by K. A. Finn
‘Well, maybe it’s time you stop thinking and actually pick up your guitar.’ He nudges him in the side and nods towards the house. ‘C’mon. I’ll make you something to eat while you get changed. If you get a cold your mother will wrap you in a blanket on the couch and force-feed you chicken soup for the next week.’
Tate follows him into the house, kicking off his wet boots at the door. Rick opens the fridge and pulls out a packet of bacon. ‘Bacon butty?’
Tate shakes his head. ‘I’m not really hungry.’
His dad peers at him around the side of the fridge. ‘Try again.’
He’s going to have to force it down whether he wants it or not. ‘Sounds great. Thanks.’
‘Better. You’ve got ten minutes.’
He leaves his dad to the breakfast and shuts the door to his room. He hurries through the bedroom conscious that his jeans are leaving a trail of wet sand on the carpet. After turning on the shower, he peels off his wet clothes and dumps them in the hamper in the corner of the bathroom. He steps into the shower, the steaming water washing the salt and sand off his skin. His arm stings as the jets beat against the open scratches, but he ignores the pain.
He knows his dad is right about getting back to work. It’s what he loves and he’s damn good at it. It’s been nearly five months since he picked up a guitar and he desperately misses it. He may have told Gregg he wants to get back in the studio but he’s not so sure he’s ready. He can’t even face their manager, Ellen.
The shame of what he did is eating him up. He’s not sure if it’s the fact he accidentally overdosed or that it’s gone public that’s giving him the most issues. It’s probably a bit of both.
Each day things were supposed to get better for him. He knew he wouldn’t get over what he did quickly, but this is getting fucking ridiculous. He’s terrified of the memories that have suddenly come to life and won’t leave him, even when he’s awake. Terrified of someone finding out how messed up he really is. Terrified he’ll never pick up a guitar again. Never sing again. Never perform again. He’s terrified this is his life now.
He scratches his arm again and winces as the water hits the raw scratch marks. The scratching is nearly worse than the addiction was. It’s becoming a habit he can’t shake, especially when he’s lost in thought.
He’s been told there’s nothing the doctors can do about the scratching. The itch isn’t actually there. It’s in his head not on his skin. His shrink was trying to help him with it, but Tate switches off more and more during the sessions. He knows he’s not doing himself any favours, but he can’t talk about it. He’d prefer just to forget about it. Apparently that’s not the way it works, or so his doctor keeps telling him.
He didn’t realise he’d zoned out until his dad shouts through the closed door, calling him for breakfast. Tate grabs a clean pair of jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt from his cupboard and makes sure the scratch marks are covered before he goes back into the main house. His mum is at the table with Rick, and, as usual, the conversation stops when he steps into the room.
‘How was your ride?’ his mum asks as he pours himself a cup of coffee.
‘Good.’
‘You’ve got your appointment at ten. You haven’t forgotten have you?’
He slams the cup onto the counter with more force than he intended. Of course he’d forgotten. ‘Right.’
The silence continues behind him. Slamming the cup down would have caused a few raised eyebrows and knowing looks. ‘I have a few things to do in town so I’ll drive you.’
He takes a calming breath before he turns to look at his mother. ‘It’s fine, Mum. I’ll drive myself.’
‘Your car and bike are at your house. It’s really no trouble. I’ll drive you.’
‘Fine. Can you drop me at my place instead? I’ll pick up my car. I’d prefer to have it here anyway.’
And there’s the look again. His father takes the lead in the negotiation. ‘Okay, how about you take my car and Becca can drop me at your place and I’ll pick up your car for you. It’ll be here for you when you get back later.’
Guilt and shame are bastards to live with. Any other time, he’d have laughed at them and done his own thing. Scrap that. Any other time, there wouldn’t be an issue with him going back to his own fucking house to get his car. But after what happened, they don’t want him to go back there. Or they don’t want him alone there. Or maybe they don’t want him to have a car he can escape in. Whatever the reason, he’s all out of fight. Admitting defeat, he nods and slumps down in the chair.
‘You should still have a spare set of keys to the truck in the drawer in the hall.’
His breakfast arrives and he forces it down, not tasting any of it. In the background, conversation continues between his mum and dad, with him giving a nod every now and again when the silence tells him they were expecting something from him.
7
‘Whoa, fellow.’ Tate brings Jove to a stop and looks over at the grass along the edge of the sand further up the beach. He smiles when he spots Chloe at the far end, sketchpad on her knee. Jove takes a step towards her but Tate holds him back. Is he really ready to make an ass of himself again? Then again, it’s not like he has anything to lose. She probably already thinks he’s a little odd. It can’t get worse than that.
He leans over and rests his head against Jove’s neck. ‘If it looks like I’m about to say or do anything stupid I fully expect you to stop me.’
Jove snorts.
‘Yeah. Cheers for that. C’mon then. Let’s see if I can do this without making a complete eejit of myself... again.’
He brings Jove closer to Chloe and climbs off. He pulls the stirrups up and leaves Jove at the bottom of the grass bank as he climbs up the path to the top. He peers over Chloe’s shoulder at the drawing she’s working on.
‘That’s good.’
Chloe screeches and drops her pencil in the sand. She blows out a long breath when she sees Tate standing behind her.
‘You scared the hell out of me.’
‘Sorry.’
She looks around and makes a face. ‘Guess you caught me again. I know I’m trespassing, but I just had to finish this drawing.’
‘I’ll put in a good word for you with the owners when I see them. Your drawing is really good.’
She looks back at the unfinished landscape and makes a face. ‘It’s taking me too long to get it right. I think I’m falling out of love with it.’
He crouches down beside her and points to the side of the drawing. ‘You’ve that bit bang on. The way the waves are hitting the headland... it’s damn perfect. Give it time. The rest will come.’
‘Is that the inner artist speaking?’
He smirks a little. ‘Guess so. Creating doesn’t always come first go round. Got to give it time to work its way out.’
‘You’re probably right. Oh, you left your sweatshirt at the house. I’ve got it in my bag.’
‘Thanks.’ He pauses and looks down at the sand. ‘Speaking of that, I’m sorry for leaving like I did. It was rude. It had nothing to do with you, I promise.’
‘It’s fine, Tate. Really.’
He glances across at her and smiles. ‘It’s really not. Dorothy will kill me if she hears I wasted a cup of her expensive coffee.’
Chloe laughs at that and brushes her hair behind her ear. ‘I won’t tell her. So, where’s Jove today?’ He whistles and Jove appears at the bottom of the hill. ‘He’s like an overgrown dog. You trust him not to run off on you?’
‘He’s not going to go far. Do you mind if I watch you for a bit?’
‘Sure. I wouldn’t expect anything exciting to happen. Well, unless I decide to fling the whole sketchpad into the ocean.’
‘Bit of an overreaction if you ask me.’ He stretches his legs out in front of him and takes the pad from her hands. ‘Forget about this for now. Just look out there. Don’t think about drawing it. Take a deep breath and look at the view.’
She does as he suggests a
nd spends a few minutes silently taking in their surroundings.
‘Now close your eyes.’
When she does that he places the pad back on her knee and lies back on the sand to give her some privacy. ‘Now open your eyes and draw.’
He rests his head on his hands and closes his eyes, peeking over at her after a few minutes. The pencil is rapidly moving across the paper. She pauses and chews on the tip of her pencil for a moment then continues drawing. Before she catches him staring, he closes his eyes. That only lasts a few seconds before he has to look at her again.
A long lock of hair has escaped her ponytail so she tucks it behind her ear then slips the pencil between her lips again. Fuck, if she keeps doing that he’s going to be in serious trouble. His body is already telling him to make a move, but he’s not even going there. The problem is his body isn’t on board with that and if he doesn’t get it under control he’ll have to make a rapid exit before she notices.
He hasn’t been with anyone for over three months. Not since whoever that woman was that Gregg saw him with at his house. He’s disgusted to admit he doesn’t even remember being with her. He woke up beside her in bed and all he does remember with any certainty is the relief when he saw a condom wrapper on the bedside table. Not that it makes the entire situation any better. It was one of the low points for him. And there are plenty to choose from.
There’s no way he’s ready or willing to add Chloe to that particular list. He’s attracted to her and that’s why he’s not going to fall into his usual routine with her. For once, he’d actually like to get to know her more.
‘How’s this?’
He sits up and pulls one leg up to hide the growing bulge in his jeans. His dick has no intention of abiding by his new rules. ‘You got it.’
Chloe looks back at the page and smiles widely. ‘How did you do that? Get me to focus like that?’
‘You were stopping yourself. I do the same sometimes. You just need to step away and see what you’re trying to achieve. Then go back with a clear mind. I’ve written some bloody awful songs which turned out pretty good once I stepped away for a bit.’
‘Thanks, Tate. That’s really helped. Are you busy for the next while?’
‘No, why?’
‘Well I was wondering if you’d like to hang around. You can give me a nudge if I get stuck again. Only if you want to.’
‘Yeah, I’ll stick around for a bit.’
Her stunning smile sends a shiver through his body and undoes all his efforts to calm his dick down. Luckily she turns back to her work leaving him to discretely adjust himself without her noticing.
∞
Normally Chloe would keep trying to prise conversation out, but she’s on a roll with her drawing and Tate seems content enough to just be here with her. At least if he’s keeping her company he’s not down on the beach, alone, falling apart. Tate stretches out again and lies back on the grass with his hands behind his head as she works on her drawing.
What he had said to her had done wonders for her drawing. She’s done more on it in the last twenty minutes than she has for the last few weeks. It’s probably not doing any harm having him lying beside her, although if she keeps stealing sneaky looks at him, she won’t get much more done.
His irritatingly addictive face is on full view today thanks to the baseball cap keeping his hair out of the way. It’s hard to place an age on him but Chloe thinks he’s a little older than her, perhaps mid-thirties. She doesn’t know what it is about him that stops her asking questions she’d usually ask. After the way he left the house yesterday, she realised she has to take things slower with him. Whatever happened to cause him to suffer so much on those few times she saw him, it’s still there, still inside him. The last thing she wants to do is potentially make it worse.
She’s also being a little selfish. She likes him. Really likes him. He has to be one of the most confusing people she’s ever met. The way he looks and his choice of career matched. She’s a little embarrassed to admit she thought that was all there was to him. But then he mentioned the violin and piano which completely threw her.
The more she spoke to him, the more her initial impressions of him altered. The way he talked her through her block just now only added to her confusion... and her attraction. She barely knows him but she feels completely comfortable around him. If he’s content to keep her company, she’s going to take it.
About twenty minutes later she glances across at him and knows something is wrong. She was so wrapped up in her drawing she hadn’t noticed he fell asleep at some stage. But now, it looks like he’s having a nightmare. His brows are scrunched and his eyes are squeezed shut. He groans in his sleep and the whimper of pain hits her like a blow to the gut.
Chloe dumps her notepad on the ground and leans over him, gently shaking his shoulder.
‘Tate? Tate, wake up.’
He curls onto his side. ‘Please, don't...’
Chloe’s pulls her hand away. ‘Tate!’ He buries his head under his arms. ‘Tate? Wake up!’ She shakes him gently again and he suddenly opens his eyes. ‘It’s me. It’s Chloe. I’m sorry if I startled you. You fell asleep.’
He pushes away from her and scrubs his hands over his face. ‘Shit. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine, really. Are you okay?’
He stands up and brushes sand off his jeans. ‘Yeah. Sorry. I gotta—’
‘Please don’t go,’ she says before he can disappear. ‘We don’t have to mention it again. Just stay. Help me with this blasted drawing. Please.’
He whistles and Jove joins him on the grass. ‘I better go. Good luck with the drawing.’
He pulls himself into the saddle and takes off down the beach. Chloe stares after him and resists the urge to scream. Either she’s losing her touch, which was never incredibly effective to begin with, or Tate is dealing with something that’s so far beyond her.
∞
‘Blood hell, mate. You look shite.’
Tate glares over at Gregg as he leads Jove into the stable. ‘Cheers. Appreciate that.’
‘You okay?’
Tate ignores Gregg while he sorts out Jove then leans against the closed stable door. ‘I dozed off on the beach.’
‘Okay. We’ve all done that at some stage. What’s the problem?’
‘I wasn’t...’
‘You weren’t what?’
‘There was someone else there, with me, okay. I fell asleep, which was bad enough, then I had a nightmare.’
‘Nightmare about what?’
Getting my mum killed. ‘Don’t remember. I feel like such a fucking idiot, Gregg.’
‘I’m presuming this was a female someone.’
‘Why’d you say that?’
‘Lucky guess. Who is she?’
‘Dorothy’s granddaughter, Chloe. She’s staying for a few months. Her car broke down yesterday and I brought her home. Then I met her again on the beach, but... well... I fucked that up by falling asleep. I mean, who the fuck does that?’ He bangs his fist against the door, startling Jove.
‘Okay, first, relax. Next, you’re coming with me. We’re getting out of here for a bit.’
‘I’m not in the mood.’
‘You’re never in the mood, but I’m done listening. Now, get your fucking arse in the car or I’ll do my best to drag you there. I know, good luck to me, but I’m willing to give it a damn good try.’
Tate attempts to glare his friend into backing off but it doesn’t do any good. It never does. ‘Fine.’
He follows Gregg around the front of the house and over to his dark blue Defender. Gregg disappears into the house for a minute. Probably telling Tate’s parents he’s taking him out for a bit.
Gregg reappears and shakes a set of keys in his hand as he skips over to Tate’s truck. ‘No fucking way, Gregg. Get the hell away from my truck.’
Gregg unlocks the Ranger and jumps in before Tate can get to the driver’s side. Tate tries to open the door but Gregg locks it and starts the
engine. He smiles out the window and points to his ear, pretending he can’t hear anything.
Tate flicks him the bird then walks around the front of the truck. He’s seriously going to regret putting Gregg on the insurance. The passenger door unlocks and he climbs in. ‘One fucking scratch and I will kill you. You get that, right?’
Gregg grins. ‘Have no fear my friend. I’ll treat her like she’s mine.’
As they roar out of the driveway, Tate can’t help but look at the battered blue Defender. ‘Is that a new dent on the side?’
Gregg waves his hand. ‘I will swear until the day I die that the tree moved.’
He lets the silence remain while they leave the coast and head to the mountains. After a few minutes, Gregg gets the hang of the gears and the truck stops screaming in protest.
Tate looks out the window, not really seeing the scenery as it flies by. That’s twice he’s messed up with Chloe. He doubts he’ll get another chance. Running hot and cold is a fucking understatement. He’s acting like he’s crazy. Unpredictable. Messed up. Clearly he’s far from ready to have anyone in his life. Hell, he may never be ready again. His mobile rings and he pulls it out to check the screen, before silencing it and stuffing it back in his jeans.
‘Problem?’
‘Keep your eyes on the road. It was Ellen. She’s been trying to get a hold of me for a few days.’
‘Right, so why are you ignoring her? She’s our manager, Tate. It’s her job to talk to you.’
‘I’m not ready to talk to her.’
‘Oh so you’re going to keep ignoring her and hope she gives up. Great plan. Problem is, she’s kind of important if you want to do your fucking job. And my job too. Just saying.’
‘I know that. I just don’t know what to say to her.’
‘How about you start with hi. She’s your friend too. Jesus, Tate, she’s one of the good ones, you know that right? What if she’s got some amazing gig lined up?’
Tate knows exactly where this is going. He’s well aware the longer he takes to get his shit sorted the longer the guys are out of work. They can’t exactly do their jobs if he wasn’t doing his. Without a lead singer they’re not much of a band. It’s an extra pressure that’s always weighing on him.