[Off Track Records 01.0] Detour

by Kacey Shea

  She finally blinks and lifts her gaze to give me her attention. Those eyes, usually so strong or angry or sassy, are void of their vibrant energy. “Mom called again. He’s near the end. They called in hospice last week. And I . . . I just . . .”

  “It’s okay.” I wrap my arms around her and she folds into me. My cheek rests atop her head and the wetness from her tears cover my chest.

  “Trent.” She pulls away and this time her voice is much stronger. “I need to go. I need to go home.”

  Relief fills my soul at her decision. My own eyes fill with moisture and I blink several times to keep it at bay. I nod. “I’ll pack my bag.”

  “Trent, you don’t have to—” I cut her off, my hands cupping her chin so she can’t look away.

  “I do, and I am.”

  “What about New York?” Of course, she’s more worried about me missing a show.

  “We’ll reschedule.”

  She shakes her head and backs away from my grip. “You can’t just—”

  “Damn it, Lex, don’t you get it? You’re more important to me than some gig. I’ll drop anything to be by your side. I’ll cancel the whole fucking tour if that’s what you need.”

  “I don’t need that.” She wipes the sleeves of her sweatshirt across her cheeks and rolls her eyes.

  My fingers find their place in her hands with my need to touch her. “I know you don’t, Lex. Because you’re strong. You’re so fucking strong and I love you for it. But sometimes it’s okay to lean on me a little. I’ll help you be strong, ’kay?”

  She runs her tongue across the ring in her lip. “You won’t resent me for it?”

  “Never.” I lean forward and kiss her lips, tender and unhurried. A promise.

  “Fuck, it’s like a Hallmark film up in here.” Austin slams an empty coffee mug on the counter, breaking our moment.

  Lexi tries to pull away, but I’m not having it. I follow her movements and steal another kiss, moving my lips with hers as she reclines against the bench seat. I’m practically on top of her.

  “Oh, my God! You have a room! Is it too much to ask that you use it?” Austin complains and I finally come up for air.

  The soft smile on Lexi’s lips is worth the embarrassment.

  “Sorry, not sorry,” I say with a shrug.

  Sean slides open the curtain of his bunk and narrows his gaze. “What’s wrong? Trent, what’d you do to her?”

  “Why do you automatically assume I did something?”

  Lexi leans into my side, and looks up. Her face is stained with tears, her nose is red and eyes puffy, but she’s still the most beautiful woman when she smiles. “It’s fine. Trent didn’t do anything. Wait, that’s not true. He did everything.” Her fingers dance along my chin before finding the back of my neck. She pulls until our lips meet again and whispers, “Thank you.”

  “I’m missing something.” Sean grabs a protein shake from the fridge and takes the seat across from us.

  “I have to go see my father before he dies,” Lexi says with confidence.

  Sean nods. “Of course.”

  “And I’m going with her.”

  Sean’s brows narrow when he meets my eyes. “What about tonight? We’re playing two shows here.”

  “We have to reschedule,” I say.

  “Or . . . I can go by myself.” Lexi gives me the out, probably for the sake of the band, but I’m not taking it.

  I meet her gaze with my answer. “No. Not happening.”

  “But—”

  “I’m going with you.” This time she must realize she has no chance to change my mind. I meet Sean and Austin’s concerned stares with a nod. “You guys wanted a few days off in the Big Apple, anyway. Didn’t you?”

  Sean nods his head. His lips pull up at the sides, and he raises an eyebrow. “Bedo know about your change in itinerary?”

  “Not yet. I still have to tell him.”

  He laughs, hard this time and Austin joins in. “Good luck with that.”

  “Are you sure you can come with me? Honestly, Trent, it’s okay if you can’t. I can handle this.” Lexi places her hand on my thigh, her words so selfless.

  “I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to. We do this together, remember?” I steal one more kiss.

  “Together.”

  34

  Lexi

  When Trent Donavan decides to do something, there is no stopping him. A man on a mission, he has our flights booked and the tour delayed within the hour. I barely finish packing my bag before it’s time to leave the bus and head to the airport.

  Usually, I hate being the center of attention. The only acceptable time is when I’m onstage. But when Austin, Sean, and even Iz wrap me in hugs to say good-bye with no judgment or anger for canceling tonight’s show, I’m overwhelmed. They really have welcomed me into their inner circle, and I know without a doubt I’ve earned friendship for life.

  Bedo. He’s not so understanding, and gives Trent an earful that I overhear from my seat in the chartered SUV. Within minutes, my phone rings and Amie’s name pops up on the screen. Trent glances over and shakes his head no, discouraging me from answering.

  Bedo continues to shout through his phone until Trent cuts him off.

  “Look, I’d say I was sorry for the change in plans, but I’m not. I’m sorry for the extra work. For the inconvenience to the fans. For the cost. But this is important, Bedo. If it wasn’t, I’d have stayed on tour. Reschedule the shows, because I’m hopping on a plane in the next hour.” He pulls the phone away from his ear. Even though Bedo sounds as if he still has a lot to say, Trent ends the call, clicking his settings to airplane mode. “There. Much better. We’ll deal with everyone later, okay? They can wait.”

  I nod and when my cell rings again, I take his advice and send one short message to my mom before powering the phone off. On my way. Address?

  I glance up at Trent as the car pulls up to the airport curb. “She’ll text me back before we land. I just can’t talk to her right now. I’m not going for her. I’m doing this for me. That’s horrible, isn’t it?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m glad you’re doing this for you. That’s the only person you should do it for.” The driver opens my door and Trent nods for me to get out first. “You ready?”

  I’m still not sure I am, but with Trent by my side I’m confident I can handle anything.

  The first flight goes quickly, but we’re grounded and stuck in Atlanta for several hours due to storms. By the time we take off again, worry fills my heart, so to keep my sanity, I scribble lyric after lyric in my notebook. I’m not sure any of this will be usable, but it helps me just the same.

  We land in San Diego and Trent hails a cab. “We’ll get a rental later. I don’t want to waste the time now,” he decides and I nod, sliding into the taxi that smells of cigarettes and day-old food. Trent gives directions to the address my mom sent me earlier. He argues with the driver about the most direct route to take, but my mind is a puddle. I’m unable to sort through the mess of feelings and thoughts that clutter my brain. Rolling along through freeway traffic at a painfully slow place, I let my gaze turn westward. A brilliant array of oranges and pinks paint the skyline, and my worries are swept away by the beauty of it all.

  Time is so fleeting.

  I only hope I’m not too late.

  “Hey.” Trent rubs the area above my knee where there’s a rip in my jeans. “Whatever happens, however you feel, I’m here.”

  I nod, meet his gaze, and exhale a rush of breath. As nervous as I am, as uncertain as to how this plays out, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s not here for anything other than to support me. I’ve never had that before—someone to lean on. As much as my instinct warns me to run, bail, get out before he can, my heart aches with the need to stay. The desire to find rest. To find someone I can always call home.

  “Together.” He squeezes my leg and then glances out the front window. His eyes narrow and etch with concern, and when I follow his line of sight a fa
miliar gated neighborhood comes into view. God, I haven’t been here since I was a child.

  I can do this. I need to do this.

  Those are the words I chant as the taxi climbs the narrow, twisting private drive and pulls up to a broad iron gate. Trent pays the cabbie and I step outside to press the call button.

  “How can I help you?” a man says through the speaker.

  “We’re here to visit Richie Sands.” Trent says to the invisible gatekeeper.

  “Who’s we?” The voice is not so polite.

  “Lexi Marx.” I speak and meet the circle of glass that covers the security camera.

  There’s a click and the automation of the gate swings it open. “You mother is expecting you. Please come to the front door.”

  Trent’s hand rests at the small of my back, and I draw strength from his presence as we cross the threshold. We travel the stone driveway, up to the two-story white stucco mansion. I don’t know what I expect when we walk inside after being greeted by a housekeeper, but it’s nothing I remember. The interior has been renovated, the oversized band photos with gaudy gold-frames replaced with stunning artwork on soft gray walls. No nineties rock star vibe here. The décor is beautiful. It’s a stranger’s house.

  There’s also no undertone of sickness or death.

  “Can I take your bags? Your mother is in the living room,” The woman who opened the door indicates which hall to take with a nod. Except I already know the layout of this house. I doubt that’s changed.

  “Thank you.” Trent hands over our bags.

  “Will you be staying overnight? I can place these in one of the guest suites.”

  “No, thank you,” Trent answers before I can. It’s a big deal coming to this place, for me to come back to see my father, but there’s no way in hell I’ll sleep here.

  Trent captures my hand in his and we make our way down the hall to a barely lit room with the same undraped wall to wall windows I remember from my childhood. What’s left of the sunset bounces off the ocean and casts shadows over the opulent sofas and chairs that crowd the expansive space.

  “Mom?” I’m startled to find her sitting in a small wingback, her back straight against the chair. More so to find her wearing such little makeup when her gaze draws up at the sound of my voice.

  She shoves to her feet, her arms fall open, and her face crumples with a muted sob.

  “I’m here! Mom! I’m here.” I race to her and fear tightens around my hope at the sight of her red rimmed eyes.

  “Oh, baby.” My mother lunges for me, her sobs wracking her frail frame. She cries, a loud gut-wrenching sound, and I simply hold her. Trent’s there like he promised, and he comes up behind me to wrap his long arms around both me and my mom. He’s right. I need him. He offers the strength I don’t feel, and I gladly soak it in.

  “Mom. I came to see him. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

  Her cries only escalate, and trepidation creeps up my spine. She sobs into my shoulder a good minute before backing away enough that she can meet my gaze. “Lex. Your dad. He . . . He passed on.”

  “What?” I don’t believe her. “When?” Wetness dampens my cheeks and it takes a second to realize it’s from my own tears. God damn it, I don’t want to cry for him. Fuck.

  “Less than an hour ago. I can’t believe he’s really gone.” She grabs for me again but I can’t be touched anymore. Her comfort, her grief, it’s suffocating.

  “No. No. No. No. No.” The words leave my lips in a murmur and increase in volume until I’m almost shouting.

  “Lexi,” she says again, her arms open, but I don’t turn to her. I can’t. I won’t accept solace when I did this to myself. I was so damn stubborn. I should’ve come sooner. This is my fault. I back up until I’m pressed against Trent.

  “Lex. We tried. We got here as soon as we could,” he says softly but it only pisses me off. I whirl to glare at him.

  “No! Don’t do that! Don’t make me feel better about this! I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve—”

  I expect my words to strike him, to chase him away so I can sit alone with my own failure, but it doesn’t work. Not on Trent.

  “Let’s go.” He grabs hold of my wrist and drags me to the foyer, away from my mother, and right over to the front door. He opens it and then slams it shut without moving. I worry he’s lost his mind. When the woman who greeted us comes running, I understand that’s his intent.

  “Excuse me. This is Richie Sands’ daughter. We know he’s passed but we need to see him. Can that be arranged?”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Her eyes are kind, compassionate, and full of an understanding so honest I’m stunned silent. She looks from me to Trent, and back again. “Your father spoke so highly of you, Lexi. He’d have been happy you came.”

  Again with the tears. I can’t stop them so I don’t even try to wipe them away. I nod at her instead.

  “Come right this way. We only have a few minutes before his physician arrives. They’ll need to take him.”

  “Thank you,” Trent says on my behalf. We follow her soft steps up the spiral staircase and down a wide hallway. His bedroom is lit by only two bedside lamps, and it takes a moment for my eyesight to adjust to the dim room.

  Richie lays on his bed, eyes closed and sheets pulled smoothly across his chest. An oxygen tube is still affixed at his nose, and if I didn’t know better I would think he was only sleeping. The room is clean, and there’s a peaceful comfort to the space; not at all the death and devastation I was expecting.

  “You can come closer,” the woman offers, dragging a second chair next to his bed, close to the one already stationed there.

  Trent squeezes my hand and I sit on the edge of one of the chairs, but I’m unable to study my father’s face without a flood of memories crashing down. Not the bad ones. Not the disappointments. Instead, it’s us walking hand in hand down the boardwalk. Eating fish and chips while seagulls try to steal a bite. Sitting at his feet while he worked out the melody to a new song.

  Tears splatter, hitting the front of my shirt, and although I don’t give in to the sobs, I cry anyway. We didn’t have many good times together, but those are the times I remember as I regard my dead father’s face. Those are the times I mourn with my sadness, with my tears.

  I don’t know how long we sit there, but a soft knock at the door startles me and snaps my attention back to the present. Trent’s arm goes around my shoulders, a protectiveness and source of comfort I lean into, and the woman ushers several others into the room.

  “I’m sorry, but we need to move him now. It’s best if you step outside,” she says and I nod, standing and taking one last cleansing breath.

  “Good-bye, Daddy,” I murmur. I turn away, and as I do my gaze catches on an open notebook at his bedside. Chicken scratches and messy words fill the entire page, but it’s my name in their midst I recognize immediately. “What’s this?” I ask.

  “The past several days, he’s had difficulty speaking. But he could write to ask what he wanted.”

  “That’s my name,” I blurt. Her mouth forms the most somber of smiles.

  “He’s asked for you for weeks. He never stopped asking, Lexi.”

  “May I?” The question leaps from my mouth and, before I can reach for it, the woman places the small notebook in my hand. I press it to my chest, the worn leather heavy against my soul.

  They’re too much, the feelings that press on my heart, that grip my ability to breathe like a vice. I run from his room, down the stairway that leads to the grand foyer, and from there turn left to escape out the back door. I step to the edge of the patio, and my heart races with so much speed I have to stop. Leaning over, I grip my knees as nausea takes hold of my gut. I dry heave into a planter of poppies, but there’s nothing in my stomach to release.

  “Lexi?” Trent’s voice, full of concern, comes from behind.

  I hold up a hand, not able to face reality quite yet. “Give me a minute.” I stand, eyes trained on the cloudy
night sky and the ocean as the waves crash on the beach. I try to make sense of it all. How I could both hate and love a person who showed me time and time again he knew nothing of love. It’s a battle, to feel both immense relief and disappointment all at once.

  Trent lets me have my space, but I know he’s there behind me, waiting with a patience I don’t understand or deserve. I’m so damn thankful for him.

  “Mrs. Mallory, can I get you something? Do you need a ride?” Trent offers and I turn, ready to face him and my mother.

  The hostility in her glare keeps me from stepping any closer. Her mouth twists into a scowl I’ve never seen before, and she points at me but lifts her chin to glare at Trent. “You. You can get me a daughter who isn’t a selfish bitch.” Her words seethe from her lips but she’s not finished. She turns her anger back on me. “Why couldn’t you be here? Why couldn’t you give him what he wanted? He knew he was dying, Lexi. He knew he was dying and his baby girl didn’t give a damn.”

  I shake my head, unable to take this from my mother when I’m already struggling with enough guilt. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you blame me for this. For him.”

  “He wanted you! He kept asking for you.” She steps closer, wagging that pointed finger at my face as her accusations intensify. “Why couldn’t you be here? If not for him, then for me! Why couldn’t you forgive him?”

  “Because he left me!” I scream.

  “Because you couldn’t behave! You were always a handful!”

  “That was not my fault! He left me, he left you, and he left us. He was never there for us, Mom. Not when we needed him. Not when I needed him. He took me to places that weren’t safe for a thirteen-year-old girl, and the minute something bad happened, he didn’t want anything to do with me. I needed him. I needed a father. He let me down.”

  She shuts her eyes as though it pains her to look at me, and shakes her head. “He always loved you. He was your father. You were always too stubborn and selfish to see that.”