by Jodie Larson
“We’ve asked a couple of the acts from last night to come in and audition this morning,” Don replies to Brecken. “All have agreed that this is probationary and not a guarantee for anything more.” He nods to Linda, who speaks to the receptionist just outside. “I think you’ll like the lineup we’ve picked for you.”
We move so we’re all sitting behind the table American Idol-style. This is intimidating as fuck. Even I’m nervous, and this is supposed to be the good side of the table. Three sheets of paper land in front of me, each showing a number scale and a section for comments. No names are listed; only audition one, two, and three. Seems shady. Why wouldn’t they list the names?
Three guys walk in when Linda opens the door. I remember them from earlier last night. They were pretty good. Played alternative rock like us, which would definitely be a better fit. And since they’re all guys, it’d be easier to hang out and not worry about crossing any lines. They tune their instruments and plug into their portable amps, the harsh screech causing us to cover our ears for a moment. Good thing Pax donated his drum set for these auditions. Not his good one, of course. Just the one we had back in the garage at my house.
“Cumbersome” by Seven Mary Three fills the small room. It’s a solid pick, older, but still a great song that could showcase their abilities. Unfortunately for them, their timing is off. The drums are a half-beat behind and the bassist keeps fumbling the chords. I get that they’re nervous, but we’re only six people. What’s going to happen when there’s twenty-thousand?
Writing my comments and score down, I try my best to look engaged. It’s hard to do when I’ve already written them off. With more practice, they could be good. Just need to get over their nerves, play more gigs, put themselves out there so it won’t be obvious.
I look over to Kade and Pax, both sporting similar looks. They’re about as pleased as I am. Brecken is writing a fucking novel since his head is still down and his pencil is working tirelessly. Someone needs to tell him these won’t be graded or that he won’t lose a point for a wrong answer.
Linda thanks them when they finish and a round of applause is given. Nothing more is said, which I’m not sure is a good thing or a bad thing. The next band walks through the door, this time a group of four like us. They introduce themselves, making sure to shake all our hands. Very impressive. Definitely shows their determination to make a good impression. Even more so when they start playing “Sound of Madness” by Shinedown. Fuck, I love this song.
The lead singer kills it with the lyrics, hitting every note and making the guitar a focal point. The rest of the band shines as well, keeping time and showing how into the song they are. It’s not always about hitting the notes. If you can feel the music pouring into your soul and pulse through your veins, that’s when you know you’ve made music instead of just playing a song. And these guys are showing me exactly that.
Is it wise to put another talented alt rock band on the tour though? I mean, Melissa was great because she was different. We don’t want to be upstaged by our opening act. How would that look? Megadeth doesn’t exactly open for Metallica. Some things need to be consistent.
Fours and fives paint my paper, along with some very encouraging notes. Brecken’s writing another novel while Kade and Paxton talk quiet enough so I can’t hear what they’re saying. Why am I put on a fucking island all of a sudden? What the fuck has happened in the last twelve hours that I’m basically a cast-off? Could this possibly be about Tatum? She’s a big girl and should be able to handle the shit that’s dealt to her. It didn’t stop her from dishing it out.
After thanking them and a round of fist bumps, Linda calls in the last audition. Don clears his throat next to me. “Now, this one is slightly different than the other two. Even though Melissa didn’t exactly fit into the mold here, she was still a breath of fresh air. Something a little different and still appeased the crowd.”
What’s up with the intro? I’m about to ask when my eyes land on the reason why.
Fucking. A.
Blond hair greets me first, draped casually over her shoulder. She’s still looking away, hiding those green eyes I’ve looked into since we were kids. Even without seeing them, I know they’re almond-shaped with flecks of gold around the edges. Long lashes frame them, one of her sexiest features. They look even better when they’re fanned out on her cheek as she sleeps. Ripped skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder shirt complete her outfit. It’s her style, simple and not flashy. A tall stool appears as she lowers down on it, adjusting her acoustic guitar in the process, same one she’s had since we were teens. It looks to still be in good condition. I wonder how often she plays it, or if she stopped once she left K.C. to go wherever the fuck she went.
Tatum looks up, tucking a few strands behind her ear. She looks around, smiling at everyone but me. She refuses to make eye contact. Which is fine. The last thing I need is her looking at me.
“Is this a fucking joke?” I mutter under my breath. Brecken picks his head up finally, turning in my direction.
“Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth for once in your life?”
Whoa. What the fuck?
“What did you say?” The nerve of him. Who the fuck does he think he is?
Brecken narrows his eyes, cool anger simmering behind them. “You heard me. Shut your fucking mouth and keep your ears open. Leave your attitude at the door.”
Don pointedly looks in our direction, the pencil in his hands showing his impatience. Fine, if they’re serious about this, I’ll listen. But there’s no way I’m marking her high enough to make the tour. Not a fucking chance.
“Hey guys.” The smooth honey of her voice hits me first. An involuntary shudder runs over my skin, sending goosebumps peppering every inch of exposed flesh. “Thanks for asking me to come this morning. I thought about what I wanted to sing for you and had a hard time locking down a song. You guys know me better than anyone else.” Her smile lights up her face. I can feel my own traitorous lips tip upward in one corner. Closing my eyes, I count to ten and bring my face back to its normal form. Girls have resting bitch face. I have resting asshole face.
“That said, I decided to sing something meaningful and personal.” This time, she looks straight at me and I can’t look away.
A lump forms in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I’m almost afraid to know what she’s about to play. Could I handle it?
Thanks to my sister, I instantly recognize the song as soon as she starts it. “Amnesia” by 5 Seconds of Summer is one of Lizzie’s favorite songs, even though it’s several years old. But just like Tatum, she played it on repeat until she could sing it perfectly. Or until I wanted to tie a noose around my neck whenever I went into the main house from my little apartment above the garage.
The lyrics are altered so they’re from her point of view instead of the guy’s. An uncomfortable ache squeezes my chest. We used to communicate through music in the past. Is she trying to tell me something?
She misses me? Even though she’s the one who left me wondering what had gone wrong between us. Brecken side-eyes me before bouncing his gaze between us. What the fuck is his problem?
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and block out all sounds, except one. Tatum’s voice. So much hurt and pain. There’s a waver in her voice, a small trill that some would call natural. Except I know her voice better than anyone else. Heard it daily for years, know its range and what it’s capable of. Tatum’s voice has always made me think of angels. It’s what I imagined Heaven would sound like. Any time of the day, anywhere she was, she was never afraid to show her emotions. A few times I caught her crying while singing an emotional song. She blamed it on hormones, but I knew better. Tatum was an emotional singer. She took the lyrics to heart, always giving me her interpretation when we disagreed on what the meaning of the song could be. That discussion usually ended in bed.
When I open my eyes again, I don’t see this new Tatum in front of me. No, it’s the one I’ve loved every single day I
’ve known her. I can’t help but take her in, reminding me of what we had once upon a time. We were good. No, great. There was a time I was convinced we’d never separate. Then one day she was gone. No note. No phone call. Nothing.
Now she’s in front of me, saying she could forget everything and go back to what it was. Tatum said this was personal while looking at me. Is she…is she saying she’s sorry?
A single tear tracks down her cheek as she comes to the end, the waver in her voice still there. Looking around the table, I see nothing but beaming smiles and nodding heads, including Don’s. Is this a conspiracy theory? They did this on purpose.
Whatever dam opened up inside me has sealed, rebuilding the wall around my heart. Tatum can’t come with us. She just can’t. I’ll make sure she doesn’t, even if it means crushing her dreams, something I swore I’d never do.
Everyone applauds when she finishes. Except me. I keep my arms crossed in front of my chest. This was an attack and she was an active participant. They all want to see me suffer. Well, fuck that. I won’t give them the satisfaction.
Tatum places the guitar in her case, sliding off the stool as quickly as she can. When she looks up, her eyes glisten with emotion, blinking rapidly to keep everything at bay.
“I-I’m sorry,” she says. Covering her mouth, the door flies open as she disappears into the hallway.
Five heads turn in my direction, showing the same annoyed glare when I first walked in.
“What the fuck did you do?” Kade’s the first one to break the silence.
I balk at his insinuation. “Me? What the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t say shit.”
“You didn’t have to,” Brecken says next to me. “Your actions last night spoke pretty damn loud.”
“My actions?” Is he serious? “What about yours? You were all over her last night.”
The chair screeches as he pushes away from the table. “I was protecting her from you. Did you even care about her feelings as you were parading your whore around the bar?”
Okay, not my finest moment. All the repressed anger and hurt surfaced at once so I wasn’t thinking straight. Not that it’s an excuse. Far from it. But she needed to know I wasn’t going to back down, nor was I going to sit there and be weak. I’m not the same guy I was back then. Something she saw to. I won’t apologize for my actions, least of all to Brecken.
“If she can’t handle it, then maybe she’s not the right person for the tour. I won’t hide who I am. You all know me, know what I do.”
“Yeah,” Pax says. “We know her, too. Together you brought out the best of each other. If you could stop being butt hurt for two seconds and listen to her, maybe we can be adults about this situation.”
The table vibrates as I slam my hand down, the slap echoing slightly around the room. “Why do I have to be the martyr? She’s the one who left.”
“Listen.” Don’s voice booms above our squabbling. “I don’t care what has to happen here. In my opinion, she’s the best candidate for the tour. She’s a single artist, which tends to garner more attention as an opener. When you have too many bands, things get messy. People get big heads and it doesn’t work.” He jabs a finger toward the door. “And she’s out there crying somewhere because you all are acting like babies.” He turns his attention to me, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t care what the fuck you have to do, but make this right.”
I narrow my eyes back to him. “Why in the hell did you make us fill out these damn forms if you knew she was it?” The papers shake in my hands, either from nerves or anger. Not sure which one.
Don smiles sinisterly. “What fun would it have been to just tell you she’s joining us?”
“Asshole,” I say, standing from the chair and walking toward the door. I’m not sure what I’m going to say, let alone how to make this better. She may have been the love of my life at one point, but those feelings are buried. And I’m not into necrophilia so having these come back to life isn’t going to happen.
Turning the corner, I walk into the long hallway and spot her, sitting in the corner curled into a ball like she’s been kicked. The ache in my chest returns as I run a hand through my hair. Fuck. She’s crying. Her shoulders shake with her sobs, even though they’re barely audible. Few things in this world I can’t take. Both of them involve crying. One is Lizzie. The other is Tatum. I would move heaven and earth to stop her tears. That was years ago. Looking at her now, timid and broken, I know that hasn’t changed.
Okay, you can do this. We can be civil to each other for two months.
“Tay.”
She doesn’t look up, but doesn’t keep her head buried in her arms anymore. My knees crack as I bring myself down to her level, leaning against the wall for stability.
“Look, I don’t know why I’m here.” Which is a lie.
Tatum sniffs, keeping her eyes downcast and away from mine. “Then go away.”
It breaks my heart even more when the tears don’t stop with each swipe of her hand. “Can’t. Apparently I’m an asshole and have to make things right.”
“Why bother? You hate me, that much is obvious.” She finally looks at me, defeat in her eyes. “How’s Tracy this morning?”
An entire jar of peanut butter has found its way into my mouth. I didn’t think it’s possible for my tongue to stick to the roof of my mouth, but as I try to form the words, nothing happens. This is wrong, talking about another woman with Tatum. Yet during those few hours, all I could imagine was another woman beneath me; another face staring back. Someone who’s normally happy eyes weren’t glazed over and sad.
“About that.” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry how I handled last night. It was childish and immature.”
Tatum snorts. “You could say that.”
The cold tile floor greets me as my legs give out. “Can we call a truce? Just for the tour.”
A flush creeps up her cheeks. I can’t tell if it’s from anger or something else.
“A truce?” Anger it is. “I’m not the one who declared war. That was all you. Yeah, I know our history is…complicated and I’ll take the blame for it. But you do not have the right to treat me any less than a human being. The shit you pulled last night will never happen again.”
This is good. This is the fire I’ve missed. Just like when we were teens and she’d pick fights with me. Of course, back then she did it so we could have makeup sex. That’s not happening.
“Okay, it won’t happen again. Think we can work together, civilly, for the next two months?”
Pink lips purse together, completely devoid of makeup. Tatum has always been a natural beauty, never needing to hide behind layers and layers of goop. And as she looks at me with eyes that plague my dreams, I know I could never do what I did last night to her again.
“Fine. Truce.” I take hold of her smaller hand, the familiar charge running through our connection. In the flash of a moment, I want to kiss her, claim her lips as mine once more. The way she’s looking at me says she wants the same thing. Instead, I run my index finger across her wrist, her pulse beating beneath the tip.
For one brief moment, everything feels right. The past nine years disappear, giving us both the amnesia we’re looking for.
Two months…it could work.
My boss was surprisingly not mad when I informed him about my leave of absence for the next two months. When I told him why, he practically threw his arms around me and shoved me out the door. Maybe he was trying to get rid of me all along and didn’t have a valid excuse until now? Then again, he did say he couldn’t wait to hear all about it when I get back, so I’m thinking I’ll still have a job.
Three suitcases sit neatly next to the front door, all packed with every necessity I’ll need. I’m not sure what the weather will be like, especially since we’re going across the country. Either way, I’m prepared for everything, including winter. Good thing no one was around when I packed. They probably would have laughed.
The chime of the doorbell brings a smile to my
face. Butterflies flutter furiously in my stomach the closer I get. The house is going to be empty for a while, but I’ve arranged for the neighbors to keep an eye on the place. All the mail’s been stopped and I’ve set up my lights on timers, just for illusion. Even the police department knows I’ll be gone and were nice enough to put me on their house watch list.
Kade leans against the doorframe, the tattoos dance as he playfully flexes his biceps. I laugh and wrap my arms around him.
“You know I’m immune to your charm, right?”
He laughs and walks through the door. “Come on, not even a little? I remember this one time back in fifth grade when you and I went back behind Mr. Haglin’s garage and–”
“Okay,” I say, dragging the word out. “We don’t need to go down that path. Besides, we were ten. Pretty sure everyone has their first kiss at that age.”
“If that’s what you call it. Pressing lips together isn’t really a kiss.”
I laugh and lean against the hall table. “Back then we thought it was. You even dated me for two whole weeks. Until you saw Suzie Gilmore across the lunchroom and her huge boobs.”
Kade shakes his head and laughs. “You could have told me she was stuffing her bra. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.”
“I did tell you, you dufus. You didn’t care.”
I’ve missed joking around with Kade as I nudge the rug with my toe. He’s always been like a big brother to me, except for those two weeks when we were ten. But in all honesty, if we hadn’t done that, it wouldn’t have strengthened our friendship because we realized we weren’t good romantically. He was Kade, I was me, and that was it. Sure, his lips were the first mine ever touched, but I don’t consider him my first kiss. No, that came later.
With Myles.
The thought makes the butterflies stop and turn. I can’t even think about him without feeling some sort of anger, or loss. Maybe a bit of both. For too long he was my world. Now we’re just strangers forced to be together, interact like we didn’t have a history, didn’t promise each other the moon and stars when we were younger. How can I look at him and forget what we were?