Broken Rock

by K. A. Finn

  Astrid had dated him briefly until he broke things off citing ‘personality clashes’ as the reason for the split. Astrid remained silent on the break-up until just before Tate was released from rehab. Then, from what Chloe can see, she had been quite vocal about his issues. Her view was that Tate had been so deep into drink and drugs she could no longer be with him. He refused to admit he had a problem, so she had no choice but to call it a day on their relationship even though he begged her to stay with him.

  How helpful of her to throw dirt at someone trying to deal with what he was dealing with.

  She collapses back in the chair and stares at the screen. Is that why he gets so upset on the beach every morning? Is it to do with what happened with his overdose? Was it these hurtful comments from people who were quick to walk over his name if it meant gaining a little of the spotlight for themselves? Was it something else that was getting to him? Having his career and his life put under the spotlight was no doubt extremely hard to deal with. Especially if he is just out of rehab.

  She glances back at the news article and struggles to match that person with the Tate she thought she had gotten to know a little over the last week. Why didn’t he tell her the truth? She wouldn’t have expected him to tell her about his ordeal, but who he really is would have been a start. Especially before what happened in the summer house.

  Why did she even let that happen? She got carried away in the moment and, as incredible as it had been, the memory is tainted by what happened after. As soon as he kissed her she knew she wanted him. It was impossible not to. The way he looked at her. They way her touched her. She couldn’t get enough.

  Before she can stop her finger, it moves the curser over to the video tab and clicks on it. She shakes her head as she reads the names of the songs over each video. She knows most of them which just makes not recognising him even more embarrassing. In her defence, she can’t remember ever looking at the videos. She knows she’s seen him on TV a few times, and she knows she’s heard their songs, but didn’t link the two. If she did, she probably would have known who he was that first day. She cringes when she thinks about how that first conversation would have played out if she knew who she was actually talking to.

  She randomly picks one of his music videos and hits the play icon. The music begins and she slowly pulls the laptop closer to her as Tate appears and sings. His voice is incredible, and she quickly gets drawn into the song and the visuals.

  Seeing the performer version of Tate is so strange. Like with the photos, he looks and moves like the Tate she knows, but there’s something so different about seeing him like this. In the next shot he’s with the rest of the band playing a guitar. Chloe squirms in her seat as the image hits her where it has no right to hit.

  She exits that video and tries the next one. This one’s even worse but for very different reasons. There’s a half-naked woman all over a half-naked Tate. No thank you.

  Chloe curses and leaves her imagination to come up with all sorts of unhelpful images of how that plays out in the video.

  In the next one he’s fully dressed and it’s just him and the band. No dressed, half-naked, or fully naked women to be seen. As Chloe watches him singing, a sadness comes over her. She had spent hours with Tate and never heard him sing or play like that. He had told her he’s a musician but what she’s watching is so much more than that and she deeply regrets not seeing that part of him while she still could.

  Chloe pauses the video and stares at the image on the screen. Ending things with him was the right thing to do. He’d lied to her. He’d made a fool out of her. So why does she get a sinking feeling she’s just made a rash and foolish decision?

  She looks back at the image of him at the top of the screen. She paused the video at a moment when Tate’s looking directly at the camera. Almost like he’s looking at her.

  Chloe shuts the laptop and walks over to the sink. The only thing she can do is try to salvage a little of her dignity and move on. She seriously doubts she’ll see Tate again. Well, unless it’s on the TV, which she is going to have to avoid for a few months at the very least.

  She looks down the beach but there’s no sign of Jove. Why is she even looking? If he was there would she race down and apologise? Chloe goes upstairs and pulls her art supplies out of the box at the end of the bed but has second thoughts when she sees the drawing she was working on with Tate’s help. So much for distracting herself.

  Chloe goes back downstairs and grabs her bag off the hook in the hall. If she stays in the house she’s going to replay every single second of the time in the summer house with Tate. She can still feel his hands on her, still feel his tongue running across her skin.

  ‘Oh would you knock it off,’ she scolds herself. ‘It wasn’t that amazing.’ Now who’s telling lies?

  With one last look down the beach Chloe turns in the opposite direction and walks up the road. Maybe a walk far away from anywhere she might bump into Tate will help. Then again, maybe it’ll just give her more time alone to think about the whole sorry situation over and over again.

  10

  Tate pulls the bike into the garage and kills the engine, but doesn’t move to get off. He’s just fucked things up with Chloe for good this time. There’s no coming back from this. For the first time in as long as he can remember, he found someone he genuinely likes. Not only that, but he was also attracted to her. So much so he found it difficult to keep his hands off her. Why the hell didn’t he tell her who he was from the beginning? He was being a selfish prick and it backfired on him. Big time.

  He slides off the bike and stares at the workbench opposite him. The pressure builds in his chest as he glares at the line of tools neatly laid out on the top. He kicks the leg of the bench and watches as the tools slide on the wooden surface. Tate shouts and kicks out again and again. He attacks the table like it’s the source of all the evil and pain in his life. The leg collapses under the assault, sending the tools clattering to the floor.

  Strong arms wrap around him, but he’s not backing down so easily. He breaks free and slams his foot against the wood, cracking the plank before he is pulled away again. Gregg slams him against the wall and presses his arm to Tate’s neck.

  ‘Stop it!’

  But he has no intention of stopping. He’s bigger and stronger than Gregg and frustration has him firmly in its grip. He pushes his friend away and lunges for him. Gregg ducks and tries to grab Tate’s arms but Tate barrels into him, throwing them both onto the gravel outside the garage. Gregg holds Tate’s arms back but is struggling. Tate momentarily gets distracted when someone shouts his name and Gregg takes advantage. He flips Tate over and straddles him, using his full weight to pin his arms to his lower back.

  ‘Jesus Tate. Calm the fuck down.’

  ‘Get off me.’

  ‘Oh yeah, sure. Like that wasn’t filled with the promise of another beating. I’m not moving until you calm down.’

  ‘I’m calm, all right!’

  Gregg snorts which doesn’t help ease any of the tension running through him. ‘Of course you are. What the fuck crawled up your ass?’

  Tate bucks against Gregg but without his arms he’s not going anywhere. ‘Seriously, Gregg. Move.’

  ‘Oh seriously? Still no. I’m going to use my Spidey senses and guess she didn’t take to your celebrity status well.’

  ‘Going in for the I told you so already?’

  ‘Of course not, you idiot. You want to talk about it?’

  ‘I want you to get off me. It fucking hurts.’

  Gregg leans over and frowns at Tate. ‘You still want to hit me?’

  ‘I’m thinking about it.’

  His dad appears above him and taps Gregg on the shoulder. ‘I got this, Gregg. He’s not going to hit anyone or I might just be tempted to return the favour. Tate, sit on the wall and do not move a fucking muscle. Do you hear me?’

  Gregg glares at Tate then slowly gets off him. Rick points to the house. ‘Gregg, get yourself inside. We
’ll be in once we’ve had a chat.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘We’re good, thanks.’ Tate ignores his father’s hand to help him up and drops onto the low wall running along the side of the driveway. He rests his head in his hands as he tries to get his temper under control.

  Rick sits beside him and looks sideways at him. ‘Well? I’m waiting.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For you to get your fucking head out of your ass, Tate. You realise you just fought with Gregg?’

  Tate glares over at his dad.

  ‘You can drop that look too. He’s on your side. He didn’t deserve that.’

  His father’s right. First Chloe and now Gregg. He’s on a roll today. He angrily scrubs his hand though his hair then covers his face.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong. And don’t even consider saying nothing because I’m not buying it.’

  ‘It’s just woman problems, okay.’

  Rick smiles at that response. ‘Kind of glad to hear it’s not something more serious. I saw the comments Astrid made about you.’

  ‘Please don’t even go there. It’s got nothing to do with her. It’s nothing, really. Just some silly... it wasn’t even anything.’ He needs to stop talking. Needs to end this topic before he pours his heart and soul out. ‘I’m grand, okay.’

  ‘You need to talk, Tate. Are you opening up to your counsellor?’

  ‘I have an appointment every week.’

  ‘I know you do. That’s not what I’m asking. When you were in the centre did you talk or did you just sit there giving everyone dirty looks?’ Rick grins as Tate lifts his head to look at him. ‘Yeah. That’s the one.’

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘Don’t you dare say you’re grand again. You just kicked the crap out of an inanimate object then rugby tackled Gregg. C’mon mate. I’m your dad. You can talk to me.’

  The snort comes out before Tate can stop it. The total dick mood is in force today.

  ‘What the hell was that for?’

  ‘You can drop the concerned father bullshit, okay.’

  Yeah, he’s a total fucking dick. He knows what he just said will have hit Rick as if he punched him. None of this is Rick’s fault. Just like it’s not Chloe’s fault. Or Gregg’s fault. The complete lack of response from Rick is nearly worse than if he yelled at him, which he absolutely deserves.

  ‘I didn’t mean that. Ignore me.’

  ‘Not happening. I can’t believe you just threw that at me.’

  He can’t believe it himself. With no response to offer up, he rubs his hand over his jaw and looks anywhere but at Rick.

  ‘Since the day we adopted you, you’ve been part of this family. You are my son so don’t even go there just because you’re pissed off. Do you honestly think we’d be putting up with your shit if we didn’t think of you as family? You’re not that amazing, mate. Quite the opposite at the moment actually.’

  That at least earns a small laugh, but he still feels unbelievably shit for even going there.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m being an ungrateful moody ass.’

  ‘Too right you are. What the hell is going on with you?’

  ‘I don’t know, okay! I’m—’ he pauses and digs his fingers into his hair. ‘I don’t know. Ignore me.’

  ‘No. Talk to me.’

  ‘Just drop it, Dad. I don’t want to talk. I just want to forget about it.’

  ‘Don’t think that’s working for you or my poor workbench. You really think we’re all going around with our heads in the clouds? Do you really think we don’t see what’s going on with you?

  ‘I know you have nightmares every night. I know you take Jove to the beach and break down. I know you come back to the house and force breakfast down then work out until you’re exhausted. Hoping you’ll be so tired you won’t have the nightmares? I don’t know. I do know that you’re not getting better.

  ‘Your mother may think the sun shines out of your arse, but I’m not so naïve. I know full well you were using long before the incident in January. That’s a whole other discussion. What I want to know is what happened in January to escalate that?’

  Tate pushes to his feet, wincing as his foot protests after ploughing into the bench. ‘Just leave it, okay.’

  Rick stares at him for a long time without saying anything. He finally sighs and shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry. I know I’m fighting a losing battle. I’m here when you’re ready, okay. Oh and by the way, Ellen rang again. She really wants to speak to you. Maybe you should do her the courtesy of phoning her back. She deserves that at the least.’

  Rick dusts off his jeans and heads the same way Gregg did. Well, that’s a pretty fucking spectacular afternoons work. He’s driven away three people. Maybe he shouldn’t ring Ellen back. She could be number four.

  ‘I want my workbench fixed today or I’ll be storing my tools on that bike of yours,’ Rick calls back to him.

  Keen to avoid the house for as long as possible, Tate goes back into the garage and admires his handiwork. The workbench is fucked. There isn’t a hope in a hell he’s going to be able to repair it. Looks like he’s going to have to fork out for a new one.

  An hour later he comes back from the hardware store and attaches the metal legs back onto the new sheet of wood and stands back to check out his work. Not too bad. Should get his dad off his back for a bit. He lines the tools back up on the top and wheels his motorbike out of the garage before locking the door again.

  He’s outstayed his welcome here. What happened today is all the confirmation he needs. If he’s to have any chance of getting his head straight, he needs to go home. If he stays here much longer, he’s going to end up doing something to completely alienate himself from his entire family for good.

  The thought of going back to where he’d fallen apart isn’t filling him with a hell of a lot of good vibes, but he needs to do it sooner or later. He needs space. They all do.

  He pulls the ramps out from under his pickup and pushes the Kawasaki on to the load bed. He throws a tarp over it and secures it to the truck, then goes back into the house and packs his things.

  His mum steps out of the kitchen as he’s walking out of the annex with his bag. ‘Tate? What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s time I go home.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Mum, I’m going. I need to go.’

  ‘If this is about what happened with Gregg, you can sort it out. He’s gone back to his place. All you need to do is apologise to him. I’m sure you can work it out.’

  ‘This isn’t just about that. I need space, Mum. I’ve been living in other people’s pockets for months. I need to be by myself for a bit.’

  ‘I don’t want you going back there alone.’

  He drops onto the arm of the couch and rubs a hand over his face. ‘Mum, it’s grand, really. It’s my home. I want to go back.’

  ‘But it’s too soon. What if...’

  ‘What if what?’

  ‘I’m just worried about you, Tate.’

  ‘You really think I’m going to go straight to Eddie and stick a fucking needle in my arm again, don’t you.’

  ‘Tate, please—’

  ‘I’ll see you soon, okay.’

  He grabs his bag and walks out to his truck. He doesn’t even get to the door before his dad calls him from the house. In keeping with the foul mood he’s in, he ignores him and opens the back door to load his stuff in. He climbs in and starts the engine, driving away before his dad can get near the truck.

  Half an hour later he pulls up at the gate to his house and pushes the button on the remote. The gate retracts and he looks at the vast property. From the outside you wouldn't know what had gone on here a few months ago. He doubts the upper class residents he shares the street with will ever forgive him. He must have devalued every single house when he had his out of control party.

  With a feeling of dread firmly in his gut he unlocks the door and turns off the alarm. When he
finally convinces himself to walk into the living room he smiles. The place looks completely different. New furniture, new colour on the walls, new flooring, new blinds. Feeling a little better about being here, he goes upstairs to his bedroom. Like downstairs, everything is new and looks completely different to what was there before. He sits on the end of his bed and rubs his hands over his face.

  When he went into rehab, he asked his parents to give all the furniture to charity and get someone in to clean the house for him. His unknown guests had trashed the place, turning the two-million Euro house into a squat.

  He wasn’t expecting them to redo the whole house while he was away. He’ll have to find some way of thanking them after he figures out how to apologise for storming off like he did.

  Tate goes up to the second floor and unlocks the door to his studio. He’s just grateful he’d kept that locked when his guests were here. It would cost a small fortune to replace the kit. He pulls the blackout blinds open and looks out at the view of the sea.

  Coming home was absolutely the right thing to do. As much as he’s grateful for everything his family has done for him the last few months, he needs to get his head sorted. There’s no way he can do that with an audience watching his every move. At least being here is a little closer to normal. A little closer to getting his life back on track.

  Just a pity he fucked things up with Chloe. He should have told her who he was before he laid a finger on her. She’s right about that. Fucking stupid selfish dick.

  He’s also made things so much worse for himself. Now he knows what she feels like, what she tastes like, and he wants more. And for once it’s not for selfish reasons. Like everything else in his life until recently, sex had been about what he could get from it. It wasn’t like he just laid back and did nothing. There had been no complaints, but everything he did was done so whoever he was with would return the favour. When he was with Chloe, his only thought was making sure he looked after her. He didn’t give a damn if she touched him or not.