Ink Slapped

by A. M. Jones

  She takes in Crockett with a furrowed brow, so I introduce them. “Crockett, this is my mom, Eileen. Mom, Crockett.”

  Crockett smiles wide at her and winks. “I see where Taylor gets her full figure.” His eyes scan her body as she blinks at me and then at him.

  “You keep your eyes to yourself. I’m no cougar.”

  I’m a little embarrassed at her behavior, but Crockett bursts into laughter. “That’s a shame. I love cougars.”

  Grinning, I say, “Don’t let her lie to you. She totally is.”

  She grins. “Maybe, but I’m not the one with a passed-out cover model in my bed.”

  My fork lands on the floor with a high-pitched metallic clatter. “What?”

  “Oh hell,” Crockett mutters.

  She perches at the bar and unwraps a taco. “Arrived here sprouting about bitch slapping, something about killer shit-kickers, and being an asshole.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  In the bedroom, I flip on a lamp. The dim light illuminates the giant form in the middle of the bed. I sit on the edge and flinch when I smell alcohol. His skin is hot to the touch.

  Wetting a cool washcloth from the bathroom, I wipe his forehead and leave it there. I remove his shoes, steel-toed boots this time, for the second night in a row and have no qualms on removing his jeans.

  He moves, realizing someone is stripping him. He lifts his hips so I can jerk them off easier. The washcloth falls as he lifts his head and he peers at me with one eye closed. A grin overtakes his face, but it falters as he searches the room. “Where’s your friend?” His words slur like his tongue is a hindrance. I guess my mom told him I was bringing a friend and never mentioned his name.

  I sigh. “He didn’t like another man in my bed.” His hand goes to his chest, and he falls against the pillow. I crawl closer to look him in the eyes. They’re bloodshot and unfocused. “Hey, I was kidding. It’s Crockett, and he’s in the kitchen with my mother.”

  My body heats as his hand slides into my shirt and caresses the small of my back. His fingertips grip, pulling me on top of him and he inhales along my neck. “Good,” he rumbles. Heat flares between my legs as his hands move down my waist and over my rear. “Mmm… you’re so soft.” His breathing evens out and when I move to get up, he holds me down. “You’ll be back?”

  “Yes. As soon as they leave.”

  “S’okay.”

  I barely sleep and it’s not because Eli sleeps beside me like a bear in hibernation. Something is wrong and when daylight glows through the windows, I climb from bed and find myself at a loss of what to do.

  The coffee pot perks as I finish stirring muffin mix and put them in the oven. Going back into my bedroom, I’m quiet as I peek at him. During the night, he stripped his shirt off. By the soft snore coming from his wide-open mouth, I’d say he’s still out.

  I take a quick shower and head back to the kitchen to cook something. Anything to keep my hands busy. The thought of getting on my computer to write is impossible with my mind preoccupied. Whatever is going on with Eli, I know it has to do with Crockett. He acted strange all evening and Eli making a drunk visit isn’t a good sign either.

  Bacon, sausage, and hash browns cool in serving dishes as I work on eggs. Hands come around my middle, grabbing my spatula to help stir. I smile when his body presses to my back. “What’s all this for?” he asks into my damp hair. I dump the skillet of eggs into another bowl.

  Maneuvering out of his arms, I take a fruit salad from the fridge and place it on the bar. “I didn’t know what you’d eat.” My confession goes to show how much I don’t know about him. His eyes are still red, and he’s slipped his jeans back on.

  “So you cooked everything you have in your refrigerator?”

  “I needed something to do.” I hand him an empty coffee cup. “What’s going on?”

  With strained movements, he fills the cup and inhales the steam. “Madison wants to do a collaboration with Tainted District. I told her no, and she’s not happy about it.”

  “That’s the reason you stumbled into my place drunk? Why not do it? I mean, won’t it help Tainted District’s growth?”

  He looks me in the eye. “I don’t want to do it. I’m serious when I say I don’t have any interest.”

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s relief, and yet, shame replaces it when I say, “Then don’t.”

  “Jack and Milo are pissed at me, but—” He scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth. “I have this feeling we’ll be right back in Madison’s shadow. I’ll be nothing but arm candy. I hated it when she first went solo. I don’t want that for myself or the band.”

  “What’s Crockett think?”

  He taps the mug with his thumb. “I think he wants to be rid of Madison. If she weren’t in the equation, then he’d be all over it.”

  “Okkaaay,” I say, slow and easy. I don’t want to influence his decision on this or his marriage. “So what now?”

  “I go through the grueling process of a nasty divorce.”

  I nod, biting my lip. “How nasty?” I busy myself with making another cup of coffee. He stares into space as if he’s wondering what to tell me. A repulsive thought comes to mind. “Have you slept together recently?” After blurting it out, I wait with bated breath for him to say no and when he does, will I believe him? Long moments pass. He bows his head and looks at the floor, rubbing his neck. He doesn’t say a word, which tells me everything I need to know, doesn’t it? “Oh, yes, it’ll be real nasty, Eli,” I whisper and suck in a shuddering breath. “When?”

  I might not have a right to ask, but then again, I do. If he doesn’t stop, he’s going to rub his neck raw. I grip my coffee mug tighter and the air seems thin like I can’t get enough oxygen.

  “Halloween morning.”

  I’m so shocked at his words, I can’t hide my disgust. “That’s why you didn’t take things further.”

  Somehow, I find myself on the couch. I knew better than to get involved with a married man. I should’ve listened to my mother. No wonder she’s the way she is.

  I don’t know how long I sit on the couch before he crouches in front of me. Refusing to look at him, I stare out the glass door and imagine throwing a brick to shatter it so the shards of my heart will have company. His finger traces my jaw, back to my ear, and cups the back of my neck. My hand goes to his chest to stop him and put space between us. The hair there is soft and I pull away.

  “Taylor, I don’t know what to say. My fucking heart broke. I thought you left me to go to New York. But—”

  “You should leave.” The wound is wide open and I feel like I need space. Lots of space. I wipe a tear from my eye.

  “Look at me, Taylor.”

  When I do, it’s only to say, “I’m not going to have an affair, so get out.”

  Those warm bourbon eyes soften as pain flashes through them, but he stands. At first, I think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. What is there to say? He rummages through my apartment, I suppose getting dressed and putting on shoes. I don’t look at him as he leaves.

  I move to the kitchen to clean my morning cooking marathon mess and see a note and my heart triple times it.

  Please let me know if she bothers you. Please.

  My throat feels constricted and my eyes burn. It’s official. He said he didn’t want Madison tainting our relationship, but he overlooked the fact that it was me tainting theirs.

  A week later, my keyboard should smoke with how fast I pound the keys. Death metal music blares throughout my apartment, songs about killing things and cannibalism. It helps inspire as demons die gruesomely by Zara’s merciless bloodbaths. Loud knocking interrupts my zone. “Son of a bitch. I’m fucking moving,” I snarl.

  When I jerk the door open, an older gentleman holds an envelope, looking fearful as his eyes dart around for a shotgun.

  “Don’t you know I’m in the middle of a war of epic proportions with Hell?”

  The guy swallows, probably wondering
if I’m on the rag. “Taylor M. Dabney?”

  “Yes?”

  He holds out the envelope. “Enjoy your epic war.”

  I snatch it away and slam the door. I almost toss it across the room but think better of it and rip the tab open.

  My vision blurs as certain words stand out from the document. Plaintiff: Madison L. Gregor-Hart vs. Defendant: Taylor M. Dabney. Complaint: Copyright Infringement.

  I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. My eyes burn. What am I going to do? I can’t afford a lawyer. Please let me know if she bothers you.

  I try to calm myself, but there’s no calming anything right now. Grabbing my computer, I sit and start research. Epic fucking war indeed.

  The clacking of her heels irritates me the closer she gets to the car I’m working on. Her shoes were always louder than the blare of the classic rock station. I feel her presence beside me. “What do you want?” It’s hard being nice to her anymore. If I have any residual feelings, they’re way deep inside me.

  “This place hasn’t changed,” she says with fondness. “So many memories. Do you remember—”

  “Cut it.” I rise from the hood, sliding a shop rag from my back pocket.

  She looks away and hands me a pamphlet of papers. “You’re forcing my hand.”

  I pluck it from her fingers. It takes everything in me not to give her a reaction as I leaf through them. My mouth tightens and my hands clench, wrinkling the paper when I see Taylor’s name and what they say. Throwing the lawsuit complaint on the Mac Tools utility cart, I run my fingertips through my hair. She made good on her threat. A lawsuit. Taylor can’t possibly have the money to fight something like that or to give as a settlement.

  Her arms cross as a brow lifts high on her forehead, waiting to see what I’ll say.

  Breathing deep to stay composed, I ask, “What do you expect to gain from suing her? She doesn’t have any money.”

  “No shit, I couldn’t tell. Chill out. I haven’t filed the complaint with the court yet.”

  Good. Hopefully, Taylor doesn’t know what Madison is up to.

  She keeps on, “She used my lyrics in her series, Eli. It’s not making me look good.”

  Her lyrics. Right. Taylor uses the lyrics to Unplugged Moments. In the fourth book, Black-Eyed Demon, the lyrics spew from a radio as Zara’s brother beats the shit out of it in pure hatred of the song. “So you read her books?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not only does she look straight out of the trailer park but she’s warped, too. How do you think I found out? You didn’t tell me and you obviously know what I’m referring to.”

  I shrug. “I thought the passage was clever, considering how over-played the damn song was at the time. I’m sure it even gets on your nerves, so why do you care?”

  “Trust me, I care. But I’ll let it go if you do the single.”

  A shocked sound draws our attention to Milo, standing in the open garage door. The setting sun behind him casts his shadow long against the floor. “Uh. Never mind me. I’ll take off.”

  When I know he’s gone, I muster a disgusted look all for her. “Copyright infringement.”

  “Possibly libel, too, but I’m still looking into it.”

  I need to buy time, somehow. “Fine, we’ll do a single when we sign the divorce papers.”

  Now she laughs. “No, honey. Did you not catch the Madison Hart-Gregor part the other day? Why the hell would I do a duet love song with you and then divorce you? Bad for publicity. That’s the whole reason Dash Top was gung-ho for this thing to happen, Eli. We look good together, we’re married, we co-wrote the song. This is the whole she-bang, baby. Recording studio, promo shoots, a tour. Like it or not, our future is nothing but together, so get used to the idea now.”

  A sense of foreboding, fear, anxiety—all of it creeps on me like a million tiny spiders on my body. Co-wrote the song. “Duet love song?”

  “Yep. Since you so graciously offered our old tracks, I want to record Highway with you.”

  My whole body goes weak. I want to collapse. What will Taylor think? The shattered expression she gave me—when she found out I had slept with Madison—runs through my mind. She’ll hate you when it’s all said and done.

  “No,” I whisper.

  But my plea falls on deaf ears. She knows she has me. I’m sure this has been her plan all along. Of course, she’d want to do that song. It was our most popular when we were still Maddie and The Rebs. She smiles. “I’ll give you a few days to run to your lawyer to see what you can do. Talk to the guys. Oh, and I’ll expect you to move into my house. I’d say since white trash gets you hard, you could keep fucking her.” She smiles, amused at something. “But I doubt she’ll have you.”

  Adrenaline pumps through me and I tense. My muscles ache along with my clenched jaw. I don’t wait to watch her leave.

  “Oh. And get your dad to take down that pathetic video,” she calls through the garage.

  Locking myself in the bathroom, I put my forehead to the wall to cool off. It doesn’t work. Rearing my fist back, I punch the wall and pain splinters through my knuckles, I keep on until the drywall gives in. That’s when I notice I’ve been punching the stud. I test my hand by making a fist, in and out again. Blood seeps from my knuckles. I give the stud one last punch. “Fuck!”

  I hate to do it because it proves she knows what I’d do, but I call my own lawyer, Daniel Ezell, and explain the situation. I photograph the lawsuit papers and text them to him. I wait for hours. My knuckles throb as I put away a few quick service customers of oil and tire rotations like no one’s business before he gets back to me.

  “Good news or bad news first?”

  “Bad.”

  “Ms. Dabney can be sued. The lyrics are there, plain as day. The good news? Mrs. Gregor’s just talking, right now.”

  “But you said—”

  “She doesn’t hold ownership of the copyright. Dash Top Records does. The complaint…” He sighs. “I’m not sure why any lawyer would type out a fake complaint, but it’s just a scare tactic. She probably paid him to overlook ethics.”

  Must be nice to have that kind of cash to blow. “To get me to do the single.”

  “That’d be my guess. You’re in a rock and a hard place. There’s a reason she had a fake complaint typed up. If the label files, then they file and it can’t be taken back. Ms. Dabney will have to work with them on a settlement. It’d be lengthy and expensive. Mrs. Gregor hasn’t threatened to take this to Dash Top?”

  “No, but it sure sounds like it, huh?”

  There’s a long pause. “You might have grounds for a blackmail suit,” he says, but his tone is reluctant. “But you have to understand by the time anything comes of the suit, you’ll be out thousands and Ms. Dabney still could be sued. I’m assuming that’s why your spouse risked a blackmail suit.”

  He continues his legal advice, but I barely listen. I’m dejected as we disconnect. No matter what, the situation could cause Taylor a shit storm and lots of money she doesn’t have. Speaking of money no one has, I’ll be billed for time spent. Perfect.

  To say I feel like shit is a massive understatement. Either choice will undeniably hurt Taylor. Madison and I doing that duet together, or bring Taylor a hell of an expensive legal uproar. My eyes burn. I can still feel her soft thigh underneath my head, smell her silky blond hair, and see the devastation I’ve already brought on her.

  I walk into the attorney’s office with my head held high. I’m directed into a conference room that’s piled with stacks of legal documents. I’m only one of thousands of cases. Madison sits opposite of me—a beacon of perfection. Steve Cannon, a high-powered celebrity attorney, introduces himself as if his name hasn’t haunted my dreams the past three nights. He smoothes down his tie, looking to Madison.

  He nods at her unspoken words. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  Trying not to show my shock, I sit straighter.

  Madison watches me, her nails tapping the table. Finally, she sighs. “I don’t w
ant to sue you.”

  “That’s apparent because you can’t.”

  Surprise crosses her face but she recovers in record time. “But my label can and they would. They have their own legal department plus attorneys on retainer who deal with this kind of thing all the time.”

  I hold my hands in a surrender gesture. “I know. When I wrote that scene, I didn’t mean you any harm, but even I take copyrights seriously. I’d deserve it.” I take a shuddering breath, willing my eyes to stop tingling before they water. “So if you don’t want to sue me, then what do you want?”

  I already know she wants Eli to do a single track with her, but I want her to say it. “I want my husband back.”

  “So you think blackmailing him is the way to do it?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I think helping his dreams come true will do it. He’s just being stubborn. He’s holding an unfathomable amount of anger toward me for going solo.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “Some things are worth the risk, and truthfully, I didn’t think things would turn out the way they did. I couldn’t stand his constant resentment. It was palpable. But after a break apart, I know for sure I don’t want to lose him.”

  I don’t want to lose him, either. But he was never mine to lose. I think about Eli being on stage in his element. How happy he is when he’s up there. I think about the excitement in his eyes when he talks about songwriting or an idea he has. I think about the other morning in my kitchen, his tense body and his awkwardness despite his words. I think about Crockett’s behavior. The way he hasn’t called me at all. They want this.

  And then I allow myself to think about if he didn’t do the single, if he went through a rough divorce, if we entered a serious relationship, even if this lawsuit came and went. When all our troubles were over… I couldn’t stand his constant resentment. Would he eventually hold resentment for me if he doesn’t take this opportunity?