TAINTED: THE COMPLETE DUET

by Jenner, Carmen

  “It just ... it makes me unworthy. Pick a thing, any thing. All of it makes me unworthy of her, but to answer your question, she pulled me from my bathtub, and left me in the hospital. I wasn’t even out of the ICU before she hopped a flight back to Paris.”

  “So, she isn’t perfect. A mere mortal then? Perhaps one who makes mistakes and doesn’t believe she can atone for them.”

  “Ah, Doc, I appreciate you tryin’.”

  She cocks her head to the side, like all shrinks do. I wonder if that’s covered in the 101 of head shrinking. “What exactly do you think I’m trying to do, Levi?”

  “You’re trying to get me to see that Brie is human, just like me.”

  “And is it working?”

  “Even if I could find her—she changed her number, by the way, did I tell you that?”

  “No, you didn’t, but you were saying?”

  I let out a huge fucking exasperated sigh. “What the hell would I say? Sorry I tried to kill myself. Sorry I treated you like shit and refused to talk to you. Sorry you had to pull my body from the tub?”

  “It’s a start.”

  I shake my head. “She deserves more, better.”

  “And if she wants you?”

  “Then where the hell is she?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t speak for Brie, but I can tell you that it’s human to err. Perhaps Brie has made mistakes of her own that she doesn’t know how to apologise for. Or perhaps she’ll threaten to call the police, and have you arrested if you show up on her door, but the fact remains that if you never ask for her forgiveness, you’ll never know what her answer might be.”

  “So what, I’m just supposed to drop everything and fly to Paris? Try to find her and say sorry?”

  “I cannot tell you what to do, Levi. Only you can make those decisions. But if it were me?” Her lip twists in a smile, just the corner. This bitch is a master manipulator. Worse still, I’m paying her big bucks for this shit. “I’d have booked that flight already.”

  “And if she rejects me?”

  “Then at least you’ll have closure, and you can finally move on with your life.”

  Right. As if that’s even remotely a possibility.

  “Closure, huh?” I climb to my feet, because even though we still have a few minutes left, we’re done for today. I need to be done for today. “And if her rejection leads me to another bottle of Jack?”

  “Then you’ll know how to tell Jack no with all of the exercises the clinic taught you.”

  “Because it’s that easy?”

  “No one said it would be easy, Levi. In fact, I remember telling you in our first session that the following few months would be some of the hardest of your life.”

  “Yeah, and if I need those few months to be over?”

  “Oh, they won’t ever be over.” This time she does smile, but it’s more challenge than pity, so I don’t cringe. “You will struggle with your addictions the remainder of your adult life, but you won’t beat yourself up over it forever. One day you’ll forgive yourself for all of the hurt you caused your loved ones, then perhaps you’ll be able to see that they’ve already forgiven you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE HOFF’S SIDEKICK

  LEVI

  I enter the auditorium and take a seat in the front row beside Zed. He pulls me in for a bro hug. His face splits into a massive childlike grin, but there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes too. Today isn’t just hard for me because of my visit with the good doc. It’s the first day we choose a new bassist after Ash died. The label made some big fucking publicity stunt out of it. Of course. There’s a line around the block of eager boys and girls holding their shiny little basses, just waiting to get their rock on.

  “You’re late,” Ryan says, sipping his tea. It’s that herbal shit Ali got us all on for vocalists with a special kind of waxy-honey derivative.

  “Sorry, head shrinking takes up a lot of my jacking off time these days.”

  He nods and bites his lip, staring back at the empty stage. “How’s your hand?”

  “Good, had a good rub and tug session last night so ...” I trail off, because Cooper Ryan is all business today. “It’s fine.”

  “If you’re not up to playing, just sit it out. The last thing we need are journalists sniffing around at any more of our shortcomings.”

  I grind my teeth. “You mean my shortcomings?”

  He glares, and Ali whacks him on the arm. “Leave him alone, dumbarse.”

  “I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t fuck it all—”

  “I said I got it? Okay? Fuck, Ryan. Can you get off your high horse for a goddam second.”

  “I’m gonna elbow you both in the nutsack if you don’t shut the fuck up, and smile for the goddamn cameras,” Zed says, and we all turn to look at him. He’s right. Coop and I have never been copasetic, but even with Red between us, we still got along better than we were now.

  We smile and play happy rock gods for the camera while Vanessa stands behind the photographers with a big cheesy grin plastered on her face. Ali and Deb move several seats down, so they’re not caught up in the bullshit of flashing lights and sensationalism.

  After a brief interview with the reporters, they take their seats at the back of the auditorium and we settle in for several long hours of torturous auditions.

  By lunch, we’ve shortlisted two players already, but then a guy walks on stage with floppy dark hair and eyes so blue they’re almost creepy. He shields his eyes from the bright stage lights before landing on Red in the front row. My hackles go up, because though I may not be in love with her anymore, I still love her. I always will, and I can’t help but be protective of her with all the shit she went through just being associated with Cooper and me. I’m preparing to jump up on the stage and beat the crap out of old flopsy there when he gives her a chin nod, and turns his attention to us. “Hey, I’m Kit.”

  “Kit? What is he, The Hoff’s fucking sidekick?”

  Zed chuckles, and Ali surprises the shit out of all of us by cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting, “Fuck yeah!”

  And then I see it, the self-depreciating smile that breaks out across his face. His whole vibe has been transformed from nervous bassist not really sure what the fuck he’s doing here to rock star. The women are going to lose their shit over this guy, whether it’s as the newest member of the band Taint, or as a solo act. I glance at Vanessa, who’s practically chomping at the fucking bit to hand him her business card.

  “Thanks, Ali. It’s nice to have one fan.”

  “What are you playing, Kit?” Coop says.

  “I thought I’d lead with ‘Cover Me’.”

  My spine stiffens. Ash wrote that song. It’s the only song that Ash ever penned solo, and it’s as fucking awesome as it is heart-wrenching. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Only I would pull a move like that.

  “If that’s okay?” he says nervously. “I just ... er ... I’ve followed him from the beginning.”

  “Makes sense,” Ryan whispers so only Zed and I will hear him. “He’ll be playing Ash’s song if he gets the gig.”

  “Right,” I say, but I don’t like it.

  “Play away, good man,” Zed says, and Kit grins again. For a split second, I swear he exhales in relief, but he steps back from the mic and glances down at his bass, turning the tuning pegs before launching into a pretty impressive rendition of our brother’s song. When it gets to the part where Ash usually does his solo, I glance around at the reporters. Everyone in the room is wrapped up in this guy, including Ali and Deb—who never gets wrapped up in anything unless it’s a verbal sparring match. Ryan looks at Zed, and then over at me.

  “You wanna jam, with him?”

  “Is your sister hot?” Zed replies with a grin. Ryan’s own smile fades.

  “Dude—”

  Zed sticks out his tongue and makes the hand gesture for rock on. “Too soon?”

  “Way too fucking soon, man,” Ryan says with
clenched teeth. “Way too soon.”

  We all catapult ourselves on stage. Of course, I use my right hand, and it threatens to go out from under me, but I recover quickly and glance around. No one saw. We shake hands with Kit, and Ryan asks if he knows all of our songs. He says yes, so we put him through his paces. It puts me through my paces too, but once Zed’s drums are reverberating through my feet, Kit’s bass kicks in, and Coop starts screaming the way only Cooper Ryan can, I fall into the rhythm, the synchronicity, and it’s a high I haven’t felt in months.

  It’s better than drugs, and booze, and sex. Okay, maybe it’s on par with sex.

  The new guy is vibing off the energy as much as the rest of us, and our little crowd of reporters are eating that shit up.

  We’re supposed to sit through every audition, but I know without even talking to the others that Kit’s it, so I set down my axe and shake his hand. “That was sweet, man.”

  “You have no idea how fucking cool that was,” Kit says on a sigh. He rakes his hand through his mop of sweaty hair. “I’m sorry, Jesus, I sound like a real arsehole. I’m trying not to fangirl over here, but fuck ... that was something else.”

  “It was,” Ryan says. “I’m impressed.”

  “Yeah!” Zed tosses his sticks up in the air and bounds over from behind his drumkit, practically knocking the kid off his feet in the process as he claps a huge hand on Kit’s shoulder. “That was fucking awesome, man.”

  “What do you think, guys?” Ryan says, but he doesn’t bother glancing at either Zed or me, because all three of us already know.

  “I think we’re done here,” I say.

  Kit laughs and scrubs a hand down over his face, “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “Nope,” Zed says, punching the kid’s shoulder with his meaty fist.

  “Nicely done.” Ali stalks across the stage and gives Kit a high five. He pulls her in for an affectionate squeeze, and she squeals, pinned between his arm and his bass. Ryan and I both glare.

  “Wait,” Cooper says with a bemused expression. “You two know each other?”

  Ali’s face is smug. “Kit’s my client.”

  “What?” I say.

  Cooper looks just as confused as I am. “What are you talking about?”

  Ali fishes a card from her purse and hands it to him. “Like I said, I represent him, so if you want to tell Vanessa to get in touch with me, then I can have our lawyer look over the paperwork.”

  “I ...” Ryan glances down at the card in his hand, and back up at his wife. “What?”

  “Come on,” she says to Kit. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Ali,” Coop says.

  “Number’s on the card,” she calls over her shoulder.

  He stares wide-eyed as she walks away with her client and the three of us watch her go. “Did I just get played by my wife?”

  “Oh yeah.” I laugh so hard tears form in my eyes. “She’s got your balls all wrapped up there, buddy.”

  “The feisty ranga strikes again.” Zed nudges Ryan’s shoulder. “I fuckin’ love that woman.”

  “Deb, you know about this?” Cooper asks his sister—who’s still sitting in the front row, her head buried in her phone.

  She glances up with a bored expression. “I know everything. Are we done here? I’m starved.”

  “Aw, my baby’s hungry.”

  “Call me your baby again, and I’ll castrate you,” Deb says.

  I laugh. “Speaking of feisty ...”

  “Call my sister your baby again and I’ll castrate you too.”

  “Okay, you’re both way too cranky when you’re hangry, let’s go. There’s a cool Persian place down the road.” Zed jumps off stage. Ryan follows, but I stand, staring at my axe. “Levi, you in? Don’t leave me alone with these grumpy arseholes.”

  “Actually,” I say, biting my bottom lip, “I have to go.”

  Zed looks up from nuzzling Deb’s neck. “Go where?”

  I grimace. “France.”

  Cooper’s smile disappears—all business once more. “For how long?”

  “However long it takes to get her back.”

  “And if she doesn’t take you back?”

  Shit. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Then I guess it’s just more fodder for the album. Worked out pretty well last time.”

  “Are you sure you’re in a stable enough condition to go alone?”

  “Go where alone?” Ali says, returning from outside.

  “To find ’ze mademoiselle,” Zed says his arms wrapped around Deb from behind.

  “Don’t do that. It makes you sound like an arsehole,” she says on a sigh.

  He buries his head in her neck again, but not before he whispers, “When can we go home so I can play with your arsehole?”

  Ryan grinds his teeth as he watches them. “Come on, man. Really? I’m standing right the fuck here!”

  “I don’t mind if you watch,” Zed says, and both Ryan and Deb turn on him. Coop threatens to beat his head in, and Deb actually tries.

  When I glance away, I notice Ali staring at me. “You’re going after Brie?”

  “That’s the plan.” I jam my hands in my pockets, suddenly not so sure I want to fly across the world and declare my love for a woman who’s clearly washed her hands clean of me.

  “Don’t fuck this up.”

  I laugh without humour. “Think I already did, Red.”

  “Yeah, well I know you, and—”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Would you let me speak, dumbarse?” I make a “take it away” gesture and she smiles. “What I was going to say was if there’s any man who can charm the fucking shit out of that woman—or any woman, for that matter—it’s you. So do it right, because I happen to like her.” Ali glances at Deb, who’s beating the shit out of Zed while her brother holds him down. “Besides, now that Deb has lost her damn mind and is fucking Zed, I have an opening for a new best friend.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m a little jealous.”

  I scoff. “What?”

  “I told you once that when you found the right girl, it would break my heart. Well, you found her, idiot. Now you just have to go get her back.”

  “Here’s hoping that’s a possibility.”

  “Oh, it’s a possibility. She’s fucking crazy about you.” She wraps her arms around me, and I breathe her in. I can’t remember a time when I held this woman and I wasn’t desperately in love with her. Guess times change. I let her go, and watch her walk back to her husband with tears in her eyes, and I slip out while they’re distracted.

  I suck at telling people how I feel. Sharing was never my strong suit, but I’m even worse at goodbyes. I meant what I said about staying as long as I have to, as long as it takes to get her back. Even if that means we have to record in France. I’m not leaving Paris until Brie is mine.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THE CON ARTIST

  BRIELLE

  “Ça va, ma chérie?”

  I flinch away from Bastien’s touch and give him a tight smile. “Oui.”

  “You look exquisite in this dress, Brielle.”

  “This old thing?” I joke, but it falls flat because I do not care what this man—this leech—thinks of me. He may be conducting my orchestra because he is the best in all of France, but this is my concert, my stage, my audience, and he is my bitch now.

  “Have dinner with me tonight, after the show.” It isn’t a question, it’s a demand.

  “I do not think that would be a very good idea.”

  “You’re still upset over something that happened a year ago?” He tsks. I don’t know how I ever found this man attractive. He’s old, and grey. He’s a sad, pathetic cheater, and his balls are wrinkly. “Brielle, I thought you were a woman, not a little girl?”

  “Oh, but I am, Bastien. I’m a woman who your wrinkled little pin dick will never be inside again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a show to perfo
rm,” I say with a smile that is far brighter than I feel. I’m nervous. I’m sick to my stomach, and I wish I had not eaten before coming out here.

  The curtain rises. The applause from the audience fills the opera house, and I smile as I head out on stage and curtsey, before turning to take my bow and cello from the stand. I position myself and have to tune my instrument a little before I can begin thanks to the air conditioning.

  “Bonsoir!” I say into the microphone and look out across a sea of black faces. I cannot make out their expressions, thanks to the lights shining in my eyes, but I know I have their undivided attention, because you could hear a pin drop in the room. I still have no idea how I got here. Perhaps it was my video on YouTube that went viral, or maybe it had more to do with the headlines surrounding me and Levi’s attempted suicide. Either way, I am sitting in a sold-out opera house, so I suppose I have arrived.

  The audience claps as Bastien walks out on stage. He’s far too professional, and too proud to let our words behind the curtain affect the way he conducts the orchestra. I know I can rely on him for that one thing—at least.

  “My name is Brielle Kagawa, and I am honoured to be here to play for you tonight. This song is one of my own compositions. It’s titled L'artiste Con—The Con Artist.

  I wait for Bastien to count me in, and I slide my bow across the strings. I’m joined by the rest of the orchestra, and my heart swells with pride. I get lost in the rhythm, the melody, and the pain that is always an extension of me, as my bow saws across the strings in heart-wrenching strains. I try not to think of him. I cannot afford to think of him. The flash of his cold, pale flesh in the bathtub, his body so still, so lifeless when I pulled him out. As if he was just taking a nap. As if he hadn’t shattered my heart, and my world into a million pieces.

  Instead, I play.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  NUMBER ONE FAN

  LEVI

  It took four backstage passes and a two-hundred-euro tip to convince the usher to let me in. I watch the beauty on stage from the back of the room, slowly drawn closer step by step with each note she plays. She looks exactly the same, and yet she’s a completely different person. Stronger somehow, even more determined than before, and beautiful. So fucking beautiful. I can’t believe what a cock-fuck I was the last time I saw her. I’ve said and done the things to her that are unforgiveable. Even now, I can’t reconcile myself with the guy who’s standing here, watching her play, but I guess that’s what happens when you become an addict, you change. You do shit you never thought in a million years you’d do. You hurt the people you love. Just like I hurt Brie.