“Henley, wake up. Henley!”
“Caleb,” I scream over and over again. “Where are you?”
Jagger and Kip are directly in front of my face, and I’m drenched in my own sweat.
“We have to find him. We have to save him this time. Help me,” I scream.
“Henley, you are asleep, baby. Wake up. You are having a bad dream. Wake up,” Kip pleads.
“Where is Caleb?” I ask, still confused.
“Henley, you have to wake up,” Koi says.
Koi pulls me to him, and it takes a moment for the fog of the nightmare to lift. Then, like a fist to my gut, realization dawns on me. It was a dream. The concert was real in my past, but the accident didn’t happen that night. My need to save Caleb, to bring him back, haunts my dreams. Freud believes the unconscious mind drives our dreams, that our mind uses dreams to fulfill our unconscious urges and needs subconsciously. My urges and needs surround Caleb’s death. I feel the bile rising in my throat. I pull away from Koi and make it to the small bathroom just in time. I vomit all the fucking urges and needs into that toilet. I hate myself when I feel weak. No one, aside from my friends Jessica, Samantha, and Stephanie has ever seen the result of my dreams.
I lie on the floor, against the wall, when there is nothing else left. I work to control my ragged breath. There’s a quick knock at the door, and my sweet brother steps in. He wets a small towel and slides down the door next to me. We are cramped in this tiny space, but I can’t bear to tell him to leave. He is worried and will only worry more if I send him away. He wipes my face for me, and he looks me over with gentle, concerned eyes.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s not much to talk about. They always end the same way. I search for Caleb, and he isn’t there. I try to find him quicker than I did that night, then I can save him... keep him here with me... but I can’t ever find him. Hysteria always sets in when I can’t find him.”
“Sounds like there is more to talk about than you think.”
“It won’t change a damn thing. When he died, a part of me died too. I can’t fix that. We are all shaped by the events in our lives, and his death shaped much of who I am now. I won’t ever be the carefree girl I was before.”
“Death does that to us. It takes much more than a person’s life. It claims everything it can in the process. The loss doesn’t allow us much control in the ordeal, but we do have a little. It took me a long time to accept that he was really gone. I picked up the phone to call or text him more times than I can count. I guess I never had closure because, in some morbid way, we all need to see a lifeless body to start accepting what fate has dealt us. Your lack of closure stems from not being able to revive him, and that’s natural. Death can be a leech on us if we allow it. I think you put up walls for close to four years to avoid letting us see how much his death affected your everyday life. Walls don’t help you process, baby girl.”
“I guess you’re right. I feel weak because I can’t control the dreams.”
“Look, I know you have always been strong as hell, but you are human and breakable. Don’t let your need for control and strength prevent you from healing. I’m going to tell you something that stays between you and me. After he died, this band barely spoke on most days. We were all so wrapped up in our individual grief that we couldn’t do much more than sleep and play music for six months. When the anger phase began, Jagger tried to fight every asshole he could find in a bar. Kip cussed out every single human being that mentioned his name, and Camden tried to drown it all in a bottle. I lashed out at every female I brought home and treated them like fucking lepers. I’ve never treated women like that, but I couldn’t take it out on anyone I loved. I think most nights I searched those women out specifically to have an outlet. It wasn’t healthy, and I feel like shit for the way I treated them, but we all deal with our shit differently. Griffin didn’t leave his house for seven months. He tore the damn place apart more than a handful of times. Rhys spent his time on social media and writing articles about the asshole that killed him. It would’ve been the healthiest of all our choices if he didn’t also suffer from insomnia and forget to eat. The point I’m trying to make is that we all suffered, and we all handled it in our own ways. Not one of us should ever be ashamed of hurting. You couldn’t save him, Henley. No matter how much earlier you found him, he was already gone. His spinal cord snapped on impact, and that can’t be fixed. You have to find a way to accept it, then you can find a way to let go of the guilt for not reviving him. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Let’s get you back to bed,” Koi says. “I think Jagger wants you with him.”
I crawl into Jagger’s bunk, and he pulls me tight to him. I wish he never saw me like that, but I can’t take it back now. He kisses the top of my head, and when I hear his sniffles, my own dam breaks loose. The tears stream down my face, and we hold each other as we cry ourselves to sleep.
I wake later that morning in Jagger’s bunk, but he isn’t there. I can smell bacon cooking. Is that also coffee I smell? Someone loves me. I rise out of the bunk and make my way to the restroom. When I emerge with my eyes only half open from exhaustion, my nose follows the smell. Someone grabs my face and plants a kiss on my forehead. I hold my hand out for a coffee cup, and I hear Jagger laugh. A few moments later, a coffee cup is in my hand. I slide down the cabinets behind me to the floor. I sit with two hands on my precious little cup of coffee and sip. Once I can open my eyes, I look up to see Jag is standing in front of me.
“Are you alive now?” he asks with a smile on his face.
He cuts the burner on the stove off, slides down across from me, hands me a cigarette, and places an ashtray between us. He lights my cigarette, and I inhale. I should quit smoking, but I really do enjoy it. He lights his own cigarette, and we sit there for several minutes staring at each other. The silence is surprisingly comfortable. I realize something paramount in this moment... he sees me. Jagger Carlyle has always seen me. He doesn’t see me as the Guitar Goddess, or the rock star, or even the poor girl who lost her best friend. He sees me. The real me who encompasses all of those things and much more. I don’t need to explain my nightmares to him or how I feel. He was there, and even if he wasn’t, he would still get it because he sees me. The fact that he sees me for everything I am, good, bad, or indifferent, summons an epiphany in me. I have always been in love with Jagger, and he is the only man I will ever love.
“I’m awake now. It only takes a little nicotine and coffee to jump-start my heart in the mornings.” I wink.
“How are you this morning?” he asks, giving me the chance to decide whether I want to talk about my dream.
“I’m okay, Jag. Promise.”
“I had fun on our first date last night. Thank you for going with me,” he says.
“You can take me on a date anytime. I had fun as well. Thank you for this morning... when I was upset.”
He runs his hands through his hair. He does this when he is frustrated.
“I... just hope... the music and you being on tour didn’t cause the dream. I... hope I didn’t cause it. I would never hurt you, baby.”
I scoot closer to him and touch the stubble on his face. I lean over and give him a small kiss. “You didn’t cause anything. The dreams have been recurring for four years. Koi and I had a long talk last night, and I think I know why I still have them. I’m going to try to deal with that. Please don’t ever think your help causes me harm.”
He takes my hand from his face and kisses it. “Will you help me cook breakfast for our small army?”
“I would love to.”
We cook bacon, sausage, eggs, and biscuits, and I’m put in charge of the pancakes since Jagger refuses to try making them. Our conversation focuses on Noah and all the ideas we have for his birthday.
“You want to know my favo
rite part of last night?” he asks. “I loved spending time with Noah and playing with the whole crew there. It felt like old times, and Noah reminds me of how much our music touches people. That little boy has been through hell for the past eighteen months, and all he wanted was to hear you sing.”
“That really put shit in perspective for me. I thought the first time someone asked me to sing or play that I would freeze up or have a panic attack. Luckily, it was Noah who asked. I never thought twice about saying yes. He is such an amazing kid who has been dealt a shit hand of cards. I think we often forget what we can do with the platform we’ve been given. We did something wonderful last night, but Noah did something even more amazing for me. He restored my love of music.”
He smiles a sad little smile. “I was nervous about the two guitars in the boat. I didn’t know how you would react.”
“If it hadn’t been for Noah, I don’t know how I would have either. I owe him the world, and he doesn’t even know it. That little boy will always be the reason I quit running from who I am and what I love. Don’t think I don’t know what you guys did for me as well. Koi played frustrated with an amazingly written song to draw me in. You played that song you wrote for Caleb, and then you threw two guitars in a boat. Kip pretended to serenade me, and asked me to teach him to play the guitar. Cam acted like he completely forgot how to play the bass when you guys recorded yesterday.”
“Are we that transparent?” he asks nervously.
“Not at all. It took me a while to piece it all together, but I finally did. I’m very thankful for what all of you did. No one else on this earth could’ve known how to bring me back to music, other than you guys and Noah. Was helping me find my way back the reason you pushed hard for me to tour?”
“Are you crazy? I brought you out here to sweep you off your feet, lady,” he answers.
“Mission accomplished.”
AFTER BREAKFAST, I have a huge day to plan. Noah gave me the greatest gift I’ve ever been given in my life, and I don’t plan on forgetting that anytime soon. Last night, before the dream, I thought about calling my bandmates, Griffin and Rhys, to talk about recording a new album. I will spend my days thanking Noah for bringing me back. He is too young to understand. For now, I can only spoil him.
I call my attorney and ask him to dig up some information on Noah’s parents. I give him their contact information. I really want to know if they are financially stable, since healthcare costs can drain a family. I also want to ensure Noah is receiving the best care money can buy. Next, I phone Randy and ask him to coordinate with the other bands playing tonight because I want Noah to meet them all. I make plans for a local bakery to make a huge cake in the shape of a guitar and deliver it backstage for him. I text his mom and ask about his favorite foods. I then put in a huge pizza order at the local Pizza Hut for later tonight.
I shower, then we go shopping. By the end of our shopping excursion, Noah has guitars, amps, drums, a Play Station 4, an Xbox One, every game and accessory the kid can want for either system, a laptop, iPad, an iPod, and an iPhone paid up for two years’ service. His parents might kill us. We finally find guitar theme decorations for the party, and Kip rants on and on about how companies don’t ever put drums on party accessories. After his the rant, Kip comes to the conclusion the lack of attention drummers get is one gigantic government conspiracy against them. According to Kip, drummers are the most intellectual and artistic type of people. Those types of people scare the government. We just nod and smile like we usually do.
I want to make sure that not only Noah is taken care of, but his parents as well. They have endured eighteen months of emotional agony. It can’t be easy to watch your perfectly healthy child be diagnosed with cancer and then lose his hair, vomit constantly, and end up in a wheelchair. They need a break. I buy them each a massage at a local spa for the next twelve months. I book a three-day trip to Hawaii, since I don’t think they would want to be away from their son any longer, and I cover all outstanding medical costs that insurance declined. All of his doctors have been informed to forward any other outstanding costs to my accountant, including any new deductibles.
Apparently, Noah’s mom had no choice but to quit her job when Noah was diagnosed. His dad works two jobs and rarely sees either of them. They were forced to empty all stocks, retirements, and savings to make ends meet. I pay off their mortgage, cars, and credit cards. I don’t do this last part alone. Each of the four guys asks me to total up the debt, and we split it five ways. Now both of his parents can spend time with him and not worry about losing their home.
As I put the last touches on my makeup, I hear Jagger excitedly call the little man’s name, and tingles climb my spine. Koi comes to the back to let me know they are giving him and his guests a tour of the venue. I will meet them there as soon as I’m finished.
When I arrive on the side of the stage, most of the musicians from the tour are standing around Noah, showing him how to shred a guitar. I can hear Noah’s giggles over the music. He is an easy kid to adore. His mom approaches me as I stand back from the crowd watching my boys.
“Was it you?” she asks.
“I’m sorry?” I say in confusion.
“Last night, my parents had to pay for our dinner because we couldn’t afford it. They wanted to take Noah out for his birthday while he was feeling well, and by this afternoon, I didn’t have a financial care in the world. Did you do that for my family?” she asks with tears in her eyes.
“It wasn’t just me. Koi, Kip, Cam, and Jagger also helped. I had someone get your family’s story. We wanted to make sure y’all didn’t need or want for anything.”
I remember the envelope holding their vacation and massages. “Here, please take this. Promise me you won’t open it until you leave tonight.”
“Why? Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful, but people don’t wake up and take care of every worry someone has because a little boy is sick,” she says.
“I didn’t do it because Noah is sick. Four years ago, my best friend of seventeen years was killed by a drunk driver. I spent the first year after his death trying to figure out why I was still alive. I couldn’t function, much less play music. The second year I tried to keep busy. The third, I backpacked in Europe and stayed with Buddhist monks. The fourth, I spent trying to become human again in the real world. I never once thought I would play or sing again, and I had no desire to. Those four men over there are slowly but surely trying to get me there. But when a little boy fighting for his life asks you to sing for him, you don’t say no. Your son gave me back music. You have a pretty awesome kid. I will never forget what he did for me, even if he is too young to understand. It’s this type of gift that put life into perspective.”
She hugs me tightly. “Thank you. He is such a great boy. I haven’t seen him smile like that in months. You put the spark back in his eye.”
“I didn’t do it alone.” I look toward some of my favorite men who are still doting on Noah.
“No. I guess not. I will make sure I let them know how much I appreciate them,” she says.
“Tonight, you have no worries. You and your husband sit back, have a few beers, and enjoy being alive. I will help see about Noah.”
She hugs me again, and I watch the guys with the little man. Jag is great with him. He is such a kind person. If the world only knew how beautiful the bad boy of rock really is, they would give the title to someone else. He catches me looking at him, does a double take, and holds my gaze. A smile crosses both our faces. I’m in trouble here. My heart feels like it wants to burst.
THE NIGHT IS amazing. Noah is able to meet every musician on tour. They all do more than just meet him, though. He plays their instruments and gets more band gear than I think his closet can hold. Koi calls him out on stage, and the guys hand him an unplugged guitar. He doesn’t know it is unplugged, and he rocks out with Broken Access. I capture the e
ntire evening with my camera.
The after party is free of groupies, fans, drugs, and drunken musicians. Everyone gathers ’round and sings Happy Birthday, eats cake, and takes pictures in the photo booth. The gift table is overflowing. The other bands decided to spoil him further when they heard he would be here tonight. I think his parents’ hearts stop beating a few times when they see all the instruments and electronics. Noah is a happy kid. When we show him his phone, we show him our numbers are in it. We ask his mom to keep us up to date on his health and to call if she needs anything. Noah is asleep when his parents load him into the limo. I press a kiss to his cheek. I know I’ll be seeing this little guy again.
AFTER NOAH LEAVES, I sneak around the corner to make a phone call that I have been thinking about all day. It rings, four times, and I think it is about to go to voicemail. If it does, then I know I shouldn’t go down this path.
“Hen?” Griffin asks.
“Yeah. It’s me.”
I knew he would be surprised to hear from me. I just hope it is a good surprise. Griffin is the bassist in our band, Abandoned Shadow.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I can’t find the words.
“Henley. You’re starting to worry me,” he says.
I can’t say these words over the phone. “If I send you a plane ticket, will you meet me in Memphis on Saturday?”
“Yeah, I would love to,” Griff says, and my nerves settle. “Hen, I saw you on the news with Jag. I think it’s great. You look happy. Your voice... it sounds more like you. I miss you, girl.”
Broken (The Guitar Face Series Book 1) Page 13