by Jaime Samms
“Show them,” Lenny said, finally looking at him.
Damian shook his head, hunching so his sleeves hid his hands. It felt like his face was on fire and his heart was trying to beat a burning path out of his chest.
“Show them!” Lenny’s voice rose, and Damian lifted his gaze to peer at his friend, only to see the beginnings of panic in Lenny’s eyes.
“Lenny, let it g-go. It’s fine. A f-few scratches.” It sucked that this was the Lenny he knew how to deal with. The friend whose panic he knew how to calm. He smiled. “No biggy, r-right? Just a scuffle, and y-you were th-there, right? So it’s all g-good.”
“Just—” Lenny lifted his hands, splayed, like he might dig them into his own hair and pull, but he chopped at the air between them. “Just stop. Show them what I did to you.”
That got all their attention.
“Yeah,” Lenny said, looking around the room at their friends. “He got into a fight. And he lost.”
“I—” Damian tried to interrupt.
“Because he was high,” Lenny went on, ignoring him.
“B-bec-c-cause I didn’t w-want to h-hit you!” Damian shouted.
“What?” Alice turned on him. “Hit him? You hit him?” Her face flushed and her eyes blazed. “Trevor Alistar Learner, what did you do?”
“Alice.” Lenny stepped between her and Damian. “Don’t yell at him. He’s the one who’s hurt, here, not me.”
Alice snorted. “Hurt by you?” She shook her head and crossed her arms. “I doubt that very much. I don’t know what you two are trying to pull, but whatever it is, it isn’t funny. If he hurt you, Lenny, I don’t care what kind of wonderful contract deals he comes up with, he can suck my tit.”
“Alice, just listen, please,” Lenny said.
“Even if you could hurt him, Lenny, you wouldn’t.”
“She has a point, dude,” Jethro said helpfully. “You’re a bit on the… wee side.” He held up finger and thumb about an inch apart.
“Shut up, Jet,” Damian muttered.
Lenny turned around to face him. “Take the bandages off, Trev.”
Damian shook his head. “It d-doesn’t matter, okay? J-just f-forg-get it.”
“Would you listen to yourself?” Lenny took him by his shoulders and shook him.
He flinched. Instinct welled up in a tide of adrenaline, and it made him flinch. From Lenny. And everyone in the room saw it.
Lenny took a step back, eyes wide. “It matters and you know it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You haven’t stuttered since middle school. This is my fault.”
Damian pursed his lips, and shook his head. He didn’t bother trying to speak. He wouldn’t get the words out anyway. Everything was beginning to shake, inside and out.
“Damian.” From where he still sat at his desk, Krane’s voice stilled the entire room. “Do as he asks.”
Hearing Stanley Krane call him Damian, after the entire weekend together, was a burning knife to his gut. He stiffened, shaking his head. Refusing.
“Trevor.” Stanley’s glare was ice cold.
“N-n-n—” He shook his head, dropping his focus to the rug between his and Lenny’s feet. He couldn’t make himself reveal to them what Lenny had done. He couldn’t stand saying no to Stanley.
“Just do it!” Lenny grabbed at his left hand, yanking the bandages free to reveal the damage. “Show them.” He held up the fiery agony of Damian’s hand for them all to see.
Alice gasped and Clive made a strange sound in his throat.
“Dude….” Jethro glanced at Lenny, eyes wide. “Shit, dude, what did you do?”
Lenny released Damian and stepped away from him. “I hurt him.” His gaze was riveted on Damian’s hand. “I—pinned him. Sm-mashed his hands against the wall.” He was shaking, standing in the middle of the room, too pale, visibly trembling as he spoke. “Scraped his hand across the b-bricks until the tattoo was gone.”
“Lenny, stop it.”
“Why?” At last, Lenny lifted his eyes, met Damian’s gaze. “Why shouldn’t I tell them the truth? You were high, and in trouble, and instead of taking you home and keeping you safe, I chose to beat you up.”
“Lenny, you were mad.”
“So what?” He clenched his fists at his sides, like he was forcibly keeping himself from curling into his habitual ball with his arms wrapped around his waist. “How many times was Ace pissed at me? Legitimately or not? Didn’t make it okay for him to hit me. Doesn’t make it okay for me.” He paused and every eye went to him. “It never made it okay.” He lifted one hand, like he might touch Damian, but dropped it again before he did. “I wasn’t that out of control, Trev. I did it because I wanted to hurt you. And to do it here? In Boston? I should have been looking out for you. You hate this city, and I just made it worse.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry.”
What was Damian going to say? He’d known this at the time. He’d been able to see the rage and the purpose in Lenny’s eyes when it happened. He’d chosen not to fight back. Maybe because he didn’t want to hit Lenny back. Maybe because he thought he deserved it somehow. Maybe because he knew how bad Lenny would feel about it after and that was the only weapon he had.
He’d been the one to get high. It had been his idea to go out after the show, and he’d rubbed Lenny’s face in all the things Lenny hated about his lifestyle. He’d done that on purpose. He’d been as much to blame, wanting to hurt and maim as much as Lenny had. And for what reason? He didn’t have one. He’d done it because he was desperate for Lenny to stop him, then made it impossible for his friend to do so.
Beks’s words flitted through his head. You really think the only way to beat a guy up is punch him in the face?
“I’m sorry too,” he whispered, concentrating, because he didn’t want to trip over his words this time. “F-for everything. I’ll d-do better.”
“I know.” Lenny nodded and glanced to where Stanley still sat at his desk watching them. “You’ll get better. You have help.”
“’Course.” Damian searched his friend’s eyes. “We’ll h-help each other.” A sickening twist knotted Damian’s stomach as he said it.
“I have to go.” Lenny took a step away from him.
“Len.” Vance’s voice was firm.
“I’ll write Mr. Krane,” Lenny said, his gaze fixed on Damian.
“You’ll tell them all. Now.” Vance laid that gentle hand on Lenny’s shoulder again. “In person, Len. This is how it’s done.”
“Tell us what?” Damian asked, curling his fingers into fists, searching for the focus of the pain.
“He’s quitting,” Clive said, standing up. His voice was flat with anger and he turned to Krane. “Can he do that?”
“You all signed the same contract” was all their manager said.
“I’m not… quitting,” Lenny said. “But I am taking some time off. I need….” Again, his gaze drifted over Damian’s face. “Time. A break.”
“From what?” Damian grabbed his wrist. “You need a break from what? We’re in the middle of a tour. You l-l-ove th-this sh-sh-sh.”
“Shit,” Lenny said softly as he pried Damian’s fingers from his wrist. “More than just about anything, I love it, yes. It isn’t the music I need a break from, Trev.” He freed himself and stepped back until there was contact between his back and Ashcroft’s chest.
“Me,” Damian said.
“We both need this.”
“Don’t,” Damian said.
“Trev, the only thing I love more than the music is you. That’s why I’m doing it. What we’ve been doing, it isn’t healthy. What I’ve been doing.” He looked over at Stanley and squared his shoulders. “It’s time we both found what’s really going to work for us. Time we moved on from each other and then, maybe.”
“Firefly is family, man,” Jethro said.
Damian could have kissed him for that.
“I say we take a vote,” Clive said.
Damian looked a
t him. God, Clive was so cold. He was glaring at Lenny, eyes dark with suppressed rage. “I say, since we’re only a month away from the year-end when we’re supposed to vote if we’re going to keep working with Damian, we vote now.”
It was like his world was imploding. Damian stepped forward, reaching like he might hang on to his life if he could just touch one of them. A hand fell on his shoulder and he felt heat, comfort at his back.
“I could cite you for breach of contract, Mr. Kerrington,” Stanley said, voice equally as hard as Clive’s had been.
“Go ahead.” He turned his gaze to Krane. “Because if we don’t do this now, I’m out anyway.”
“So what do you propose?” Krane asked.
Clive turned and faced Damian. “I want to change the vote a bit, though. I want us to vote on keeping Lenny.”
There was a collective gasp, then silence. Damian glanced at Lenny who’d gone pale as a sheet.
“Clive, you can’t do this.”
“Sure I can. I just did.” He pointed a finger at Lenny, without bothering to look at him. “He hurt you. I’m not a blind idiot. He’s been doing it for a while. Maybe forever, but this isn’t the first time, and I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I should have. I get he has issues, so I vote we let him take his ‘break’ and get his shit together. If he can, he can come back, but we decide if we’ll take him, not the other way around.”
“Clive….” Damian didn’t know what to say. What to do. He was lost.
“I know I don’t actually get a vote, but I agree with Clive,” Alice said from her spot on the couch.
“Shit” was all Jethro said.
Beks looked like she was going to cry, but she nodded. “He’s right. Clive’s right.”
Jethro looked from one to the other of them, finally settling on Lenny. “Not cool, dude.”
Lenny didn’t say anything.
“I gotta go with Clive on this one, Lenny. I mean, I know Trev’s not perfect, but… you’re a good guy. Just… fix it and come back, yeah?”
Lenny nodded. “I know.”
He didn’t even argue. They’d just kicked him out of the band, and he hadn’t argued. Damian couldn’t quite get enough air. His heart thudded, too slowly and heavily.
“I know I’m leaving you guys in the lurch,” Lenny went on. He glanced at Krane. “But I have to do this. What I did—” He met Damian’s gaze. “Maybe you can forgive it, Trev, but I can’t.” His eyes glistened. “How many times did you come get me? How many bruises and black eyes and split lips? You’re the only one who knows everything Ace did, and you still think what I did was okay?”
“Lenny, I—”
“There’s no excuse for it. You love me and you’ll let me get away with it, but it isn’t going to get better. Any more than me letting you get away with your shit has gotten better. It’s fucking us both up, and I’m stopping it. Now. I have to because I love you.”
“You’re running away,” Damian accused.
“No, I’m getting the help and the perspective I need.” He shifted, as if to feel the solid mass of Vance’s body behind him. “I know what I am, Trev.” He smiled, a soft, placid expression that shone through the unshed tears. “I know what I want and I know what I can’t do. I refuse to try anymore. You have to take care of yourself from now on. I can’t do it anymore. I never really could.”
“So you’re j-j-just g-g-going to l-l-leave?”
“Not forever.” He glanced around the room and drew in a deep breath. “I hope.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, which he handed to Alice. “You can reach me here. It’s Vance’s cell number. If you need me for anything, he’ll let me know.”
“What if we want to come see you?” Jethro asked. “It’s almost your birthday.”
Lenny smiled. “Then come see me. I’m not falling off the face of the earth. Just taking some time off.”
“How long?” Clive sank onto the arm of the couch, apparently drained. He was pale and a little shaky.
“Not sure. A while. Probably till the end of the tour. Then we’ll see.”
Clive looked past Lenny to Vance. “Last asshole who demanded he ‘take time’ away from his family beat the crap out of him,” he said. Trust Clive to be blunt, but somehow, it was reassuring he wasn’t completely cutting Lenny off. He still wanted to look out for him too.
“I’m not taking him away from his family.” Vance shifted his attention to Damian. “Not all of you.”
Vertigo made Damian sway where he stood as that sank in. “Just me.”
“Trev.”
“N-n-n—” Damian clamped his lips and dragged in a few shallow breaths as he glared at Lenny. “F-fuck y-y-you. D-d-o wh-wh-whatever y-you w-w-want.”
He whirled and rushed from lounge to bedroom.
“Trevor!” Stanley’s voice whip-cracked at his heels.
He didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The door slammed behind him.
In the other room, a flurry of voices chased him, but he kept going through the far door and was out into the hallway before he stopped for breath. But if he stopped too long, everything else would catch up to him, and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t chance waiting for the elevator, but headed for the stairwell, taking them two and three at a time to get to the street, swinging down the handrails despite the searing pain it caused. He’d worry about the bleeding later. Maybe.
Grabbing the first cab he found, he clambered inside and directed the cabbie to drive.
“Where to?”
“Anywh-where.”
The man gave him a skeptical look in the rearview mirror, but he pulled away from the curb. “In the mood for a drive?”
Damian shrugged. He was in the mood for a lot of things. None of them good for him. “Airport,” he said at last. There were enough bars there he could have a drink, calm down, and decide what to do next. At least it was a less likely place to find any of the other things he didn’t need.
20
STANLEY GLARED at the rush hour traffic. Yellow and checker cabs filled the street in front of the hotel. The band’s rented stretch limo was still parked under the pick-up canopy, their driver patiently waiting to take them to the practice studio.
“Sorry, sir,” she said, smiling serenely at Stanley, completely unruffled by his agitation. “I haven’t seen Mr. Learner since I arrived forty-five minutes ago. If he left the hotel, it wasn’t through the front lobby.”
“You might have missed him,” Vance said, peering into the car.
Stanley followed his gaze, half expecting to see a book or newspaper sitting on the front seat. Most rent-a-chauffeur staff weren’t exactly dedicated. The car was spotless.
“Mr. Krane, I don’t get paid to slack off,” she said calmly. “I was told to pick the band up at 3:00 p.m. I’ve been here since two thirty, waiting. Mr. Learner has not exited the front doors since I’ve been here. I would have seen him.”
Clive came out then shaking his head. “Not in the bar either.”
“Or our room,” Lenny confirmed, exiting the building on Clive’s heels.
“So then where the hell did he go?”
Alice and Jethro joined them, shaking their heads. “No one at the front desk has seen him,” Alice said. “And Jet checked the gym and the pool. We came through the dining room on our way out.”
Beks was the last to exit, also shaking her head. “He didn’t speak to the concierge or ask for a cab.”
“He obviously didn’t come down in the elevator if no one in the lobby has seen him.”
“Stairs, then,” Clive concluded.
Stanley swore. “Right out to the street and into a cab. Fuck! He could be anywhere.”
“He hates Boston,” Lenny said quietly. “He doesn’t know it, so it isn’t like there’s a bar he’d go to when he’s upset.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Stanley snarled.
“No point standing in the street.” Vance motioned to the limo. “We can check the practice studio and
decide what to do from there.”
Lenny shook his head, the look on his face echoing what Stanley was thinking. They had rented a practice studio for the week they were scheduled to be here. It wasn’t a familiar place for any of them, and Damian wouldn’t go there. He wouldn’t go anywhere they expected him to go if he had half a moment to think about it. Ironic, but Stanley had to hope Damian made a knee-jerk decision before he had time to think about it. One his friends and family would be able to anticipate.
By the time they arrived at the rented practice studio, they had a list of places Damian might go. Everyone agreed he wouldn’t stay in Boston any longer than he absolutely had to. Since he wasn’t at the studio, and by the looks on everyone’s faces, Stanley concluded no one had really thought he would be, they at least had a working plan.
The band had a tour scheduled, and they had to either find their singer or start canceling dates. Alice started with phone calls to anyone she thought might hear from Damian. Stanley rounded up his short list of guitar players he knew would be able to replace Lenny with the scant two weeks they’d have to practice before the first date on this Eastern US leg of the tour, and Vance made arrangements to return to Toronto with Lenny and help him search the most likely places Damian would run to.
“Nothing.” Alice growled, practically throwing her cell onto the table beside the sound board.
“Hon, it’s early yet. At least we’ve alerted people. If he turns up, they’ll call.” Clive wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his neck.
“I hate him,” she whispered, though only Stanley was close enough to hear her sniffle as she said it.
“No, you don’t.” Clive stroked her back. “You’re worried and tired.”
“And pissed.”
Clive nodded. “And pissed. We all are. But we’ll find him.”
“Alice, I need you to do something for me,” Stanley said, making the decision he’d anticipated having to make when he’d called her two days ago. “Get together with Miriam in Toronto and draw up a contract. Same as the others. You don’t need me here to audition a guitar player. You know what you need.”