by Tracy Wolff
Shoving back from the table, he stumbled to his feet, lurched toward the back door and the fresh air that was waiting for him right outside the glass. He felt like he was strangling, his emotions a knot in his chest that kept him from taking in enough oxygen.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he flung the door open and staggered outside. “I’ll pay you back. I’ll pay you all back, I swear. But I can’t do this. I just can’t do this.”
Knowing the guys would be right behind him, he took off for his car, and made it seconds before Ryder, Jared, and Quinn caught up to him. Sorry, he mouthed through the glass as he threw the car in reverse. And then he was speeding down the driveway, away from them, away from Shaken Dirty, away from yet another mess he’d made and didn’t have a clue how to clean up.
Chapter Thirteen
“What the hell was that all about, Caleb?”
“I don’t know. I swear I don’t. Dad ambushed me! When we talked strategy for the call, trying to get Wyatt to quit was never even part of the discussion. He totally came up with it on his own.”
“Are you sure about that?” Poppy asked as she slammed into her apartment. “Because you didn’t seem very shocked that he was out for Wyatt’s blood.”
She’d never been more furious with her father in her life—and that was saying something, considering the kind of stunts the man was known for pulling. But this? Going after Wyatt like that when he was already so vulnerable? Badgering him into quitting the band when it sure as hell appeared that Shaken Dirty was all he had? Making him feel like shit just because he could?
It was despicable, absolutely despicable, especially since the more she’d thought about it, the more she realized it was just her father’s shot at getting a say in band personnel. Unless Shaken Dirty had some strange provision in their contract that she didn’t know about—and she was pretty sure they didn’t—one of the few things the label didn’t have a legal say in was whether the five original members got to stay or go. Oh, they could put pressure on them (and obviously were) and they might have veto power over any replacements to the original members, but that was about it.
So, since her father was pissed that he hadn’t convinced them to get rid of Wyatt when everything went down a couple of months ago, he was flexing his muscles in other ways. The bastard. She knew better than to trust him. But Caleb? She hadn’t seen that coming at all. More fool her.
“Of course I was shocked,” Caleb told her, sounding more than a little annoyed at the question. “The last thing either the label or Shaken Dirty needs is an all out war between us. Not when the tour is set to kick off at ACL the first weekend in October!”
“Which is exactly what I was trying to say! There’s still too much damage that needs to be repaired here for Dad to go off like that. I know you know that, but you sure as hell didn’t seem very intent on stopping him when he was going on about the band having to choose between Wyatt and a decent bassist. And what—”
“In Dad’s defense, Li is a more than decent bassist.”
“That’s true. He’s got good musical chops and he’s reliable, two things a rock bassist has to be. And he’s going to make some band feel really lucky to have him one day. But this isn’t his time, and Shaken Dirty is definitely not his band.
“Besides, the whole conversation was completely ridiculous. Li’s a good bassist, yes. But Wyatt is a brilliant drummer. There’s no way Shaken Dirty would sound the same if they got rid of him—his riffs and fills are the backbone of the whole band, and you’re an idiot if you can’t see that!”
“Hey! Don’t confuse me with Dad. I don’t want to replace Wyatt. I know exactly how talented he is—remember, I’m the one who wanted you there instead of me, to keep him out of trouble in the first place.”
“Yeah, well, after today’s call I’m interested in a lot more than just babysitting.” She pulled her laptop out of her briefcase and settled down on the huge, overstuffed couch that dominated the apartment’s living area. She wanted a chance to go over Shaken Dirty’s contract, to see exactly how much control the band had over its members. She knew the band’s lawyers were probably doing the exact same thing at this exact same moment, but it wouldn’t hurt to have another set of eyes on the contract. Especially when those eyes belonged to someone who knew the label’s weaknesses as intimately as she did.
“I could tell that much from the way he was looking at you today.”
She was so caught up in what she was looking for that it took her a minute to register the tone in her brother’s voice. When she did, she felt anger sweep through her, along with a pretty hefty dose of shame. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means. And why are you so offended? It’s obvious that Wyatt’s thinking about something besides drugs these days—which is exactly why I needed you in Austin. Shaken Dirty needs you. And Wyatt needs you—you know the music industry better than anyone in the company. You get the talent in a way Dad and I never will. That’s why I sent you there. Because I knew you’d find a way to relate to Wyatt and you have.”
“Why you needed me in—” The shame gave way to out and out fury. “I can’t believe this! You sent me here to prostitute myself for Wyatt Jennings.”
“I absolutely did not.” Caleb sounded outraged at the very idea. “I sent you there to keep an eye on him. How you choose to do that is completely up to you. And judging from the way you leaped to his defense today, he’s not the only one this is working out for.”
“First of all, let’s get one thing straight. I am not using sex to keep Wyatt sober! That is not in my job description.”
“I didn’t say—”
“No, but you sure as hell implied it.” She was pissed off enough not to mention the fact that they actually were hooking up—after all, that wasn’t work related and it was no one’s business but theirs. And the last thing she wanted was for that knowledge to get back to her father. She didn’t think Caleb would tell him deliberately, but obviously her brother didn’t always think before he spoke. “And secondly, it’s not working out! Or have you totally forgotten the fact that Wyatt quit the band after Dad went after him?”
“Oh, come on. Wyatt isn’t actually going to quit the band. He was just frustrated.”
“Oh, really? And how, exactly, do you know that?”
“I know it because you’re there. And you’re not going to let him.”
Poppy groaned, shoved a frustrated hand through her hair. “That’s your big strategy? Throw the mess over to me and hope to God I can sort it out?”
She could all but hear the shrug in her brother’s voice when he said, “It’s a sound strategy. You’ve never let me down before. Besides, think of how much it will stick in Dad’s craw if you get Wyatt back and find a solution to the bassist problem? He’ll have to take you seriously then.”
“Dad will never take me seriously. I think we both know that, don’t we?” No matter how hard she tried.
Still, her brain whirled as she tried to gather her thoughts. As she tried to figure out all the rapidly changing pieces of this puzzle and how they fit together.
At least Caleb’s explanation made everything that happened in the studio today make so much more sense. The look on her father’s face when Caleb asked for her opinion and he realized Shaken Dirty actually listened to her. The grandstanding that she saw now was as much for her benefit as Wyatt’s. The fact that he was suddenly digging his heels in on this issue when she’d thought they’d gotten past it months ago.
He was pissed that she was the one with the band when he had always refused to let her take the lead in situations like these. Of course, the fact that everyone on the call probably knew exactly why she and Wyatt had been late hadn’t helped her case—if anything, it had cemented his opinion about women and musicians. About her and musicians. And, maybe, that was what had set him off about Wyatt.
Just the thought made guilt stir sickly in her stomach. If her father had gone after Wyatt because of her…damn
the man. Just once in her life it would be nice if he could give her a reason to trust him. A reason to think he wasn’t out to screw her.
“You know, maybe if you’d given me some warning, I would have done things differently,” she said as she continued skimming through Shaken Dirty’s contracts. “And then maybe Dad wouldn’t have pushed Wyatt so hard and we’d be in a totally different situation right now.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Caleb assured her. “The guys will chill Wyatt out, or you will, and tomorrow we’ll go back to finding a bassist for the band.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not feeling nearly as optimistic on that front as you are.” It had been four hours since Wyatt had sent her on her way. Four hours when she didn’t know where he was or what he was doing or who he was doing it with. She’d tried texting him, had even tried calling him, but there’d been no response. He’d gone completely silent. Maybe that meant he was hanging out with the band somewhere… She hoped that was what it meant. But if she was honest with herself, she’d admit that she was afraid his silence was for a much more ominous reason.
Not that she was going to tell Caleb that. The last thing Wyatt or Shaken Dirty needed was for the label to freak out about him going off the rails right now. Her brother wasn’t her father, and he seemed to have the band’s best interests at heart…but at the same time, he was a businessman. And the label’s bottom line was his business. Not to mention the fact that she still wasn’t sure she could trust him, still wasn’t sure he hadn’t thrown them all under the bus with her father today.
Two days ago she probably wouldn’t have hesitated to confide her worries to Caleb. For a very long time, he was the only person she’d been able to trust. But that was before she’d realized just how many of their father’s Machiavellian tendencies her brother had inherited. Before she realized that trusting him was almost as foolish as trusting her dad.
So now she just had to wait for Wyatt to turn up, all the while silently hoping that he wasn’t out doing what she was so deathly afraid he was.
A hell of a babysitter she turned out to be…
“Look, Caleb—” She broke off when the apartment’s central intercom buzzed. Hoping, praying, that it was Wyatt, she dashed across the room to answer it.
“Hold on, Caleb,” she said, putting her brother on mute as she depressed the button. “Wyatt?”
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?” she asked impatiently.
“This is Rudolfo, the doorman from downstairs. I have a gentleman here to see you by the name of Quinn Bradford. Is it all right if I send him up?”
The bubble of hope inside her deflated, replaced by a crushing sense of distress. If Quinn was here to talk to her, it couldn’t be good. Especially since she was positive this visit had nothing to do with the band’s social media presence and everything to do with its drummer.
“Of course, Rudolfo,” she answered as dread settled in her stomach. “Send him right up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As she waited for Quinn to take the elevator up, she switched back to her brother. “I have to go.”
“Is Wyatt there?” he asked, voice rich with satisfaction.
“That’s none of your business,” she retorted.
“Excuse me? I’m the one who sent you there—”
“You’re also the one who threw Shaken Dirty to the wolves this morning, so as far as I’m concerned, you’ve lost any voice you might have had in how I handle things.”
“But, wait. I thought—”
“Looks like you thought wrong. Good-bye, Caleb.”
Hanging up on him might have given her more satisfaction if she weren’t so close to totally and completely freaking out about Wyatt. Slumping against the nearest wall, she took several deep breaths and tried to get her panic under control before Quinn showed up at her door. Losing it now wasn’t going to help anything.
Besides, for all she knew, Wyatt was safe at Ryder’s house and Quinn was just here to chat with a label rep about everything that had gone down in the kitchen today.
Yeah, and a sparkly pink unicorn was about to take up residence in her kitchen, too…
She was so nervous that she nearly leaped out of her skin when an impatient knock sounded at her door. Crossing the room, she flung the door open and found herself staring at a Quinn Bradford she had never seen before, even with all the years she’d been following Shaken Dirty. Totally serious and completely stressed out, he all but shoved his way into her apartment the second she opened the door.
“Is he here?” he asked, glancing around a little wildly.
The last little smidgen of hope she’d been holding on to abandoned her in a rush. “No, he’s not.” She didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“About half an hour after you left.”
“But that was hours ago!”
“Believe me, I know. We’ve been looking for him everywhere—”
“Define everywhere?” she asked, suddenly a lot more sick to her stomach.
The grim set of Quinn’s mouth told her he knew exactly how she felt. “All his usual haunts. Between us, we’ve covered his apartment, his favorite bars, his dealer’s house. Shit, Ryder and Jared have spent the last hour combing every bar on Sixth Street, and he’s nowhere to be found.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” she said. “If he’s not drinking—”
“Oh, he’s drinking or smoking or shooting up. He was not in good shape when he left us.”
The absolute certainty in his voice had her mind racing and her blood running cold. “He can’t! I’ve spent the last few hours trying to figure out a way to fix this mess. If he relapses—”
“I know. Believe me, I know.”
“So why’d you let him go, then?” She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but come on. It was a no brainer. When the drug addict was having a bad day, the last thing you did was leave him on his own.
You left him, the little voice inside her head reminded her.
Yeah, but she had left him in what she’d thought were his friends’ capable hands. She couldn’t babysit him twenty-four seven, especially not when it was her father who had set him off to begin with. She’d left because he’d asked her to, and because she’d been certain the other guys would take care of him.
Well, that was a lesson learned. Never trust three emotionally stunted men to do a woman’s job.
“We didn’t let him go,” Quinn corrected her. “He took off, and short of chasing him down on my motorcycle—which would only have fucked him up more—we didn’t have a hell of a lot of options.” Still, his tone told her he was asking himself the very same question. Or, more precisely, torturing himself with it.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything.” She headed toward the kitchen to find something to keep herself busy. “Can I get you some coffee or something while we try to figure out what to do next?”
“No. If he’s not here, I need to keep looking—”
“Do you even know where you’re going to look next?”
His shoulders slumped. “I don’t have a fucking clue.”
“That’s what I figured. If you’re here, you’re already scraping the bottom of the barrel, so you might as well sit down for a few minutes.” She poured coffee beans into the grinder then waited for them to be pulverized before she tried to speak again. “Besides, I make really good coffee.”
Quinn looked like he was going to protest, but after another look from her, he nodded in defeat. Then, after texting someone, he sank down onto one of the barstools that lined the raised counter separating the kitchen from the living room and did his best to look like he wasn’t completely freaking out.
“You know,” she said as she got out cream and sugar, “if he falls off the wagon tonight, it isn’t actually the end of the world.”
Quinn looked at her like she was insane. “It’s pretty fucking awful.”
“It is,” she agreed. “But people
make mistakes. Alcoholics and addicts relapse. If Wyatt messes up today, he can start again tomorrow. It will be okay.” She wasn’t sure if it was Quinn she was trying to convince, or herself.
“I know that,” he told her. “Wyatt’s the one who doesn’t get it. For him, it’s always been all or nothing, you know? He gives the best advice of anyone I know. He would give a stranger the shirt off his back if he thought they needed it. He forgives the people he cares about any mistake, any slight, any hurtful thing they do to him. But he can’t forgive himself. He can’t let his mistakes go. If he fucks up, if he drinks or gets high, it’s done. He isn’t going to be able to let it go tomorrow or next week or even next month. That’s not how he’s made.”
The coffee finished brewing just as Quinn grew quiet, and she took a few moments to pour the hot liquid into cups as she turned his words over in her head. As she tried to figure out exactly what he meant, and what had made Wyatt so uncompromising with himself.
The only problem was she didn’t know enough about him to figure it out. Oh, she knew his basic bio, knew what she’d read in magazine articles and interviews through the years. But something was missing from the story—something big. A guy as smart and dedicated as Wyatt didn’t continually go down this path unless he also had some pretty huge demons to fight. If she was going to help him, she needed to know what those demons were.
She didn’t know when her job here had gone from helping her brother out by babysitting a rock star to trying to find a way to reach through Wyatt’s self-loathing to help him, but sometime in the last twenty-four hours, that was exactly what had happened.
Except she felt like she was flying blind here, like she was trying to put together a puzzle that had half the pieces missing. She had a good idea what the picture was supposed to look like by the outside frame, but there were too many holes in the center for her to figure out what it actually was.
As she slid Quinn’s cup of coffee in front of him, she tried to decide the best way to ask what she wanted to know. But sometimes there was no way to ease into a topic, no way to bring it up gradually, and she had a feeling that whatever was haunting Wyatt was like that.