The Reckoning

by S. L. Scott

Then I realize, the picture becoming clear. I see the hope in his eyes—hope that I will say what he wants to hear. But the hurt he’s instilled inside me wins out. “If you’re asking me what I think you are, I want you to leave.”

  “I’m not leaving until I have answers. Did you fuck him?”

  My heart has never been so wrecked, so betrayed. I walk to the door and hold it wide open. “Get out!” I scream, my anguish morphing into rage.

  “Shut the damn door!”

  “No! Not if you’re gonna come in here with insinuations or accusations.” I don’t recognize the man before me, the one who has decided to destroy our lives while his crumbles. “Get out, Dalton. I want you gone before this gets worse.”

  His sarcasm is dripping. “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart. I don’t take threats lightly.”

  How have we come to this? How did we get here? Sadness shrouds my clearer thoughts. “It’s not a threat.” My anguish comes in tears that slip down my cheek. I wipe them away, hating the weakness. “If you have to ask me who the father of my baby is, there’s nothing more for us to say.”

  Flipping from one emotion to the next, he grits his teeth. “Say it’s not true. Deny it!”

  My insides are black, set on fire by the man I love, burned by the man I thought would always be on my side. I refuse to be part of this downward spiral and placate on the back end of his insults. “I shouldn’t have to!”

  “Do you know how humiliated I am? A roadie was reading this trash.” His head drops down, his own anguish eating away at him until he’s left with the ugliness of this, what lies between us. Trust is gone, shattered by our pride. I can’t give him what he needs when he sucker-punched me with this accusation. And he knows I won’t, too stubborn to admit fault sometimes. In this case, there is none so I won’t win anyway. But he won’t walk out of here a winner either. I know him too well. Regret will take hold soon enough, but I won’t take the brunt in the meantime. “Leave,” I say, a slight plea has set in, making my throat ache with rawness. Another tear falls and then another. I let them.

  “If I walk out that door, I’m not coming back.” His threat appears idle on the surface, but even if regret sets in later, he has his ego to deal with. When he looks up, his eyes are a bright green, shining through his own tears. “I need you to tell me. I need to hear that this is all made up, that they faked the photos.”

  I can’t deny those photos. “They’re real, but the story is—”

  In one fast motion, he swings and punches a hole in the wall. I jump, flinching from the action as the plaster falls in bits and pieces to the floor at my feet. His hand is bloody and I gasp from shock and fear as he barrels over in pain. I cry, “Babe, what are you doing?”

  Dalton stands, knocking my hands off of him and walks right past me and straight out the apartment door. I follow him. “Dalton. Don’t go!”

  He doesn’t bother stopping or looking back. He doesn’t even bother with the elevator though I’m twenty-one floors up. He kicks the stairwell door open and disappears, leaving me with the tears of heartache, the worry of my marriage, and the obliterated plaster on the floor.

  In the middle of Manhattan, my husband leaves me and I think it might be for good.

  “Not all fairytales have a happy ending.” ~ Holliday Hughes

  The stairwell is too bright and my legs feel weak. I stop one flight down from Holliday… one flight down from my soul… one flight down from my destruction. Leaning over the railing, I might be sick, so I sit on a step and put my head between my legs.

  Closing my eyes, I breathe in slowly and exhale slower. None of it helps. It doesn’t make this nightmare go away. I stand up, debating if I should go back, if I should ask her one more time and hope for an answer. But the fact remains that Holliday can’t, or won’t, deny those headlines. I gave her a chance, several chances, and she chose not to deny the rumors.

  As I run down the stairs, the photos of them together at her doctor’s office, of them talking with their mouths practically kissing, of her getting into his car flash through my head like a movie reel. Shoving the door to the lobby open, I head for the street. “A taxi,” I say to the doorman.

  I’m sweating and he’s eyeing me as if something’s wrong with me. There is. So much wrong. A cab pulls to the curb and I get in. “Will you go to Jersey?”

  “For the right price.”

  I open my wallet and look inside. “Three hundred dollars?”

  “You got it, buddy.”

  I pull my phone from my jacket and stare at the screen, so fucking tempted to call her. But I can’t. Not like this.

  I’m so fucking stupid. I take a deep breath trying to erase the embarrassment I felt, still feel, when I saw one of my roadies reading that magazine in the hotel lobby. I handed her my guitar to pack up and she hands me that. It was a shitty tradeoff, but the truth hurts and this cuts deep…

  “Do you think it’s true?” Ashley asks, turning the cover to face me. Her expression is one of concern, but I’m confused because I’m not sure who she’s concerned for.

  “What are you talking about?” I look down at the magazine in her hands. I blink. Then blink hard again, knowing I didn’t read that right. But when I read the headline again and match it to the photo, it reads the same. “No fucking way. No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Setting my guitar case down, I grab the magazine from her and leave in a blaze of fury, headed to Manhattan. It’s the longest fucking hour of my life. I stare at the photo, not able to read the article. It’s got to be bullshit, but nothing makes sense. Why would that motherfucker be at the doctor with her? Why are they kissing… almost kissing? What the fuck ever. Why are they together at all? I’m fucking touring two countries and she’s back in LA fucking a motherfucking model.

  The driver stops. I roll the magazine up, pay him, and get out. The doorman recognizes me and lets me pass without a word. The elevator door closes and I start to sweat as I ascend.

  My stomach tightens, and I brace myself for the confrontation. I’ve got to hear her side, got to give her a chance. This could be lies, all tabloid made up shit.

  … Or it could be true.

  Please God, don’t let it be true.

  I walk into the apartment and hear laughter—hers and his—coming from the bedroom. My heart is racing, but my feet slow, dread taking over. When I look through the door, there they are—on the bed together, flirting like lovers. Feathers fly through the air and she laughs without care. I look at him and see the way he looks at her, recognizing it immediately. It’s how I look at her. He’s in love with her.

  She’s been fucking that douche and lying to me. I turn off my phone and pack it away. My chest fucking hurts. I lean my head against the window, thankful for the odd hour of travel. Less traffic means I can get the fuck out of this city.

  Tommy is waiting in the suite when I get back to the hotel. “Get out,” I say, slamming the door closed behind me.

  “Fuck off. What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m not in the mood to talk, Tommy. I’m warning you.”

  He stands and walks around the coffee table. “You’re warning me?”

  “Yeah, I’m fucking warning you to fuck off.”

  “Or what?”

  “God damn it! Can’t I just be alone?”

  “I’m not sure if that’s wise. What the fuck happened?” I walk into the bedroom, ignoring him. But the asshole follows me in. I say, “I don’t want to talk. I just want to leave this shithole.”

  “Then you’re about to be even more pissed off because the plane is having mechanical issues.”

  “Fine. I’ll fly commercial.”

  “No flights. I already looked. The best we could do is a flight out of La Guardia tomorrow at noon. Works out though because I need to stop by the record label to drop off the first song demo and hear some cover ideas they have.”

  “I’m leaving tonight.”

  He walks back out into the living and says, “
Then leave. Be in Seattle at five sharp.”

  I hear the door close when he leaves. “Asshole,” I call just in case he can still hear me. I strip my clothes from my body, feeling their taint seeping under my skin. I get into the shower wanting to drench myself, wanting to drown my thoughts. Dropping against the cold marble wall, I sink down to the bottom as the water rains down on me. The water runs over my head and streaks across my face, falling like tears. My own tears replacing the blood that used to flow through my heart, Holliday the only person to ever make it beat, is now gone.

  She was everything.

  Every. Fucking. Thing. To me, and she betrayed me just like the others.

  I want to hit something but I don’t stand a chance against the marble in this bathroom. I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to leave, go as far away as I can get tonight.

  I land in Seattle just after midnight. I kept my head down and to myself on the flight. I had my headphones on and nobody disturbed me. The sky was black as I flew across the country chasing daylight. I never caught it, but then again, I never expected to.

  My bag comes around on the carousel and I grab it, ignoring the few weary travelers who recognize me. I’m in no mood for autographs or pictures. I exit fast, finding a cab quickly at this hour.

  Sucking up my pride, I had called Tommy on the way to the airport and he agreed to set up the hotel for the night. I didn’t even know where we were staying. But I had to apologize to get back in his good graces.

  Collapsing on the bed, I stare up at the ceiling. My body hurts. My mind has been torturing me by replaying the look on her face, the hurt she displayed. She’s a good fucking actress. Seeing her in that skimpy fucking top and even smaller bottoms. Seeing her having a pillow fight with that fuck. Hearing her silence as I begged her to lie to me. That’s the last fucking time I will ever beg. That’s the last fucking time I will ever let a woman ruin me.

  The mini bar is stocked, but I call room service for full sized bottles. While waiting, I finish off the mini Jack Daniels and Crown Royal. When the bottles arrive, I take the Jack and stand at the window. I’m on fucking top of the world with Seattle laid at my feet, but it’s meaningless. Nothing matters anymore.

  Every time I think of Holliday, I drink. I drink until the bottle is half empty. I drink until I can’t balance. I drink until I can’t remember the sound of her voice as she called after me. I drink until my head goes black and my body falls.

  Red.

  Orange.

  Yellow.

  My eyes are closed but the bright yellow wakes me, hurting my eyes. I try to open one of my eyes, but the sun is blaring into the room, the curtains wide open. Damn it.

  I get up and take a piss, then search for the remote to shut the curtains. When I can’t find it, I yank them closed and go back to bed. Once the room is dark, I lie there. But it’s useless when someone starts banging on my door.

  Rolling out of bed, I go to answer it. Tommy looks tired and his patience is apparently wearing. “You look like shit,” he says, barging in.

  Annoyed, I flip him off. “Thanks.”

  “And you have a show in three hours,” Tommy says. “I need answers.”

  “I need my wife! But we don’t always get what we want. Now do we?”

  He shakes his head. “Fuck.” Shaking his head, he looks down and I can see it—the first sympathetic glance my way. “Go take a shower, then meet me downstairs and we’ll talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  “Tough shit. Go.”

  I glare at him. “I’m getting really fucking tired of you treating me like this.”

  “Like what, man?” He sounds exasperated.

  That pisses me off even more. “Like I’m not Johnny Fucking Outlaw.”

  “Save the ego trip for your fans. It doesn’t work on me. Now go shower and clear your fucking head.”

  We both face each other in a stand-off. But he’s not worth the aggravation, so I walk around him and slam the bedroom shut behind me.

  My head is killing me, so I find the pills I need and down them in the shower. The water covers me. It won’t wash away what’s happened, but I feel less dirty than before.

  On the elevator down, I spin the ring on my finger, not sure if I want to wear it or not or even if I should. I leave it on, for now.

  Nobody’s in the lobby when I get down there, so I go outside. It’s cold and I pull my jacket tighter to block the wind. There’s no vehicle and none of the guys are out here. I see a newsstand a few feet away. All the tabloids covers are on display. The pregnancy story is featured on three of them front and centered. I pick one up and stare, my stomach spinning—not sure if it’s from the booze this morning or the photos of my wife with that asshole.

  I rip one from the stand and look at it, reading the headline over and over. The anger doesn’t last. It alters into something that feels closer to heartbreak. The magazine falls from my hands. I stand there in the middle of the street staring at it as it lands at my feet. A small ache that started days earlier has become a pulsing pain, tearing my heart apart.

  This isn’t how things were supposed to go. This isn’t how we were supposed to end. This isn’t how our melody goes, how we were supposed to play out.

  I want my life back.

  I want my wife back.

  “Hey buddy, you gotta pay for that.”

  I look at the guy from the newsstand and pull out my wallet. I give him a ten and walk away, hoping to walk back into the life I’ll recognize because this one doesn’t feel like mine at all. But the weather sucks and it’s cold out. The rain has picked up and that pain inside me is getting worse.

  The pedestrian crossing beeps while I remain standing there still in shock. I never saw this coming. People bump me on both sides as they hurry past, but I’ve become numb to everything that’s not Holliday… and that fucking pain.

  Despite the crushing pain, I’m not giving her up—not easily.

  Not to him.

  Not ever.

  My knees hit the ground and my palms go flat against the pavement. The sound of traffic surrounds me but distances itself. Voices fill my ears, a faint echoing of Outlaw… Outlaw… Outlaw.

  My breaths are shallow, coming in quick bursts, despite me trying to deepen it. I inhale, then again, focusing on each one as if it’s my last until I’m grabbed and hauled backwards.

  When I wake up, I have fading memories of being put in the car and checked into the hospital. Dex is at the end of my bed eyeing me. “Look fucker, don’t pull that shit again,” he says, pissed off. “I’ve lost Cory and even though you and me don’t get along all the time, I’m not ready to lose you too.”

  I scowl and look away, unfortunately coming face to face with Tommy. His demeanor is completely different from Dex and it worries me. “What?”

  “How are you feel—”

  A nurse barges in looking down at her clipboard. When she looks up, she smiles and it’s a nice reprieve from the guys. “How are you feeling, Mr. Dalton?”

  “Outlaw,” I correct.

  She tilts her head to the side. “Do you prefer for me to call you Mr. Outlaw? I was going off of your chart.”

  “I prefer Outlaw.” But I’m not sure why. I haven’t felt much like Johnny Outlaw in a while. Maybe it’s just that it feels too foreign for her to call me by my given name.

  “Certainly. How are you feeling?”

  “Confused.”

  “That’s natural.”

  “Not to me. Why am I here?”

  She touches the clipboard down on the bed, tapping it twice. “We’re thinking you experienced a psychogenic blackout.” Looking at me, she smiles. “In your case, I don’t think there’s reason for alarm at this time. It’s actually more common than people realize and usually associated with high stress jobs.” She picks the clipboard back up and studies it again. “After reviewing your chart, your doctor feels certain this is what happened in your case since you don’t have the history related to other
factors. Fortunately, the only real side effect is temporary memory loss.” When she looks back up, she asks, “Do you remember what might have brought this on? How you got here? Meeting me yesterday?”

  “Yesterday?” I ask, surprised. Memories of Holliday—her on the bed with him, her tears as she told me to leave, the covers of the magazines—play like a slideshow.

  “Yes, you were admitted yesterday evening. I know your manager here says you are in the middle of a tour. Are you under a lot of stress?”

  “Where’s my wife?”

  Tommy steps to the side of my bed. “She’s flying in. She got on the first flight she could get this morning. We had so much going on with cancelling the show last night, I forgot to call her until close to ten. She should be landing in the next hour or so.”

  I nod and turn away. “How long do I have to stay here?”

  “We want to run a 12-lead EKG on you. That will check your heart rhythm for any potential irregularities so we can rule out epilepsy. You have no history of epilepsy, so we feel fairly confident that this is a onetime occurrence. The doctor will be in shortly to answer any questions you may have and then we’ll take you to get that EKG.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I can’t answer your question, Mr. Outlaw. Not until the doctor reads the results from the test.” She walks to the door and says, “Just buzz us if you need anything. The doctor should be in shortly.”

  I turn to Tommy. “I want out of here.”

  “You need to stay. Do the test. We can’t tour if something’s wrong. I think you’ll be released today or at the latest in the morning, but part of your contract says you must follow doctors orders if medical attention is required.” He rubs his eyes. “You’re looking good, Johnny. Don’t stress and you’ll get out of here sooner. I’m gonna go back to the hotel and get some sleep. Call me if you need me. I’ll leave the ringer on.”

  Before he leaves, I say, “Thanks… for everything.”

  “It’s my job.”

  He makes it sound so casual, but I know it’s really his big heart that kept him here overnight.