Broken Rock

by K. A. Finn

  ‘I fucked up, okay. I get it.’

  ‘This isn’t about fucking up. It’s about helping you deal with this. Your father—’

  ‘Don’t say it. Please. And you read the report. They don’t know for sure. They just think he did.’

  ‘Tate—’ He stops talking when Chloe opens the door from the hall and places the bags of groceries on the counter.

  Tate throws his best warning look at Gregg and his friend slips the page back into his pocket.

  Chloe smiles as she sits in the other armchair facing Tate. ‘Morning. How do you feel?’

  ‘Fucking awful.’

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  He shakes his head and winces. ‘A new brain would be good.’

  She reaches across and holds his hand. ‘All out of those I’m afraid. So, you two looked deep in conversation when I came in. What’s going on?’

  Gregg nods towards the page still sitting in the table with the photo of Chloe on it. ‘Just trying to convince this stubborn git to do something about these letters.’

  ‘It’s just some out of control—’

  ‘Stop right there,’ Gregg interrupts. ‘Don’t go mentioning out of control fans. Someone has got access to your life, Tate. The photo of you and Chloe is wrong, but having that assessment is a few dozen steps too far.’

  Tate rubs his forehead as the pressure builds behind his eyes. He feels like death warmed up. The last thing he needs or wants right now is to head down that fucked up road.

  ‘Leave it.’ Tate closes his eyes as a wave of nausea hits. When it passes, he pushes to his feet and wobbles as he tries to get his balance. ‘You can both relax. It won’t happen again. I’m grand.’ He realises the stupidity of that statement before he sees the look on their faces. ‘Well, I will be. It was a slip up, but I’ll deal with it.’

  ‘No offence buddy, but the last time you tried to deal with something yourself you ended up sticking a needle in your arm.’

  He buries his head in his hands, wincing as the throbbing kicks up a level. ‘Jesus, Gregg.’

  ‘Sorry, but you don’t have a great track record.’

  ‘I had a fucking drink. It’s not a big deal.’

  ‘It is when you’ve not touched a drop since February. And you didn’t have a drink. You had a whole bottle.’

  ‘Back off, Gregg. I don’t need a fucking lecture from you.’

  ‘What about from me then?’

  Tate sighs and looks over at Chloe. ‘You know what? How about you both talk about me behind my back while I go and throw up.’ He has no idea how he convinces his body to move but it does.

  Tate drags his sorry ass into the downstairs bathroom and frowns when he catches his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t think it was possible but he looks worse than he feels, which is an achievement in itself.

  He lunges for the toilet and spends a few minutes seriously regretting opening that fucking bottle.

  Once his stomach gives him a break, he slumps back against the shower stall and closes his eyes as the room spins. How the hell has he ended up here again? It was like the small part of his brain reserved for making sensible decisions took leave of his body for a few hours. Seeing Chloe’s face on the page above those words had knocked him off course. Then he read the report attached to the back and he knew he was in trouble.

  Whoever is messing with him successfully upped the ante with that last message. They really wanted to get to him and it worked. The photo of Chloe would have been enough, but to add the drink and the report... that was the final straw.

  Just because the doctor who examined him suspected sexual abuse doesn’t mean it actually happened. He laughs harshly to himself. Who’s he trying to convince? Gregg didn’t buy it and he doesn’t either. His dad hit him and his mother, then killed her. Is it really so difficult to believe he was capable of other unspeakable acts?

  ‘Stop thinking about it!’

  He grabs the edge of the sink and pulls himself to his feet. Chloe doesn’t deserve to be dragged into his past. It’s got nothing to do with her.

  Gregg pounds on the door. ‘Hey! You okay?’

  ‘Can I not get five fucking minutes alone?’

  ‘You’ve been in there for half an hour.’

  There’s no answer to that so he turns on the shower and dumps his clothes on the floor. The hot water helps him feel a little more human but uses up the last of his energy reserves. He wraps a towel around his waist and slowly picks up his clothes. When he walks back to the living room, Chloe and Gregg are cooking something that pushes his stomach to its limits. He dumps his clothes and disappears back into the bathroom until he comes to an uneasy truce with his body.

  ‘I take it from your reaction you don’t fancy a bacon butty?’ Gregg says as he reappears.

  ‘I’ll pass.’

  Chloe leaves her breakfast and takes his clothes from him. ‘Do you want me to get you clean clothes?’

  ‘I can manage.’ Desperate to get away from the look of pity on her face, Tate turns away from her and drags himself upstairs relying heavily on the banisters to stop himself falling on his ass. He pulls on a pair of boxers then collapses on the bed to recover from that immense task. He’ll need a few minutes before he attempts jeans or a top.

  ∞

  Chloe finishes tidying Tate’s house and brings the rubbish bag to the bin outside. She takes the empty rum bottle from the top of the bag and glares at it before throwing it into the recycling. Less than twenty-four hours had gone by since Gregg called her, but it feels like a lot longer. She barely got any sleep last night. While Gregg snored away in one armchair, she kept getting up to check Tate was okay. He’d slept for the most part, only waking to complain when she tried to check him.

  Instead of coming back downstairs after his shower this morning, Tate had fallen asleep on his bed and hadn’t stirred since. He was exhausted from weeks of not sleeping properly and too drunk to force himself to stay awake any longer.

  Gregg went to meet with Ellen a few hours ago to try to smooth things over with her. He’d told her Tate had picked up a stomach bug while he was away so he couldn’t do the interviews. Apparently she was less than happy but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. If Chloe needed him to come back later he would, but with Tate asleep, there was no point dragging him back.

  She wanders into the spare room and looks at the expensive collection of art supplies Tate bought her, but she honestly couldn’t feel less like drawing if she tried. Chloe goes back upstairs and slowly lowers onto the bed bedside him. She rolls onto her side and tucks her hand under her head. As usual, Tate is asleep with his arm over his head, hiding his face from her.

  With nothing else to do, she tucks the duvet around her body and closes her eyes. A few minutes later she hears his breathing change. His chest is rising and falling rapidly and his fingers dig into his hair. She places her hand on his hair like she’d done before but instead of soothing him, it’s like she’s struck him. He jolts away from her and mutters to himself, ‘Please stop.’

  Chloe backs away from him and gets out of bed. As much as she wants to help him, she’s not keen on getting too close. If he lashed out he could seriously hurt her. His whole body is rigid, the muscles in his arms tremble as he covers his head.

  ‘Tate. It’s okay.’

  A lump forms in her throat when she hears him moan. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t.’

  She doesn’t know how much more she can listen to. ‘Tate. Wake up.’ Still not keen on getting close to his arms, she stands at the bottom of the bed and touches his leg. It does the trick. Tate lurches away and scrambles up the bed. She flicks on the bedside light and lowers onto the edge of the bed.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  He pulls his legs up to his chest and rests his head against the wall as he takes a few shaky breaths. ‘Yeah.’ He looks over at her. ‘Where’s Gregg?’

  ‘He left a few hours ago. Do you want me to get you anything? Are you hungry?’

&nb
sp; Tate shakes his head then winces. ‘Fuck. No, thanks. I’m not brave enough to try food yet.’ He slowly turns his head to look at her. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this.’

  ‘I’m not worried about myself, Tate. I’m worried about you. Maybe you should let Gregg take this latest letter in to his old colleagues.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Tate—’

  ‘I said no.’ He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He doesn’t say or do anything for so long Chloe wonders if he’s actually fallen asleep again. ‘I’ve gotten... I guess you’d call it hate mail before. We all have. Kind of comes with the territory. But this is private shit, Chloe. That’s what’s throwing me. Someone found out private things about me and instead of doing what most normal people would do and ignore it or destroy it, they’re using it to fuck with me. And I’m letting them.

  ‘I can deal with this. I was just caught off guard. Seeing the photo of us got my back up and I reacted badly. That’s all it was. They’ll get bored and move on sooner or later. If I go to the Guards about it, I’ll just bring more people into this mess. I need to stop letting it get to me and move on.’

  ‘Okay, I understand that, but they’re trying to hurt you, Tate. They sent you drink knowing what could happen. What’s next?’

  ‘Anyone with internet access would know how to get to me. It was a messed up thing to do. I’m not taking away from that. But I was the one who opened the fucking bottle. Seriously, it’s nothing to worry about, Chloe. They just hit me in a sensitive spot and I caved. Won’t happen again.’

  ‘I know you said you don’t know who it is, but do you have any ideas at all?’

  He shakes his head and opens his eyes again. ‘Not a fucking clue. Believe me, if I had even the slightest inkling who it is, I’d be having a one-on-one with them, and it wouldn’t go in their favour.’

  Tate lies back against the pillow and squeezes his eyes shut.

  ‘Headache bad?’

  ‘Oh yeah.’

  ‘Can you take anything? I mean are you allowed to?’ The question sounds unbelievably naïve when she hears it out loud, but she honestly doesn’t know the answer.

  ‘Nothing I can take is going to touch this.’ He sits up again and winces. ‘Fuck this. I need some fresh air. Do you want to go for a walk?’

  Chloe glances at the clock on the bedside table. ‘It’s nearly ten pm.’

  ‘I’ve been festering in here for too long. I’m not talking about driving anywhere, just walking from here. I really couldn’t care where the fuck we go.’

  ‘I’d like that if you’re sure.’

  ‘I’ll just grab a quick shower first then we can head.’

  While Tate showers, Chloe bundles her hair into a ponytail, trying to make herself look half decent, then goes downstairs and makes sure everything is locked. Tate is showered and dressed five minutes later. He grabs a baseball cap and his jacket then takes her hand as they leave the house.

  Even on a weekday at this hour there are still a lot of people around. They head towards the seafront and sit on the sand listening to the sea. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close to him.

  ‘Do you feel any better?’

  Tate nods and kisses the top of her head. ‘Bit of sea air is the best hangover cure.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘Chloe, I’m sorry you saw me like that. I don’t know how to make it right with you.’

  She turns around to face him. ‘This isn’t about making it right with me. It’s about figuring out why you did that after not drinking for so long.’

  ‘I messed up, okay? I get that. You’re allowed to be angry with me, Chloe. Shout and scream at me if you want. I deserve it.’

  ‘I’m not going to shout at you, Tate. I am scared though.’

  He tilts her chin up so she’s looking in his eyes. ‘Hey, I’m not planning on doing that again.’

  ‘Were you planning on doing it yesterday? Did you plan to spend three months in rehab? I’m not an expert, Tate, but I’m fairly sure no one plans to take things too far.’ She pauses, not sure if she should continue. She needs to tell him how she feels but the last thing she wants to do is make him feel worse than he already does.

  ‘Talk to me.’

  ‘Okay. When we found you like that on the couch, I thought you were dead.’ She takes a deep breath as the image of him sprawled out like that comes back to her. ‘I was scared.’

  His hand drops from her face. ‘Chloe—’

  ‘No. Let me finish. I was scared because I didn’t have a clue what to do for you. Gregg was brilliant and I just stood there. I realised I don’t have any idea about your addictions.’

  She instantly notices his reaction to that last word. He looks away and his shoulders drop a little.

  ‘I care about you, Tate. I really do.’

  ‘But?’

  She shakes her head and squeezes his hand. ‘There’s no but. I was going to ask if there’s someone at the centre where you were that I could talk to. I don’t mean talk about you personally. I should have known what to do yesterday. But I just stood there and looked at you. Gregg and your family had a few sessions with someone from the centre, right?’

  He nods. ‘Yeah. My sponsor talked to them all. You really want that?’

  ‘Yes – for me as much as for you.’

  ‘Okay.’ He looks over at her again and nods. ‘I’ll arrange it. I probably should have suggested it first, but I guess I was trying not to bring my problems into our relationship. Messed that up big time, didn’t I.’

  He shrugs and stares out to sea for a long few minutes then curses loudly. ‘Sorry. I’m not pissed off with you. I’m well and truly fucked off with myself. I thought I had a handle on it, you know? It kind of snuck up on me. Months of hard work down the drain – literally. For what? A raging headache, and a shedload of disappointment. Fucking waste.’

  He squeezes his eyes shut and hits his fist against his forehead. Chloe gathers him into her arms and holds him as they listen to the sea. There’s nothing she can say to him to make it better.

  As she holds him, she can’t help looking around the beach. Is the person who’s tormenting Tate here right now? Is he or she watching them? Are they giving themselves a pat on the back for breaking him?

  Chloe holds him close as she examines every person walking along the beach. What if the bastard isn’t done yet? They had no issue sending him a bottle of alcohol. Would they take things a step further next time and send him drugs?

  The thought is ridiculous, but after what she’s learned the last two days, it’s not something they can rule out.

  25

  Tate parks his truck in a spot away from the other cars and shuts off the engine. He checks his watch. Ten minutes early. Ten minutes for the coffee to kick in.

  It’s been two days since he destroyed months of hard work and drank himself into a stupor. He’s still got the fucking headache as a constant reminder of his screw-up. Hopefully Bria won’t notice he’s a mess. Wouldn’t be the best start to their meeting.

  He had been shocked to get the text from her this morning asking if he was free to meet her today. It’s not the best timing, but there was no way he was going to refuse after she kept her distance for the last few months. If she wanted to meet him, he was going to be there. After this he was going to put things right with Gregg. Again. He’s going to run out of lives with his friend if he keeps this up.

  He smiles when he sees Bria’s VW Golf. The beat up car is on its last legs. He’d tried so many times to convince her to let him buy her a new car but she flat out refused. She was independent. Always had been. So instead he’d put some money aside for her. She had a healthy fund for when she needed it and there was no way he was going to take no for an answer.

  Time to face the music. He adjusts the baseball cap and pulls the arms of his hoodie down. He has no regrets about a single one of his tattoos, but they’re not exactly subtle. This was about getting his relationship with Bria back on track, not attracting
attention.

  They stand and face either other, neither one sure how to act.

  ‘Do you want to go for a walk on the beach?’

  He nods. ‘Sure.’

  The slightly awkward silence stretches on until they get near the sea and head away from the car park. He slips his glasses on as the sun hits the sand, making him squint. He’s sure she didn’t bring him down here for a leisurely stroll along the beach, but he’s not ready to peel the scab off this particular wound. If it’s coming off, it should be on her terms.

  About half a mile down the beach she sits down on the sand above the high tide mark and hugs her knees to her chest. He joins her and watches some kids playing in the water.

  ‘Thanks for meeting me.’

  ‘Kind of surprised you wanted to see me.’ Perfect start, Tate. Remind her she had an issue with him.

  ‘Congratulations on the awards. Chloe seems to have enjoyed herself.’

  ‘Yeah. Think she enjoyed it more than I did.’

  ‘I like her.’

  ‘So do I.’

  Bria looks across at him. ‘Don’t treat her like all the others. She doesn’t deserve that.’

  ‘I’m not planning on—’

  ‘When it comes to you and relationships, you don’t plan. You find someone, spend a few weeks with them then get bored.’

  ‘You seriously brought me here to lecture me about my love life? I’m not going there with you.’

  ‘You don’t have to. Every time you decide you’ve had enough it’s all over the net again. When it comes to your love life, it’s out there, Tate. After going public with Chloe, she’s out there now too. Just remember that.’

  Tate doesn’t respond. Not a great start that she assumes he’s going to throw Chloe aside when he gets bored. Just because he’s done that with every single relationship he’s been in before. He looks out to the sea and grimaces. She might have a point.

  ‘I need to ask you something.’

  He knew it. There was no way she could move on without knowing why he did it. ‘You want to know what drove me to drugs?’