“Let’s go watch the game,” he said, tugging on Lucia’s hand. The club had rented a clubhouse suite for this game, and he knew Slate would be there. He thought Bear would likely be there, too, and while that thought made him nervous for reasons far different from the singing he had just done, he was determined to show everyone he could change. Had changed. His arm tightened around Lucia, pulling her into his side. Still totally a selfish bastard, he was fixing himself so he’d be better, and so he could have what he wanted.
Walking into the suite, he stopped dead in his tracks, Luce, still connected to him, jolting as she was jerked to a halt. His throat closed, bile boiling up into the back of his mouth as he swallowed convulsively. Shit. Nearly every legal-aged person in the room had a drink in their hand. A year ago, he would have never noticed the scent, but now, after so long fighting the pull of alcohol, he could nearly taste the yeasty flavor of the many beers scattered around the room. A presence on his other side, hand to his arm, then her soft voice, “Bibi, this is no different from playing in the bar. People who don’t have a problem with alcohol drink. You cannot.” She got closer, crowding him and he stepped out of the flow of traffic, half-turning away from the room, using both Lucia and Mercedes to block him from view. “If this is too much, we can walk to the rooftop patio, get some air. It’s only a three-minute stroll.” Mercedes proved she’d again done her homework, figured out what the triggers might be and then looked for ways to help him manage his responses. What would I do without her?
“I’m good,” he lied, the tightness in his throat making speaking painful. Shaking his head, he said, “It…caught me off-guard. I wasn’t thinking about there being booze.” She rolled her eyes at him, and he laughed. “Yeah, I know, right? Wasn’t thinking. I expect it in the bar, do my pep talk thing. Get ready. There, it’s not a surprise. Here—”
“Benny.” His name called from across the room, and he looked up to see both Slate and Mason bearing down on him, and was grateful for their empty hands in a way which nearly pissed him off. They shouldn’t have to worry about me. “Hey, shrimp.” Slate thumped his shoulder, and he acknowledged both men with a chin lift, standing in place, glancing at a TV screen over their shoulders. Trying to look anywhere except at the booze in the room. Avoiding their empty hands pointing out his failures. Fuck.
It looked like the game was already underway, and he wondered how much Jase would get to play. Benny listened to his brother and Mason for a few minutes, accepting their praise of the anthem as graciously as he could, still feeling as if his skin was crawling, that brief flash of success wiped away by his failure to cope.
DeeDee stood alone near the open front of the suite, arms wrapped around herself, hands cupping opposite elbows. Luce was busy chatting with one of the women and Mercedes had made herself scarce, but he knew she was likely lurking close by, waiting for him to ask for a beer, so she could jump out like a sober ninja, knocking the drink from his clutching hand. He snorted at his melodramatic flair, made what he hoped was a graceful exit, and moved to stand next to DeeDee, stretching his arms out to lean against the railing.
“Wanted to thank you.” He kept his eyes on the players skating up and down the rink, the swirl of colors and motion hypnotic, soothing until they crashed to an abrupt halt against the edges. “I get you put yourself out there for me tonight. So, thank you.” Surprised when a strong arm circled his waist, he looked down at DeeDee to find her face turned up to his. He didn’t move, not sure what she wanted, but not wanting to cause offense.
“Didn’t do it for you.” Her voice was hushed, like this was a secret and he stared at her, not sure how to take what she’d said. “Love my girl.” Ruby wasn’t her daughter by blood, but this was an example where family didn’t necessarily mean related because even if they weren’t mother-daughter, their bond was as tight as any he’d ever seen. “She likes you.” He knew Ruby did, but it felt good to hear her affection confirmed like this. That he hadn’t fucked everything up with her. “She loves your brother.” She did, too. So much, you could see it on her face every time she looked at Slate. “Wants him to have whatever he wants. She’ll put her ass on the line for that, anytime, any day. That was her ass on the line tonight. She pushed this with Jase.” Her arm gave him a squeeze. “And it all came out right, yeah? You did well, and Slate got something he needed.” There was a shout from the arena quickly buried by the blast of a horn, and she looked away quickly, then the warmth of her grip dropped away, and she lifted both hands to her mouth, shouting, “Way to go, Spencer! Go, Tridents!”
She looked supremely happy, and he had to ask, wondered too much not to. “What happened?”
Head back, she laughed so hard it drew the attention of several people nearby. “Jase scored a goal. This is his last game, and he scored a goal. That’s”—she leaned closer, speaking quietly, another secret—“a big deal for him.” Patting his chest with her palm, she told Benny, “Watch at the intermission. He’s going to announce the foundation.”
“Foundation?” Benny realized he’d been so soaked up in his own misery over the past months, he’d missed out on a lot with the people in his life. Looking around, he saw Ruby seated in an armchair, Allen in her lap holding onto her fingers and standing. Wobbling, sure, but still supporting his little baby ass with his own two legs. “What foundation?”
“My old man is retiring, you know about that. Last game and all. He needed to keep hockey. It’s been his life for so long, I can’t imagine he’d be good without it. He wouldn’t be. The game makes him happy, and I don’t mind sharing him with something that makes him so happy. So he cooked up an idea to do a charity, raising scholarship money to get kids into training camps and stuff. Started down that road, decided he didn’t like some of the camps available. They were all about gear and schools and who your daddy was. Charity cases were treated like…charity cases. Kids whose folks couldn’t afford the expensive training got left behind because even raw talent needs a chance. An opportunity to learn, to push, prove themselves.” Like musicians, he thought. She turned to look down at the ice as a buzzer sounded. Benny watched as the other team skated off the ice, but stayed in their bench area while all the Tridents lined up on the centerline.
“So he came up with the idea of creating a foundation which would do both. Raise money to cover costs, so every kid gets a chance to love hockey like Jase does. And find a facility where he could do classes, lessons, workshops, training camps…everything a player needed, right here in Fort Wayne. Make it a mecca for hockey. That’s been his saying for the past couple of months. Level the playing field. Smooth the ice.” She leaned against the railing. “It matters so much to him, and he’s done it. Got the paperwork filed, found a place and bought it. It’s being gutted now, renovated for the kids. Rink, changing rooms, media room, training equipment. He’s got it all lined up. Making the announcement now.” She pointed, and Benny watched as an unhelmeted Jase skated to the center of the rink with a wireless microphone in hand.
“So proud of him.” An arm circled his waist, and he looked down to see Luce standing there, eyes to the man on the ice. “Him and Bear, Bingo, they all work so hard to make things better for kids.”
Benny’s neck twisted and he looked around the room. Almost all eyes were aimed at the ice, these men and women here to support one of their own. A man they loved without hesitation because he deserved it. Not like me. Someone had rested their drink on the counter next to where he and Luce stood. Five inches from his hand, what looked like a bourbon waited. As the room erupted in shouts and clapping, boots stomping to add to the din, he caught Mercedes’ gaze trained steadily on him. Fingers curling into Luce’s waist, he anchored himself, giving Mercedes a sharp nod she slowly returned.
Twenty-Two
“Dude, gimme.” Chase’s voice came from behind him and pulled him from his thoughts. He’d arrived early to their practice room in the back of Marie’s and grabbed his guitar. Anything to fill his hands, keep them busy, keep his mind
busy. Mercedes would be stationed in the hallway outside, book in hand and ass to the floor, legs sprawling sideways. “That’s sick. Go again, brother. I want that. Gimme.”
Benny grinned, hands moving across the strings. He’d been messing around with something over the past couple of days, working on it and working it until the music was flowing through him like it used to. It didn’t suck, he knew it, could feel it and now hearing Chase’s response solidified that knowledge. “Good, yeah?”
“Hell yeah. I want it. Gimme.” Chase slung his guitar strap over his shoulder, eyes and his full attention to Benny’s fingers on the strings as he fumbled with the other end, attaching it to the base of his guitar. “Want. Want. Want.” On a chant, Chase picked up the melody, their standard process for jamming on new songs. “Want.” He steadied the song, kept it moving forward, freeing Benny’s fingers to wander and find the counter, find the hook to drive it harder, farther. “Want.”
An hour later, they were both covered in sweat, but the song was blocked and notated, a recording on each of their phones. Good, Benny thought, with a shiver. No lyrics, but that was okay. It happened both ways for him. He’d find a phrase and follow it, lacing the words together and finding the music as he went. Or he could latch onto the music, rolling through the process and then the words would come. Benny shook his head, flinging his wet hair wildly as he grinned. Both he and Chase laughed, fingers staying in motion, tunes popping into their playing and they’d play by ear, chasing those notes, the results ranging from cartoon theme songs to loose variations on classics.
The door opened, and Mitty walked in followed closely by Vic. Benny stood, fingers moving on the strings, up and down, back and forth, watching as his friends and bandmates greeted each other, sliding into their customary roles for a practice session. He had something that would shake them up today, and he hoped like fuck he was doing the right thing.
Vic stepped to his practice kit, a sprawling amalgamation of percussion pieces so he’d have anything he wanted at his fingertips, a way to refine songs and determine what would be needed for any particular song setup. Benny watched as the drummer touched the rims and edges of the equipment reverently, the action telling in a way he didn’t think Vic knew. This was a man who loved music, loved making music and Benny felt a twist of pain and guilt that he’d been the reason Vic had gotten derailed. If I hadn’t lined him up for OY, he’d be playing right now, not stuck in a backroom of a bar, about to roll into practice again.
Shoving that regret to the back of his mind, he tried to focus on where he hoped they were headed. I can’t change the past. Something his sponsor had told him but hadn’t sunk in circled through his head. Make amends for your wrongs, unless atonement would cause further harm. The only one here he hadn’t harmed was Chase, except by extension. He had undoubtedly hurt his brother, and his brother was Chase’s dad’s closest friend. Zero degrees of separation for my shit.
He shivered, dreading this while at the same time anticipating what would be happening in about thirty minutes when the door opened the next time. “Hey, guys,” he started, keeping his fingers moving. My security blanket. “Got something to say.” Three sets of gazes turned his way, but they followed his lead, staying in the music.
Vic’s leg pumped, softly pounding the bass, muscled arms working effortlessly to stroke the heads of his toms and snares. Thrashing out the heartbeat of the band in a way that pushed them to be better. Quiet faith in the music, in his friends.
Mitty plucked at the keys of the board on stands in front of him. He did so much, worked alongside Benny as tech for whatever was needed, could and did pick up the bass when they needed him, but his love was built around black and white. With a classical background and training, he could deconstruct songs and help put them back together in a way that made everything he worked on special.
Chase, fingers moving across the frets, arm strumming tirelessly. His gaze was trusting and open. Seeing it, Benny was reminded the boy looked to him for a lot of things. Another reason to stay sober, hand back to Mason a little bit of the goodness that man had given Slate.
“I fucked up so much.” Mitty’s gaze sharpened. He’d been around the longest, seen the most of Benny’s fuckups. “I’ll never be able to thank you for what you did.” Each of them knew what they gave him, what they’d done to help him come back. “We’ve been in a holding pattern for a while.” Nods from the two professional musicians, and a grin from Chase. The boy’d been on stage a handful of times and had the bug, but hadn’t played for a crowd that wasn’t plump with friends. Still, his kind of easy enthusiasm could fire a crowd in a way that was infectious. “Time to break free.” Unconsciously, he’d picked up the pace, shifting to a driving beat that Vic snagged back and drifted a little sideways, forcing them down to steady. Yeah, I know I’m not in control, he thought, grinning at the drummer making goofy faces at him.
“Time to settle in, get serious.” Chase looked confused because to him, this was what making music was, playing with friends until your fingers bled but loving every minute. “I’ve talked to that downtown place.” Mitty’s eyes sharpened more; he knew where this was leading. “Booked time. Two days.” Now Vic was the one leading them into a drive-by, shattering the rhythms set so far, Benny putting his head down as he tried to follow. Tried, found it, fed it to Mitty and Chase, and minutes later, the four of them were on the same page again. “Three weeks from today, we’re layin’ tracks. A demo.”
“You looking for representation?” That was from Vic, probably the savviest of them all, having been raised in the industry. Benny nodded, and Vic glanced around the room, sweat starting to shine on his shoulders. Finally, he shows he’s working. “We’re missing a key part, friend.” Vic halted in place, resting his hands on the skins in front of him to still the remaining vibrations. “I don’t want to blow this vibe, but we need a fucking bass.”
“Yeah, we do. Guys, I asked a local to step in today. Totally sick, man, seen this shit on stage in a dozen places, with a dozen bands. Blending bass line, stand out solo—this one does it all. I think I found us a fit.” On cue, as if this had been rehearsed, there was a knock at the door, and Mercedes’ head rounded the edge. She caught Benny’s nod and stepped to the side, opening the door wide. “It’s our first go, and we’ll see, but you’re right, Vic, we need a bass.” He pointed to the doorway as a woman stepped through. “Guys, meet Bonnie Dupont.” There was a brief, discordant clash of wood on rims and his gaze shot to Vic in time to witness an unsettling emotion twist through the man’s features. Shit. He hadn’t thought about possible previous encounters, even knowing Vic had been stuck here in town the whole time Benny was in rehab. Shit.
Bonnie angled her head, dark hair shot through with shimmering blue sweeping across her shoulder. She had a case in hand, and stood there a moment, feet apart, hip angled out, exuding confidence. “Victor,” she murmured just the one word, holding Vic’s gaze for a moment before she turned to the other two. “Dmitri, heard good things about you, man. Can’t wait to rip it. Thanks for the chance.” Tipping her head to one side, she grinned at Chase. “Chase, dude, I got brothers about your age. You’ll have to cut me some slack if I treat you like shit, yeah?” She was hitting the right note with each of them, and Benny twisted to see Mercedes grinning at him through the narrowing slit as she closed the door. “Benny.” Bonnie pulled his attention back to her. “Thank you, man. Glad to get the call.”
“Okay.” He clapped his hands and then rested his elbows across the top of his guitar. “Set up, let’s see what we can do together. We’re gonna get started. I’ve put some music over there.” He pointed to where she’d be standing in their group, and she nodded, walking over to pick up the pile of papers. He heard the intense tone in his own voice and knew it revealed how much he needed this to work. “Let’s make some fuckin’ music, all right?”
***
“You gonna be cool with me if this works out, Victor?” Benny started to open the door to the bathroom a
nd paused, locked in place as he listened to what he hoped was his new bassist and the best drummer he’d ever played with, talking. “I nearly called, but figured you’d not let me pass through to this point unless you were down with the idea.” A shuffling sound and Vic sighed. Softly, Bonnie said, “Never thought he would spring me on you.”
Silence for a moment, then, “Yeah, Bunny, I’m cool.” At the nickname, Bonnie sucked in a breath that sounded wounded and painful and Vic made a strangled noise. “Sorry. I just…I’m…it’s okay, no worries.”
He absolutely wasn’t cool, that much was clear from the sadness in his voice, but before Benny could fuck up and reveal himself to them, Bonnie said, “Right on. It’d be boss if you can do that. This means a lot, Victor.” A grunt, then light footsteps moving away up the hallway and Benny sighed. He’d fucked up even trying to do right. Shit. Stepping out into the hallway, he found Vic still leaning against the opposite wall, eyes to the door, revealing he’d known Benny was there all along.
“Know you heard. Need you to know this is cool, you doin’ this for Bonnie. She’s killer, and I couldn’t have picked better.” Vic swallowed hard, glancing away for a moment. “Small world, ya know?” Benny nodded because he did. There was one point in his career where nearly every night he played with people he’d fucked over, been fucked by, or simply fucked. “She’s a fit.”
“Yeah, she is.” Their session had lasted hours, far longer and better than Benny had dared hope; Bonnie sliding into place as if she’d always played with them. Done her homework to prepare, so she knew their songs, even knew their variations from watching online videos shot by fans. The only things tripping her up were the new layers added by Vic and Chase, but she’d found her way around those, too.
“Fuckin’ kills, man.” Vic’s eyes were on the toes of his boots and Benny waited, knowing Vic needed something from him. “Finding the one,” he paused, then continued, “then finding out you aren’t hers.” With that, Vic turned and padded up the hallway as the end door opened, the light silhouetting him, isolating his form from everything around.
Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself Book 1) Page 20