The Reckoning

by S. L. Scott

  “Johnny?” Ashley stands there naked, her hands on her hips. “She’s fucking Sebastian Lassiter. You’re really going to pass on me for a two-timing whore?”

  My eyes glaze, the anger in me welling. “Get the fuck out!”

  Coming closer she says, “I can make you forget all about her.”

  “I don’t want to forget her, but I do want to forget you. The door is over there.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  I make a mental note that this might be the third time in twenty-four hours that I’ve been called an asshole. I laugh. Being an asshole doesn’t bother me. Being without Holliday does. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey by the neck, I throw it against the mirror that hangs over the couch.

  She screams and moves quickly, the message heard loud and clear. Staring ahead, I watch as the bottle shatters, the amber liquid splattering over the light blue sofa. I think about throwing my motherfucking phone for not ringing again, but I don’t. I have to have this last connection to Holliday no matter how much she screwed up.

  My breathing is harsh as I stand in the middle of this mess still staring at my damn phone. I hate myself for doing it, but I call her back anyway. I hold the phone to my ear and wait as the long distance call connects. But before it even rings my eyes land on the billboard again… and I hang up.

  I remain there alone, unsure of anything anymore when someone knocks on the door. It better the hell not be Ashley again. When I peek through the peephole, Tommy stands with someone in a suit. I open the door and look at them.

  “Sorry to disturb you at this late hour, Sir, but we’ve received a complaint about a loud noise and yelling coming from your room.” The man, I’m guessing is the Night Manager, peers over my shoulder into the suite.

  Tommy says, “What’s going on?” He pushes past me and walks inside.

  I step to the side and the Manager comes in. When he sees the mess, he asks, “What happened? Was there an accident?”

  “Yes, I accidentally threw a bottle of whiskey against your mirror.”

  Tommy sighs heavily. “For fuck’s sake, man. Can I get one night’s sleep without having to babysit you guys?”

  “Sure,” I say, smirking. “I’m not keeping you.”

  “Actually, you are. What happened?”

  He sees me glance to the Manager who is on his cell phone. “…Yes, suite 1090.” When he hangs up, he says, “Our housekeeper will clean this mess. May I suggest you get some rest in the bedroom or we can move you to another room? This may take a while.”

  Heading toward the bedroom, I announce, “I’m going to bed.”

  “Yeah, I think that’s best,” Tommy says. I can tell he’s pissed. I probably deserve it. “And maybe next time, you’ll change rooms like I suggested when we saw that billboard out there.”

  Ignoring him, I yell, “I want Ashley gone from the tour,” then I slam the bedroom door closed.

  The next day, I open the door and walk into the living room. Tommy’s on his laptop set up at the dining table. He doesn’t acknowledge me, so the whole pissed off thing is confirmed.

  I try anyway. “Morning.”

  “You have an hour until we’re being picked up for the talk show. I ordered a full English breakfast. They made an exception for you since breakfast ended three hours ago.”

  “Okay.”

  I turn to go take a shower, but he adds, “Okay? That’s it?”

  When I turn back, I say, “Thanks?”

  “Yes, a thank you would be nice.”

  “Did you start your period this morning, Tommy?”

  “Fuck you. I’m tired of your shit. I’m tired of Dex’s shit. And if I give Kaz and Derrick an inch, they’ll fuck up too. I’m getting too old for this.” He shuts his laptop and stands up.

  “You’re only thirty-three.”

  “You fuckers have aged me well into my fifties.”

  I’ve never seen him like this. I must admit, it’s disconcerting. “I screwed up. Whatever. I’ll pay for the cleaning and mirror. Okay?”

  “You think that is what this is about? You think I give a shit about a mirror that I know you can more than afford?”

  “Then what? What’s it about?”

  “It’s about me trying to hold this band together while you guys are trying your damndest to pull it apart. I live and breathe this band. I don’t have my own fucking life because I’m too busy babysitting you guys. I’m tired of the shit. I’m tired of hotel management contacting me at four in the morning because the Great Johnny Outlaw had another tantrum and I need to go clean up his fucking mess. I go well and beyond the description of my job and I don’t think I can keep doing this anymore.”

  “What are you saying?” I ask.

  “I’m saying I want a life. I want to work normal hours for a change and be home on the weekends. I don’t want calls at two in the morning to collect Dex from the floor of a Paris bar or be the responsible one when we go out. I want to hang out with you guys and enjoy it. I want a woman to come home to. I want a woman in my life that’s worth getting upset over.”

  I stand there staring at him, shocked by this revelation. “Well fuck, man, are you quitting?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Because as much as you guys drive me out of my fucking mind with your antics, I don’t want to miss a thing. I’ve been with this band since it was in diapers. Playing Wembley just graduated you from college. I’m gonna finish this tour and when you guys go into the studio, I’m gonna try to get a life back.” Opening the door, he says, “I’m not leaving, but I’m starting to look for reasons to stay.”

  It’s just a phase. He’s just pissy over last night. That’s it. I smile. “You love us. Admit it, Tommy.”

  “That’s the only reason I’m still here.” The room service waiter arrives, and Tommy says, “Food’s here. Be ready in forty-five.” He leaves when the food is pushed into the room.

  Sitting and eating, I think about what Tommy said. How much he’s given up in his personal life to help us achieve our dreams. But the one thing that stands out the most is when he said he wants ‘A woman that’s worth getting upset over.’

  What he doesn’t realize is that sometimes what we want is not necessarily what we need. I go to the photos on my phone and start flipping through until I land on one of Holliday. She’s fucking gorgeous, always was, always so damn beautiful. I remember the first time I saw her in Vegas…

  Tommy is running down the shortened playlist after we wrap our sound check. The club at The Palatial Hotel is ready for tomorrow night’s private gig. I cut the third song and replace it with ‘Mortars,’ a new song we’ve been working on. Dex starts talking about the tightening on his kit again, so I begin to tune out the conversation. Looking up, the area where we’re standing has a few people wandering about. Not wanting any attention, I interrupt and say, “Let’s go get a beer somewhere less public.”

  They get the drift because they get tired of the attention I get as much as I do, and Cory says, “I’m gonna go back to the room and call Rochelle. She’s been sick. I’ll catch up later.”

  “Brother,” I say as we shake hands.

  Tommy starts talking about a bar in the hotel when Cory walks away. I look out toward the hall, just past Cory and smile, seeing my next conquest. Sandy-blonde hair. Killer legs in a short skirt. Great body. She walks with confidence and purpose. When her eyes meet mine, I discover something else than a light brownish coloring them, something deeper, something mysterious that I want to uncover. I tilt my head and try to draw her in through a shared moment like the ladies love. But she looks away instead.

  I cock an eyebrow in surprise. She’s good. She’s not a naïve little girl. She’s a woman who knows herself. But I still laugh that she’s actually trying to outplay me. Nice try. Real funny.

  With her hand on the door, she stops and I take advantage by admiring the backside she was blessed with. Damn fine ass. Wonder what it looks like naked and bent over. If I see her again, I’ll make sure to find
out.

  The little hottie disappears into the ballroom. She’s stronger than I gave her credit for. I like that. Before we leave the corridor to find the nearest bar, I look back because I may be able to get pussy when I want, but I’ve also never had a woman get the better of me… until now.

  After all we went through to be together, did she get the better of me in the end? I believed we would make it. I believed in us against the world. I believed all the lies and the miserable fucking truths that have come out since. I believed her… until now.

  “It’s not about changing the course of your life. It’s about accepting the course you’ve chosen.” ~ Johnny Outlaw

  It was the announcement none of us saw coming. One month to the day I last saw Dalton in the hospital, the band announced it will be taking a break at the end of the tour and pursuing solo projects. In LA, we all know a break means breakup.

  The Resistance is no more…

  My water falls from my hand and a pain shoots through my stomach. Gripping the counter with one hand and my stomach with the other, I start my meditation breathing to calm. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Please be okay, baby. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  The pain subsides, but my concern doesn’t. Anger takes over, making me bitter that Dalton’s not here to experience the good and bad with me. He’s abandoned me when I needed him most.

  I think about everything he said, his accusation running through my mind like a painful metronome. Minutes don’t pass without thinking of him. Only seconds here and there give me amnesty from the heartbreak.

  My phone sits on the counter in front of me, tempting me to call. But like I assume how he feels, I can’t seem to get over the hurt to actually pick it up and dial after that one time weeks ago. I push the phone away and go to bed.

  Lying there, I wonder what happened to the band, or if it’s Johnny who made the final decision. He’s spoken about going solo, but to do it now… Inhale. Exhale. I can’t spend my time thinking like this. It’s not good for me or the baby. He’s chosen to believe the lies instead of his wife. I glance over at the framed photo of us from last summer. I thought he was getting better after Cory’s death, but now from what I’m hearing, I don’t think he’s ever been healed. Add in the stress of the tabloids, and he put on a good show for as long as he could.

  I wake up, my body bunched with my knees lifted as I lie on my side. An excruciating pain tightens, bringing tears to my eyes. I squeeze my eyes closed and reopen them. I try my meditation breathing, counting each one to relax my body but it doesn’t work. Scooting to the nightstand, I reach for my phone, but it’s not there. Mentally distressed when I remember it’s downstairs in the kitchen, I grip my knees close to my body until I can’t take it any longer.

  Something’s wrong.

  Starting to panic, I stand up and make it to the door before the pain kicks in again, causing me to cringe and bend over. Wrapping my arms around my middle, the worst scenarios start running through my head. “Baby, be okay. Be okay, baby. I’m here for you.” I push off the wall and despite the pain, I hurry to the kitchen and call Rochelle.

  “Hello?”

  I get on the floor with the phone in my hands. Curling over, I lie down. “Rochelle, help me.”

  The panic rises in her voice. “What’s wrong, Holli?”

  “I don’t know. The baby.”

  “Holli, you have to get to the hospital. I won’t get there fast enough. Call 9-1-1.”

  “I can’t. Everyone will see it leaving the house. It will be everywhere within minutes.” Tears blur my vision.

  She knows I’m right, so she suggests, “Can you drive yourself?”

  Holding my body tightly together, I cry, “I don’t know.”

  “You have to. You have to get in that car and go. Don’t think about it. Just go. I’ll meet you there. For the baby. Do this. Okay? Do this for the baby.”

  Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I stand despite the pain. “Okay.” I grab my keys and my purse. One. Two. Three. “I can do this,” I say, psyching myself up. Four. Five. Six…

  Twenty minutes later I walk into the ER. I get checked in quickly and Rochelle comes into my room just as the doctor does. She rushes over to my side. Taking my hands in hers, she says, “Everything will be all right.”

  The doctor introduces himself and explains that they’re going to do an ultrasound. “I see here that you’re eleven weeks along and you’ve had one ultrasound. We’re going to give another and listen to the heartbeat.”

  I nod, wanting so desperately to hear that little heartbeat again. Rochelle moves to the other side of the bed and continues to hold one of my hands as he pulls the machine over and gets the goo out. I look up at her, knowing this should be Dalton. This should be the man who vowed to love me always. But he’s not here. Inhale. Exhale. I squeeze her hand tighter and pray my baby is okay.

  A sob breaks free as soon as that heartbeat—strong and steady—is heard. The doctor smiles. “Seems the baby is good. The heartbeat sounds great. As for the pain you experienced. We should talk about that. Let me make a few notes first.” He wipes my tummy with a wet wipe, then hands me a towel to finish. A nurse walks in to clean the equipment and take the towel. When she walks out again, he continues, “When it comes to growing babies, you need to be mentally healthy as well as physically healthy. I think this was your body reacting to stress, which is common among women who lead busy lives.”

  Staring at the ceiling, his words bounce around my head as I try to make sense that this is my life. This isn’t. When I look at him, I say, “I’ll try.”

  He pats my arm. “But you’re doing a good job. You’re maintaining a healthy weight. Keep up the positive work. That little baby benefits from all your good decisions.”

  “Thank you,” I say, wanting him gone, wanting to be alone.

  “We’re gonna get some more fluids in you, but you’ll be free to go in a few hours. Take care of yourself and that little baby.”

  “Thank you,” I repeat.

  When he leaves, I turn to Rochelle. “What a pair Dalton and I are. Both of us having stress related issues and still not able to talk to each other. How is this possible?”

  “Stubbornness?”

  I smile the best I can, but it falls flat in effort. “Some pride too, but how do I get past the pain, Ro?”

  Shaking her head, she replies, “I’m not sure. I’m stuck in my own cycle I can’t seem to break away from.”

  “I’m sorry.” I hate being so insensitive. I lost my head in my own moment of despair.

  Rubbing my arm, she says, “Don’t be. You’re allowed to be upset. You’re just not allowed to spend your life apart from the man you love.”

  “I want to call him, but how can I under these circumstances? How do we find our way back when he thinks I slept with someone else and that our baby is Sebastian’s?”

  “I’m not sure, but I do know he’s suffering too, suffering to the point of self-imploding. Unfortunately, you can’t worry about him right now. You need to focus on this baby and let Johnny figure his own shit out. He’s not in a place to be good for you right now.”

  “That makes me want to cry hearing that, but I might finally be all dried up.”

  “I’ve been there. Trust me, more will come and they may come in waves, but ride them the best you can.”

  “Thank you for being here.”

  “I’m always here for you.” She smiles. “Can I get you something to eat?”

  “I’d love a breakfast taco.”

  “You got it. I’ll go find one for you and then help you check out of this place.”

  “Thanks.”

  When she leaves, she closes the door. My gaze darts to my purse on the table next to me. I reach in and grab my phone out of it. Checking first to see if I have any missed calls or text messages. I haven’t and disappointment, the feeling I’ve come to expect, sets in again. I find his name and number in my contacts and stare at it. My thumb hovers over the call button and before
I can overanalyze, I press the button.

  My phone doesn’t make it to my ear before I end the call. Remembering her at his bedside shoots through my heart, crushing it again. I drop the phone back in my purse and focus on the beach to erase the negativity.

  As much as my heart has packed its bag and flown away to set up house next to his heart, I can’t think about him right now. He hurt me and he needs to clean this mess up. I have to concentrate on growing a healthy baby. I rub my stomach. “We can do this, baby. We can do this even if it’s just the two of us.”

  Over the next few months I discover just how strong I can be. I rediscover me—the me from before Dalton. It hasn’t been easy or pretty if judging by the dark circles that reside under my eyes, but I’m managing. Sometimes the idea that I’m getting by saddens me. I never thought I’d have to get by without him. But that’s what I have to do for the baby. Fortunately, my mother arrived earlier in the week. “Sweetie, where do you keep the cleaning supplies?” I hear her in the kitchen rummaging around.

  It’s weird having someone else around, someone who isn’t him, someone who wants to tell me how to live my life and shows infinite interest in the operation of my household. “Mom, we… I have a cleaning service that comes weekly. You don’t have to clean.”

  She walks into the living room where I have my feet propped up on the arm of the couch while I lie there trying to read a book. “I don’t know why you insist on helping. I find cleaning therapeutic. You might also.”

  “Most weeks, I work fifty hour—”

  “About that. You need to slow down. Your health should come first. It’s not just about you anymore.”

  I roll to my side, away from her and keep reading. We’ve had this conversation more times in the last five days to last more than a lifetime. “Mmmhmmm.”