Midlife Crisis_Silver Fox Former Rock Star

by L. B. Dunbar

  “I had my suspicions but never the answers.”

  “How could she keep this from you?” I demand, my irritation at a dead woman growing.

  “She had her reasons.” It hits me. Hank was an enabler; Kit played off his weakness—her.

  I bit back my retort. That’s a terrible excuse. Then I think of all the times he says he asked her to marry him. How could she say no? How could she keep having sex with him, knowing he was the father of her child, and never tell him? I want to understand, but I just can’t. Something in my expression shifts Hank’s face. Suddenly, he’s on his knees before me. Cupping both my hands in his, he leans forward and kisses them.

  “Please don’t leave me,” he begs softly, and my heart breaks. No, it’s already broken. It shatters and crashes like shrapnel, exploding with confusion and disappointment in someone dead. My forehead rests against the back of his head.

  “I want to understand, but there are so many gaps.” Hank needs to explain a few things. Unfortunately, explanations will have to wait. Edie enters the living room with a glass of wine for me and an invitation for us to join them in the kitchen.

  In an effort to pretend we’ve all known this secret and nothing unusual has transpired, Tommy entertains us while he cooks by telling stories about shared experiences with Hank. It’s like a game of Remember When.

  “I left home to start a band,” Tommy begins. “Denton, my cousin; a guy we hooked up with named, Tucker Ashe, and me. We had a few small hits on our own—”

  “Ever hear of ‘Wait For You’?” Edie interjects, attempting to add me in the reminiscing.

  “I loved that song,” I say, smiling despite the sick feeling inside me.

  “That was before Chrome Teardrops, darlin’,” Tommy corrects her. “We fell apart after that. And then my sister joined us.” The room grows silent, their memories filling with a woman I’ve never met. Edie eyes me. She didn’t know her either.

  “My sister could sing like a church bell, which is where our singing career began. Our father was a pastor. We sang in the choir. Rock ’n’ roll was for sinners. Guess Kit and I wanted to sin.” Tommy winks at Hank. “She left home a year after me, catching up with her own attempts at fame.”

  “Kit toughened up her sound, and after Bruce…” Tommy glances up at Hank, and I rack my brain as to who Bruce was. “…she needed a new band. Her label gave her one more chance. She wanted to start fresh. Girl rockers were popular. She needed a drummer to up her beat. We met Hank in a bar, taking out his anger at his old man with sticks on his kit.” Tommy chuckles. “Kit says it was fate.” My heart drops, and I raise my wine to my lips, swallowing the bitter alcohol so I don’t have to look at anyone. There’s a pun there—her name and his equipment to produce music. The irony isn’t lost on me. Fate indeed.

  “Anyway, Hank was the addition we needed. Kit became Kit Carrigan and Chrome Teardrops. Denton stuck it out with us until Kit got sick.”

  Silence creeps in again, ghosts roaming the kitchen.

  “How is Denton?” Hank asks, changing the subject in a minor direction.

  “Haven’t spoken to him in a while. Heard he might be in photography or something. Hitched up with modeling. He always was a pretty boy. Last time I saw him might have been…” Tommy thinks for a second, swiping his fingers through his hair like I’ve witnessed Hank do. “Might have been the funeral, so eight or nine years?” The comment lingers.

  “Been a long time,” Hank says softly.

  “Too long,” Tommy replies, shaking his head at his old friend. “You look so much better, man.”

  Hank and I sit on a set of stools at a large kitchen island. His thick hand comes to my lower back, rubbing gently. “I feel so much better than I have in a long, long time.”

  Tommy’s lips crook, the corner curling, and I can see him as a rock star. Girls swooning at the pebbly voice with a hint of Southern drawl.

  “Love has a way of doing that,” he says. A million retorts swirl in my head, but I stay silent. Tommy steps toward his wife, kissing her open mouthed for a moment. I look away. I can’t watch. I see where Gage Everly learned to be passionate about his wife. Then I remember Edie came after Gage and Ivy married. My heart drops again. I’ve never known such passion. I turn to see Hank watching me, and I fight the tears. I thought he was it—the spark of something—but I don’t know how to feel at the moment. His hand continues to rub my back, but his touch feels so distant.

  After we eat, Edie and I do the dishes while Tommy and Hank discuss Lawson.

  “What’s next?” Hank asks.

  “What do you mean what’s next?” Tommy replies.

  “I mean, I want to see him, get to know him. Take him out of here.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tommy snaps. “Lawson isn’t going anywhere. This is his home.”

  “This is a prison, haunted with memories.”

  “For who?” Tommy barks. “This is the only place Lawson has known for twenty-six years. He stays here.”

  I startle at the age. Hank’s involvement with Kit goes longer than a few rolls in the hay and a couple of nights here and there. Twenty-six plus years to be exact. Again, I consider Hank and Kit’s relationship. He loved her for a long time, nearly as long as I’ve known Paul.

  “What about me? I’m his father.” The sharpness to Hank’s tone makes me flinch.

  “He doesn’t know that. You can come around and hang with him, but for how long? Fatherhood isn’t a fleeting thing. And he doesn’t even understand what having a father means. The only male figure in his life has been me.”

  “Well, whose fault is that?” Hank growls.

  “I did what she asked,” Tommy defends.

  “We were friends.”

  “She was my family.”

  Edie’s sharp intake of air seems to punctuate the moment, and again, I feel like I’m missing something. She hisses Tommy’s name under her breath.

  “We stopped being a band family long before we broke up, Edie,” Tommy adds, his tone still harsh.

  “Family is forever,” Edie states as if reminding him of something. Tommy’s head falls before he shakes it back and forth.

  “Dammit, woman,” he mutters. His hands come to the island as if bracing himself. Hank remains standing, arms crossed over his large chest. We aren’t getting anything resolved tonight between these men. In fact, it might take many nights to mend them. It took years to separate them.

  “I think…” I swallow before I continue. “I think we’ve done a lot…learned a lot…” I hesitate. “For one night. Maybe let this sit and start again tomorrow.” I sound like the leader of my marketing team when we stumble on a concept. Fragile hearts fill this storyboard, and we need to step back.

  “I agree with Midge,” Edie adds, her voice pitching a little stronger than necessary. “Hank met his son. There’s a lot to accept.” Edie narrows her eyes at Tommy. “Baby steps.”

  “Twelve of them,” Hank mutters, and I recall the path to recovery for addiction and grief. He has a long way to travel once again. Edie smiles at Hank’s comment. Tommy’s focus remains on the granite countertop.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow.” Tommy decides, and Hank tips his chin in agreement. Looking at me, I sense he needs an escape.

  “Thank you for dinner. Pasta night must be a hit.” I step forward to Tommy who envelops me in a tight hug.

  “Don’t let him go,” he mutters into my hair before pulling back. A thin line forms on my lips because I can’t pull off another fake smile. I reach for Edie.

  “Call me as soon as you can.” I appreciate the sisterhood and her sense that I’m breaking inside. I need to spend more time with my new friend.

  26

  I’m fine is another lie

  [Hank]

  My thoughts spiral like the curves we follow down the hill. Despite sitting so close to me, she’s slipping away. Tonight was too much, even for me. I don’t know what to think, how to feel, what to do. I’m numb inside. Absolutely cold.

&
nbsp; “Where are we?” Her small voice fills the SUV. I drove to Brut’s without thinking. I should take her home, return her to her normal life with her beautiful sons, but I can’t let her go.

  “Brut’s place.” My voice sounds defeated, which is how I feel at the moment. Whipped. Beaten. Done. “Can you come in for a bit?”

  Brut’s house looks sad under the dim headlights. The house is larger than it appears on the outside. Most days, it’s sadder looking in broad daylight. It’s a solid home but run down by lack of care.

  “Stay.” Midge nods. There’s more in this command than waiting for me to open her car door. I need her to stay with me. Helping her out of the truck, I keep my hand wrapped around hers, holding her like she might float away, a giant red balloon drifting upward. I lead her directly up the stairs and into my room. My bigger bed with a wooden headboard fills the space. Windows on either side of the mattress frame one wall. A tall dresser stands against another one.

  “I need a shower,” I say, pointing over my shoulder at the open door to my bathroom. Midge sits heavily on the edge of my bed. Her silence disturbs me. I’m bone tired and want nothing more than to lie down next to her, but I’m chilled, shaking inside. I need to relax. I need to explain myself. I just need a minute.

  Once I enter the shower, all I allow myself to focus on is the hot water. Baby steps. One step at a time. One day at a time. I’m back where I started six years ago.

  Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

  Courage to change the things I can.

  And the wisdom to know the difference.

  I cannot change what Kit kept from me, and I cannot change Lawson’s condition even though I will beat myself up for both things. I might have caused Lawson’s diagnosis from the choices I made. I didn’t demand the truth from her. In either case, I could have been more involved in Lawson’s upbringing. More. I could have done more.

  The warm spray hits me in the face, and I keep my eyes shut to the liquid. One hand rests on the pipe above the showerhead and the other presses against the tile wall. Two smaller hands surround my waist. I should be surprised she followed me, but instead, I’m grateful for her touch. A kiss falls between my shoulder blades before her chest rests against my back. I rub her arm and then slip my fingers between hers. We remain silent for too long. I don’t want to lose this moment with her—holding me, comforting me in her gentle quiet. Moisture covers my face, and it’s more than the heated water. I shudder, and she kisses my shoulder blade.

  “I’m fine. I just need a minute,” I croak.

  “You need to talk,” she tells me softly, but strong in tone.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “The beginning is always best.” She kisses me one more time, no other movement than the turn of her head. She waits, embracing me from behind.

  “I was seventeen when I met her. Just a kid myself but so enthralled with her. She was a few years older than me, on the edge of something, and I just wanted to be a part of it. I didn’t know her husband, Bruce, but he sounded like a loser, and when Kit found herself alone after his death, with her sweet baby, Ivy, I wanted to take care of her even though I was still a kid myself. She wouldn’t have me at first, and I thought it was a game of cat and mouse. Kit loved to flirt, and she fought the attraction. When she finally gave in, she didn’t want me permanently. Not in a long-term kind of way. She didn’t have a problem fucking me,” I snap bitterly. “But keeping me? Committing to me? Nope.”

  I shudder again.

  “We were a band on the rise. Kit was instantly successful. We fucked around with each other, but she had flings on the side. I did, too. It was a vicious circle. We always came back together, and I thought one day I’d just wear her down like I did the first time. Then she had another baby.

  “I wasn’t supposed to know. She took six months off. Disappearing to find inspiration, she claimed. Restore the muse, she told us. But I needed to know she was okay. I followed her one day, came to her home, and saw her getting out of a car with an infant carrier.”

  I squeeze Midge’s fingers, grateful she’s behind me and not witnessing the wetness dripping down my face.

  “I questioned her, and we fought. She told me she wasn’t discussing him with me. Ever. She was adamant. Didn’t want to hear me ask if I was the father. Didn’t want to hear my accusations of her sleeping around. Doc couldn’t tell me anything. Tommy said it was a roadie’s kid. All the non-disclosure agreements we had on one another prevented us from speaking to anyone else. The dirt was so deep on each of us, no one would talk, no one would tell.

  “Fuck, I hated her at the time. I wanted to quit the band, but I couldn’t. What would I do? Work for my dad? I didn’t finish college. I didn’t want to work his trade. I wanted my dream…and the drink…and the drugs…and the girl. I still loved her, and eventually, she came around. One night, she’d need me, and that’s all it took to start the circles again. Around and around and around, we went. Nearly twenty fucking years. Then she got diagnosed with cancer. She cleaned up. She had to go for chemo, but there wasn’t much hope. It metastasized quickly. I sank deeper because I couldn’t help her out of a killer disease. Ivy once hinted something to me, but I was too blitzed to care, question, follow up. I never questioned Kit again about the kid.”

  I pause, recalling the situation, my head lowering in shame. I was too afraid to lose her, lose the band, so I honored her threat and never asked again—until it was too late for answers.

  “What did Ivy say?” Midge prompts, her lips pressing to my skin while she speaks.

  “She said, she loves you, Uncle Hank. In her own way. But we never said I love you. Not like that. It was I love when you fuck me. Never said any other way or under any other condition. Then one night near Kit’s end, Ivy said, it was never a roadie, always me. Her mama didn’t want to rely on any man, but Ivy thought Kit needed me, and I needed the truth in order to let her go.”

  Midge’s forehead hits my back, her arms still wrapped around my middle. Despite the now cool shower and the sadness of my memories, my dick grows harder with the proximity of Midge’s fingers. I want to lower her hands, make her take me in them, and let me forget for a few minutes. I want to be selfish when I shouldn’t.

  “I think I’ll give you a second,” Midge says, shivering at my back. The release of her naked body against mine chills me even more, but I hold out before I step out of the stall and wrap a towel around my waist. I find Midge sitting against the headboard in my t-shirt.

  “Little lady, are you naked under that tee?”

  “Maybe,” she teases, her lip curling genuinely for the first time all evening. I crawl up the bed toward her, and she slips down to her back, scooting under me. Balancing on my elbows, I brush back her hair, looking into her gold-speckled eyes.

  “I want to get lost in you tonight.” The admission is raw and real. I just want to lose myself, bury myself inside her, and think only of us. No more Kit. No more past. No more hurt.

  Midge lifts her head, kissing me tenderly while holding my face in her hands. Already sporting a half wood, it only takes a couple of hungry kisses to skyrocket me to full mast. I tug at the towel to remove it from around my waist, to feel the heat of her thighs under my damp skin.

  “Fuck, I want you, little lady. I want to disappear inside you.” Her mouth opens, her tongue finding mine. She hasn’t kissed me like this before—so desperate and frantic. She’s unraveling, which is how I feel.

  “Midge,” I warn. Taking control, I rub against her, letting the wetness of her entrance coat my tip. I push my shirt up her middle and devour one breast, latching on and sucking deeply. I’ll mark her with the suction. I want to leave her wearing more than my shirt on her skin. Tugging the shirt over her head, I flip her over.

  “Let me take you like this,” I groan, my dick heavy against her ass.

  “I’ve never…” Her voice fades and I sense the panic.

  “Not up the ass, baby. Ju
st from behind.” I need inside her, and the reverse position will draw me deep.

  “Kneel up,” I command, pressing back for her to hitch her ass in the air. My hand smooths over the perfect curve of her backside. Damn, I like her like this, but I want even more of her. “Sit up. Hold the headboard.” I reach for a condom in the nightstand while she scrambles upward. Once sheathed, I position my knees under her, my dick poised at her entrance.

  “You okay with this?” I mutter, anticipating the moment I’ll disappear into her. She sits on my lap with her back to me.

  “Yes,” she breathes. Nibbling at the juncture of her shoulder and neck is my only warning. She grunts at the invasion. Swift but cautious, my dick fills her as I tug her down in one thrust. We still for a moment, allowing her to adjust to the angle. Deep in this position, she swallows me whole, her ass hitting my abs. One arm snakes around her stomach, holding her pressed to me. Moving her at my will, I lift her and build a slow repetitive rhythm while she clutches the wooden headboard.

  “Fuck, I love being inside you. Warm. Wet.” Wonderful, I exhale. Hammering at her, I hear her breath hitch. I own her at this moment, and I’m right where I want to be—lost in her—or, rather, found by her. I’m going to blow too quickly as she lets me take her, move her, love her.

  I love you, my head screams, but I can’t say it. Not like this, not for the first time with Midge.

  “Middy.” I breathe.

  “Fill me,” she says, and I implode, stars dotting my vision as I press upward, shooting off inside her. She stills, encircling me. The tips of my fingers imprint on her hips. I’m holding her to keep from floating away. Leaning forward, I rest my forehead on her shoulder.

  “You didn’t,” I mutter, disappointed in not getting her there first.

  “I’m fine,” she whispers, and I know from her tone, she’s not.

  27

  Ghosts in the bedroom