by Anne Eliot
At least he wasn’t the only one suffering.
He forced himself to think about Martin’s email. His mind had been spinning so much on Vere’s progress with Curtis, he’d all but forgotten about his stand in.
Well, if the fake HIM was wreaking havoc in New York, then things were probably rolling along just fine. He missed none of that scene at this point. He secretly hoped the kid would be caught in a hotel room with two hundred naked strippers, or that someone would catch on that the kid was NOT HIM.
Shit! Let the press fry us all.
Martin deserved what he got for hiring that guy and coming up with this idiotic plan!
He hadn’t been able to resist checking his phone. He charged the thing just enough to load his emails. But now he jerked the charger out of the wall. He was pissed at himself for not being strong enough to leave the phone alone.
He rolled over and yanked open the top drawer of his night stand, catching a glimpse of the bent hair-color box he’d brought from Falconer, glinting from the back of the drawer.
The woman on the box smiled up at him as usual. He flipped it to block out her face, tossed his phone in there again and grabbed out the half-used tube of scar cream from the bag Martin had given him at the airport.
He squirted some of the bright green cream onto his finger and dutifully rubbed it on each wrist as he surveyed his self-imposed damage.
A thick, almost luminous, light pink line was still very visible on each wrist. Most of the angry red color had disappeared. The lines had diminished in width—but not much.
He hated looking at them. Wanted them to be gone.
So gone.
He added a little more cream for good measure and rubbed that in as well. Not one email from Royce and Adam?
Nothing. Nothing at all. Hell, even Some forwarded jokes, or those ads that promised to make your junk bigger would have been awesome at this point.
And Thanksgiving was a lifetime away. What happened to this month, or October, at least? They’d promised it would be soon. Thanksgiving was not soon.
He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands as he glared at the night stand. He resolved to leave the stupid cell phone dead no matter what, from now on. No obsessive checking, no calling Vere this time.
None of that.
He needed to be able to go through this alone.
A soft knocking combined with Aunt Nan’s voice came from the other side of his door. “Are you in there? I’ve been cleaning out the linen closet and I have something—”
He jumped off the bed and yanked open the door.
His lightning fast appearance had startled her because she’d jumped back. “Oh good. There you are—I’ve got—”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish. “My mom has been calling you every day?”
She blinked behind her glasses, speaking over the folds of a white, down comforter. “Yes. She calls. Sometimes twice.”
“What the hell?” Dumbfounded, Dustin froze and could only stare down at her.
Aunt Nan shifted her feet, a sign that she needed to sit down, or that she was nervous. “She didn’t want you to know.”
He took the comforter out of her hands and stepped aside to let her pass into the room.
She motioned to the comforter. “That’s for you. In spite of the long Indian summer we’re having, it is going to start to cool down quite a bit in the night.”
“That’s it? Now we’re back to talking about the weather? I guess I should clarify.” Dustin crossed the room and tossed the comforter onto his bed as he went on, “What the hell? What the hell is my mom doing calling you every day? What the hell does she talk about, and why the hell haven’t you told me?” he said, his voice pure ice.
Aunt Nan winced and frowned as she all but stomped her slippers right up to him. “I’ll thank you for not using foul language in this house or speaking to me like that, young man.”
“Sorry,” he said, feeling bad for making her upset.
She nodded and squinted up at him, making her smile lines show deep. It was impossible to stay mad at this woman. Why should he? None of this was her fault. “I didn’t know your mom’s calls to me were an issue. I thought you knew we talked. Your mom implied as much.”
Dustin’s let the fire drain out of his voice. “I haven’t even had one call, not one email, or even a crappy text message from my mom, and she’s been calling you every single day.”
Nan sighed. “I didn’t know that. She’s calling to check up on you. To see if you are okay. Depressed. Sad. Heading for a relapse. Anything like that. I tell her daily you are fine and happy so she can make it through her own days. Have you read the letter?”
“No. Don’t you see? That woman plays games. She’s playing me with that letter and I refuse to play. Why have we never visited you in such a long time if you two are so close?”
“You used to. I think you came out here at least twice a year until you were six. Sadly, it seems you don’t remember but I do.”
“Your mom is very protective of her feelings. She’s always been a very private person. It’s not her style to talk about things that would bring you pain. What happened with your dad dying...bringing him up would hurt you I’m sure.”
“Maybe not bringing him up at all has been worse. Who knows.” He glanced away from her too kind eyes as his throat threatened to swell up.
“As a mom, she’s sheltered you. She also never lets anyone into her head about your father unless she trusts them completely.”
“Right. That would be why she never talks to me then. I’m first on her untrustworthy list.” He couldn’t cover the sarcastic tone in his voice.
“No. She’s protecting you. And me. Her own broken heart, I’m sure.”
He flicked her an eye roll. “You must be worth a lot of money if she’s looking after you too. Do you have her in your will or something?”
“Easy. Your mom bought this place for me. If she’s in my will it’s only to give back what support I gave to her after your real father died.”
“How many years ago did she buy this house?” He had to know.
“Six.”
He shrugged, forcing away the lump in his throat. “If you think about it, then didn’t I really buy this house for you? It was all my money, my time in front of the camera. All Mom’s money comes from me.”
“This conversation is totally inappropriate, but I’ll humor you.” She sounded slightly pissed again. He didn’t blame her; it was a rude topic. But money was always rude, wasn’t it?
“It was my understanding that your mom pulled her own salary. She’s driven herself to the brink of exhaustion as your manager. Until you could afford a larger entourage she worked 80 hours a week or more. You can’t deny that.” Nan sighed and looked deflated. “You know you aren’t being fair.”
“Maybe.” He looked away. “But let’s talk about ‘fair’. Was it fair for her to pull that pumped up salary off my back? I never asked for my career. It just sort of happened.”
“You never once told anyone you wanted to stop. I thought you liked it. Did you want to stop? Do you now?”
That question floored him. “I don’t know.” He had no idea how to answer that. He ran his hand through his hair, desperately trying to process. “I like when people are moved by my music. I’ve never considered stopping as an option. I can’t leave my band. They’re counting on me. So are Martin and Mom. If I stop then how do they get paid? What about the other guys?”
“They’ll find something else to do. They were okay before you hit it big, they will be fine after.”
He paused and looked skeptically over at her. “Would they? I wonder.” He knew for a fact that Martin and his mom would crumble if he stopped working. They didn’t know anything else but working with him either. And Royce and Adam...would they care?
“You must not know your mom’s whole story. Has she never told you how it all started? You working instead of her? You don’t remember?” Nan pulled o
ff her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She put them back on and met his gaze.
“No.”
“Your father—when he—died, he didn’t leave much behind. You had begged your mom to be on TV from the time you were able to talk. So, on a whim she took you to a talent agency. They signed you, did head shots that were sent out the same day. It was only a matter of days and poof, you filmed that cereal commercial. We were so proud of you.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard the stories. I only remember eating the cereal. Mom never let me have sugar cereal before that job. After, I could suddenly have whatever I wanted. Because I paid for it all, right? She couldn’t say ‘no’.”
“Absolutely not,” Nan snapped. “It’s really hard to say ‘no’ to a kid who’s father has passed away. We all just wanted you to be happy so we messed that up. Your career wasn’t about the money. Not at first. It gave you both something big to do so you could stay busy and forget how much you missed your dad.”
His heart twisted, and he whispered, “When I think of him...I don’t remember his face, but I do remember how much it hurt to have him simply there one day and gone the next...just gone.”
Nan nodded. “Imagine how your mom felt. Your dad was the love of her life.”
He pictured his mom in a space he’d never considered. Tried to think how she would have been, younger, happy and completely in love.
How he felt for Vere right now floated through his mind.
Though they had only just met—and they weren’t even near to being ‘in love’—his friendship with her was the closest comparison he had.
He played it forward. Pictured them years together and how it would feel if Vere suddenly died. But it was impossible to stay with it. The instant, searing pain it caused in just thinking about Vere not being around almost imploded his soul.
“Shit,” he muttered, as a wave of goose bumps covered his arms and moved down his spine. “Mom must have felt so alone. Terrified.”
Nan sighed. “She was left all alone with a little boy who thought she could handle things. After, she couldn’t bear to be parted from you. Another deciding factor in allowing your career. Your job kept the two of you together every minute.”
“But later on...she shouldn’t have left it up to me to make all the money. I totally felt that pressure as a kid—still feel it.”
“Maybe. But there was no way your mom could have predicted you would make the kind of money you made so easily by hamming it up in front of a camera. Not without putting you into full time school or getting you a nanny. None of us were prepared for your fame though—or what it has done to you.”
He kicked his feet into the carpet. “Fame hasn’t done anything to me. It’s been great. It’s all her. She won’t even let me apologize.”
“Again. She’s trying to protect you.” Nan shook her head. “It’s not my place to discuss any of this. Not without her here to defend herself. To explain the whole story.”
“But of course.” He snorted with disgust. “That woman is never here. Don’t you get the pattern? Never here to explain and never here for me, that’s for damn sure. You’re totally wrong about her.”
He got up and paced over to the desk to scoop up his glasses and retainer and pocketed them. A surge of anger, frustration, and unexplainable desolation shot through him. As soon as Vere showed, he was bolting. If she showed...
Please. Please. Please.
His lungs had grown tight from lack of air. He’d almost forgotten this feeling. He glanced again out the window. To his disappointment the white VW was nowhere in sight to rescue him.
He let his anger surface. “Mom uses the money from my career so she can live like the freaking, checked-out-on-life, ice queen. She makes friends, lets them love her, and then dumps everyone she’s ever met.”
He turned away from the window and shot Nan a challenging look that dared her to disagree. “Now that I’ve grown to be quite the crazy nuisance, she’s dumped me, too.”
“She’s afraid you think that. I can only vow it’s not her intent.”
“Oh really, the woman has an intent. Regarding me? Let me guess. Ruin my life? No? Then she must intend to take away the only thing left that I love. My music. I’m so mad at her. How can she make me stay here, grounded in Colorado like this? It sucks. Don’t you get what it’s like for me? I don’t even know who in the hell I am anymore.”
Nan grimaced. “Is it so bad, you being Dustin?”
He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “No. Sadly, it’s awesome. Everyone treats ‘the new me’ like a person instead of some fragile, money-generating freak. Who wouldn’t like that? As for living here,” he paused and looked around the comfortable room and back at his gentle, loving aunt. “It’s nice, perfect, and so are you. Okay?”
She smiled. She continued in that soft, full of love voice she’d used every day with him. “It’s pretty obvious to me there’s a man caught up inside you and he’s struggling to breathe. Let me give you some advice. Grown-up men, they talk. Not as much as women, but they talk. Opens up the lungs.”
“Fine. Can I tell you what happened that night then?” He was afraid to meet her gaze. “What I did? All of it?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.
“It’s gruesome details. I can’t have you bawling on me.”
She nodded. “I’ll try.”
**
He stood, pulled the chair over next to his aunt and sat on it backwards for support. He sucked in a painful breath. “When I wrecked the car into the front door,” he paused, “Mom was upstairs ignoring me as usual. After we fight she can hardly wait to take her next antidepressant. Did you know that she’s on those? Does that stuff come up when she calls you? Or do you just talk about the weather?”
“No. I knew about it. She gets really sad when you two fight. The antidepressants, as you know, are something your mom has needed to function ever since your father died.”
“Yeah. I know. We’ve talked about them. The medication really helps her. I’m glad she’s taking them. The alternative might be me, with zero parents, I think.”
“You could be right. Sadly, depression runs in our family.”
Dustin rested his chin on his arm and shot a surprised glance at his aunt. “I didn’t know that. On both sides?”
Nan nodded. “Your mom's sorry about shipping you off to Colorado, but that fact is the main reason she got so scared. She felt she had no other choice. Someday you’ll have to believe her.”
“Someday she’ll have to tell me that exactly, or I won’t be able to.” He met Aunt Nan’s calm, quiet gaze.
She nodded as though to agree. “Tell me what happened.”
He pulled in another breath. “I don’t know why I did what I did. To this day, I still don’t have an answer for why. All I know is I’d started feeling low. Really low. And I felt like I had no one to talk to about it. Hell, it’s not like I wanted to admit I was having a problem to anyone. I was embarrassed about it.”
“Many people are.”
“That’s how I came up with the brilliant plan to handle things myself. I snuck a few of mom’s antidepressants that week. Thinking they would help me feel better. Like Advil does when I have a headache. The bottle said one a day. So I took two.”
“Hunter. I’m not going to lecture you about taking other people’s medications. Obviously you know you were wrong to do that. And that it was dangerous.”
He shot his aunt a chagrined look. “Ya think! Sadly, that week, it made perfect sense to me. I felt so desperate. I’d taken two a day, for like six days straight. Instead of making me feel better, they’d made me feel like I was flat—as in cardboard flat—two dimensional, inside and out. I thought maybe I just needed more. To jump start it, or something. That night—when it all went down, I’d taken a whole bunch, and all at once. Again, my bad. But I’ve paid for it.”
He didn’t meet her gaze this time. “Shit. I’m still so ashamed...”
“Don’t be,” she said. “Go
on if you can.”
“I can. It actually feels nice telling you all this.” He sighed. “So, I waited, like a whole hour for something to feel different inside me after I took the last pills. But when nothing happened, I decided to think of something else to pep me up. That’s where the Porsche came into play. Mom and I had just had a fight. Don’t even remember about what. She’d said I couldn’t leave the property. So I’d started driving the Porsche around and around the gated parking area—around that big fountain in our portico? Do you know it?”
“I’ve seen pictures. It’s lovely.”
“Was lovely.” He shook his head. “Huge. The upper part was actually some sort of fake poly-marble. Thank God, or it might have killed me when it fell through the roof of the car.”
He shot another embarrassed glance at his Aunt to see if she was judging him or scornful.
She wasn’t. Not at all. Only sad.
He went on, “The fountain was fun to corner. And that’s what I was doing. Cornering it, at like thirty-five, forty miles per hour. Tight, fast turns made my adrenaline pump. Around and around until I hit the stupid thing. I was so surprised when Mom didn’t come outside to see what the noise was, I snapped. That’s when I drove the whole damn Porsche up the steps and lodged it in the front door.”
“You were really depressed.”
“I think at that moment, I was angry. But yes, depressed too. I’d reached this state where nothing mattered any more. And nothing seemed shocking—like driving my car through the front door—that idea had seemed totally legit. Worse, nothing made me laugh anymore. Or cry. The closest thing I can describe to the feeling I had that night is that everything, and I mean everything, all of a sudden, seemed to bore the hell out of me.”
Dustin took in another deep breath and glanced again at Aunt Nan. She was just listening. Her face still held no judgment. She sat there, simply waiting for him to go on. And loving him, no matter what. He could tell that for sure.
He shrugged. “Fine. I’ll say it again. I was depressed. I wanted to stop feeling the ‘nothingness’ that I couldn’t shake.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I was so lost.”