Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel)

by Brynn O'Connor

  Suddenly I realize he has me leaning up against my car door and in the process our hips connect. I can feel his desire for me so powerfully intimate. It nearly robs me of my breath. I’m getting the feeling our bodies would fit together perfectly if we were in my bed instead of leaned up against my car at 3:30 in the morning.

  I also have the feeling that with a little encouragement on my part, we could both end up in the back seat of my Prius, and I really don’t want my first time with Brand, if there is going to be one, in the back seat of my car. Seeing how I am trapped up against my car door, the only way I can think of to break off the kiss is with my hands. I reach up with my right hand and slip it between our lips, and my fingers press gently against his full lips.

  “I’m sorry,” I begin, trying to catch my breath without looking like I’m out of breath. “It’s really late…” I trail off, not really sure what to say.

  “It’s fine June. We both have an hour or so driving to do and you, you must have a job to go to tomorrow or something?”

  “I don’t actually have to go in until eleven so…”

  “What do you do by the way?”

  “Not that this is the time for a big let me tell you about my life kind of conversation, I’m a paramedic at Highland Hospital. I work in the ER. I got someone covering my shift until eleven so I’ll catch a little shuteye before I have to go in.”

  “Wow, and here I thought you Lunatics were all beauty and no brains…I’m a night security guard at San Francisco General. In case you were curious. Writing just doesn’t pay the bills right now.”

  “You seem like a smart guy, I’m sure it’ll work out for you eventually. But now I really should go.”

  He leans in for one more kiss, but I deflect his lips again with my hand. “No, I really have to go.”

  “Okay…okay. Just a peck, that’s all, I promise.”

  “A peck, nothing more?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “Alright.”

  He leans in and gives me a chaste kiss on the mouth.

  “You are a man of your word Brand.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he says as he turns to go. Then, as I’m shutting my door, “wait. I didn’t get your digits.”

  “You can email me. LunaticJune@fringemail.com” I holler as my door closes. I look over at him to make sure he’s got it, and when he gives me the thumbs up I take off. If I’m lucky I’ll be at home in bed between 4:30 and 5:00am.

  By the time I get home the excitement of the evening has begun to wear off. I can no longer rely on adrenaline to keep me awake and focused. I start my day at 9:30, correctly anticipating that I would need exercise and an unhealthy amount of coffee to get myself awake and focused on work. The nice thing about working in the ER is even on slow days, there’s enough going on that you can usually count on at least some adrenaline to get you through the day. Not only does adrenaline chase away the cobwebs of sleep, it focuses you on the task at hand, whatever that may be.

  Luckily Gabby is working a shift tomorrow in the ER too, she's been a nurse there for years now, that's how we met. Almost the minute I walk in the door to the ER, a shot of adrenaline follows right behind. A lady runs up to me from the parking lot, out of breath and in a panic.

  Time to go to work.

  ~~~

  Dressed back in my civilian clothes I head back to the ER to say goodnight to my coworkers and make my schedule for the following week.

  When I go through the doctor’s entrance I spot Gabby and one of the ER docs deep in conversation, neither of them looks too happy. The doctor notices I'm standing there and looks up at me, signaling Gabby. The instant she turns around I know something is wrong. I remember hearing sirens as I got out of the shower, and by the look on Gabby’s face, she’s got news I’m not going to like.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, as she draws me aside. I can tell by the look on her face that it’s bad.

  “It’s Brand!” She says, tears begin streaming down her face.

  Chapter Seven

  Brand

  Gabby’s mouth is moving but I’m not hearing a word of it. The moment I hear her say Brand, the rest of my brain shuts down. I wish she would stop talking so my mind can catch up to what she is saying. It must be bad because she’s still wearing that grim expression. He can’t be dead because I heard the word alive; or at least I think I did.

  A hand touches my arm tenderly. Gabby is looking at me with a different expression this time. She’s sympathizing.

  “I can take it,” I hear myself saying. “Just tell me how bad and don’t hold back.”

  She gives me a weird look, then says: “I just did. You didn’t hear a word I said after Brand, did you?”

  I shake my head. I’m having trouble finding words, my mind flashes back to thoughts of my little sister.

  “Give me a minute and I’ll take you to him June.” She says, turning back to the doctor.

  They chat for a minute before Gabby turns back to me.

  She takes my hand and I let her lead me to one of the nursing offices. I’ve done this before, too many times. It’s much better to break the news to the family under controlled circumstances, and not in the trauma room where grieving family members tend to get in the way of the doctors who are trying to treat their loved one.

  I let her lead me to a couch and she goes back and shuts the door. Immediately everything goes quiet, and with nothing competing for my attention I am able to start processing what is happening.

  “Tell me again,” I say to Gabby.

  She sighs, and tells me everything she knows. Apparently Brand was doing some investigative reporting for one of the non-music websites he sometimes writes for and they had asked him to check out a story in the housing projects in west Oakland.

  Not a friendly place to be in, especially if you’re white and live above the poverty level. A couple guys took offense to some question he’d asked and pretty soon a knife came out and Brand was stabbed four times before being dumped into the street.

  Lucky for Brand a cop car on patrol happened by not five minutes later and he was taken to the hospital in time; hopefully.

  My brain is still having a hard time processing this. It’s too familiar. History is repeating itself; at least for me it is. I close my eyes for a minute in an effort to think but I am suddenly bombarded with images from the past. I see bloody clothes, blood in the street, and a knife lying in the gutter.

  Suddenly from nowhere an ashen face jumps out at me like some kind of evil Jack-in-the-box. It’s a cold lifeless face and it keeps bouncing in and out of my range of vision; a cruel reminder of how easily someone can be snatched from you. I open my eyes. It’s the only way to make the images stop.

  Then my sister’s face pops into my head. I remember every detail of that night right down to the smell of blood and the coppery taste in my mouth. She was taken from me one night long ago and every time something like this happens I have to relive her death.

  Gabby is looking at me again, worry etched in the lines at the corners of her eyes. “You’re really not okay are you June? You’re remembering Camille aren’t you?”

  She alone knows of my past trauma. My heart is pounding painfully against my ribs and I have to remind myself that Brand is alive; the circumstances are different. History is not really repeating itself, it just feels that way.

  “I need to see him Gabby.” I’m not sure I want to see him, but I have to. Otherwise the moment I leave the hospital my head is gonna convince me that he really has died and history has repeated itself. One more time a person I am close to gets ripped away from me…

  I feel something hot and wet on my hands. I look down and am surprised to see tears there. I’m crying and I didn’t even realize it. That’s how far out of touch with reality I am. I had no business getting romantically involved with Brand; stupid. Just plain stupid of me!

  “Doctor Carmichael will send for us when Brand is ready for you June, you know how it goes. Can’t have a grieving gi
rlfriend getting in the way. Not that you would get in the way,” she says rapidly, “seeing how you work here and all, but you know how it is…”

  We both sit in silence waiting for the doctor to send for us. I find myself counting tiles on the floor and ceiling. I have to keep my eyes open otherwise the other images are going to swallow me alive. I stand up. I can’t sit still any longer. They’ve had enough time. I should be let in now.

  I’m just about to protest staying here any longer when Doctor Carmichael himself walks in. That’s usually not a good sign.

  “He’s prepped and ready for surgery. You have three minutes.” The doctor announces.

  “So he’s conscious then?” Gabby asks.

  “In and out,” replies the doctor over his shoulder as he heads back out of the room. I really do hope he's conscious. I just want to wish him well and I want him to know I’m here for him. He should know he’s got someone on his side rooting for him.

  The instant I walk through the doors to Trauma One I'm overwhelmed. The place is a war zone, either that or some twisted party for vampires and zombies. The entire room is festooned with the bloody evidence of a tremendous struggle that has taken place here.

  There’s bloodied gauze, wraps, 4x4’s, abdominal dressings, padded dressings, and shredded clothes all over the floor. There’s plenty of blood on the trauma table and floor as well. I can see bloody footprints all over the room. You can actually track people’s movements by their different tracks.

  As I walk in someone hastily tries to cover his privates with part of a blanket but they’re not very successful. He’s already been intubated, and he’s got a line in each arm and on one IV pole he’s receiving a blood transfusion. By the amount of blood on the floor and soaked into the linens and bandages, he’s lost a tremendous amount of the precious fluid. He’s getting oxygen and I notice it’s maxed out for the current delivery system he’s on.

  I take his hand as I lean over his face. “Brand…Brand, I’m here. Can you hear me, I’m here for you. You’re going to be fine. Doctor Carmichael is the best ER doc there is.”

  He opens his eyes when I start speaking, but he looks confused. I get the idea that he’s not sure what happened to him or where he even is. It’s a pretty common reaction for trauma victims. It’s a way the body has of protecting you and keeping you calm so it can begin to heal. He looks at me and tries for a minute to talk but can’t because of the tube down his throat.

  “Don’t talk Brand. They’ve intubated…there’s a tube in your throat so you can breathe better. They’ll take it out sometime after surgery. I have to go Brand, so they can fix you up. I’ll see you after surgery. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I lean down and give him a kiss on the only not bandaged or bloody part I can find on his face. I scrunch up my eyes. I cannot cry here, not with Brand watching.

  I stand up and take a step back, letting go his hand.

  “He’ll be okay June,” says Gabby. “We’ve both seen a lot worse make it and he will too. If you really are intent on staying, why don’t you lay down on a cot in the lounge? You look exhausted and it’s going to be hours before he’s out of surgery and out of recovery. You know the drill June.”

  “Yeah but I don’t think I can sleep. Not ‘til I know Brand is going to make it; then I’ll sleep.”

  “Suit yourself June. And if you wanna talk…about anything, you let me know. I got your back.”

  I go back to the nurse’s lounge and sit on the cot with no intention of sleeping, or even lying down. I just need to think.

  About an hour later, a plan begins to form in my mind. I get up and go to the desk and fire up the computer. I Google the ‘Get the Dirt,’ contest. After a few minutes I locate Guitar Player’s website and there’s the contest rules and guidelines. I just need to find out the deadline.

  When does the finished project have to be turned in? I find it, and my heart sinks. In less than four weeks the contest deadline is up. I’ve seen injuries like Brands and they take a long time to heal, especially if there’s been abdominal injuries effecting any of the organs there.

  Those take a long time to heal and there’s the constant danger of infection. Brand is not going to get out of the hospital in time to finish his entry in the contest. He’ll be crushed. He’s got a lot of his hopes and dreams pinned on this one contest that he believes will get him his well-deserved big break. One more time, life is just not fucking fair.

  I sit there for what seems like a very long time when an idea hits me right between the eyes.

  I jump up.

  That’s it! I’ll do it. I mean, I won’t do the article for him; I’m no writer, but I’ll get the dirt for him and bring it to him in the hospital and he can write it using my laptop. It’s the perfect solution and I can’t wait to tell him. He has to survive surgery first though.

  Feeling suddenly deflated, I walk back to the cot and this time I lie down not really expecting to sleep. I have some thinking to do here. My plan of course all hinges on my being able to get backstage at least one more time, and that’s something that’s not going to be very likely considering how I left things with Silas.

  But…Stewart probably doesn’t know we didn’t leave things so well. In fact he was most likely not paying attention. I don’t remember seeing him around that night, but then I wasn’t looking for him either. I just have to find him at the next show and talk my way backstage. Piece of cake.

  ~~~

  “June! June, wake up.”

  I bolt upright. “What?” It takes me a minute to realize where I am and why Gabby is waking me up. I don’t even remember lying down or falling asleep.

  “Is he out?”

  “Yes, he’s in ICU in a medically induced coma. You could see him I guess, but maybe you shouldn’t. He doesn’t look so good and he won’t even know your there. I was just up there talking to Doctor Carmichael. There was a lot of internal bleeding, and one of the stab wounds actually nicked his left ventricle.

  Both lungs collapsed before the ambulance arrived so it’s not known if he’ll have any issues from the lack of oxygen to his brain. June, it doesn’t look good. You should prepare yourself for…well for the event that he never gets off the ventilator or regains consciousness.”

  Suddenly I can’t breathe. I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach. At the same time my brain seems to be refusing to process information. Gabby is talking again, going over the medical reasons behind his treatment and the damage he sustained in the attack and she might as well be talking gibberish.

  Here I am an ER tech and I cannot even understand any of what she’s telling me. Well, I know one thing. I can’t go up and see Brand right now. The sight of him would just paralyze me into inaction and that’s not what he needs right now. Someone’s gotta have his back and since there’s no one else around it has to be me.

  “June are you listening to me?”

  “Uh…sorry Gabbs, I really gotta go. I got some things to do. I’ll visit Brand when I have my next shift Monday night. I’m sure he’ll still be in ICU still.”

  “You’re acting kinda weird June, is everything okay? I know, bad choice of words. Of course everything is not okay, but you know what I mean. You’re up to something aren’t you?”

  “Really gotta go Gabbs. See you at the show Sunday.”

  “Okay…then you gotta tell me what you’re up to because I know you’re up to something.”

  “I don’t know…I may be and I may not. Depends on what happens Sunday. See ya!”

  I’m already hurrying down the hall as she calls goodbye. I wave back over my shoulder as I hit the doors to the Emergency Department practically at a jog. On my way home I focus on a way to get Stewart to let me backstage. Of course I’ll have to find him in the first place. I just can’t go up to the guards at the doors and tell them I need to talk to the bands manager. I'm sure hundreds of girls try every trick in the book to get backstage, including offers to sleep with the band’s manager or security guards.
>
  ~~~

  Sunday…

  Sunday was supposed to be Gabby’s day to save our place in line for the show but I took over for her. I just didn’t have the heart to be around the hospital with Brand there up in the ICU. I would be forever wanting to go up to check up on him and it would just make for a really shitty shift at work.

  3 a.m. arrives way too early Sunday. I throw my clothes on and run out the door. Fuelled up with coffee, I arrive at HP Pavilion just after 5 and take my place in line. There looks to be about fifteen or so people already in front of me, that means by the time everybody’s friends that they’re saving spots for make it, Gabbs and me will be probably thirty people back; not bad actually. We’ll still have a great spot to watch the show from.

  When Gabby arrives at 2:30 I explain my plan to her. She gives me her blessing and saves my place in line while I search for Stewart, or anyone else that may have access to the band that I can get a message through to Silas. First I walk to the front of the line, hoping that there would be someone posted at the front doors. No luck.

  After a few minutes I locate the tour trucks and the band’s bus; all of which are cordoned off by these movable metal ‘fences’, clearly meant to keep fans well away from the band’s bus and all the equipment trucks. I wander around the trucks at a distance, hoping I can catch sight of Silas or Stewart maybe coming and going from the band’s bus.

  I look at my watch. It’s almost 3:30, a little early for the band to be in there doing sound checks, so they’re probably kicking back on the bus just passing time. I hang around for close to an hour but the only people showing their faces seem to be crew members who typically do not interact with fans and hailing one will not get me anywhere. I rejoin Gabby to wait.

  Normally the line at a Fringe show borders on a party-like atmosphere but word seems to have gotten around about Brand and most of the regulars that I knew were pretty subdued. It seems that Brand had been doing a little networking himself and has developed quite a little following. I’m guessing I have Gabby to thank for spreading the bad news.