Broken Rock

by K. A. Finn

  ‘Of course. I’d love to meet your family.’

  ‘I’ve got to have a quick meeting with Ellen tonight. I’m being interviewed first thing tomorrow so she wants to make sure I say what I’m supposed to. I’ve told Mum we can only make it for an hour or so. She’s eager to meet you.’ He holds out his phone and Chloe stares at a picture.

  ‘Oh my God, that’s us! Where did you get that?’

  ‘Internet. There’s quite a few on there.’

  Chloe takes his phone and scrolls through the photos. ‘I guess we’re out.’

  ‘Yep. I guess we are. Any regrets?’

  ‘Absolutely not. You look amazing in these.’

  ‘You look pretty fucking hot yourself, Ms Quinn.’

  Chloe reads the headline aloud. ‘Is heartthrob Tate Archer off the market?’

  He makes a face. ‘Yeah, I really fucking hate that word. The rest of the caption is right though. I’m off the market.’

  ‘Does that mean I’m going to have hordes of fans coming after me looking for blood?’

  He gathers her in his arms and reads the menu over her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.’ He points to the chicken burger and sweet potato fries. ‘That’s the one for me.’

  23

  Tate unlocks his front door and dumps his bag in the hall. He’s exhausted but happier than he remembers being for a hell of a long time. The weekend went better than he could have imagined. Winning the awards was great but spending that time with Chloe is what made the weekend so good. He’s going to miss her tonight, but he’s meeting Ellen then getting an early night.

  The intercom on his gate sounds. Ellen mentioned she had a few congratulations presents for him and would be sending a driver around so he opens the gates, a little surprised when two men come in. They deposit the flowers and baskets of other goodies on the counter in his kitchen.

  He never got the point of being sent flowers as a congrats present. He couldn’t keep the ones planted outside alive without paying someone to do it. Cut flowers didn’t have a hope in hell. He’ll rehome them to his mum, Bria, and Chloe tomorrow. At least that way they may have a chance at surviving longer than a day.

  After sticking the flowers in a sink full of water, he makes himself a coffee then pulls the cards off the plastic holders.

  He’d been so worried about stepping back into public after what he did. Downright terrified in fact. He was sure no one would want to have anything to do with him. The support he received on Saturday night shocked him. Reading some of these cards has that feeling coming back tenfold. Some of the biggest names in the industry have congratulated him. That means as much as the awards themselves.

  He slides a glossy black gift box nearer and peels the card from the front before lifting the lid. He sweeps aside the brightly coloured shredded paper, and his hand drops to the counter as he stares at the gift.

  Tate tears open the envelope that came with the box, the dread already taking hold. He’s not surprised to find the card is blank. Instead there are two neatly folded pieces of paper inside. His heart hammers in his chest as he unfolds the first one and frowns at the picture on the page. He reads the words underneath, then looks back at the carefully packaged gift.

  ∞

  Chloe turns on the bedside light as her phone vibrates across the wooden surface. She squints at the display on the clock. It’s a little after midnight. Tate wouldn’t be ringing her so late.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hey, Chloe. It’s Gregg. Don’t suppose Tate is with you, is he?’

  ‘Tate? No. He went home a few hours ago. Why?’

  ‘It’s probably nothing but he had arranged to meet Ellen after he got back from London and he didn’t show which isn’t like him. Did he mention meeting her? I mean he might have forgotten with all the excitement.’

  ‘He left the dinner with his parents early so he could meet her. He dropped me home first then went back to his.’ Chloe sits up and brushes her hair out of her face. ‘Gregg, should I be worried?’

  The line goes quiet for a moment. ‘I don’t know. I’m at my parents’ place so I’ll pop by and pick you up. How about you try ringing him. He might just be ghosting me.’

  Gregg cuts the call and Chloe quickly taps Tate’s contact. No answer. She tries again and again, but the call goes to voicemail both times. When Gregg arrives at her door she has her bag and coat in her hands.

  ‘We need to go.’

  Gregg makes a face. ‘Fuck. I was hoping he was pissed with me about something and that’s why he wasn’t answering.’ He doesn’t wait for her to fasten her seatbelt before he drives off. ‘Did anything weird happen today?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Nothing. We got back from London, went to the dinner then home. He was in great form. We had a brilliant weekend and he was happy. Genuinely happy. It was busy though. Maybe he just fell asleep and has his phone on silent?’

  ‘Yeah. Maybe. Listen, don’t freak out but I gave Eddie a shout. He was Tate’s go-to guy for drugs.’

  Chloe swallows before speaking. ‘And?’

  ‘It’s all good. He swears he hasn’t heard a peep from Tate since he went into rehab.’

  ‘And you believe him?’

  Gregg nods. ‘He’s a fucking asshole, but he’s got no reason to lie.’

  Chloe nods but doesn’t feel comforted. There’s nothing to say Tate hasn’t found someone else to supply him.

  They eventually pull up to his gate and Gregg takes out the spare remote. The relief at finding his truck parked in the drive is quashed when they unlock the door and step into the living room. Tate is sprawled face down on the couch, one arm draped over the edge.

  Chloe’s feet refuse to move past the kitchen. Frozen to the spot, her heart hammers in her chest as Gregg hurries over to Tate and checks for a pulse.

  ‘He’s still with us. Tate? Hey, wake up. C’mon Sleeping Beauty.’ Gregg slaps him on the cheek and Chloe’s feet unlock from the floor when he lifts his hand and covers his head.

  When Gregg gets no further reaction from Tate, he shakes him roughly, trying to wake him. Tate groans and swats Gregg’s hand away while muttering a curt. ‘Fuck off.’

  Chloe holds up an empty rum bottle and Gregg blows out a long breath. ‘That explains it. The stuff always knocks him out. You’re a fucking idiot, Tate.’

  Chloe slowly lowers onto the coffee table and looks at Tate. So much for being happy after London. Why would he come back here and drink like this? Gregg checks both of Tate’s arms, narrowly avoiding a fist to his face when Tate objects.

  ‘Calm down, Tate.’ He feels in Tate’s pockets and around the cushions.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just making sure he hasn’t taken anything. Looks like he’s just smashed but...’ He doesn’t finish the sentence, instead gets down on his hands and knees and peers under the couch.

  Chloe watches Gregg in a bit of a daze. Tate had been honest with her about what he’d done but seeing even a small part of it for herself is terrifying.

  Gregg eventually gives up the search and drops onto the armchair facing the couch. He scrubs a hand over his jaw then rests his head in his hands as he glowers over at Tate. ‘I’m sorry, Chloe. If I’d known he was like this I would never have brought you here.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because like I said, he’s a fucking idiot that’s why. You hear that, Tate!’

  Tate buries his head further under his arm and ignores Gregg.

  ‘Are you really sure that’s all it is. I mean, has he done this before?’

  Gregg gets up and fills the kettle. ‘Yeah, he’s done it before. Not for a while, mind you, but it’s not a first. My dear friend can put it away when he wants to. Always could do. There’s a reason he’s been told to steer clear of alcohol too. Infuriating git doesn’t know when to call it quits.’

  She pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over Tate then joins Gregg in the kitchen. ‘Are you okay, Gregg?’
>
  He crosses his arms and shrugs. ‘Not really. He was getting over it, Chloe. Why the fuck would he do this? He’s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning. Serves him right.’

  Chloe doesn’t respond. Gregg is angry but she knows it’s only because he cares about Tate. That’s why he’s as upset as he is. ‘Have you told Dillon and Luke?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Doubt he’d appreciate me spreading this around. Best to keep it to ourselves.’

  ‘Tate said you were the one who helped sort them all out when you joined the band.’

  Gregg looks surprised to hear her say that. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. He speaks very highly of you.’

  ‘Did he tell you why they toned it down?’

  ‘Well, no. He just said they did when you joined.’

  ‘I used to be a Garda.’ Gregg laughs at the look of shock on her face. ‘Yeah I know. I can be serious when I have to be, believe me. I joined after school and stepped away about a year and a half ago to work with Tate. Having an ex-cop hanging around put a bit of a dampener on their partying. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint. I didn’t sit back and not partake, but Tate, Dillon and Luke... well, there was no keeping up with them. Fuck, Chloe. I shouldn’t be saying this to you of all people.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. He told me about that side of things and how much what happened terrified him. That’s what I don’t understand? Why would he do this? Why now? I thought he was okay.’

  Gregg takes a deep breath then looks over at her. ‘He’ll kill me for this but fuck him. Tate’s been getting fan mail and I’m not talking the nice kind. They know about his pre Tate Archer past and keep waving it in his face.’

  ‘You mean about his father?’

  ‘So he told you about that? That’s something I guess. They’re fucking with him and clearly it’s working.’

  ‘Has he gone to the Garda about it?’

  ‘He told me about it when he got out of rehab. Well, he did after a lot of kicking. He’s not a fan of talking about what’s going on in his head. He wouldn’t let me get some old mates to investigate it. He said there’s nothing on the letters that would give them anything to go on.

  ‘He’s probably right. It’s not the first time he’s been sent not so warm-and-fuzzy letters. One guy even thought Tate was sending his girlfriend secret messages through his songs. There are some interesting people out there. All they can do is keep a file and leave it at that. I’m guessing this slip-up has something to do with that. We’ll have to wait until his lordship comes to properly and is clear-headed enough to spill the beans. Unless...’

  He pulls open the cupboard under the sink and peers into the bin. He takes out a scrunched-up piece of paper and smiles. ‘That was easier than I thought.’ Gregg unfolds the page and they both stare at what drove Tate over the edge.

  It’s a picture of Tate sitting on the beach with her on his lap. Typed under the photo in thick bold print is a single line of text.

  What did she do to deserve a fuck-up like you?

  Gregg leans on the counter and chews the inside of his cheek as he stares at the page. ‘Well, that’s not particularly friendly. You know where this was taken?’

  ‘Bray seafront. He took me shopping for art supplies then we had a takeaway in the back of his truck. We went for a walk on the beach after. Someone was watching us?’

  ‘You’re dating Tate, Chloe. Someone’s always going to be watching. This takes it to a new level though.’ He leans down and digs in the bin again. ‘There’s something else.’ He smooths the second piece of paper and Chloe instantly knows something is seriously wrong. She’s never seen Gregg look so angry.

  ‘Do I want to know?’

  Gregg wipes a hand over his jaw. ‘I don’t want to know. I shouldn’t be reading this.’ He folds the page and slips it into his pocket. ‘It’s a page from the report his social worker did when he was put in foster care. It’s got bits from an evaluation they did on him. About his suitability for permanent placement with a family and how being used as a punching bag would affect him long term. How the hell did whoever this is get their hands on it?’

  Chloe peers into a fancy black gift box sitting on the counter and gently brushes the padding to the side. ‘Gregg. They sent him the drink.’

  He curses when he sees the perfect imprint of the bottle in the base of the box. ‘Bastards handed him a loaded gun.’

  Chloe slumps onto one of the bar stools and clasps her hands together. ‘This is more than a few unpleasant letters, Gregg.’ She looks over her shoulder at Tate. ‘He could just as easily have called Eddie.’

  ‘But he didn’t. I know him getting stupidly drunk isn’t going to help him, but it’s done. He’s just got to get sober so we can have a nice little chat about what the fuck is going on. He should have called his sponsor, or me, or you, or anyone before he opened the bottle. He knows full well what he’s supposed to do when he feels like he’s struggling. Looks like he ignored all that and went for the easy option.’

  Gregg sits beside her and turns the stool around so she’s facing him.

  ‘Hey, he’ll be grand.’ He makes a face. ‘Well, he’ll be sick as a dog for a bit, but he’ll be grand eventually.’

  ‘What about whoever is doing this to him? They’re following us, Gregg. We were having a private conversation, and someone was taking a picture of us. It feels...’

  ‘Creepy. I know. Take some advice from a relatively new entry to the crazy celebrity world – assume there are no private conversations or private moments when you’re in public. And by public, I mean anywhere that isn’t behind closed doors.’ He squeezes her arm and nods towards the stairs. ‘He’s going to be out of it for a good few hours. How about you grab some sleep. I’ll sit with him for a bit. Make sure he’s okay.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. I’ll stay with him too if that’s okay.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll get some blankets. Now, do you fancy spending an uncomfortable night in the left or the right armchair?’

  24

  Tate groans as he rolls onto his back. It takes less than a second to seriously regret moving at all. He hangs on to the back of the couch as the room tilts and sways around him.

  ‘Good morning, gorgeous.’

  He winces as Gregg’s voice booms loudly in his head. ‘Too loud.’

  ‘Oh sorry buddy. Does your head hurt?’

  Tate winces as Gregg pretty much shouts in his ear. ‘Yeah, it hurts.’

  ‘Good!’ Gregg shouts in his ear again. ‘Serves you right!’

  Tate slowly pushes himself up and sits back as his head catches up with the rest of his body. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Ellen rang me when you missed the meeting with her yesterday. Then I called Chloe. Do you have any idea what you put her through, you selfish dick?’

  He leans forward, resting his head in his hands as a wave of nausea hits him. ‘You were the one who called her. Not me. You had no fucking right to call her.’

  ‘Yeah well that’s not how things work. You’re with her, so when you do things like this it affects her too.’

  Gregg sits beside him and hands him a glass of water. Tate takes it and manages one mouthful before his stomach objects.

  ‘Where’s Chloe?’

  ‘At the cafe down the road. If you’re going to pull fucking stupid stunts like this at least make sure you have some food for breakfast. You’ve got a hell of a lot of making up to do with her, Tate.’

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘She found her boyfriend passed out on the couch after drinking himself unconscious. Of course she’s not okay. I told her about the letters too.’

  ‘You did what?’ He moves his head faster than his headache is happy with. ‘Oh shit that hurts.’

  ‘What the hell did you expect me to say? You won two awards then came home and got smashed after being clean and sober for months. You not think the timing would have confused her just a smidge? I presume this little episode i
s thanks to the love letter?’

  ‘Yeah. Was in a congratulations card.’

  ‘Nice touch.’ Gregg takes the page out of his pocket and slaps it down onto the coffee table in front of Tate. ‘Time to talk, buddy.’

  Tate stares down at the creased page in front of him. ‘Where the hell did you find that?’

  ‘In the bin. Bit of an obvious place to ditch it.’

  Tate grabs for the page but Gregg pulls it out of his reach. ‘I don’t want her to see that.’

  ‘She already did.’ Gregg takes the second page out and leaves in on the table still folded. ‘She didn’t see what’s on this one though.’

  Tate slumps back on the couch and closes his eyes as the room spins again. ‘Did you tell her?’

  ‘No. I gave her the outline – no details. Did you know about this?’

  ‘No and I’m not going there so please shut up. Destroy that and forget about it.’

  Gregg doesn’t say anything for a few minutes so he convinces himself to face the spinning room again. He peers over at Gregg, slightly relieved when he’s not moving around.

  ‘I’m your friend, Tate. How can you honestly expect me to forget what I read and just move on? You need to talk to someone about this.’

  ‘Why? Knowing he kicked the shit out of me is bad enough. If he did that to me too... I don’t want to remember! I can’t deal with that on top of everything else.’ He groans as a wave of nausea hits. It could be the drink. It could be thinking about what he read in the report. ‘He was my dad. It was his job to keep me safe not do that. Sick fuck. I was just a kid, Gregg.’

  ‘I know, Tate. And I don’t blame you for wanting a drink. I really don’t. But I’m worried about you, buddy. This isn’t something you should be processing alone.’

  ‘Please, Gregg. Leave it.’

  ‘I can’t just leave it. Your therapist needs to know about this. She can help you deal with this. You drank because of it. What’s to stop you taking it up a level next time. I know the dickhead helped you out by putting that bottle in your hand, but you were the one who opened it. Why didn’t you call me? I’m not blaming you for wanting something after reading that, but you know the drill, Tate.’