Broken Rock

by K. A. Finn

  ‘I understand that, Tate. I really do. When you told me who you were I assumed you weren’t taking me seriously or it was just a fling and that’s why you didn’t want to tell me the truth.’

  ‘I don’t know what this is but it’s not a fling. Well, I didn’t want it to be. Whatever. You know what I mean.’ Tate looks back over the city. He wants to ask her out properly but is afraid he might be pushing his luck. Then again, she had made the effort to track him down. ‘Can we, I don’t know, maybe grab a coffee sometime? Start over?’

  When he turns to look at her, any doubts he had about asking the question disappear. She’s smiling at him. ‘I’d really like that.’

  ‘How about dinner when I’m done here instead?’

  ‘I’d like that even more.’

  Tate gets through the rest of the session in record speed. After saying his goodbyes, he takes Chloe’s hand and walks with her down to the basement. His truck may be back where he parked it, but he usually manages to get it between the white lines. Gregg must have borrowed it when he went to get Chloe. Maybe this once he won’t give him a hard time about it.

  ‘I could book a table somewhere, or maybe cook you something at my place... unless you’d prefer to go out.’ He shuts his mouth in an attempt to stop his foot from getting firmly wedged inside again.

  ‘Your place sounds great. If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble to cook.’

  ‘No trouble at all. The guys say I make a mean bolognese.’

  She climbs into the truck and smirks across at him as he fastens his seatbelt. ‘I’ll let you know after I’ve tried it. I’m fairly sure Gran has already awarded herself first place in the best bolognese category. It is pretty amazing.’

  He starts the truck and pulls out of the garage. ‘No pressure then.’

  12

  Chloe looks out the window of Tate’s car as he battles his way through Dublin traffic to Blackrock where he lives. Thanks to the rush hour traffic the usual twenty-minute drive has stretched on to well over half an hour.

  It’s ridiculous to be excited, but she can’t wait to see his house. She can’t imagine what type of house someone like Tate would pick for himself. Her gran told her his parents live in a spectacular old farmhouse with plenty of outside space. That’s somewhere she can picture him. A house in Blackrock, not so much.

  ‘Why Blackrock?’

  ‘We use that studio a fair bit. I didn’t want to live in the city but it made sense to be closer to the centre. Easier than getting stuck in traffic every day all the way from Wicklow. It’s handy being closer to the airport too. It’s not going to be my forever home, but it works for now. I’d prefer to be further down the coast if I can.’ He glances sideways at her. ‘What? You look confused.’

  ‘It still coming to terms with who you really are. That’s not me having a go at you. It’s just weird. The funny thing is, I recognised you that first day on the beach. I didn’t know who you were but I knew I knew you, if you get what I mean.’

  ‘That’s what threw me. Everyone around Newcastle knows who I am. I pretty much grew up there. I go there to see my family every break in my schedule. I’m not used to meeting someone who doesn’t know me.’

  ‘I still can’t believe I asked if you make a living from your music. I even asked about when you’d be preforming next so I could tag along. I checked online. Tickets to your shows are like hen’s teeth.’

  ‘I’m sure I could rustle you up one if you ever want to check us out.’

  ‘How did you keep a straight face that first day?’

  ‘Why the fuck do you think I was frowning so much? I thought you were pulling my leg.’

  ‘I kind of wish I was.’ The funny thing is that she’s never been one to drool over celebrities or read magazines detailing every minute of their fabulous lives. She never found the attraction to reading about perfect strangers. Of all the people to find themselves with a celebrity, she was at the bottom of the list. If this could be called being with him. It’s too soon to label it. All she knows is that she’s enjoying spending time with him, no matter how bizarre the whole situation is to her.

  From the minute she found out who he really is, he seemed to be everywhere. His picture popped up on the Internet. His music was on the radio. He was probably everywhere before she knew, but something had stopped her from seeing the truth.

  He pulls his truck up to a set of metal gates and pushes a remote. When the gates open Chloe realises whatever image of Tate’s house she might have had in her head was all wrong. The house isn’t modest in any way. With a house like that on a street like this, it would have cost a staggering amount. He parks in front of the impressive white building and looks at her.

  ‘Not what you imagined, right?’

  ‘I’m not sure what I imagined. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘It was designed by a wacky architect. That’s why this end is curved. Pain in the ass with furniture, but it’s got great views of the sea.’

  She gets out of the car and strolls around the large garden. The flowerbeds are bursting with colour and well maintained.

  ‘Didn’t picture you as an avid gardener.’

  Tate leans against the front of his truck and makes a face. ‘Not down to me. My mum was getting on my case about letting the garden go, so I have a gardener to look after it. Like I said, this isn’t my forever home. I’ll sell it at some stage so it’s probably a good idea to keep the garden from turning into something from the set of Jumanji.’

  He unlocks the front door and turns off the alarm. Chloe instantly falls in love with the house. The wide entranceway leads into an open plan living room with a mezzanine level jutting out above it. The enormous kitchen is wood and chrome with full length windows in the curved seating area overlooking the garden. Expensive looking leather couches are positioned facing a fireplace and TV.

  ‘Want to see the view?’

  He takes her hand and leads her up the wooden staircase to the first floor, then brings her along the corridor and up another stairs to the top floor. He opens the only door at the top and steps into an impressive studio that rivals where they just were. He touches a button on the wall and the blackout blinds taking up the entire wall rise, showing an unspoilt view of the sea.

  ‘You must have some amazing parties here. The view is incredible.’

  Tate shrugs and his whole demeanour changes. ‘Yeah... I wouldn’t call them that amazing.’ Tate curses and drops onto the couch against the far wall. He scrubs his hand over his face then curses to himself again. ‘Okay, can you sit down for a sec, please. I need to tell you something before... well, I probably should have told you before I suggested dinner. Before I brought you back here, but I wasn’t thinking.’

  She sits down on the couch opposite him and forces a smile on her face. She’s got a really bad feeling about this.

  Tate leans forward and turns the ring on his thumb, over and over as he stares at the floor in front of her. ‘Right. I’m sure you’ve read stuff about me online. About what happened after Christmas?’

  Chloe nods.

  He laughs but it’s forced. ‘Yeah, there’s some interesting theories going around. My fault for not setting the record straight yet.’ He takes a deep breath and looks away for a moment. Chloe doesn’t want to interrupt him. Whatever he’s trying to tell her, it’s far from easy or comfortable for him.

  ‘What the press is saying about me... about drinking and partying too much. It’s true to a certain extent. We got sucked into the lifestyle for a bit. Endless parties, too much drinking, and after a while, drugs too.

  ‘I’m not going to give you blow-by-blow of what I did, but I will say quite a bit has been exaggerated by certain individuals with an axe to grind.’

  ‘You’re referring to Astrid?’

  He frowns as he looks up at her. ‘Yeah. Sorry, forgot my life is an open fucking book. That absolutely wasn’t a dig at you, trust me. More a dig at myself for letting her get to me. I’m not saying I didn’t have
a problem – far from it, but every single time I stepped on stage I was stone cold sober. She knew full well how that comment would get under my skin.

  ‘I take what I do seriously. Bit too much sometimes. Whatever I was doing in my down time was left behind when I was performing. I wouldn’t do that to the people who spent their money to come and see us. I’ve messed up but I can swear to that fact.’

  He shrugs and looks at his clasped hands. ‘Anyway, the three of us only calmed down when Gregg joined the band. We still drank and used from time to time, but it was nothing like what we were doing.’ He smiles and looks down at the floor for a moment. ‘He probably saved us when he joined.’ He looks back at her again. ‘I know it’s clichéd and all, but it is what it is. No point denying what I’ve done.’

  Chloe forces what she knows is a pathetic smile on her face. Deep down she knew most of the stories she’d read about him online must have had at least a grain of truth to them, but hearing it from him is a different thing. The entire situation is strange to listen to. She doesn’t drink often and has never considered drugs for even a second. The idea of not being in control of her own body terrified her enough to steer her away from anything like that.

  Another unsettling thought crosses her mind. If those stories about him are true, does that also mean the stories of his long and varied love life are also true? She shakes her head. She’s not so sure she needs or wants to know about that.

  ‘What?’ he asks.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You just shook your head.’

  ‘Nothing. Go on.’

  He nods but she can tell he’s far from convinced by her response. ‘Okay, do you know I’m adopted?’

  ‘Yes. My gran told me.’

  ‘Rick and Becca adopted me when I was seven.’ He pulls the pendent out from under his t-shirt. ‘The griffin was my welcome to the family present. Sort of like a good luck charm. It was the first present I ever got, and I mean ever. I don’t remember much about my life before they took me home.’ He pauses and looks out the window for a few seconds before he continues again.

  ‘My Dad... well I don’t want to say real Dad cause that’s what Rick is. The man I share a minuscule amount of DNA with wasn’t a nice guy. Far from it. He used to hit me. A lot.’

  Chloe stares over at him for a minute or two as the words sink in. ‘Oh God...’

  ‘I don’t remember any of it. Well, didn’t remember. I guess I blocked it out over the years. Or I had until Christmas. Then the memories started coming back. I had pretty vivid nightmares. The damn things wouldn’t let up.

  ‘Long story short, I fucked up big time. I locked myself away in the house and lived off drinking for a few days. When that didn’t work I added drugs to the drink, then stronger drugs when that didn’t work. Anything to help block it all out. I opened my house up to complete fucking strangers. The parties would go on for days, but I was past caring. I didn’t want to be alone with whatever was going on in my head.’

  He stops and scrubs his hand over his face. ‘I... I tried heroin when nothing else worked. I honestly can’t remember a lot of what happened after that. I don’t know how long I was using it for. There was always another fix ready and waiting for me when I came to. It was the only thing I cared about. The only thing I wanted.

  ‘I cut off everyone close to me. Stopped answering the phone. Wouldn’t let them in the house. My parents got worried and broke the kitchen window to get inside. They found me unconscious on the couch with a syringe... still in my arm. I was in a coma for six days. I scared myself so much I checked into rehab as soon as I was released from hospital.

  ‘I’m clean, in counselling, and I’m done with drinking too. The whole sorry fucking situation was a beyond stupid mistake and I’ll have to live with it for the rest of my life. I’m trying to put the last few crap months behind me, but I’m not always on top of it.’

  Tate pushes up the sleeve of his t-shirt and holds his arm out to her. Chloe instantly sees the raw scratch marks covering the inside of his elbow. ‘That was where I...’ he takes a deep breath and starts again. ‘It’s where I injected myself. My shrink thinks the scratching is related to it. I don’t even know I’m doing it. It’s some subconscious thing I do when I think too much or get stressed or I don’t know... I still get nightmares too but I’m not going to use again to deal with them.’

  Tate smiles briefly and shrugs. ‘So, that’s everything. All my shit. I know it’s not great and that I should have told you sooner, but it’s not something I’m proud of. I totally understand if you want to leave and think about it for a while, or leave and never see me again.’

  Chloe is struck dumb as some of what he said sinks in. She has no doubts whatsoever that he hasn’t told her everything about his early childhood, just enough to explain the reason behind his addiction, but it’s enough. He was telling her about the drugs and rehab, not his past. That might come at a later stage. Perhaps not at all and Chloe could accept that. The fact he opened up to her at all means more to her than she can put into words.

  It can’t have been easy to tell her what he just did. She’s knows it’s just her imagination, but Tate appears so much smaller than he did a few minutes before. His head is down and his shoulders hunched as he waits for her to respond. Or for her to reject him. Or maybe judge him. But that’s the last thing she wants to do.

  ‘What if I want to stay?’

  His head shoots up. ‘Stay? Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘I’d be okay with that, if that’s what you want. Are you sure?’

  Chloe smiles at him. ‘I appreciate you trusting me enough to tell me all that, but if it’s all the same with you, I’d like to stay.’

  He frowns across at her, clearly not believing a word she’s saying. ‘Right. If you’re sure. I mean don’t worry about hurting my feelings or anything like that. I’ll leave the room so you can make your escape in private.’

  ‘Would you shut up? I heard every word you said and I’d like to stay here with you. Now, you mentioned you make a killer bolognese.’

  ∞

  While Tate gets dinner ready, Chloe sits on the incredibly comfortable leather couch sipping a sparkling water. He had offered to go out and get her some wine, but the last thing she wants to do is jeopardise his recovery by bringing alcohol into his house.

  She told him that she heard everything he said to her upstairs, but that doesn’t mean she understands any of it. Far from it. But she’s not going to condemn him for making a mistake... or several mistakes. Big mistakes. Life threatening mistakes. The part she needs to focus on is that he realised he had a problem and he got help.

  ‘Do you like a lot of garlic or a little?’

  Hoping for even a kiss later she tells him a little will be fine. Nothing like garlic breath to kill the moment. The spectacular view from the upstairs studio pales in comparison to the well-built, tattooed, beyond gorgeous rock star crushing garlic in the kitchen a few feet from her. Definitely an image for next year’s celebrity calendar.

  The man has an irritating habit of teasing her without having to do much. Each time she sees him he has a little more skin on show. He’d changed into a short-sleeved t-shirt which gives her another peek at the enormous griffin that covers most of his left arm, chest, and back.

  Since that mind-blowing encounter in the summer house, she’s wondered what it would be like to have more with him. She’s never felt that with anyone before. That raw need she experienced with him is something she wants to feel again. She blushes when she realises he’s talking to her.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You sure you’re okay about being here? You’ve got this strange look on your face.’

  ‘Sorry, I was just admiring your house.’ More like admiring its owner, but she’ll keep that part to herself. ‘How long have you lived here for?’

  He stirs the garlic in the pan and takes a drink of juice. ‘About a year I think. I was living in a flat with Gregg but once
he joined the band we decided it was best to go it alone. When you spend months on the road with someone the last thing you want to do is have your down time with them too. We each needed space.’

  ‘I like Gregg. He’s... uncomplicated.’

  Tate smirks and nods in agreement. ‘That’s a good way of describing him. He’s a good mate. All the guys are.’

  ‘I suppose you’d have to be close for it to work.’ She looks at the wall beside the kitchen showing photos of Tate with the band and his family. Right in the centre is a picture of Tate on his motorbike. ‘Is your bike here or at your mum’s house?’

  He looks over at the photos. ‘She’s in the downstairs bedroom.’

  ‘Say that again?’

  He grins and tips the mince into the pan. ‘Third door from the left under the stairs.’

  ‘You keep your bike in the spare room?’

  ‘Too right I do.’

  Chloe gets up and opens the double doors into the room. Sure enough, there’s the impressive bike, sitting at the foot of the double bed. ‘You not tuck it in at night?’

  ‘Of course not. That would be ridiculous.’ He joins her at the door and shrugs. ‘It’s safer in here than in the garage. I’m a control freak, remember?’

  Tate swings his leg over the saddle and something tightens around Chloe’s throat at the sight of him on the machine. He pushes back in the saddle and pats the seat in front of him. Chloe slips in front of him and lets him place her hands on the handlebars. Tate leaves his hands over hers, trapping her between his arms and his chest. Not an unpleasant experience. He leans closer and she can feel his breath on her ear. ‘It suits you. I could give you lessons.’

  ‘I think I’ll pass.’

  ‘Good. I kind of liked having you behind me. Wouldn’t want to kiss that goodbye just yet.’

  ‘So I can look forward to more outings on this?’