by J. A. Huss
“Is this why I was sentenced to Grand Lake?” My mind spins a little at the shift in my reality. “So people could keep an eye on me?”
“Sentenced?” Missy laughs. “You make it sound like a punishment.”
“Well,” I say, “it was. Kinda. You have to remember what my state of mind was that first night. I was all kinds of fucked up, you know? Why didn’t they just tell me this in the first place? I thought they were trying to accuse me of killing my friends that night.” I shake my head. “That is not cool.”
Missy looks at me with a pained, sympathetic expression. “I know. I’m sorry. It was TJ’s call. He wanted you home until we knew what was going on. He’s got a lot of pull in this town, RK. The money your dad left him is mostly donated to the community. He’s probably going to run for mayor next election cycle.”
I laugh so loud it makes Missy jump. “I don’t even know what to say to that.” She frowns, so I switch gears. “OK, sorry. It’s just, TJ?” I laugh again. “Mayor?”
“You don’t even know him anymore, RK. He’s not the same guy you remember.” She pauses, then adds, “He’s good, you know? He’s good for this place. He loves this town, even if you don’t—”
“I never really said that, Missy.”
“You don’t need to, RK. We all know how you feel about it. We read your interviews. And you called it poison. More than once.”
It’s my turn to frown. I’ve only been asked about my personal life a few times, but yeah. If people bring up Grand Lake I typically have a lot to say, and none of it is good. “Well,” I say, letting out a long breath. “It’s a good place. You know I was only reacting to the way things were when I left.”
Missy squeezes my arm again, then leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “We know that, RK. We know that was the sadness and confusion talking. And that’s why we’re being extra careful now. Everyone fills out a form to get a ticket so we know who they are.”
“And I get to watch you, not from the cool VIP boulders in front of the dock, but way the hell up there.” I point to the office window on the second floor.
“It’s only because we love you. Now, come on. Let’s go inside and forget about all this. Just have a good time.”
I let her take my hand and urge me towards the front door. I nod to each of the deputies, which makes their eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and follow her through the front door.
Inside the bar I have to stop and do a double-take. It’s like it was on Saturday morning. White linen tablecloths, fresh flowers on each table, and that godawful piano guy on the stage.
Not the kind of party I expected for rock bands.
“Fancy,” I mumble as Missy starts greeting people. Sean and Gretchen both come up to me with big smiles.
“RK!” Sean says.
“Hey, didn’t know you were part of the band.”
“Dock manager,” Sean says, puffing out his chest. “I’m always invited to the pre-season party.”
That makes sense. But Gretchen? She smiles as I look at her. “Head usher for the VIP section.”
We laugh. It’s ridiculous. But fuck it. I let it go.
TJ comes over and starts talking to Missy, and then a few guys wander up and they chat too. The band. I recognize them from the other night. Missy lets them pull her away.
“So,” TJ says, coming up to me. “Things have changed, huh?”
I nod. “I guess they have.” I point to the piano guy. “You hire a swank chef, get a new menu, pull out all the stops with the white tablecloths and flowers. Yet this is the best guy you can get to pound on the piano?”
“Like I said, you’re welcome to—”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s not happening. So what’s all this about security and tickets? Missy says there’s been threats?”
“She did?” TJ asks, throwing me a sidelong glance.
“Well, not exactly. But she said you’re the reason I’ve been corralled up here on the edge of civilization and why my best friends all wear badges.”
TJ stares at me for a few seconds like he’s trying to figure me out. “Do you really want to have this conversation tonight? Because it’s a party and what’s happened to you this year is not exactly party conversation.”
Kenner. His name runs through my mind again. Where the fuck is Kenner? “Hey,” I say, leaning into TJ’s ear, the whole ticket and security thing forgotten. “Do you know where my drummer is?”
TJ pulls back. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I haven’t heard from him. He texted and called, but it was bad timing, you know? Couldn’t talk. And then Jayce called and told me to give him space. Like he wasn’t ready to talk to me.”
TJ stares at some distant point in the back of the bar, silent. “Let’s talk about all that tomorrow.” He refocuses his gaze on me. “How about that? Let’s just have some fun tonight. Eat some good food, celebrate Missy, and relax. There’s time for all that stuff tomorrow.” And before I can answer he’s got me by the arm and he’s tugging me to the back table. Which seems to be the only place I’m allowed to sit in this bar these days.
It’s not me who’s not talking about the accident, I realize. It’s everyone else.
I sit in my assigned seat and watch Missy work the room. There’s a lot of people here. Fifty doesn’t even come close when you add in the staff. Probably more like a hundred with the waitresses and the busboys. The bartenders, the stage guys, who I recognize from that day I helped Sean with the dock. Lots of staff at this party. And bouncers. Two guys at the front door, two guys at the public back door, and two guys at the door marked private that leads to the employee break room and the stairs to the office. All looking like they moonlight here between WWE gigs.
And two deputies out front.
That’s quite the security setup for a bar in a town this size.
Sean and Gretchen are busy drinking and talking in the booth with me, and TJ and Missy are busy working the room. So I pull out my phone.
Because Kenner.
I find that last message stream and read it again.
Kenner: dude help me man tell me what the fuck is happening
Kenner: what the hell is happening
Kenner: come see me
Rock: I can’t I’m not allowed
Kenner: don’t leave me here man they r telling me things rock I don’t know what’s happening
What is happening with Kenner?
I text Jayce.
Rock: Hey, where is Kenner?
I get that little notification that says delivered. Then read. I wait for the little animated dots to tell me she’s replying, but nothing.
Rock: Jayce?
Delivered. Read. Nothing.
I look around and spot the deputies coming through the front door. TJ makes his way over there quickly and they talk, leaning into each other like they have a secret. Then all three look over at me. The moment they realize I’m watching them, they all look away.
What the fuck?
TJ urges them back outside, but he follows. I’m just about to get up and ask what the fuck is going on when Missy comes back. “Hey,” she says, making herself comfortable in my lap. “You doing shots?” She asks Sean and Gretchen. “Pour us two each!”
Sean huffs. “Not shots, you wench!”
I laugh.
“This is fine whiskey. You don’t down it like a shot. You sip it in a glass.”
I sigh, then push the little secret meeting out of my mind and smile over at Sean. “I’ll take one.”
Sean obliges. “What kind of Macallan you have at your bar, RK?”
“What’s this?” I ask, turning the bottle. “1997? Shit. Dude, when you come to my house in LA, I’ll treat you to some fine Macallan 62.”
Sean whistles as he pours each of us two fingers in the glasses. He gives Gretchen and Missy each a sideways glance and says, “You girls don’t get any. I might not have a 62 here, but Macallan isn’t for dabblers.”
“Pfft,” Gretch says, blowing her hair up
her face. “I’ve got margaritas to keep me happy. You can keep your stuffy old Scotch.”
“You’re sexist, Sean,” Missy says, taking the glass he just poured for me. “Bottoms up,” she says, downing it all, then grimacing from the burn as she slams the glass down with a thunk.
I laugh and tap the table, asking him to refill. He looks pained at the way Missy just downed his prize drink. But it’s an act. I think he secretly loves her double for that. He looks at me as Missy and Gretchen talk. “How much does that bottle you have go for, RK? Ballpark?”
“You do not want to know. And I’m too embarrassed to say. But it was a gift from our label the day Living the Dream went platinum.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sean says, filling my glass up two fingers. “They bought one for each of you?”
I nod. “Wasteful. Since neither Ian or Elias drink Scotch. They sold their bottles at auction a few months later. Ian bought a boat with that money and Elias put his in the bank.” I smile thinking about it. I miss them. I miss them a lot.
“Did you drink any of it yet?” Sean asks.
“Yeah, about half. So you better come visit me quick, because when I get home, I’m hitting that shit first.”
“I’m there, man,” Sean says, lifting his glass up to toast. “To more Scotch.”
I clink him, then take a sip. “It’s good shit,” I say. “No matter the year.”
After that we get loud. And drunk. And even though it’s a fancy fucking party with dinner served under silver domes, Missy sits in my lap, the rockers all end up on stage badgering that pianist—which makes me happier than it should—and TJ and I laugh about our prick of a dad and all the bullshit that came along with being a son of a Jack.
I don’t hate this town and I certainly don’t hate these people. I just needed this vacation, I guess. I just needed to be reminded what it feels like to belong somewhere.
Chapter Thirty-One
I wander through the door marked private to find the bathroom a few hours later. “I’m not wasted,” I tell the image looking back from the mirror as I wash my hands. “Nope.” I smile at my reflection and take it in for a moment. My eyes are a little red, but other than that, I don’t look too bad. I’ve got a little color in me, probably from my unauthorized climbing days. That thought lingers in my brain for a few moments before I have the good sense to shake it away. Not tonight, Rock. Tomorrow, Teej said. We can think about all that shit tomorrow.
I dry my hands and pull the door open, almost smashing into one of the waitresses. “Sorry,” I say, backing up with my hands in the air.
She holds a hand over her chest like she’s startled, but when I look up at her face, I get the impression fear isn’t what’s on her mind. She stares at me for a second, squinting, like she’s confused about something.
“You OK?” I ask. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Rock?” she asks, her look getting more and more puzzled as time ticks off.
“Yeah,” I say. And then I recognize her. “Hey, you’re the girl who asked me to sign her ticket stub last week, right?”
She says nothing.
“Um…” I get this sometimes. People are starstruck, can’t talk. Shit like that. So I do what I always do in those situations. Make a break for it. “OK, well, sorry for bumping into you.” I shoot her a drunk rock-star smile and turn to leave. But she grabs my arm.
I jerk away real quick, probably an overreaction, and say in my most friendly drunk voice, “Hey there, don’t grab me.”
“Sorry,” she says, letting go of my arm. “It’s just…” Her eyes dart to the door that leads out to the bar. “It’s just I have these three magazines with you on the cover. Could you please sign them for me?”
I look at the door too, but only because I hate being ambushed by fans and I want to find an excuse to say no, but can’t think of one that won’t end up with her calling me a dick on Facebook tonight. Probably complete with pics. So I say, “Sure,” instead.
She smiles and backs away, feeling the wall to guide herself back to the break room where the magazines must be. Her eyes never leave mine. “You remember me?” she asks just as she reaches the doorway.
“Yeah,” I say struggling to figure out what’s got her acting so weird. “You’re the one who asked me to sign the ticket stub. I just said that.”
She nods, then holds up one finger, telling me to wait a second.
I look back at the door leading to the bar, wishing I’d just pretended to be wasted and walked away. I’m about to take my chances with bad PR when she reappears, magazines in one hand and a Sharpie in the other. “Sorry,” she says, smiling bright now.
Yeah, this one is weird. I smile back anyway. Giving her what she wants is the easiest way out of this now. I take the Sharpie and she hands me the first magazine.
I smile down, ready to scratch out my name, but then I notice the headline for Metal Notes. “‘Where in the World is Rock?’” I say, reading it. It’s got one of those Where’s Waldo kind of images on the front with hundreds of people all crowded together at a rock concert. I try to find Rock for a second, but I’m not even sure what cartoon Rock should look like. “Where’d you get this?” I ask.
“That was the April issue. After you disappeared.” She says ‘disappeared’ like she took it personally.
“Hmm,” I say, signing my name and handing it back. “Never saw it before.”
“No,” she says, handing me the next one. “I bet they’re not showing you anything. This one is from May.”
“Who?” I ask, looking down at the next magazine. I’ve never seen that cover either. This headline, also Metal Notes Magazine, says, It’s a Rock Hunt. Where is Rock and what really happened that night? And there’s a picture of me on the cover from some shoot I did a few years back. I sign it and hand it back, starting to feel very uncomfortable.
But the third magazine she hands over stops me dead. “That’s June,” she says. “Just came out today.”
Never mind the fact that I’ve been on three covers for Metal Notes in three months and never knew about it, the picture is what tips my world. My head actually spins a little and it’s not from the drinks. On the front is a picture from the very first photoshoot we did for the Living the Dream album. All five of us.
I stare at us and get lost in it. We were painted up to look like an American flag for that shoot. Ian, Elias, and Mo are mostly blue with white stars on their chests. Kenner and I are the red and white stripes. The headline for this one is Living the Nightmare.
I look at my friends for a moment and let myself smile at the memory. Ian with his pale skin and dark red hair. He was sunburned that day because he fell asleep lying on a raft in the pool at our new house. Elias with that asshole look on his face that says, Talk to me and I’ll throat-chop you. Mo, looking a little bit like a Buddy Holly terrorist crossbreed in my mind, because his only hobby, aside from music, was blowing things up with illegally obtained M-80 firecrackers.
God, I really fucking miss them.
We didn’t end up using that photo for the cover art because the band decided it was stupid and Ian was mad about having to scrub that paint off his peeling skin. The real photo was Photoshopped. The flag was added in afterward.
“It’s a terrible, terrible story, Rock,” the girl says. Alice, I remember TJ calling her. “I’m sorry it ended like that.”
I sign my name and thrust the magazine back. “Thanks.” I’m just turning away when she grabs hold of my arm again.
I stare at her fingers for a second, not as amicable about it as I was a few minutes ago, and then I look back into her eyes. “What?” I snap.
She pulls out a handful of multicolored pieces of paper, which I recognize immediately as more ticket stubs. “Do you even remember me?” she asks, her eyes filling up with tears. “I’ve been to all your shows, Rock. You have to remember me. I was—”
The door to the bar swings open so hard, it slams against the wall and bounces back, revealing TJ in th
e entrance. “What the fuck are you doing, Alice?” he roars. His eyes dart to her handful of magazines and stubs and I swear to God, I have never seen my brother so pissed off. “You’re fired, bitch. Get the hell out of here. I warned you last time—”
I make a break for it, not even remotely interested in hanging out for that meltdown. One thing I have enjoyed about this town is the peacefulness. I guess that’s about to change now that I’ve been found. I bet the July issue of Metal Notes is all about my mini-vacation in the Rockies while my ex-bandmates rot in the ground.
“Where have you been?” Missy asks, panic on her face as I approach the booth. “You’ve been gone for like fifteen minutes!”
“Not fifteen minutes?” I laugh, pulling her close and kissing her on the cheek. “I was in the bathroom. Some girl cornered me—”
“What?” Missy asks. “Who?”
“No one. A waitress. TJ is firing her right now for talking to me. So no big deal. Are you ready to go? Because I am all partied out. Hey, Gretch, are you driver tonight?”
Gretchen and Sean both laugh from across the table, like I’m out of my mind.
“I am,” TJ says, appearing behind me.
“What the fuck, TJ?” Missy asks him. I look over my shoulder just in time to see him shake his head at Missy.
“I’ll drive you guys home,” he says, as soon as I catch him.
“I’m not even interested in that little secret look the two of you shared, so let’s go.” I start walking, my arm still around Missy’s waist, but TJ redirects me.
“Back door, stud,” he says, turning me in the other direction and moving in front of us. I laugh and follow him to the back door where the two bouncers part to let us through.
I fuck with the radio all the way home and every time I look over my shoulder at Missy, she’s chewing on her fingernails. “What’s up, buttercup?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she insists, as Teej turns onto our road, flashing a wave at the deputy parked there. I look behind us and see the other sheriff’s vehicle that followed us home flip a bitch and park next to him, their driver’s side windows facing each other so they can talk.