortifying breath and release the secret I’ve held closer than any other. “I have to face my brother at Christmas.”
Emery chuckles, pulling back to see my face. “Not what I expected, but okay.”
“It’s not funny,” I protest, despite smiling. “I’m terrified.”
“Why?” He shuffles to push the leg closest to me along the back of the sofa, opening up a space between his legs.
I turn my body before he even pats the cushion, effortlessly sliding back into the familiar comfort of his embrace. “I’m even more scared to tell you why.”
Steady fingertips trace a path back and forth along my shoulder; his arm draped on the cushion behind me. “That you’re scared, worries me,” he shares. “Nothing scares you.”
“Nothing used to scare me,” I correct. “A lot has happened in the years you’ve been gone.”
“The girls know about this?” he asks.
I shake my head, reaching up to trap his hand under mine before I register what I’ve done. He doesn’t make any effort to pull it free. Same as I make none to move it.
“It can’t be as bad as half the shit I’ve done without you there to pull my head in.” He chuckles. “Did you hear about what went down in L.A.?”
I twist my head to see him and frown. “No.”
“Good.” That devilish smile splits his lush lips. “It means we did a good job of burying it.”
“Now you have to tell me,” I tease, poking him in the ribs.
The mood significantly shifts, our eyes locked on one another as he slowly reaches out to smooth the hair from my face. “You haven’t changed as much as you think you have.”
“Maybe not at face value.” I pull away, uneasy with how right it feels to be so intimate again.
“So, tell me about it.” His order is an invite. A promise that this is only the beginning. “Start with what I saw today. Why the painkillers?”