Broken Rock

by K. A. Finn

  He slams his head against the headrest.

  He loves her.

  He was going to tell her how he felt about her. Had this whole romantic evening planned. Instead he got arrested. Great timing as usual. Whoever has it out for him deserves a fucking medal for perfect timing. Every time he thinks he’s getting things on track, he’s punched in the gut again. This last blow had been a knock-out. He won’t be getting back up again.

  He heads away from Newcastle, driving nowhere in particular. All he knows is that he needs to get away from everyone. Fifteen minutes later, he weaves his truck through the traffic in Wicklow town and drives down to the harbour. He parks well away from everyone else, opens the window, and watches the trawlers and pleasure boats in the water.

  He can’t forget the look on Chloe’s face when she begged him to help. There is only one thing he can do. Ellen is probably going to quit when she finds out, but he can’t let Chloe’s life be destroyed because of him. Fuck his own career, hers was far more important.

  So he does the only thing he can think of. He fires a message to a contact at the paper running Chloe’s story and, in exchange for sitting on the story about Chloe, tells him he’ll give them an exclusive statement detailing his dramatic fall into drugs and rehab and his recent arrest.

  He had to give them something juicy enough to leave Chloe out of it. So what if everyone knows he was weak and let the lifestyle draw him in. So what if they knew he partied too much and took things too far. Either way, his career would take a hit. Probably a terminal one. He’d prefer he took that hit alone instead of bringing her into it.

  He glances over at his phone as it rings again. It’s Gregg. He knows he should answer it. He knows they’re probably freaking out. Instead of answering, he sends a quick text to Gregg.

  I’m grand.

  Not exactly deep and meaningful but it’ll do. Gregg responds immediately.

  Where the fuck are you? Get your ass back here now!

  He ignores the message and jumps when someone knocks on the passenger window. He stares at the face on the other side but takes a minute to get his body to move. He opens the window and stares at his cousin.

  ‘Dara? What are you doing here?’

  He lifts his cup of coffee. ‘I’m on my way to a meeting. Thought one of these would help me stay awake during it. The food van does amazing coffee. How about you? I don’t usually see you here.’

  ‘I just drove and ended up here.’

  ‘You look like you haven’t slept for days.’

  ‘What? Yeah, sorry. Just got a lot going on.’

  ‘I’ve got a few minutes. Do you want a coffee yourself? You seriously look like you could do with one.’

  Tate nods absently. He wants to be alone, but a coffee might help clear his head. ‘Just black would be great.’

  Dara reappears a few minutes later and climbs into the passenger seat. He hands the coffee over and Tate takes a drink. Hopefully the caffeine will give him a kick. He can feel Dara staring over at him as the silence drags on.

  ‘Excuse the lack of tact, Tate, but you really look shit.’

  ‘Rough day yesterday.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard. Sorry about that.’

  Tate closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest. Perfect. That means his parents will know soon enough. ‘You know me, have to be the talk of the family.’

  ‘Is it going to blow over?’

  Tate takes another mouthful of coffee as he considers what to tell Dara. He’ll probably just go straight back to the family and fill them in. But with everything in the papers and all over the net anyway did it really matter at this stage?

  ‘Don’t know. I’ll find out in a few days.’

  ‘Well I know a good lawyer if you need one.’ He nudges Tate in the arm. ‘I’ll even give you mates rates.’

  ‘Thanks but I’m sorted.’

  ‘Any idea what you’re facing yet? I’m not asking so I can run back and tell everyone. I’m asking as a lawyer who’s used to keeping his mouth shut.’

  Tate looks out the window at the boats wishing he could jump on one of the trawlers and head off to sea. ‘She reckons it’ll just be a fine but there’s a chance it could be time. It shouldn’t be as it’s my first offence, but who knows.’ He smiles at Dara. ‘I might be needing you to take Jove out for me. Can’t having him waiting seven years for me to exercise him.’

  ‘Positive thinking, Tate. Like you said, it’s your first offence. I’m sure you’ll get a slap on the wrist and that’ll be it. You’re the lead singer of one of the hottest bands in Ireland. They’re not going to give someone like you a custodial sentence on a minor drug possession charge. I hope it works out for you, Tate. I mean that.’

  Tate puts on what he hopes looks like a genuine smile. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’ He drinks more coffee and rubs his eyes. Instead of helping, the coffee is making him feel worse.

  Dara leans over and frowns at him. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve gone a bit grey. Tate? Tate!’

  He stares over at Dara, taking a few seconds to focus on his face.

  ‘Sorry. What?’

  ‘Okay, I think I should take you home. You shouldn’t drive when you’re like this. Swap seats and I’ll drive.’ Dara gets out and walks around the front of the truck. He opens the driver’s door and gestures for Tate to get out.

  ‘You need some help?’

  ‘I’m grand. I can drive myself.’

  ‘Fair enough. If you can take five paces without falling, I’ll be on my way.’

  Tate steps out and his legs instantly buckle under him. It feels like the damn things aren’t attached to his body. Dara catches him before he lands on a stack of lobster pots.

  ‘It’s okay, Tate. I got you.’ He gets under Tate’s arm and helps him stand up. ‘God, you weigh a ton.’

  ‘Sorry. I feel strange.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get you home in no time.’

  With one arm around Dara’s shoulders and the other braced against the bonnet of his truck, he somehow manages to stumble around to the passenger side and pull himself into the leather seat. Exhaustion goes over him in waves. He can barely keep his eyes open. So much for extra strong coffee. Dara climbs in and adjusts the driver’s seat.

  ‘I don’t... feel...’

  Dara reaches over and fastens the seatbelt across Tate’s chest then starts the engine. ‘Don’t try to talk. It’s okay, Tate. Just sleep.’

  Tate wants to talk but his mouth won’t form the words. His body has turned to lead. Dara puts Tate’s truck in gear then pulls out of the parking spot, but Tate is already asleep.

  ∞

  Chloe looks out the window at the driveway but there’s still no sign of his truck. Tate disappeared about two hours ago and hasn’t turned up again. Dillon, Luke, and Gregg had left a few minutes ago to see if they could track him down. She’d tried calling him but he wasn’t picking up. She can’t blame him. She was angry and shouldn’t have said what she did.

  Ellen comes back into the room muttering to herself. She sits down and glares at her phone in her hand before slamming it onto the table.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Fucking Tate, that’s what! I could just—’ she stops talking and wrings her hands together. ‘You know what he’s gone and done? He’s thrown himself on his damn sword to save you. Don’t get me wrong,’ she adds quickly, ‘he’s sorted your issue, but left me with an even bigger one.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He contacted someone at the paper and agreed to an exclusive on what happened to him if they drop the story about you.’

  ‘What? Why did he do that?’

  ‘Because he cares about you, of course.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘To me? Nothing. I just got word from the paper. Apparently he told them he’d been battling drugs for a while. He mentions excessive partying and drinking and whatever else you can think of. Idiot gave them enough juicy titbits to make them forget all
about you. Which they’re going to do by the way. He’s even mentioned the overdose and his arrest. He’s well and truly screwed himself.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Tate? Haven’t got a clue. He’s conveniently ignoring my calls. I can’t believe he did this! Why couldn’t he just wait? I was trying to sort it. I don’t suppose he’s picking up the phone for you?’

  Chloe shakes her head. ‘Gregg just sent me a message. He got an ‘I’m grand’ message from him but nothing since. Gregg’s on his way back. You don’t think Tate would...’ Chloe can’t finish the sentence.

  Clearly she doesn’t need to. Ellen’s face turns sombre and she shrugs. ‘I hope not, but he hasn’t been himself for I don’t know how long. Dillon and Luke should be at his house by now. I’ll give then a ring. See if they’ve heard anything.’

  She walks into the living room leaving Chloe staring at the driveway. Since he stormed off, she can’t shake the sinking feeling in her gut.

  ‘Please be okay.’

  29

  Tate tries to wake up, but his brain is seriously struggling. He moves his head a little but instantly regrets it when the headache bounces around his skull like a spiked metal ball. Fuck he feels shite. He convinces one eye to do its job, but it doesn’t help him figure out what the hell is wrong with him. His other eye joins the party, and his vision clears a little, not that it helps at all.

  He’s lying on a bed in a small bedroom. Something is familiar about it, but his brain is too foggy to give it much thought.

  How the fuck did he get here? He’s sure he was in his truck. Wasn’t he? He shuts his eyes and tries to remember, but his brain won’t get with the program. Whether his brain or body wants to, it’s time to get up. But he can’t. Neither hand will move.

  Using far too much energy he looks up to the head of the bed where his hands are and knows he’s in a whole world of trouble. He’s chained to the metal bed frame. He pulls at the restraints, but the thick chain is painfully wrapped around his wrists and padlocked in place. Someone wants him to stay put.

  With his brain still playing catch-up, Tate looks down at his feet and sees similar restraints securing his ankles. It takes him a few seconds longer to realise where he is. This is one of the small downstairs bedrooms in his grandparent’s old farmhouse. The windows have been boarded up from the outside, but everything else is still the same as he remembers it. It was the room he stayed in when he spent the night as a child.

  Something pinches the crook of his left arm. He twists his arm around and his stomach takes a dive. There’s an IV line disappearing into his arm under a thick layer of tape. The tube has been secured with more tape all the way down his arm to make sure it doesn’t come out. The other end of the tube isn’t attached to anything but that doesn’t make him feel any better. The fact it’s there in the first place is a serious worry.

  He hasn’t got a fucking clue what’s going on, but he knows he really needs to get out of here. He yanks his arms towards him, but the damn chain won’t shift. He grabs onto the bed frame and pulls his legs up hard. Nothing happens. The bed is one of those old-fashioned ones with a heavy metal frame. He hasn’t got a chance of breaking it.

  He gives up and lies still, trying to give his stomach and head a few minutes to get back to where they should be. He swallows deeply a few times. His stomach is having serious objections to something. Tate quickly leans over the side of the bed as he loses the battle with his stomach.

  Each time he throws up the spiked ball in his skull rattles around his head sending more waves of nausea through him. When there’s nothing left in his stomach, he flops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

  He’s having another nightmare. There’s no other explanation. He’s asleep in his parents’ house and he’ll wake up any second.

  But when the door leading from the hallway opens, Tate’s memory comes back with a wallop.

  ‘Dara?’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ His cousin grimaces when he spots the mess on the floor. ‘Seriously, Tate?’ He grabs a dustsheet from the pile in the corner and drops it on the floor beside the bed, covering the vomit. ‘I suppose that’s my fault. I think I might have given you a little too much. You’re a big guy. I wanted to make sure you were well and truly knocked out.’

  ‘Dara? What the fuck?’ It’s not a question that is going to give him any definite answers but it’s all he can come out with.

  ‘Don’t worry. The sedative I put in your coffee will make you feel a little disoriented for a bit, but it should ease.’ He pulls up a weathered green plastic deckchair and sits down in front of him. ‘You really do look like shit. Have you been pushing yourself too hard?’

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  ‘That was a whole sentence that time. Good for you. What am I doing? To be honest, I haven’t got an end game in mind just yet. When I followed you from your parents’ house, I wasn’t expecting to do this. I thought I’d get a few more weeks of fun out of you, but when I saw your face, I knew I’d probably pushed you enough.’

  The words take a ridiculously long time to register. ‘You? This has been you? You’ve been fucking with me?’

  Dara nods, looking extremely pleased with himself. ‘I thought you would have figured it out by now, but I guess that’s down to the excessive drug use. I’ve heard long-term use can mess with your head.’ He leans forward and clasps his hands together. ‘You know, when I gave you that old family photo at Christmas, I never thought you’d react so spectacularly. I mean, I couldn’t have planned it better myself. I just wanted to throw you off your guard a little. Mess with your head. But then Dad rings me at work and tells me you’re in a coma after a heroin overdose.’ Dara claps his hand together as he laughs. ‘I mean, wow. Never saw that coming. Then again, I should have guessed you’d have gone down the clichéd drink and drugs route, but you kept that side of yourself secret. Couldn’t have you tarnishing your image. That was one impressive fall from grace, Tate. Well done.’

  ‘Did you put drugs in my car?’

  ‘Guilty as charged. Sorry, that was a little cruel considering what you’re facing. But yes. That was me. I tried to get my hands on enough so you’d be done for intent to supply, but I couldn’t risk being caught myself.’

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

  The smile disappears as Dara pulls his chair closer to the bed. Tate barely recognises the person in front of him. There’s so much hatred, so much rage. And that makes Tate seriously worried.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me. You, Tate. You’re my problem. You know, I remember being introduced to you for the first time. I remember being excited. Having a new cousin who was the same age as me. Someone I could play with. Be friends with. Shame it didn’t work out that way.’

  ‘But we were friends.’

  ‘Give me a fucking break. We were never friends. We were rivals. It was always ‘be kind to Tate. Don’t upset Tate. Make sure you let him play with whatever he wants. I had to walk on eggshells around you. Everyone did. If you kicked a fucking ball and it went in a straight line there was praise all round. Nan and Pops were the worst. You’d swear you were the only grandchild they had. You practically lived here. Pops even gave you a fucking horse. It was non-stop with the attention.’

  ‘They were trying to make me feel welcome.’

  ‘Oh I know that. The problem is it didn’t stop. The sun shone out of your arse. That door was always open to you,’ he says, pointing at the back door.

  Dara closes his eyes and takes a long breath. He’s known Dara for nearly three decades. He’s never seen him like this before. Never seen him this manic.

  Dara opens his eyes and smiles at him as he gets to his feet. He runs his hand over the worn wallpaper and sighs loudly.

  ‘So, what do you think of the old place? Dad is trying to renovate it, but it’s taking time and too much money. Think he’s losing interest in it. I’ve tried to tell him just to call it quits. Sell it as it
is, but he won’t give it up. He’s got this emotional attachment to it, I guess. You probably feel the same. You spent so long here I wouldn’t be surprised. Were you tempted to buy it yourself?’

  Of course he was but he’s not going there with Dara. He knew Eric wanted the house so he didn’t get in his way. Up until he woke up chained to the bed, Tate had nothing but great memories of the house. Now... well, Dara’s just fucked that up for him too.

  ‘That was a fucking question, Tate. This will go a lot easier for you if you answer me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Strange. But I suppose you had just done some major spending around the same time. I hear you paid off the mortgage on your parents’ farm and bought them a sizable chunk of additional farmland next to it. You paid a hefty price from what I can see online. But you did owe them. They had to put up with a serious amount of shit from you over the years. You were hardly the model son now, were you.

  ‘Then you get yourself that swanky pad in town. Again, impressive price you paid for that. Add the over-the-top truck and the bike to the mix and I doubt you would have had much left to get this place too. Bet you could afford it now though. Having a few more number one songs under your belt can’t have hurt your bank balance. All in all, I’d say you’ve done pretty well for yourself considering what you came from.’

  ‘What do you want, Dara? Or is your plan to get back at me by droning on, because it’s working. You’re boring the fuck out of me.’

  Tate knows the blow is coming, but it still hurts when Dara’s fist ploughs into his gut. He coughs and tries to ease some of the pressure from this stomach but the chains won’t give.

  ‘This is nothing but a joke to you.’

  ‘Of course it’s a fucking joke. You’ve kidnapped me, you crazy motherfucker. How exactly do you see this playing out, huh? How about you let me go and I promise I won’t knock out too many of your expensive teeth.’