by Scott, S. L.
33
Dare
I missed a pickup on the second song. The audience didn’t notice, but I did. So did Jake manning the bar and Jeb. The bouncer poked his head inside to see what the problem was. Just me fucking up.
It doesn’t matter because the crowd doesn’t care. We’re selling out a Saturday night at Shep’s more than a busy Thursday. That means our price tag just went up.
So I start singing as though my life depends on it. Six songs in and my voice is strained as I take all the night’s aggression out on my guitar and this mic. I hit the low notes and then lean back, strumming the alternate version of the popular song. My fingers slide against the metal of the strings and then beat down on them once, and it goes silent.
“Abstract Heart” is a crowd favorite, and they fill in, singing the chorus until they reach the end. I stomp on the pedal, the drums and all three of our guitars kicking in again, riling the fans into a frenzy as we close out the song.
Sweat springs from my forehead when I bend to get another shot that’s been lined up on the side of the stage. I flip it over and tank it down, then pick up another to finish before the set is over. Romeo says, “Slow down, man.”
“Hit the kit and mind your own fucking business.”
He stands, his sticks in one hand. “You want a fucking fight? Make sure it’s worth defending because I’ll fucking throw down, but don’t take your shit night out on me.”
English reaches for a shot, and then says, “Gentlemen. Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?”
Romeo has his eyes glued to me just as mine are to him. “Nothing.”
“Then let’s play some rock ’n’ fucking roll.”
I turn back, and it’s as if I can see where Weatherly once stood—a vision with long brown hair and eyes that shied away when admired. She was so out of place there was no way she could blend in.
Going through the motions of the next two songs are easy when I pretend to see my girl waiting for me. A commotion at the door brings me back from memory lane. I keep singing despite seeing that asshole Lloyd barge his way in; I keep playing as if he didn’t bring four cops with him.
Nope. I don’t break the beat because the show must go on, and if I’m going down, I’m going down giving the best damn performance of my life.
English’s steel-toed Doc Marten’s land at the back of my heel to get my attention, but he still plays. I pull back while Lennox takes center stage, and English says, “We got your back.”
The cops are waiting—arms crossed, staring at me—for the music to stop. I exhale, knowing what’s about to happen. I take one last shot, and this time, Romeo gives me a nod. “We’re not just heroes.” He slams into a drum solo and then ends the song. “We’re brothers.”
The cops push past Jeb and Jake, who appeared to be doing their damned best to talk them out of it. While we start playing the next song, Stascia rushes in and runs straight to Lloyd. A finger in his face. Anger in her face. We may not hear what she’s saying, but it’s obvious it’s not nice. When he knocks her hand away, he’s fucking lucky Romeo can’t see him or he’d be on the floor already.
I sing my fucking soul out, but the cops aren’t appeased. We start into the chorus as the cops push through, barging through the entertained crowd to jeers and moans. When they reach the edge of the stage, one leans forward, and says, “Get down.”
I keep singing.
Beneath me, he tugs at the ankles to my jeans. “Now.”
I keep strumming like nothing’s wrong.
“You resisting?” he shouts, the purple and blue lights from outside hitting his badge. Someone knocks into him, and a fight starts off in the corner, distracting the other two cops.
The beat isn’t broken when one of them climbs on stage and grabs my arm. I’ll sing until I’m pulled away. I’ll play until my wrists are cuffed. My cord is yanked from the bottom of my guitar, and English jabs the cop with the head of his guitar. When the cop focuses on him, he shrugs. “Oops. Sorry about that, wanker.”
“You want to come with us too?” the cop shouts in his face.
“Damn, dude.” English waves a hand between them. “Ever heard of a Tic Tac?”
Bumping him sideways, he breathes all over him. “What did you say to me?”
English looks down and closes his eyes briefly. When he runs his hand over his hair, making sure it’s back in place, I know that will only lead to bad news. He’s preparing. Yep. He straightens his shoulders and spits, “I said your wife likes to suck my dick.”
“Fuck you, you fucking loser. Hands behind your back.”
He raises them into the air instead, soaking in the glory of the cheering crowd. English laughs, then tells the cop, “Take a bow, man. You’re on stage with the greatest fucking band of all time.”
“Never heard of you.”
“You want to be charged with resisting arrest?” The other cop is back at me, pulling my arm off the guitar. I finally relent before he breaks both. The crowd below moves in upset tidal waves, pushing and pulling, causing the other two cops to struggle to reach the stage. Napkins have been tossed, and a few beer cans have kissed the air.
Romeo and Lennox storm over. Lennox is never one to start trouble, but he’s finished plenty. “What’s the charge?”
The cop doesn’t reply as he yanks my arms.
“If you can’t tell by the guitar around my neck, I need my arms.” Fucker gets rougher.
Lennox shoves the neck of his bass between me and the cop. “You can’t just arrest him. What are the charges, or I’ll have this place rioting?”
From this vantage point, front and center stage, it already is. Lloyd is pushed, and the last cop down there can’t get to the stage from the barricade of people.
The guy behind me yells, “Cuff him.”
Lennox unplugs and stage dives into the crowd, but a cop tugs him down. Neither is seen until enough people clear to see Lennox face down with a knee to his back. “Fuck.” Helen is going to kill me.
The strap around me is released, and my guitar hits the edge of the stage, and then crashes to the ground. My heart sinks as I drop to my knees, too late to save it. “Goddammit!” As if being arrested wasn’t bad enough, first I lose Weatherly and now my guitar. “Fucking hell.”
Romeo shouts, “Motherfuckers.” He’s nabbed as soon as he jumps off the stage to try to pick up the pieces of my guitar. Jake dives in to help out.
One by one, we’re shoved to the door and pushed against the wall while the police catch their breath and radio for backup. Not two feet from me, Jeb is in a serious discussion with one of them, trying to get us released by pleading our case. Standing in front of me, Jake says, “Sorry, man. They had a warrant.”
“Not your fault. Will you get our gear? We can’t afford to buy new stuff.” The thought of my guitar being broken still pains me. Assholes.
Jake glances at the stage. “We’ll lock it up in the office.”
Lloyd walks by proud as a fucking peacock. Stopping in front of me, he says, “I kept my promise, Marquis. Good luck bailing out.”
Since I’m going to jail anyway . . . I knee him in the balls.
He goes down.
And then I do, the cop pulling me from the lineup, dragging me outside, and shoving my face to the trunk of the car. “Are you stupid? Do you know who that guy is?”
“Yeah, an asshole who hits women when they say no.”
“Is that what this is about? You cheating with his girlfriend?”
“He thinks his money can buy anything, including my girlfriend. She wasn’t having it.”
“So he hit her?” The cop is gruff, but I see a hint of empathy in his eyes. “Sorry, man. She needs to file a report. C’mon.” I’m loaded in the back of a cop car with Lennox, who is smiling.
Not expecting a shit-eating grin, I ask, “What are you so happy about?”
“Feels like old times.”
Laughing, I kick his shoe with mine. “Your mom is going to kick our
asses.”
“Not once she sees the video.”
“What video?”
“Almost everybody in that bar had a phone aimed at us. How much you want to bet that video goes viral?”
“Two bucks?”
That makes him laugh. “If nothing else, we just left a major impression on the Austin music scene.”
“You always find the silver lining, man.”
* * *
Six hours later, we’re still sitting on a bench lined up against the wall in a drunk tank. We’ve witnessed two guys piss in the corner, four asleep on the concrete, and another that they quickly removed when they realized he was picked up for beating the guy who sold him a piñata because it was empty. Good thing too. He had crazy eyes. High as a fucking kite.
Yeah, it’s a motley crew in here.
I’m so tired I want to go to bed, but we made a pact that none of us will sleep. You never know what kind of trouble you’ll find in jail if you dare to rest your eyes.
Seven hours.
Romeo is led back into the cell. “They’re charging me with threatening an officer with a weapon.”
“What weapon?” I stand to stretch my legs.
“My sticks.”
“That’s not right.” English produces a toothpick that somehow got by when he was booked in. It’s been hanging out the side of his mouth, and I have to give him props. It does make him look tougher.
But no toothpick can counterbalance those plaid pants. I ask, “Why didn’t you change clothes?”
“What’s wrong with my outfit?”
Lennox deadpans, “That you called it an outfit is what’s wrong.”
We fist bump because that was funny as fuck.
English rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You guys just don’t get fashion.”
The four of us are standing, and though Lennox is pacing, he stops to say, “We’ll get the charges dropped, Romeo.”
“Guess we’ll see. I have a rap sheet like you guys. Petty shit, but we’re not minors anymore. I’m a little worried.”
He’s right. We might need to be worried this time.
“Robert Marquis.”
I turn toward the door. “Your lawyer’s here.”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
He shakes his head in annoyance. “You want to talk to him or not?”
“I’ll talk to him.” Whoever he is.
I’m led down the hall to the visitation room and seated with my hands cuffed behind me. The door squeals open, and as soon as I see him, I groan. “Fuck me.”
“I pulled strings to speak to you one on one.” I stare at him—big build, condescending expression on his face, gray and black hair, and shockingly light blue eyes. I don’t see my girl in him at all besides the eyes. “I’m Broderick Beck, Weatherly’s father.” He holds his hand out.
Fucker.
I wasn’t worth his time at the party. I can only imagine why I’m worth it now. I remain quiet, but I damn well hope he doesn’t hear my heart beating out of my chest. I rattle my hands, making the chains of the cuffs jingle. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little tied up right now.”
Although I laugh humorlessly, he doesn’t even crack a smile. He says, “I’m paid very well for my time, so wasting it here on you is not in my or my family’s best interest. So let’s get down to business, shall we?”
I don’t owe him anything.
He says, “I don’t want you to see my daughter again.”
I lied. I definitely have something to say about this. “Is that your right to decide?” It’s interesting he has no idea we’re already done.
“Everything to do with Weatherly is mine to decide. I need you to listen carefully. You will not see my daughter again, nor contact her in any way. She has a future I’m trying to protect and you will not ruin everything I’ve done to get her to this point.”
“Seems she did the hard work—”
“While I pulled the strings.”
“It’s time to let her go and find—”
He slams his fist down. “Don’t tell me how to raise my daughter!”
“She’s not a child. Know how I know?” I quirk an eyebrow just to piss him off. “She doesn’t slam her fist down in a tantrum.”
The chair flies out from behind him and tips over. Leaning over the table, he shoves his finger in my face. “You’re a fucking little maggot on the bottom of my shoe, Marquis. A no-good loser with a shit father and a dead mother.”
Red.
The room goes red as I burst from my chair and lunge forward. “You’re a fuck, you fucking manipulator!” That lands me flat on my chest with hands trapped behind.
“Down, Marquis.” The guard shouts at me like I’m a dog and then pulls me by my arms to the floor. I land on my ass, the cuffs stabbing into my back. Shit. Tears strike my eyes as my anger turns to pain.
Beck comes around to stand over me, my arm pinched under his shoe. “Stay away from her. That’s your last warning.”
The guard rolls me and starts lifting me as another runs into the room to get me up. When I’m standing, I look her father dead in the eyes. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll make sure you’ll spend the next ten to twenty years in jail. You think I don’t have connections, that every judge in this city doesn’t want their cut on the side? I have them all in my pocket. Fuck with me, and I’ll fuck with you. Why do you think these guards are still standing here?” He stabs his finger into his chest. “Because I haven’t dismissed them.”
I have a chip on my shoulder, but this man has Mt. Everest on his. I push my emotions aside. “What happens to Weatherly’s wishes? Doesn’t she get to decide how she lives her life?”
“No. Her future is none of your concern.”
“Let me guess. She’ll be given to Lloyd to produce some babies and carry on whatever the fuck his last name is.” Hellfire burns inside me. How can he want her with that guy? I use the only ammo I have left. “He attacked her. That’s what landed me here. I tried to defend your daughter, to get revenge on her behalf.”
“That’s not how I heard the story.”
“That man you think is so great struck her across the face. Check out the scratches on his neck and then tell me whose story you believe. But it doesn’t matter what they say. Weatherly knows the truth. She’ll never choose him, and she’ll hate you.” I’m yanked back. But stubborn like I’ve always been, I add, “It’s your move, Daddy Beck.” Fucking asshole.
“Take him away.”
The guards pull me to the door, but I go willingly. I’m back in the cell with the guys again.
For the next three hours, I contemplate how much my life has changed in such a short time. One month is generous. Weeks. Weatherly came into my life and twisted me inside out. Everything about her, about us, was amazing. One amazing moment in time.
Love found me when I least expected it. I don’t hide from the label. I now know that’s what I felt . . . what I still feel.
I had it all.
I had Weatherly.
We deserved more time.
Now I’m sitting behind bars realizing I’ve lost it all—my girl, my freedom, my guitar. My heart.
We’re exhausted, angry, and all humor has been lost. Then we’re finally released. Upon booking us out, I ask the guard, “Who bailed us out?”
A finger drags across the screen. “Bail was posted at seven a.m. Just took a while to get the paperwork wrapped up.”
“But who did it?”
He pauses while squinting at the old monitor. “Weatherly Beck.”
34
Dare
I haven’t forgotten what day it is.
I’ll never forget.
My phone’s dead when we catch a cab home, along with everyone else’s. So I don’t know if Weatherly called or if Helen’s been trying to get a hold of us.
I get an answer when we pull up to the curb. Helen’s car is in the driveway, and she comes out of the house, waiting on the porch. We drag our so
rry asses up the sidewalk, but I can’t look at her, not because of anything she did but because of the disappointment I’ve caused her. She says, “I waited at the park.”
Lennox shakes his head. “We ran into some trouble last night.”
“So I hear.”
Gathering courage, I look up and am met with her brown eyes that are so like my mom’s, considering there’s no relation. What would my mom say about this mess? I hate to think about it.
Helen asks, “What happened, Lennox?”
“We were arrested. Long story. Can we do this inside?”
“Are we going later?” English yawns. “I need to go to bed.”
“Yeah. Later works.” I let him off the hook. We’re dead tired, so I can’t ask more of them than they already did. Fuck, they spent the night in jail basically on my behalf.
In the living room, Stascia stands, dragging her hands down the front of her pants. “I hope it’s okay if I’m here. I was worried.”
Hope momentarily blooms because if Stascia is here, then maybe Weatherly is too. But Stascia’s somber expression is enough for me to read what she doesn’t want to say, a slight shake of her head just before Romeo moves around the couch and greets her. Finding my eyes, she says, “I didn’t know what to tell her.” When she glances at Helen, my hopes dash.
Weatherly isn’t here.
Romeo signals down the hall, and they go to his room.
Helen stands outside the kitchen. “Is someone going to talk to me, or do I have to listen to the police scanner to get the details?”
I chuckle, and then I remember why she used to listen. Her ex was a dispatcher. She could sleep when he was working. Any other time, the not knowing where he was caused her too much stress.
A knock on the door stops us in our tracks. My heart leaps like a fool’s, and I rush to answer it. Some guy in a red hat, who looks shady as fun, shoves an envelope at me. When I take it, he says, “You’ve been served.”
“Fuck.” The guy’s dashing across the lawn like a deer running from a hunter. Yeah, run, fucker. “What a shitty job.”