Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2)

by Alyson Santos

  Holland and I skip the guest appearance that night, however, which I’m sure makes Wes happy. In fact, I don’t say another word to Holland after her rant and avoid her as much as possible. I avoid all of them, which proves to be a challenge considering our tight quarters and rigid schedule. Eli and Sweeny turn out to be the most supportive, strangely enough, and I sense it’s because they feel the least betrayed. My behavior was stupid, but not the personal affront it was to the others.

  Even Jesse is more reserved with me the few times we interact, always just a polite greeting or uncomfortable smile away from total awkwardness. He must have been starting to warm to the idea of me as a mentor. I would have laughed at that thought a few months ago. Now it stabs at me way more than I care to admit. Dammit. Hadn’t thought about Jesse either. I don’t think. Or think too much, which is why things rarely work out for me.

  Ok, so what I’d done was stupid, I’m getting that now, but I’d meant well. And it had worked. Messed up or not in its conception, my plan had worked. Everyone is talking about me. Everyone hates me again. Callie and her story aren’t even a blip on the radar anymore. But yeah, I could have done some more strategizing, more planning. I just hadn’t been able to bear the sight of her in pain and knew I’d be able to handle the abuse a lot better than she could.

  The plan hatched in my head the second I saw her. My rock, my guardian angel, cut down and broken by the vultures. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do, just that I had to take the attention away from her. I had to protect her any way I could. Casey could be her pillar of strength through the trial, but I was the one who could make it go away. And I had to. God, my brain just stopped functioning until it could think of a way to make her pain stop.

  Then it all came crashing in a whirlwind of twisted logic. Since the day I’d come back, everyone from the nosy fan in line at the supermarket to the top Label Execs has been waiting for me to screw up. Nobody except Callie, Casey, and maybe Holland, believed for a second that I could make this work, that I’d truly changed. What better way to turn the vultures back on me than give them reason to gloat about their premonitions, their favorite rotting carcass. Yep, there. Told you. Fucked it up, just like we said.

  And so I did. Last night I leaked a series of old pictures to some prominent tabloids, as well as on my own accounts, and made sure to cover my lying ass by hiding out long enough to lend plausibility before returning to the bus. And yes, I know it’ll eventually come out that the pictures are old, that they weren’t taken anywhere near where I was last night, that actually we’ve seen them before. Hell, my hair isn’t even quite right, though we can chalk that up to the hazards of unbridled revelry; and those girls, while I’m sure they’d love another night out with me, know they didn’t get one. But by the time everyone figures that out, no one will be talking about Callie anymore, only wondering why the hell I’d do something like that. I didn’t think it would matter so much, that the lie would hurt like it does, but it’s too late. I did it, and now I have to live with the fact that everyone thinks I am the man I’m fighting so hard not to be.

  In an impulsive reaction to protect someone I loved, I fell on my sword. And now, now I’m permanently impaled because I can’t let the truth burden them with an ounce of responsibility. I definitely don’t want them putting themselves back in the spotlight in an attempt to fix my ill-conceived mess. I don’t know what story I’ll use to explain it away when the truth comes out, especially since right now it’s just jumbled chaos in my head. I make bad choices, it’s what I do, but the thing is, I can’t get a handle on whether this was a bad one or not. I feel this strange mix of regret, relief, and sadness, and I have no idea how to process it all.

  I can’t even decide if I love or hate myself right now. I just know it’s done, and now I’m standing at the edge, staring down into the latest grave I’ve dug for myself. Luke the Dandelion. Luke the Train-Wreck. Luke the Liar. Luke the Gravedigger. I’m a freaking Halloween parade.

  ∞∞∞

  I see I missed a call from Dr. Flynn and sigh in resignation. I know what she wants. She’s got a TV and internet connection just like everyone else. I close my eyes and shove my phone back in my pocket, relieved there’s no way I can call her back and have that conversation on the bus anyway. She’ll just have to wait until we get to Baltimore.

  Baltimore, Maryland

  September 22

  “Thanks for returning my call,” Dr. Flynn says, and I squint at a building across the street as I settle on the bench I’d found a block from the venue.

  It’s a surprisingly chilly morning and I wish I’d brought my jacket. But that would have required planning and foresight which we all know I avoid at all costs. I grimace.

  “I almost didn’t, then realized, you might be the only person in existence I can talk to about this. You know, since I literally pay you to keep my secrets.”

  She’s quiet at first. I’m pretty sure it’s my “secret” comment. “What kind of secrets are you talking about, Luke?” she asks, confirming I’m way too good at this.

  “The truth about those pictures everyone’s talking about. I didn’t actually slip up in Charlotte. Those pictures are old. I leaked them to take the spotlight off Callie. The media was going after her about her past and I didn’t want them talking about her anymore.”

  This new silence is because she’s processing, and I almost roll my eyes but manage to stop myself. I’m the one who called her after all. Not to mention, it’s a pretty big bombshell for eight in the morning.

  “So you saw your friend in trouble and stepped in to help her by turning the negative attention on yourself.”

  I sigh. “Yep, pretty much. But of course, as usual, it totally backfired and now everyone hates me, including Callie, and thinks I’m a total fuck up. Which I guess I am by definition.”

  “You consider yourself a ‘fuck up’ right now?”

  “I’m pretty much the poster boy, I think.”

  “Really. And what’s your definition of a ‘fuck up’?”

  “Come on, Doc. I see what you’re doing. But let’s be honest, even you have to admit I’ve written the book on this. Every time I make a choice, try to do anything, even for the right reasons, it turns to shit.”

  She’s thinking again, and I wait. It’s gonna be bad, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. “Luke, can I take you up on that offer? To be honest with you?”

  “I pay you a fortune for that,” I joke.

  I can almost hear her smile into the phone. She’s a good person. We’ve always connected well. I had to try three before I found the right fit.

  “You’re a very intelligent young man. Your self-awareness and ability to self-reflect is astounding in a lot of ways, which is why I feel comfortable asking you to step into that role for a moment and listen to an outside perspective.”

  I brace myself. Her comfort with a topic rarely translates into the same for me.

  “Go ahead. Shoot,” I say anyway. Time to get my money’s worth.

  “If I’m understanding correctly, you are perceiving this latest challenge as a case of good intentions gone awry.”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to help Callie.”

  “Luke, that’s not what I see.”

  I suck in my breath. Of course it’s not. “No?”

  “No. From my perspective, I see a long pattern of self-sabotage, disguised as altruism.”

  I nearly choke as her words slam into me.

  “You still with me?”

  I swallow. “Yeah.”

  Her voice softens as she continues. “I know that may be hard to hear, but I think it might help you make sense of your frustrations at your tendency toward destructive choices. You use altruistic reasoning to justify decisions that isolate and punish you. You believe you need to protect others from yourself because the depression still has you convinced that you’re not worthy of love, that they’re better off without you. Deep down, part of you still doesn’t believe you deserve h
appiness. You still believe you should be punished.”

  I can barely breathe. She’s right. Dammit, I hate when she’s right because it’s usually devastating.

  I don’t respond for a long time and just stare into the distance, her words ricocheting like blinding neon signs in the darkness of my head. I think back over my life, over every relationship I’ve had that’s important to me. When have I ever let someone get close? When have I ever let myself be happy? The second a spark starts to ignite I do something to snuff it out. Elena, Casey, Callie, and now Holland. I surround myself with shallow and destroy anything that slips beneath the surface and threatens to go deep.

  “But Callie. I really did want to help her,” I mutter finally, feeling like I need to put up some defense.

  She sighs. “I know you did. I know you believe that, but let’s look at the other side for a minute. There are many ways a friend can help another friend in need. In this particular situation, you could have stood by her and supported her through the challenge, provided a compassionate ear, a shoulder to lean on, encouragement from your own experience. Instead, your instinct led you to try to ‘help’ her by lying to her and damaging your relationship at a time when she needed it stronger than ever. You removed yourself from her instead of drawing closer.”

  That one hurts. Maybe even more than the other. I close my eyes, wanting desperately to argue. That can’t be right, but isn’t that exactly what happened? Isn’t that why I’m here, talking to Dr. Flynn, shunned by everyone else on that bus? Hell, isn’t that exactly what I admire about all of them? Casey’s unflinching loyalty to those he loves, even in the heat of battle. Callie’s compassion, even when she has no reason to love. Holland’s inexplicable faith in people. Then there’s me who shows love by lying, rejecting, and destroying all of that. That’s not love. Oh god, that’s what Flynn is saying. That’s not love! It’s something else. Something dark, something poisonous.

  “How are you processing this, Luke? You still there?”

  I don’t know how to respond. I’m processing it way too well, I think. “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” I mumble after a long pause.

  She doesn’t respond at first, and I know she recognizes my signal that I’m done with this conversation. She’s just going to have to hope she’s gotten through. And she has. For the love of all things holy in psychiatrist land, she has. I feel ready to puke.

  “I should probably go,” I say.

  “Luke, this was a very difficult conversation, but we’re having it because there are people in your life who love you and whom you love. This wouldn’t hurt so much otherwise. You are very close to letting them in. We just made a huge leap. In your language, an ‘epic’ one, I believe.” I actually do crack a smile at that. “So please, just do me one last favor. Put our conversation into action. Test it. Test me and my perspective. Just try telling one of your friends what you told me. Tell them the truth about the photos. Let them in, truly in, and see what happens. Stop showing love by punishing yourself and see what happens to these relationships, to you and your life, when you accept real love and return it in kind.”

  I let out a dry laugh. I’m sorry, but that sounds insane. There was nothing funny about this conversation until now. “That’s it, huh? Just rewire my entire approach to relationships, the very concept of Love embedded in my soul. Just undo twenty-eight years of betrayal, fear, and pain. Yep, that’s it? All fixed?”

  “Luke, I’m not asking you to do any of that. I’m asking you to take a small step.”

  “It sounds like a giant, fucking rocket launch to me.”

  “That’s because you’re projecting way beyond what I’m actually asking. You’re skipping to the end when all I’ve asked is for you to open the book. All I want is for you to pick one person and tell them the truth about the photos. A simple, tangible, measurable action. Tell them it was a lie, that you didn’t go out partying. You were trying to protect Callie. Then just see what happens next. That’s it.”

  “That’s it? And when they laugh in my face or explode on me?”

  “You can call me back and say ‘I told you so,’ and rub it in all you want.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. But Luke?”

  “What?”

  “It’s not going to happen.”

  ∞∞∞

  Eli sends me a text to meet him in catering for lunch. I do think it’s strange, but since he’s one of the few still talking to me, I make the effort to show up. I’m surprised to find everything looking completely normal. Jesse, Parker, and Reece are seated at a table with Eli who waves me over.

  “Hey, Luke! Grab some food,” Eli calls. I nod a greeting and pick up a plate. I fill it while they continue their conversation about getting a new front-of-house console.

  “What’s up, guys?” I say, taking the empty seat across from Eli.

  “Hey,” they answer.

  “I meant to ask, what’d you think of Charlotte? Do you like playing the outdoor venues?” I ask Jesse.

  He smiles and shrugs. “Yeah, it was pretty sweet. Fucking hot, though.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, Charlotte in early September can be a bitch. But you guys sounded great.”

  “Really?” Jesse asks, and I like that he seems sincere in his appreciation of my praise. Maybe he’s starting to forgive me, too.

  “Really. You seriously do have a sick sound. I love the vibe. Your vocals are killer, Jess, and rocked that venue.”

  He’s beaming now, and I can feel my cloud start to lift.

  “Thanks, Luke. That means a lot,” he says.

  “Did you get a chance to sign the pallet?”

  “The pallet?”

  “Yeah, above the fireplace in the green room. You saw that, right? With your warehouse background I figured you’d be all over that.”

  “Wait, the one with all the burnt signatures?”

  I nod. “We signed it at our first show there.”

  “Aw, damn, no. But that Coke fountain was…”

  His response is cut off by the sudden shouts of Derrick, their bass player.

  “It’s gone!” he cries, bursting into the room.

  “What’s gone?” Jesse asks.

  “The bus!” Derrick continues.

  We all just stare at him.

  “Huh?” Jesse says. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s gone! I went to get something just now and it’s missing! The NSB bus is there. Tracing Holland, the crew bus, they’re all there, but ours is gone!”

  “That doesn’t make sense! How could it be gone?”

  “I don’t know! But I’m telling you it’s not there!”

  They look to us, and we just shrug.

  “Maybe Rob noticed an issue and took it in to get it checked out,” Eli suggests.

  They consider that, but seem skeptical. “Wouldn’t they tell us they’re taking our bus? I mean, all our shit’s on there!” Parker argues.

  Eli shakes his head. “I don’t know, dude. That’s weird.”

  “This is…shit! What do we do?” Derrick cries, as the other three pale.

  “I don’t know. I mean, are you absolutely sure it’s gone? It’s not just hidden behind a tree or something?” Eli asks, totally serious. At least, he looks totally serious. I’m about to lose it.

  Just then, Sweeny comes racing in as well.

  “Oh good! There you are! Guys, I don’t know how to tell you this, but did you leave your bus unlocked or something?”

  They all shake their heads, eyes wide. Parker looks ready to pass out.

  “Ok, because I just saw some dude pulling around the front of the building in your bus and it definitely was not your driver. You don’t leave the keys in the drawer, do you?”

  “Wait, by the fridge?” Derrick asks, past pale and nearly transparent at this point.

  Sweeny curses. “You idiots!”

  I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t even look at Sweeny and Eli. Oh. My. God. I stare at my plate, focus
ing on taking deep breaths. In. Out.

  “What are you still doing here? Go!” Sweeny cries. “Go chase that criminal down before he gets too far!”

  “We need to call the cops!” Reece yells, bolting to his feet. “Our manager!”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that. You just see if you can catch him. It’s probably just some psycho fan taking a joyride. I doubt they’ll even leave the parking lot.”

  “That happens?” Derrick asks in horror.

  Eli shrugs again. “Only if you leave your keys in the drawer. Hope you guys have insurance.”

  The panic is all over their faces as they rush from the room in a flurry of frantic anger.

  We’re quiet for a moment after they leave, silently processing what just happened, then exchange a look before exploding into laughter.

  “Are you serious? You moved their bus?” I cry, laughing so hard tears sting my eyes.

  They are too, and we pretty much collapse on the table from our shrieking.

  “Oh my god, did you see their faces? Parker was ready to throw up!” Eli snorts, slapping his hand on the surface.

  I shake my head, wiping my eyes. “I can’t believe you! They are going to beat the shit out of you!” I still can’t breathe as I lean back in my chair. “Where’s their bus now?”

  Sweeny can barely speak as he starts up all over again. “I waited until I was sure one of them noticed then put it back! It’s fucking in its spot!”

  My eyes widen in disbelief, my stomach in agony from the laughter. “And you just sent them running all over the parking lot looking for it!”

  He nods through his own tears, fighting for air.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” I warn, still chuckling after we finally gain control of ourselves.

  They nod, but don’t seem to care. “Yeah, we know. It’s on.”

  I shake my head in amusement. “Oh, it’s on.”

  ∞∞∞

  I find Jesse messing around on his acoustic in their dressing room and hold up my hands in a gesture of peace.