Can't Go Back

by Marie Meyer

  Traffic slowed to a halt. Up ahead cop cars lined the street and another emergency vehicle flashed a bright-yellow arrow, directing people to the left lane.

  We crept along, finally passing by the scene of the accident. Some unlucky bastard on a bike had eaten pavement. The bike, a tangled mess of metal, was being loaded onto a flatbed tow truck. There was no sign of the driver.

  I looked over at Jillian. Her body was completely turned toward the window, held captive by the morbid scene. “Did you get a helmet yet?” she asked, coming back around to face me.

  Uh-oh. This is not good. I bit my lip. I could feel her fury building as she anticipated my answer. “Not yet,” I said sheepishly, trying my best to keep her calm.

  “WHAT?” she roared. “You haven’t gotten a fucking helmet yet?” She was pissed.

  Even angry, she still lit a fire inside me. Her passion made her irresistible. I wondered how she’d respond if I kissed her. Just as I’d wanted to taste the laughter on her lips earlier, I’d have given anything to drink the anger right now. She was so fucking sexy when she was mad, and that wasn’t helping the situation in my pants.

  Taking a deep breath, centering my thoughts, I gave her an honest reply. “I haven’t really had time. I eat and breathe Mine Shaft right now.”

  “Ugggh!” she growled. “I am so pissed at you right now!” She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back in the seat, fuming.

  I made the left turn, heading into town toward Jennifer’s house.

  “Where are you going?” she asked indignantly, unleashing a murderous stare on me.

  Confused by her question, I cut a quick glance in her direction. “To Jennifer’s?”

  “Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “Go to your place. I’ll drop you off and drive myself back to Jennifer’s.”

  That was bullshit. No fucking way. “Jillian, that’s ridiculous. I’m not leaving my bike parked at your sister’s house.”

  “All right.” She turned her whole body around, facing me. “We’ll go get your bike, but I’m following you home.” From the corner of my eye, I saw her lips press together as she gave me her meanest, toughest glare.

  I dared a peek at her and shook my head. I knew better than to say anything.

  It was quiet the rest of the way to Jennifer’s, the hot sexual tension from earlier gone, replaced with Jillian’s angry vibes.

  I pulled into the drive, but the second the car came to a stop, Jillian got out and stomped around to the driver’s side.

  I pushed the door open and got out, leaving the car running. “Bean.”

  “Don’t,” she interrupted. “I’m following you home, and you’re not going to change my mind.”

  There was no reasoning with her when she got this way. “I’ll see you at my place, then.” I sighed and walked to my bike while she got into her car.

  A ten-minute drive home. I couldn’t believe she had thrown a temper tantrum over a ten-minute drive. Now I was pissed. She had no right to treat me like an errant child. What was with the women in my life telling me what to do? First Mom and all the school shit, and now Jillian with the helmet.

  I pulled into the back parking lot, and she followed, sliding into the space next to me. She turned off the ignition. I sat with the bike rumbling between my legs, loud and angry.

  I wanted to hold on to my anger, but the second she stepped out of the car, it was gone. I killed the bike’s engine and stared at her, face-to-face. All the passion expelled from us over the last few hours—the love, the lust, the anger…I swung my leg around, coming to stand beside her. “It’s late, Bean. Why don’t you just stay?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve got to go.” Without another word she turned to leave.

  “Jillian, wait!” I raised my voice. I wanted her to stop.

  She halted, reaching for the handle on her car door. I walked over and met her, pressing my hands into her shoulders.

  I stared into her eyes, refusing to let her look away. “I’m really sorry, Bean. I’ve just been so busy.”

  “Since September!” she spit.

  I cringed. I didn’t want her to leave when she was this angry. “Will you go with me to get one?” I pouted, hoping to diffuse some of her rage. Even though I hated helmets, I’d put the damn thing on my head for her.

  She nodded infinitesimally, and I could feel her letting go of the anger. “I’m still pissed at you, though.”

  I didn’t answer; instead I ran my finger lightly along the side of her face.

  “I should go,” she sighed, leaning into my touch.

  “You sure?” I cupped her cheek, dying to kiss her. Fuck it. My willpower’s shot. I bent down, our mouths less than an inch apart. My eyes slid closed. The moment I anticipated her warm lips on mine, she stepped away.

  I opened my eyes, unable to read the expression on her face as she pulled the car door open and got in.

  Standing in the cold, I watched her pull away, certain I was too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I unlocked the back door and kicked it open. I stomped to the fridge, yanking a Schlafly from the shelf. Popping the top off on the counter, I drained the bottle in record time and went back for another.

  With the lip of my second beer pressed to my mouth, I heard Thor’s heavy footfalls on the stairs. He peered over the half wall, his eyes squinting against the light. “What’s with all the racket, dude? Some of us are trying to fucking sleep.”

  “Sorry, man.” I downed another generous gulp. “Did I wake Harper?”

  “Nah, she’s out. What’s with you?” he asked, making his way into the kitchen.

  I kicked the chair away from the table and fell onto it, just about ready for another drink. “We got anything stronger?”

  Thor grabbed himself a beer and opened the freezer, pulling out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. On the counter sat several shot glasses, and he grabbed two of the tallest and joined me at the table. “What gives?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to get shit-faced. I threw back the dregs of my beer and pulled the bottle of Jack closer, screwing off the lid. Thor slid a glass my way.

  I poured liberally, so that a bit sloshed out of the glass, onto the table. I brought the liquor to my mouth, inhaling the woody scent. Tossing it back, I savored the frigid burn down the back of my throat. I closed my eyes and slammed the glass down. “Damn, that’s good,” I moaned.

  “That bad, huh?” Thor said again, nursing his beer.

  I poured myself another shot, not forgetting Thor this time. “You have no fucking idea.” I used the toe of my right boot to pry the left one off. Once my left foot was free, I dug my toes into the heel of my right boot, repeating the process.

  Wiping a hand over my face, I took the next shot. “Thanks, dude,” I said, standing up.

  “For what?” He rubbed his shorn head and looked up at me. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “For drinking with me.” I snatched the bottle of Jack off the table and headed for the stairs.

  “Sure that’s a good idea?” Thor sat forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and nodded to the Jack.

  I looked at the bottle. “Yeah.” I started up the stairs. “Night.”

  “Night, dude.”

  Inside my room, I shrugged my jacket off and threw it against the opposite wall. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t, not with Harper sleeping next door. I took a large swig of whiskey right from the bottle and fell onto my bed, waiting for the alcohol to numb the pain I felt inside.

  Lying there, I closed my eyes. I thought of Jillian driving back to her sister’s house alone. Despite the rejection—which I’d deserved—I pulled myself up and walked across the room to find my cell phone. I needed to text her, make sure she’d made it home all right. I dug the phone out of my pocket and my fingers slipped clumsily over the on-screen keyboard: Bean, I’m sorry. Please let me know when you’re home.

  I took another drink, just beginning to feel the cold whiskey freeze the rej
ection inside.

  I fell onto my bed again. My eyes slid closed, my mind drifting as I waited for Jillibean to text back.

  I ascended the small porch with a gift for Jillian. Knocking on the screen door with my foot, I watched her grandmother approach. “Oh, hi, Griffin.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and pushed the door open.

  “Can Jillian come out to play? I’ve got Popsicles.” I help up the wrapped sticks and smiled.

  “I’ll see if she wants to come out. Hold on a second.” Grandma Pat walked away from the door. “Jillian. Jillian, come down here, please. Griffin’s at the door.”

  A couple of minutes later, Jillian appeared. Her eyes were puffy and red. She’d been crying again. She always cried. I wished I could make her happy, make her smile so she didn’t have to cry anymore. “Hey, Jillibean, I brought Popsicles.”

  “Why do you call me that stupid name? And what if I don’t like Popsicles,” she snapped.

  My heart sank. I didn’t want to make her sad…I wanted to see her smile. “I call you Jillibean because I think you are sweet and colorful like a jelly bean. I love jelly beans, who doesn’t?” I smiled widely, hoping it was contagious. “And I know for a fact that you like Popsicles because we used to eat them like crazy when you used to visit your grandparents. I recall a little girl wearing a Cinderella dress, sitting on top of that mound of dirt in the backyard, covered in rainbow-colored Popsicle juice.”

  She smiled. Just a little. But it was a smile nonetheless, and I’d put it there. “Come on, they’re melting,” I said, tempting her to come outside.

  Jillian opened the screen door and shouted back into the house, “Grandma, I’m going outside with Griffin.”

  “OK,” her grandma shouted back.

  I handed Jillian the red one, because I knew it was her favorite. I’d eat the green one.

  “Thanks.” She took the sticky paper in her hand and started to peel it back from the treat inside. I did the same.

  We sat down on the porch and slurped our Popsicles in silence. I didn’t know what to do to make her happy, but if eating Popsicles quietly on her front porch did the trick, I’d do it.

  “Hey, you two, turn around.”

  I looked over my shoulder. “Hi, Grandpa Earl,” I said, returning his smile. He stood at the screen door, smiling down at us.

  “Those good?” he asked.

  “They’re all right,” Jillian said, turning around to look at him. “Hi, Grandpa.”

  “You two need your picture taken.”

  I turned all the way around and put my arm around Jillian. She scooted around too and threw her arm around my shoulder. “Smile, you two,” Grandpa Earl crooned.

  Click.

  “Got it,” he said.

  Her smile retreated. Without a word Jillian turned and went back to her red Popsicle, shutting Grandpa Earl and me outside, while she disappeared into her sadness.

  I tried to make her feel warm and happy inside…the way she made me feel.

  I’d never stop trying.

  * * *

  Over the next week, I called and texted Jillian at least a hundred times. I apologized profusely to her voice mail. And still nothing. She’d disappeared, just like when we were young. I’d push too hard, and she’d retreat.

  “It’s Jillian, leave me a message.”

  “Bean, please don’t be pissed,” I said into the receiver. “Look, I need to know if you’re coming tonight. I’m leaving you a VIP pass at the bar. Please call me back.” I looked at the phone and pressed “End,” stuffing it into my back pocket.

  “Griff, we need you for a sound check,” Leo said, walking in my direction. He waved me toward the stage, where the guys were taking their places.

  “Cool.” I grabbed my bass and jogged up the metal stairs. Even though we’d rehearsed night and day for a solid week, I was anxious to get our shit straightened out in the big arena. There was a lot riding on tonight. It had to be perfect.

  I ran my hand over the mic and glanced back at the guys. “Ready?”

  Adam nodded, twirled his sticks, and laid into his groove. With my well-trained ear, I easily heard the kick drum and the snare, concentrating on the backbeats to round out the rhythm. Masterfully Thor introduced the melody, along with Pauly, and I settled into the music.

  I kept time with my body, the notes bleeding out of me with every slap and pop of my fingers. I stepped up to the mic and took a deep breath, ready to leave my soul on the stage. I’d learned a long time ago that it didn’t matter if the performance was for one person or a thousand, a sound check or the real fucking deal, every musician played like it was the performance of a lifetime.

  By the time the sound engineer had tweaked the PAs, adjusted our EQs, and worked out the sound quality onstage and out front, we’d played through half our set.

  “That’s it, boys,” said Robins, the front-of-house engineer. He lowered his headset around his neck and used his hands to cut off our song. “We’re good to go. Go take a breather.” From the middle of the venue, he gave us a thumbs-up, and then jotted something down on the clipboard in his hand.

  I was feeling more confident about the cohesiveness of our group stuff, but I still hadn’t gone through my solo piece and that worried me. I was a perfectionist by nature, but that one song had to be beyond perfection.

  Thor, Adam, and Pauly rested their instruments onstage and started toward the exit.

  “You coming, man?” Pauly asked me over his shoulder.

  I nodded. “Yeah, be there in a sec.” I leaned into the mic, “Robins,” I said, getting his attention.

  He looked up from his clipboard.

  “Mind if we run through the solo?” I squinted and put my hand up, shielding my eyes from the spot.

  He checked his clipboard again. “Yeah, not a problem.”

  About a dozen engineers tooled about the venue in preparation for my solo, since it would be me and an acoustic guitar—very different from the rest of our set.

  While everyone got set up, I traded my bass for my guitar, careful not to make too much noise while the mics were being set.

  “OK, Griffin, it’s all you.” Robins took a seat at the mixer in the back of the room and the house lights went down, leaving only a single spotlight on me.

  Just like I’d do that night, I sat on the stool and delivered my message to Jillian.

  * * *

  Hey Griff, I’m here. Headed for the dance floor. I read her text and was filled with equal parts relief and worry, relieved that she’d come and completely ill at ease that she was alone in the sea of people out there.

  Be careful down there. I hate that you’re alone, I wrote back.

  Her response came quickly. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.

  I always worry about you, Bean. Go to the main bar area, I left a VIP pass for you.

  Thanks! Can’t wait for the show!

  The guys and I waited quietly backstage. Tonight’s concert was the largest we’d ever played, not to mention the fact that we were headlining. It if went well, Dane said the tour was a go. Before he put in the final calls, he wanted to see how we could handle a show of this scale. The Pageant was a huge fucking venue.

  The guys and I lined up just offstage, our bodies swaying to the beat of the music being piped through the PA as the sound techs set mics. My hand ran over the fret board of my bass, silently fingering different chord roots. I could feel the roar of the crowd in every one of my nerve endings, which were sparking with electricity. My fingers twitched with pent-up energy.

  I closed my eyes and listened to the crowd, popping the joints in my hands like I always did before I played. The crowd was on—loud, engaged, and ready. Then my mind zeroed in on Jillian in the middle of that crowd…and everything that could go wrong.

  I dug my phone from my pocket and typed out a quick text. Bean, I don’t like that you’re on the floor alone. Come backstage for the show. You can watch from the wings.

  “You’re on, guys,” one of th
e stage managers said, pointing at us. “Rock ’em into next year.”

  I panicked. I hadn’t gotten a response from her, and it was up to me to start the show. I took a deep breath and tried to relax; she’d be fine. I nodded at Pauly, Thor, and Adam. “Let’s do this.”

  I tucked my phone back into my pocket and walked up the steps first, getting set in front of the mic that was just offstage. I’d slap a few notes before walking out, just to tease the crowd a little.

  My hand smoothed over the tightly wound strings and then my phone vibrated.

  I had to look.

  I pulled it out. I’m fine. Stop worrying and start your show!

  That was all the motivation I needed. My hands fell into position, and I struck the first note.

  Adam walked onstage and the crowd exploded. I watched from the side, slapping out a rhythmic sequence, waiting for Adam to start in on the kick drum.

  One by one, each of us added his instrument, our sound filling every space of the massive hall. Finally I joined my boys on stage and the crowd lost their shit. Images of playing in Thor’s garage came rushing back. All those late-night jam sessions when we’d pretended to have a crowd that sounded like this. All our hard work and dedication had paid off.

  I soaked up the passion from the crowd and gave them a fucking show they wouldn’t forget.

  * * *

  We played the hell out of the first half of our set—the best we’d ever played. But now it was time for my confessional.

  After our last song ended, I ran a hand through the sweaty hair sticking to my face. “You’re awesome,” I breathed into the mic. “We’ll be right back.”

  A massive cheer went up as we walked offstage.

  Once I was clear, I grabbed a bottle of water and downed it, having worked up a thirst. Thor came up and slapped me on the back. “She’s going to hear you,” he said confidently.

  I raised my chin in acknowledgment. “I fucking hope so. I can’t play this game anymore.”