Heartless Few Box Set

by MV Ellis

  Until you love you, yes, it’s true, there’s nothing I can do

  Until you love who you are, nobody can heal your scars….

  Holy. Shit. Something in the combination of the lyrics and the haunting melody of his voice hit me hard, leaving me winded and breathless. For the millionth time over the last few months, I found myself crying tears of hurt and frustration. Everything he’d said in that song was so true, whether he’d meant the words for my ears or not. I’d been hiding for so long, even I wasn’t sure what was left of my true self. What I did know in that moment was that my love for Luke was stronger than ever, and it wasn’t about to fade away. More to the point, I was sick of ignoring it, pushing it down and denying myself the chance to be happy.

  I wiped the tears from my face—tired of seeming hopeless and helpless around Luke—and headed downstairs. Luke was still singing, sitting with his back to me on the back stoop, oblivious to my approach. I bent down and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, taking him by surprise. He jumped.

  “Oh, Marns, I didn’t hear you coming. How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Long enough for what?”

  “Just long enough, that’s all.”

  Luke sighed and placed his guitar to the side, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. It was only then, as I sat down next to him that I saw Ronnie curled up asleep on the doormat between his legs.

  “She was skittish and anxious, maybe missing her doggie mama, and you, so I thought I’d sing to her and see if that helped. I grabbed my ax from the car and started playing and singing. Sure enough, she calmed down straight away, then was curled up asleep like this a few minutes later.”

  Fuck, she was cute. And so was he.

  “And what was that you were singing?”

  “Just a little something I’ve been working on.”

  “Working on. You mean you wrote that?”

  “Yeah, I did. I’ve kind of been putting together an album, actually.”

  “Wait. What? How can you ‘kind of’ be creating an album? Are you, or aren’t you?”

  “I am. I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, but more recently I just decided to get a little more formal with it and put down some melodies too. Kind of make it official, I guess. Just for fun.”

  “Luke, are you for real?”

  He turned to me fully then, still sitting on the ground, but with his heels on the floor and knees bent upward, his arms wrapped around his knees.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you sing like a goddamned angel, and you wrote lyrics that had me sitting at the top of the stairs crying like a baby, but you’re thinking about ‘kind of’ making it official? I feel like you have Stockholm Syndrome or something. Maybe you’re the one who needs to join some sort of support group, not me.”

  “Why? I’m fine.”

  “But are you really? You’ve been hiding hardcore talent like that, playing second guitar to Arlo all these years, to the point where now it seems you don’t even realize just how gifted you are. I’m not so sure.”

  “You’re being dramatic. I’m fine. There’s a natural order of things in life. Not everyone can be the front man—not everyone has either the ability or the desire.”

  “Well, let’s be clear. You definitely have the skill. No fucking question. So then the only thing lacking is the willingness.”

  “I’m not built that way. You know that more than anybody. You’re talking to the ‘shy to the point of reclusive’ twin here, remember?”

  “I do remember, but I also know you’re not that kid anymore. You’re a confident, talented, sexy, grown-ass man.”

  “Yeah, I get that. Not the sexy part, but the rest. I just don’t want to be what Arlo is, or do what he does.”

  “Fair enough, but there are other ways to get your talent into the spotlight. And for the record, you’re sexy as fuck, and don’t pretend you don’t know it.”

  He smiled at that. Of course he knew it. Somewhere in the transition from painfully shy ‘quiet twin’ to international rock god, he’d learned to own that shit.

  “What about the singer-songwriter thing? If the other songs are anyway near as good as the one you were singing before, people would eat that shit up. And that wouldn’t be acting like Arlo. That would be you being you. Quieter, more measured, and with more emotional intelligence than him.”

  “Well, you say that, but the latest stuff he’s written for the band, all inspired by his ups and downs with London, is uncharacteristically heartfelt. Dare I say it, but I think he’s finally growing up.”

  “Whatever. That is what it is, but this isn’t about Arlo. It’s about you, so let’s get on board with that. Would you consider recording an album and putting it out there for the world to see how ridiculously talented you are? I mean fully doing the solo thing—touring, PAs, the full nine.”

  Luke frowned deeply, staring off into the middle distance across the garden. He looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “Umm… seriously? You need to think about this? To me, it’s a no-brainer. You sing and write the way you do, you look the way you do, and you have fifteen years in the industry behind you with fans for miles. Give me one good reason why you wouldn’t.”

  He started to speak but must have realized he had nothing to say other than words to the effect of “Because that’s always been Arlo’s role,” so stopped before he even started.

  “Right. There’s no reason not to, but plenty of reasons why it would be a waste and a huge shame if you didn’t.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Luke

  She was right in more ways than she knew. The jaded feeling that had been creeping up on me over the past few months wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, in some senses, it was getting worse. It was weird—Arlo was so fired up creatively—driven by love, or pain, or loss, or a combination of all three, depending on when you spoke to him. The words just seemed to pour out of him, and not only did he have a lot to say, but it was all good—outstanding, in fact. Arguably his best yet. It was a cliché, but songs written with genuine feeling behind them really were more powerful and impactful than the bullshit that was put out purely to make a sale. Not that we had ever operated that way, anyway—we weren’t some lame boy band. Still, now that Arlo was connecting more with his emotions, it showed in his songwriting.

  Arlo was understandably pumped about what he was putting out. I’d never seen him more driven and committed to getting an album written and produced. In fact, the last few had been like pulling teeth. Arlo’s head just hadn’t been in the game. More than once after failing to deliver new album material to deadline, Paul had needed to step in and stage interventions of sorts, whisking Arlo away to writer retreats—aka kidnapping him and leaving him in a bunker in the middle of nowhere with no technology so that he had no choice but to write—in order to get the job done. Worse still, truth be told, his heart had never been in it either, maybe because he hadn’t been drawing on personal experiences.

  Arlo may have been an underachiever in the love stakes until recently, but now he was more than amply making up for lost time. The love and loss of a good woman seemed to have been just the kick in the pants he needed to take shit a little more seriously. Who knew the catalyst for my wayward brother to start acting like a responsible adult who gave a fuck was a tiny powerhouse of a woman who most of the time seemed to think he was the scum of the earth?

  As irony would have it, after years of playing the role of Arlo’s conscience, keeper, and motivator, his increased commitment and professionalism seemed to be inversely proportional to my give-a-fuck. The more passion and commitment he showed, the less impetus I had to steer the band from behind Arlo any more. Strange, but true.

  Speaking of Arlo, before Marnie spent any more time singing my praises and extolling my virtues, I owed it to her to clue her in on the latest developments with Videogate.

  “Speaking of Arlo�
�.”

  “We weren’t really, but I sense that I’ve pushed the boundaries of your level of comfort on this subject, so I’ll drop it. For now. Just know that I’m not done talking to you about this. Not even close.” Wow. She was pumped, but that might all change after I dropped my bombshell.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to come right out with it. Arlo is mad as a nest of hornets over this whole video fiasco, and he won’t be talked down from the ledge. Believe me, I’ve tried. You know what he’s like—even after his legal people have more or less confirmed that you weren’t the one who circulated the video, he can’t see past the end of his own fucking nose. All he can think about is his hurt, and how this whole situation impacts him and his life. I’ve tried talking sense into him and reminding him that there’s more than one side to every story, encouraged him to own some of what’s happened, but it all falls on deaf ears. He’s made up his mind that he needs to be angry with someone over this, and in his head, that someone is you. Honestly, I want to shake him, or slap some sense into him, or some shit.”

  “But he’s your brother, and you can’t.”

  “Well, I can, and you know I have in the past, but you also know that approach has rarely done anything to help an already messed-up situation. These days I know better. I kept the blows verbal only, though I can’t say I didn’t come close to decking him. Not that it made it an easy conversation to have, regardless. Heated doesn’t even begin to cover it. I really tried to get him to see reason, but he won’t budge. In fact, I think I made the situation worse, to be honest. He’s probably more entrenched in his opinion now than he was before we locked horns over it.”

  “But he’s your brother and your chosen leader, so bye-bye Marnie, right?”

  “No.”

  “It’s okay. I understand. I may not have brothers and sisters myself, but I’ve seen it enough with you guys to know that the sibling thing trumps everything else. Wait… what?”

  “I didn’t back down. He knows I’m in love with you, and I chose you.”

  “What? You can’t.”

  “I can, and I did. It’s like you said. I’m sick of everything in all of our lives being solely about Arlo all the time. If he can’t come to the party and admit his part in causing this shitstorm, why the fuck should I yield to him yet again? I guess I could have picked a less contentious issue to rock the boat over, but that’s not how it works. Normally I wouldn’t have been committed enough to my point of view to continue to hold my own if he made a fuss, ’cause as the saying goes, you gotta pick your battles. Well, I finally picked my battle, and I picked you.”

  “Oh, Luke, I honestly didn’t want to cause all this drama, especially not between the two of you. It’s total bullshit. You guys are brothers—that comes before anything. And what about the band?”

  “Nothing has changed with the band yet, but if the stalemate carries on, who knows? Maybe I’ll be doing the solo thing for real, and for good.”

  “It won’t come to that. Of course not. I won’t let it. I won’t be the thing that comes between the two of you. Not gonna happen.”

  “I’m ready for that to be the outcome. I can’t say I relish it, but if that’s the price I have to pay to be with you, then so be it. It will be more than worth it. You’re worth it.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Fuck, it broke my heart that she didn’t think of herself the way I thought of her. If she saw even a tenth of what I saw, she’d know that she was absolutely worth it. A thousand times over.

  “Besides, you’re not with me. We’re not with each other. This”—she waved her arms angrily between the three of us—“is not a thing. It’s a mirage. A joint hallucination. We’re not doing this.”

  Knowing it wasn’t the appropriate reaction and likely to piss her off, I still went ahead and laughed at the absurdity of the situation and at Marnie’s denial. As predicted, she looked completely enraged at my outburst.

  “Why are you laughing? What the hell is even vaguely funny about all of this? Do tell me because I’m all fucking ears.”

  I knew it was wrong to belittle her feelings with laughter, but for some reason, it kept bubbling in me. I bit my bottom lip in an attempt to stop the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

  “I’m sorry. You’re totally right. It’s not funny in the true sense of the word. In fact, it’s royally fucking fucked. But I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m finding your righteous indignation at something that couldn’t be more of a done deal if it was signed in blood hella cute and sexy as all get-out.”

  “We’re not a done deal.”

  “Yeah, we are. From day one. It might have taken fifteen years, but this”—I motioned between the two of us, mirroring her earlier gesture—“is happening as sure as blinking or filling our lungs with oxygen. It’s in our DNA. We can’t not.”

  Marnie blinked rapidly, as though trying to erase my words from her mind. Of course it wasn’t possible. I was too far under her skin, woven too far into her psyche, just like she was in mine.

  “I’m still here, Marns. I think I can safely speak on behalf of Ronnie when I say that we’re here to stay. You’re stuck with us.” I looked down at Ronnie again. She was still fast asleep curled up on the doorstep. God, she was cute as shit. At the risk of being shot down in flames again, I grinned in Marnie’s direction. In return she glared at me as though she had just found out I’d put itching powder in her G-string.

  I’d known Marnie for a long time, and the inner workings of her mind were still frequently a mystery. I had thought that standing firm against Arlo and effectively choosing her over my identical twin brother would have been enough to demonstrate that I was completely serious about her but obviously not. Challenge accepted, Miss Marnie. Challenge fucking accepted. Unlike my brother, I was a patient man. I’d waited this long? What were a few more weeks of proving myself in the grand scheme of things?

  “Also, although I’m already totally in love with Ronnie, I’m still crazy pissed at you for taking on a puppy on my behalf without asking. It was grossly irresponsible, and if I’m honest, more the kind of stunt I’d expect your careless and impulsive brother to pull. I know she’s the cutest thing on four legs, and I’m sure those enormous amber eyes tugged on your heartstrings big time, but it’s not something you should do on a whim for yourself, let alone for someone else. Especially someone who is clueless when it comes to pet ownership and who is going through a significant amount of chaos in their life at the time.”

  “Point taken. It wasn’t my best thinking. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology and puppy accepted. Give her to me. I need hugs.”

  I reached down and scooped up the tiny bundle of fur. She squeaked her protest at being disturbed and bit my hand with her sharp but harmless teeth, just to really ram the message home. I disentangled myself from her grasp and handed her over. On landing in Marnie’s hand, she immediately quieted, licking Marnie’s palm. The bond between the two of them seemed to have been instant, so while I completely understood her reasons for busting my balls over the surprise gift, I didn’t regret it for a moment.

  “Morning, Ronnie baby. Hi, gorgeous puppy girl, did you miss me? Did you? I missed you. So much.” She brought the dog up to her lips and kissed into her velvety fur. Ronnie licked her cheek enthusiastically in return. This was a first. I was legit jealous of a fucking puppy. Maybe Marnie was right. Maybe I was the one who needed to see a shrink. I envied the easy rapport they had, free of neurosis, guilt, and baggage. If only things were so easy between the two of us, Marnie and me.

  “So where do we go from here?”

  She shrugged. “Our separate ways?”

  Thirty-Eight

  Marnie

  Luke looked pissed but slid closer to me. I moved backward, wanting to put some distance between us.

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “Is that your plan for life? To pretend things didn’t happen, or aren’t happening? That w
as my plan too, and look how well that’s worked out for me. So I’m gonna do you a favor, tell you some stuff I know you won’t be able to pretend not to have heard. In fact, you’ll be reaching for the brain bleach or the memory erasers the Men in Black use, and you’ll be more than ready for us to go our separate ways once I’m done. Trust me.” I looked down at Ronnie. I was still mad at him, but I also appreciated her presence. I had a feeling she was going to be my only company for the foreseeable future.

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Yesterday when you came home with Ronnie, I’d been up in the attic. I don’t even know why I went up there, to be quite honest, apart from looking for a welcome distraction from my thoughts. I just felt compelled to. It’s full of a whole bunch of packing boxes, out of circulation furniture, Mia’s beloved Christmas tree, that kind of stuff. But one box drew my attention. It had my mom’s name written on the side.

  “When I looked inside, it contained books—mostly novels that looked like they were from the high school English curriculum but also a whole lot of notebooks. It turned out they were her journals from the age of thirteen. The last one stopped when she was sixteen. I read them all, every last word, doodle, and scribble. It was the most depressing and heartbreaking thing I’ve done since I had to bury her and my father.” I took a huge gulp of air and willed myself not to cry. I wanted to stay strong. I wanted to be strong.

  “She was this sweet, funny, smart, popular, happy kid. It was like reading one of those teen books like Sweet Valley High or something. She talked about boys, movies, music, her future. Hell, she even talked about what she was going to name her kids when she grew up and got married. Her childhood seemed to be everything mine wasn’t—carefree, fun, and wholesome. It was picture-fucking-perfect.” I looked over at Luke. He was listening intently, but I could see he was trying to work out where I was going with the story.