Everybody Falls

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  "Good," I said finally, handing the paper back to Ricki with a snap. "How're we coming with the cake-pops?"

  Two weeks later, I received four, front-row tickets with a backstage pass for the guys' concert that was scheduled as the finale for the Sacramento Music Festival over Memorial Day weekend. It was something that happened in Old Town Sac every year, the streets teaming with people and the air filled with every type of music you could imagine. And it was always fun.

  But, I wasn't going to make it this year.

  If I was truthful, I didn't even play the iPod in the store anymore. Music had kind of lost its appeal, and I know you can figure out why.

  I ended up giving my mom two of the tickets with a promise that she wouldn't come around me again. She didn't really get it until I waved the paperwork regarding my restraining order in her face. She backed her ass up really quick then, I can tell you.

  Sarge had said that she'd gotten busted again and was probably on her way to jail anyway for carrying a firearm and other things that she'd chosen to do which broke her parole.

  The other two tickets and the backstage pass I sold on an auction website and made quite a lot of money. I donated the money to Sutter-Auburn Hospice. Miss Ida had been so good to Edie and I felt like the money, which was Jack's money anyway, should go to them.

  But, I've got to tell you, I cried really hard when the auction was done.

  And, then cried again, when I purchased my own ticket and found myself in the cheap seats, in the nose bleed section, of Sleep Town's auditorium for the concert. Mine was almost the only seat available in the huge space.

  *.*.*.*.*

  "How's she doing, Ricks?" Turner asked with a grumble. His girl was still spread over him, his cock still hard and embedded deeply within her. They'd already done it once, yet his body was still hungry for her.

  She raised her head from his massive chest so she could catch his eyes in the dimly lit room of Sarge's spare bedroom where Turner stayed, her crazy hair bobbing as she moved.

  "Not good. She was getting good, but now? Not so much," she said, her perfect mouth puckered and drawn. "According to Beth, she got a Fed Ex envelope and then had to go upstairs. Going upstairs isn't a good thing for Lace."

  Turner processed what his girl was saying and not saying.

  Jax was getting better at that place just outside of Citrus Heights, except every visit, fuck, every fucking phone call even, was filled with questions about Lacey. Turner didn't know what had happened between them but knew it had ended in disaster. A Hiroshima kind of disaster.

  He'd only seen Lace once since the break-up. The formerly pretty girl looked liked shit when he'd seen her. She'd lost a lot of weight and, though she'd been thin before, she'd been padded in all the right places. When he'd seen her this last time? Shit. Skin and bones, her eyes sunken, red-rimmed and listless as fuck.

  Nothing like the Lacey he'd met at the farm.

  Which had made him feel sorry, so fucking sorry, for leaving Jax those prescript pills to help him make it through the night after Mrs. Edie passed. Except, how was he to know that Jax was sneaking in the booze along with them?

  "You think she's still loving him, Rick?" he asked slowly, his hands unconsciously caressing the girl atop his chest. A girl he could've have dreamed of having his whole life, yet never even noticed until he'd caught her fine ass as she fainted at the sight of him in Mrs. Edie's kitchen.

  "Oh, fuck, yeah," Ricki breathed. "She's killing herself with unrequited love is what Sarge says."

  "And, yet, he's getting better because of her love," Turner replied. "He's determined, baby."

  "Screwy, right?" Ricki said, burrowing into his neck, a place she knew he loved.

  "Not as screwy as us, you beautiful thing," he breathed, turning on the mattress to get his golden girl beneath him. "God, Ricki. You're sexy."

  "And, you're just plain ol' sex on a stick, Turner. Yeah, baby, right there," she moaned as her redheaded man, once again, began to thrust into her, all thoughts of Jax, Lace and their bullshit lost in the cadence of his moving within her.

  Chapter 31

  I was hurting, but at least this time I recognized it, which the therapist Sarge had recommended (actually, the word should be 'forced') me to see, had told me was a good thing.

  The car park was packed and I was probably going to have to hike at least a mile to enter the stadium. Truthfully? I was lucky that I even made it because my heart had told me to go back home about every hundred yards as I drove there.

  Drove to the stadium where he was.

  The man formally known as Jack.

  A man that used to hold a place in my heart. Back when I had one, anyway.

  I exited my car after notating my parking row and space on my portion of the ticket. And, as I made my way through the crowds of people, I kept hearing his name as a soft whisper that hung overhead in the still, night air.

  'Jax Wynter'.

  I gave over my ticket and had my purse searched before I was allowed inside to climb the steep concrete stairs to my seat. It was a very, long-assed climb.

  With every footfall, I called myself all different kinds of names, the meaning in each was clear.

  Fool.

  The air in the stadium was tense, gleeful, anticipatory even through the fifteen minute set of the opening band.

  "…and, now all you bastards and bitches, the act you've all been waiting for! ReGroup!" the loudspeakers boomed.

  I heard the crowd go crazy, yelling, whistling and squealing.

  Squealers, I thought slowly.

  Jack hated squealers.

  My eyes roamed around the arena seeing people bouncing in their seats, some already standing and holding lighters in tribute. Good for them. I was glad they were excited and I was blaming my own accelerated heartbeat on hiking the staircases to get to my seat.

  Or getting caught up in the crowd's enthusiasm.

  Take your pick.

  I pulled my binoculars out of my large purse and centered them on the stage.

  There was Ben behind the drums.

  Grandpop was on the long bass guitar, the lights sparkling off his face jewelry and the special pieces he had securing his beard braids.

  Turner was fiddling with his shiny, red piece that I knew was going to deliver awesome licks for whatever the band played, his eyes cutting again and again to one of the side stages. I swung the binocs and saw Ricki bouncing in the wings.

  Then, there was Jack.

  Oh, God. Oh, sweet chocolate.

  He looked so good, so calm as he strapped on his own guitar. He was dressed in black leather pants but no shirt and a matching black leather vest. I saw he'd gotten a haircut, the midnight layers glowing beneath the stadium lights.

  He moved to the microphone with a huge gorgeous smile.

  "Are you ready to rock tonight, Sacramento?" he yelled and there was a roar of sound that rolled right back at him. A sound so huge, I felt my stadium chair vibrate in response.

  "Alright, then. This is for Edie," he announced making rock horns as he stepped back and nodded at the other band members.

  And, the crowd went crazy as he moved.

  Oh, how he moved throughout each and every song. Shimmying up and back on the stage, sometimes singing and sometimes only adding background vocals to the songs.

  New songs, old songs, each and every one a treat of tune and of lyrics.

  He moved between the guitar and the keyboards, grace in motion, and I found myself having to wipe the moisture from my eyes in order to see him from behind the eyepieces of the old spy-glasses.

  He looked better than I'd ever seen him. Moved with more surety, with a confidence that he hadn't had when we'd been together.

  I'd seen him perusing the crowd, especially the front row and he'd even leaned into Sarge at one point, angling his non-playing finger to a place in front of the stage. My grandpop, though, only shrugged and shook his head as he continued to play.

  Eight songs in and th
at place in my chest, the place where my heart used to be, couldn't take anymore and I stood, pulling my heavy purse up onto my shoulder, as I stepped out onto the aisle to begin my long-ass climb back down.

  "This next one is new, folks, and is meant for one girl. My girl. My sweet Lacey," I heard Jack's voice announce over the speakers that echoed in my place high atop the auditorium, from his place on the stage. A tiny stage from my vantage point.

  My stomach hit my knees at his words, but I was determined not to allow the reaction to overcome me. But telling yourself not to respond and have it follow your directions are entirely two different things.

  I paused at the juncture of the staircase, just before the cavern that would take me into the level that was covered in kiosks, selling anything and everything that could fetch a profit.

  My body begin to shake, the tremors moving through like a freight train.

  "That's her," I heard a girl yell and then heard the squeaks and moan of hundreds of asses in hundreds of chairs as people turned to look my way as the shout and cry of "It's her!" made its way around the arena.

  What the fuck?

  I turned back to the cave-like opening and felt someone grab my arm. A tall, bearded guy had his hand on my arm stopping me.

  "You're Lacey," he said leaning over me, gently urging me to turn toward the stage. "He wants this to be for you."

  I looked at the upturned faces, some on people who were standing, staring at me.

  "Lights!" I heard Jack's voice reverberate, demand, over the loud speakers. "A spotlight, please."

  The warmth of the light hit before it's bright beam completely blinded me.

  The bearded guy released my arm and stepped away.

  I could've run down the corridor except, you know what?

  I was tired.

  Tired of dodging and feinting from even myself.

  He wanted to call me a whore in front of thousands of people, well, dammit, I guess I could take it. I no longer had a heart for him to hurt.

  I just hoped to hell Sarge would punch his lights out afterwards.

  "I love you, Lace," he said into the quiet of the arena and my body completely stilled.

  I didn't know what to do so I just stood there in that beam of light, only seeing the upturned faces of a couple of rows in front of me.

  "This is for you, Baby," he said. "The song is called 'Everybody Falls' and it's about her, folks. My girl. My Lacey."

  And the crowd went wild. I felt like each and every face was lifted to mine, but I couldn't see them, I refused to see them, as I stood in that space behind the railing.

  I heard his song, and heard his heart in every word that he offered into the quiet of the auditorium.

  It was a song about falling from grace.

  It was a song about falling in love.

  It was a song about falling at the feet of the girl you knew you were going to love the rest of your life.

  It was a good song, maybe a great song. I don't know.

  However, when the song was over and the spotlight was back where it should be, I left.

  Words could be good.

  Songs were sometimes better.

  I took this song as closure, an end to the three weeks which had been us. The together kind of us.

  I was still bruised from being tossed to the side when Jack had decided to quit me.

  I took my time walking back to my car, my purse hugged tightly to my chest.

  That lonely, achingly lonely mile, back to the place where I'd parked. The stars were out and I caught myself gazing up at them thinking of the talks that Edie and I'd had. About Jack, about food, about real life.

  "When's its real, the really kind of real, Lace? You'll know. You'll know in such a deep place inside you that no one else can cross, can argue with you about," she'd said as she'd reached her hand across the kitchen table, the old scarred one, not the oak one. "Don't ever let anyone talk you out of that place, sweetie, not even yourself."

  "He's trying, Lace", I heard Sarge say from a place deep within me.

  All that maybe true, I told myself.

  But… I warned myself as I turned over the old engine of my POS Chevy.

  Even I couldn't complete the thought with words.

  I kissed my fingers and held them out towards the arena as I left the parking lot. It was the kindest way of me saying good-bye. The only way I could think of offering it without having to actually see him.

  *.*.*.*.*

  He'd been so down when he'd spied strangers in the seats he'd given her there in the front row and then so hopeful when the spotlight caught her in the upper reaches of the stadium.

  His Lace, his girl.

  Jax knew he'd done wrong, had heard his voice spewing shit that should never, he shouldn't have ever said yet had come out of his mouth nonetheless. And then Stella stepping into the room when he'd been trying to find his feet in order to chase Lace?

  Delivering drugs when his girl was in the house.

  Fuck, could it have gotten any worse?

  With his life though, in his world, of course it had.

  He'd lost her, the love of his life all because he'd been hurt, fucked up and pissed off.

  Except, that was no excuse. There was no excuse for treating other people badly just because you were hurting. Losing Grams had cut him to his core. If the truth was being hurled, her passing meant more to him than Denny's.

  He'd tried to fucking kill himself once Denny died.

  Maybe that was what he had tried to do again after Gram's death. He didn't know.

  Boots had pulled him aside only three days after the nuclear fucking bomb exploded with Lace and screamed at him. Bellowing shit at him in front of the other guys.

  Jax had, of course, denied everything.

  That was, until Sarge grabbed him by the chin and spoke to him coolly, but firmly.

  "You're a fuck up."

  The next day, as soon as he was clear of his booze and drug induced coma, he'd called the place in Citrus Heights and by that afternoon he'd been admitted.

  He'd tried to make it up to Lacey with flowers. However, the Auburn florist had said she was refusing, so he doubled, then tripled his order. It was still a no-go.

  Jax had sent her tickets and a backstage pass yet found only strangers in the chairs, front row and center, that he'd reserved.

  He'd been delighted to find her up in the tiers, the very highest tier of the arena and had played her his song. His fucking apology.

  So, he was waiting for her to come backstage, to accept her hug and gratitude for giving her a song. So far, though, she hadn't shown.

  "You might as well cool your jets, Dude," Sarge had rumbled when he'd planted himself next to Jax at the doorway to the tunnel that led from the stadium to the performance rooms underground. "She ain't coming."

  "What? Why?" Jax had asked, his eyes shooting between the older man and the door manned with security.

  "You fucked up, Jax. You fucked her up so bad, you'll be lucky to be allowed to lie in her shadow," Sarge responded. "She's done with you."

  "No. Wait," Jax said, turning to the old rocker with that crazy, braided beard. "I've done everything. Flowers, tickets and a song just for her…"

  "Was any of it for her, Jax?" he heard Sarge question. "The gentle, quiet honesty of Lacey? Did you ever try to touch that, Dude?"

  Jax felt the older man's eye on him as he tried to think of an answer, of anything to refute his question.

  He came up with zip.

  "Sounds to me, Slugger, like you've been trying to give a rock-star apology when she didn't fall in love with a rock-star. Even you know that shit don't fly with my Lace," he grumbled when the younger man had quieted.

  "If you can't run with the big dogs, Jax, then you just need to stay on the porch." Jax received a couple of taps to the chest before he saw the man that had represented his future turn and walk away, tucking one of the groupies under his arm as he moved.

  Chapter 32

&
nbsp; It had been more than a few months since the concert and the light shimmering on the trees was now doing a dance from a different angle. There was a autumn chill in the air which is actually why I decided to resume my morning coffee and tree-gaze on those old front steps.

  That and I'd not seen any runners passing on the road in front of the shop, even from my place behind the swinging half-doors that separated the kitchen from the retail portion of the Bakery.

  Not that I'd expected to, really. Sarge had said he was living in So Cal and the farm was up for sale.

  Four generations and he was selling.

  Edie must be rolling.

  I had decided to join the land of living although there were certain pulses that still hit me raw.

  Like Ricki and Turner, which was still going on, burning brighter than ever.

  Or when I went to Shim's on karaoke night and WV songs were played, not to mention Jack's song was sung, which had been done by another band. It'd reached number one for two weeks running and I was glad for Jack. Success by songwriting was still success no matter how you looked at it.

  I wasn't hurting as often or so deeply so I guess we could say I was healing.

  My body, especially at night still missed him something fierce.

  Then, there was this guy that I knew was coming on to me at the Bakery, gathering his courage to ask me out and, from what I could tell, he seemed to be nice.

  But, and I know you'll get this, he wasn't Jack so I knew I seemed lukewarm to his bumbling attempts to engage my attention.

  I leaned back on my elbows, feeling the pull of the jersey across my hip bones. I'd been putting on weight and my old clothes were starting to fit again, which was also a good thing.

  I took a sip and probed the new tendrils of what was growing inside of my chest.

  Maybe it was a new heart, something that this time would be stronger, less fragile.

  "Still doing the pink sweats? Geez, Lace. You still caught up in the past?" I heard a black velvet voice rumble from behind me. I turned my head and saw him dressed in head to toe gray, the hood up as he made his way down the boards of the porch.

  I didn't say anything. I couldn't because that new thing that was growing in my chest had shot straight to my throat.