by Kacey Shea
There’s something in the way he graces his little family with adoring smiles. The way he’s helpful and attentive to his partner and child. The way this woman moves with calm confidence, something only a woman who is loved and respected seems to possess. It reminds me of Tate and Evie, and I can easily envision this for them in a few years—spending a lazy Saturday walking to the park to play with their child.
It’s something I wish for them. And they need to find their way without me and the boys. And you deserve that, too. I shake my head at the thought. No. I had my shot. It wasn’t in my fate. I screwed up my happy ever after. Nothing I ever do now will be uncomplicated. I’ve accepted that. But my brother’s future is untarnished, and even though he denies it, I need to set him free.
The wind picks up and sends napkins flying across the blanket. I abandon my coffee to catch them before they scatter across the park, then toss them into a nearby trashcan. A cold breeze blows once more, sending shivers down my spine. My skin prickles and for a second it feels as if someone is watching me. I look around, only to find one jogger passing by the pond and the couple with their toddler at the swings.
I fold up the blanket and shout out a five minute warning to the boys. We need to get back and I’d like to clean the house before Evie and Tate get back. Things are changing. I can feel it, and a small part of me wants to hold on desperately to the familiar, easy comfort we’ve established in our lives. But the other part of me, in watching this young family today, is eager for change. Because change isn’t always bad. At least it doesn’t have to be.
My brother and Evie deserve all the happiness life has to offer, and they need to do that without us. I need to stand on my own feet, too. I can’t depend on Tate as much as I do now. He saved me when I needed him, but I’m stronger, smarter, and more confident than I’ve ever been. I’m ready.
I pull out my cell and send a quick text to Meg, one of my co-workers. She’s always going on about her son, the realtor. I should at least see what’s on the market. What I’m able to qualify for, now that I’ve had time to get my finances in order.
I call the boys back to the car, proud of the baby step I just made. When I think back to a few years ago, that’s something I’d never been able to do. I’ve fought like hell to become the mother I am, and nothing will hold me back from continuing to be the best I can be for my sons.
Eli and Ezra hop into the backseat, and my phone starts to ring from where it’s tucked in my back pocket. I pull it out and the number is one I don’t recognize. Unease crawls across my skin and my fingers tremble as I swipe across the screen.
The boys must pick up on my fear because they go quiet and I’m paralyzed by the fear of who could be on the line. “Hello?” I croak.
“Hi! Is this Carly?” A friendly male voice sounds through the line, allowing me to suck in a quick breath. I’m still suspicious. It’s a voice I don’t know.
“Who is this?” I speak plainly with a confidence I don’t feel.
“This is Mark Stevens. My mother, Margaret asked me to call. I’m with Home Finder Realty.” I finally relax, and go limp in my seat as I pull the buckle across my chest and start the car. Stupid. I’m being paranoid.
“Sorry, yes, this is Carly. Your mom tells me you’re the one to call about house hunting and I wondered if you could help me get started. I’m looking to purchase my first home but I don’t even know where to begin.” Mark’s warm, friendly voice floats through the line as he gives me the rundown. By the time I pull into the driveway I’m both excited and a little overwhelmed.
“Why don’t I send over some info, as well as the contact for the loan specialist I like to work with and we can go from there? And don’t worry. I know this can feel like a lot but it’s all worth it in the end. I’ll be here for any questions you have.”
“Thanks Mark, I’ll look for your email and I’ll probably bother you with lots of dumb questions.” He chuckles and I can already tell I’ll like working with this guy.
“No dumb questions. Carly, you let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.”
“Mama, who was that?” Ezra’s voice pulls my attention to the rear view mirror. His eyes are big and wide and his lips form a thin line. Shit. He’s too insightful for an eight-year-old.
“Nothing you have to worry about, kiddo. Just a nice man who’s going to help me with a few things.”
He studies my eyes in the mirror a moment before his features relax. I need to watch my reactions with this one. I don’t want to worry him. He’s already been through so much. I want nothing more than for my boys to feel safe.
AFTER THREE MONTHS ON THE road I’m ready for a break. I love my bandmates, but traveling the East Coast in a van is not my idea of a good time. We’re putting in our time, though, waiting on a big break, and then we can at least travel in style on the big bus.
Trent and I flew back a few days ago, in time to play Kate’s friend’s engagement party, while Austin and Sean stayed in The Big Apple as tourists. I thought about sightseeing but I wanted my own bed. That, and I hoped I’d run into Kate’s hot friend. Carly. I’ve gotten off to the image of those pretty pink lips and hot little body more times than I like to admit. Ever since we met at a gig, and then I ran into her at Kate’s art show, I can’t get her out of my head.
When I saw her watching me play across the patio Friday night I was sure I’d spend the night exploring those beautiful curves and tasting those sweet, pouty lips. Fuck. I stop and adjust my jeans before I hop inside my SUV.
Well, she completely shot me down and that was . . . unexpected. I need to work on my game. Quite frankly, I was disappointed in myself. And the fact that I went home alone to jack off to those lips drove the point further.
I shake my head and focus on the road. It’ll be a long day of band rehearsal but our manager is coming by to discuss our next plan of attack. Since our album got picked up by a national label we are finally getting air play on stations outside of our home state.
We did a short tour opening for a hard rock band with a larger following, but by no means huge. We’re all hoping our next gig provides a little more exposure. We’ve been playing together for six years, though that doesn’t mean shit if you aren’t talented. I’d like to say we’ve got what it takes to make it big. And I’m not looking for fame, I just wanna write music, and being twenty-eight with no work experience other than crap jobs between gigs won’t pay bills and allow me to pursue my passion.
“Hey, JD.” I nod to the owner of Off Track, the recording studio we’ve worked with for years. They produce mostly local bands. They aren’t about fame or fortune. They’re indie through and through, and I always feel most comfortable here.
“’Sup, Derek.” He greets me with a hug and pat on the back. “How’d the tour go?”
“Good, but glad to be home.”
“We’re glad to have you back. I set you guys up in Studio C. The rest of the guys walked in a few minutes ago.”
“Sweet. Thanks, man.”
I meander down the hall and open the door. Trent’s reclined on a couch with his eyes closed, Austin’s talking on his phone, and Sean’s got his ear buds in, plucking away on bass.
“I’m here! The party can start!” I plop down onto the couch and slap Trent across the chest.
“What the fuck man?” He slides up to sit tall and rubs his temple with his fingers.
“You hungover? It’s Monday, man. Surely you recovered from the party on Friday night.”
He pushes his hair back from where it falls onto his face and grins. “Oh, Friday night. Thanks for the reminder. That was some Grade A sweet ass pussy I took home. I was buried deep in that girl until I left her apartment Sunday morning.”
“Two days of fucking?” Austin ends his call and looks at Trent in awe.
“Yeah. Was just the kind of homecoming I needed. How about you, Derek? You hit that pretty brunette you were hanging all over when I left.”
; I can’t help but bristle a little. “Nah, man. Turns out she was the groom to-be’s sister.” They all look at me like I’m stupid. “And she has two kids.” I add.
“So . . . she was married?” Trent’s brows knit with confusion.
“No. She wasn’t married.”
“So, what was the problem? She was fucking hot, and had she not been making eyes at you all night I would’ve hit that.” I bite back a smart remark and ease my features into a carefree expression. The thought of Trent with Carly makes me want to punch that smirk off his arrogant face.
“I just wasn’t feeling it.” I shrug.
I’m met with a room full of laughter.
“What the fuck, man?” Sean says.
“Oh, snap, Derek’s lost his mojo,” Austin adds.
“Dude, if you got rejected by a hot single mom, you’ve lost your touch.” Trent shakes his head.
They continue to harass and haggle me about Carly and I walk over to the drum set and bang out a loud series of beats. They’ll never stop. Once you give them material they’ll go on for fucking hours. I should’ve lied and said I banged her.
A loud whistle stops my hands and pulls all our attention to our manager, Bedo. Yeah, I have no fucking clue if that’s his real name or what that’s short for, but Bedo is what we call the shark who goes to bat for our vision. He’s small in stature but sharp as fuck and been in the industry for longer than I’ve been alive.
“Trent, Derek, Sean, Austin, good to have you back. Gather ’round. I have a meeting in thirty minutes so I’ll make this quick.” I stand and pull a chair to circle where the rest of the guys sit.
“I want you guys to stay fresh. Get some rest. Keep practicing the usual set and don’t focus on anything new or lay down roots ’cause I just booked you as the opening act for Justin Hill.” You can hear a pin drop and Bedo nods like he didn’t just release a fucking anvil on our lap. “You leave in one month and if you play your cards right, it’ll be a six month cross country tour, one month break home for the holidays.”
“Someone pinch me because I thought I heard Bedo say we’re opening for Justin Hill. As in, the Justin Hill, legendary rock god and multi-platinum selling artist.” Austin looks as though he’s about to puke.
“I sure as shit did.” Bedo puffs his chest out and gives rise to hooting and hollering from all of us. I can’t help but hug Bedo and my fellow band mates. This is unreal. It’s everything we’ve worked for and more.
“All right ugly boys, get a good practice in and then take the night to celebrate.” Bedo glances at his watch. “I’ve got to run. Derek, walk with me?”
“Uh . . . sure.” The guys eye me warily, and I feel like the kid who’s being pulled out of class by the principal. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, but I’m racking my brain just the same.
Bedo opens the studio door and strides out, and I jog to keep up with him. “What’s up, Bedo?”
He doesn’t answer until we’re standing in the parking lot next to his BMW.
“Derek, you remember when we talked about your song writing on tour?”
“Yeah. Sure. I’m sorry, I know it’s not stuff the band likes or our fans want to hear. I promise I won’t let that affect my time with the band. I’m completely focused and 3UG is my priority.” Shit, when Bedo caught me writing my folksy-acoustic music I was worried he’d take it the wrong way. I can’t help what I hear. I have to write it, even if it doesn’t go anywhere.
“Derek. Stop apologizing. I think you’re really talented, kid. I want to put you in touch with a friend of mine. He’s always looking for songwriters. Most of his artists wouldn’t know how to write a song if it bit them in the ass, but they have the look and the voice. Get my drift?”
“Wow, that’s awesome. I’d love to talk to him, but I should probably run it by the band first, make sure they’re cool with it.”
“Derek. Look, I know the band is like family, but I’ve been around the block a few times. You’ve got to put yourself first, look out for your best interests. You can make a good career, an excellent living out of writing music. I believe 3UG has what it takes to be a successful band, but that relies on the individual choices of four different people. I’d love it if you all can hack it. Hell, it bodes better for my paycheck. But it’s a lot, riding the elevator to success, and one member can fuck it all up at the drop of the hat. So, despite what the band says, you need to consider doing this for yourself.”
I nod, listening to all that he says. The man knows this industry better than the back of his hand, and I’ve always felt he has our best interests at heart.
“Okay. Thanks for your perspective. I respect what you’re saying. I still wouldn’t feel right moving forward without letting them know. But you’re right. It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up. I won’t let it interfere, either. I’ll give both opportunities my complete attention.”
He assesses me with a knowing look and pats my shoulder before sliding into his car. With a wave out the window he’s gone in a flash, leaving me standing in the lot even more overwhelmed than before.
We’re going on tour with one of the biggest artists of our time. I’m getting a shot at writing songs for money. Shit. Life couldn’t get any better. Too bad you can’t score any tail. Fuck.
The teasing from earlier gets under my skin. I could get laid if I wanted to. And I want to. I really want Carly. Shit. This is bad. I need to confirm I haven’t lost my skills somewhere on the road home. Before I walk inside the studio I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, landing on a pretty bartender from a spot we used to play on the regular.
“Hey, Sarah, it’s Derek.”
“Derek, you’re back!” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Yeah. Hey, so you wanna come over later and fuck?”
“Wow, you get right to the point. No sugar coating.” She’s trying to act put off, they all do, but I know she wants me.
“Well, that’s what we’re gonna do if you come over.”
“M’kay. I work tonight. I’ll come over about ten?” Yep. This is why I like Sarah. No bull shit games or pretenses.
“See you then.”
I end the call and pocket my phone; a giant grin pulls at my face. Take that, naysayers. Fuck them. This guy’s still got it.
The rest of the practice goes smoothly and I can’t help but feel satisfaction knowing that I’ve got a hot thing waiting for me at the end of the night.
After practice and when I’m back home in my room I pull out my Fender six string and stroke the sturdy grain three times before settling my fingers over the nylon threads. This is where I get lost. Same place I find myself. Happy. Sad. Angry. Joyful. I lay it all out. Been this way since I stumbled into a Guitar Center, a pissed off skinny little brat of a teenager.
Back then I was angry at the world. I’d been suspended from school, busted for smoking pot in the restroom when I should’ve been in algebra. Again. My mom came and picked me up from the office, angrier than I’d seen her in months. Sad thing? I was proud of myself for making her so upset, for causing some reaction. She dropped me home, chewed me out, and swore she’d beat my ass if I left my room. She went back to work and me being me waited a full five minutes before I left the apartment.
I thank God I wandered into the store that day. I was looking for something, just didn’t know it at the time. An older guy with a long gray and white beard and bald head caught me eyeing the guitars. I expected him to ask me why I wasn’t in school. Tell me to get lost.
“You play, kid?” He nods to the wall.
“Nah.” This old man is sure to give me shit, and frankly I’ve had enough of that for the day. Looking down at my dirty, worn Chucks, I turn on my heel to leave the store.
“I can teach ya.” I glance up to scrutinize his face. He’s studying the wall of merchandise, nods at one of the acoustics before he pulls it off the wall. He sits on a stool, fishes a pick from his front shirt pocket and gives it a strum. He’s not pushing, actua
lly ignoring me, and ultimately that’s what draws me near. That and the bluesy tune he plays.
Closing his eyes, he rocks his head to the imaginary bass beat. The light reflects off his bald skin. He stops playing, opens his eyes to reveal one blue, one brown iris. It’s jarring but I’ve a well-practiced front, never show emotion or thoughts. Hell, in high school it’s a sure way to get your ass handed to you.
“Yeah, that’d be cool. That’s if you have time. Like, aren’t you supposed to be working or something?”
His lips pull into a wide ass grin and he lets out a chuckle straight from his gut. “Yeah, kid. I’m workin’ but there ain’t no one here but you and me. Sit down. Let’s teach ya to play.”
That’s how I learned to love music. That’s how music saved my life. From that day on, every day after school I skipped the bus ride home in exchange for a walk to Guitar Center. Richard was always waiting, ready to teach me something new. To patiently practice with a young, awkward kid. He taught me drums when I asked a year later.
I think back to the feelings from that time in my life, scribbling notes on the pad balanced over my left knee. Working through the chord progression I hear in my head. I practice it over and over until it’s just how I imagine. I press record on my phone and belt out the lyrics with the chorus I’ve just written and email it to myself.
It’s a good start, a touch of blues and folk blended within my usual style. It’s something we’d never play as a band. Not something the guys are interested in. They prefer to stick with rock. I tuck it away in my growing collection and check the time. Fuck.
I’m perpetually late. I’d like to blame it on my artistic genius but really it’s that I don’t pay much attention to the clock. I put my baby back in the case, pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and step into my boots before flipping the lights off and slinging my case over one shoulder.
My cell rings. I pull it from my back pocket, and “Mom” flashes across the screen. I swipe my finger and cradle it to my ear as I walk the length of the hallway and grab my keys from the counter. “Hey, Madre, what’s up?”