Immaterial Defense: Once and Forever #4

by Lauren Stewart

  “Because I didn’t?”

  I didn’t need to look at her to hear the tears in her voice.

  “Cal, he… He was never in a bar fight, was he?”

  I shook my head slowly, remembering with very little satisfaction the only thing I’d done to help myself that night, something I hadn’t even realized I’d done until the next day. Until my mom asked me if I’d been at the same club Cal had and if I’d seen the brawl that had left him with a split lip and a couple of deep scratches near his left eye.

  When all I’d managed to answer with was a shrug, she’d flipped out, shouting something about how I could be so uncaring when my stepbrother could’ve really been hurt, and somehow I was lucky that he’d only gotten a split lip. I didn’t even have the energy to laugh at the irony.

  Even if he hadn’t made up the whole bar fight lie to cover up what he’d done to me, how could it be my fault for not caring enough about his safety? I’d never wanted a brother or a stepdad. I’d never wanted any of it. My mom was the one who’d needed it. Someone to take care of her, be living proof she was still attractive and could land a quality man. And she was the one who couldn’t let go of it when I told her the truth.

  The bloody lip and scratches I’d given Cal had taken over a week to heal. I did everything I could not to see him after that night, but about a week afterwards, he’d come over to pick up something from his father. He’d acted as if nothing had happened.

  When my mom had held his face in her hands and examined the injury from that awful bar fight, he’d glanced at me, looking to see how I’d react, I guess. Then she’d touched his lip.

  Cal had howled in pain, and I’d felt a moment of pride. Although, it might have been more than a moment, because that night I’d tried to tell my mom what he’d done to me. Of course, any pride I had left disappeared as soon as she asked me why I would say something so hateful about my stepbrother when he’d never done anything to deserve it.

  “‘He’s never done anything to deserve it,’” I mumbled. “That’s what you said to me.”

  “Oh, Sara.”

  When I looked at her, I saw the tears welled up in her eyes, and I almost felt sorry for her. I didn’t want to see her cry. I didn’t want anyone to cry. But I was done pretending not to hurt or thinking that it was easier to protect myself if I were invisible. My silence hadn’t made anything easier. It had just taken away the trust I’d had in the people I loved.

  “The only reason I would say something so hateful about him was because I was jealous. Right? I would tell my mother I’d been raped with tears running down my face”—like hers were doing now—“because I was jealous. Because I wanted attention. You believed him then, and you believe him now. You think that Declan and I are the ones dealing drugs, even though Cal is constantly sniffling and carrying around big rolls of cash.”

  “You’re right. I’m so sorry for not believing you, honey. I can’t… I’m so, so sorry.”

  I hadn’t thought about this moment—what I would say if she ever asked me for forgiveness. I’d never really imagined it would happen. I’d thought I had healed and moved on, a little wiser and a lot less trusting.

  I’d spent the last year thinking that to feel whole again I needed to confront Cal. I was wrong. There was no way for me to really move on and start trusting people again until I knew my mom believed me.

  And while I’d been so busy coping badly, I’d almost missed out on something amazing with someone amazing. If Declan hadn’t been so patient, so stubborn, I would’ve kept thinking I could go on like I had been indefinitely. Being invisible, sharing only the pieces of myself that couldn’t be hurt, that didn’t feel pain, disappointment, or shame. Those parts I’d kept for myself and no one else, not even the people who loved me. Especially not anyone who loved me. Because they were the most dangerous.

  The cruelty of a stranger meant nothing. The betrayal of a loved one had left me with nothing.

  “What can I do, Sara? What can I say?”

  I took a box of cheap tissues from an equipment cart and handed it to her. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  I glanced at Trevor, feeling guilty this was all happening in front of him, even while he was unconscious. If he could still hear, he probably didn’t want to wake up. At least not until we’d left the room.

  “All I know is that I’m not ready to forgive you right now,” I said. “I need to focus on helping someone I care about. Two people I care about. Because while I may not be able to do anything for them, I need to try. And in order to do that, I can’t think about myself right now.”

  She nodded, most of her face hidden by a tissue.

  “But once I know they’re okay, I’d like for us to talk.”

  “I’d like that.” The corners of her eyes wrinkled as if she were smiling, but her tears flowed double time. “I’d like that very much.”

  42

  Declan

  Just in case the hospital called me about Trevor, I couldn’t turn off the ringer to my cell phone. Luckily, at some point, I’d set Sara’s ringtone to something cheesy and lovesick, so I knew when not to pick it up. When the swish sounds of new text alerts started, I hadn’t even taken it out of my pocket. The hospital wouldn’t text me, and I wasn’t interested in reading Sara’s excuses. Maybe later, after this shit with Trevor was over, when I was ready to have my heart busted open again, I’d find somewhere quiet to drown my sorry self in whiskey and read through them all. Or maybe I’d just get a new phone with a new number.

  I flinched when I heard my generic ringtone, yanking the phone out of my pocket, praying it wasn’t more bad news from the hospital.

  I didn’t even look at the caller ID before accepting the call and shoving the phone against my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Declan, hey.”

  It took me a second to recognize the voice—slow, non-caring, irritating as hell. “Hey, Doug. What’s up?” Why was our manager calling me this early on a Sunday? I’d have thought Satan’s minions slept in.

  “The owner of Tunnel Vision called to ask how Trevor is doing. Wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  Nope, not at all. Doug couldn’t give a single shit how Trevor was doing, and this call was only so he could decide how to spin my best friend’s disaster into a media-friendly dramatic event that would help the band’s popularity.

  “He’s gonna be okay,” I said, hoping it was fact and not just wishful thinking. “You know Trevor—he had a bit too much fun and will need a little time to get back on his feet.”

  “Yeah, I know Trevor. I also know an entire club’s worth of people watched his drunk ass get taken out by paramedics.”

  “He went a little overboard, but—”

  “I’m still not quite sure when the boys started slinging beer bottles at each other in a fucking crowd of people. But I followed along really well when Sam told me Trevor drank his ass into a coma surrounded by fans who all had cell phones to record the fucking mess and put it up on YouTube, though.”

  “Well…” My voice was flat, emotionless, while I silently fumed. “If you’ve already spoken to Sam, why’d you call me?”

  “Because, since you’re the only halfway intelligent one in this godforsaken, piece of shit band, I’d hoped you’d have figured out what I’m going to say next.”

  My jaw clenched even tighter, my fingers practically crushing the phone. “Why don’t you keep treating me like an idiot and just tell me?”

  “I’m so fucking done with this shit. It never stops with them. I could go out onto the street right now and pick three equally skilled idiots who are willing to do whatever it takes without giving me so many damn headaches. It’d take me five minutes to find them.”

  My gut was screaming for me to tell the prick off, to tell him that was still three days less than it would take him to find someone who’d fuck him. Even if he paid her.

  But I couldn’t. I couldn’t ruin it for Trevor. Not now that I’d promised him I’d give it
another shot. Whether he’d heard me say it or not, the promise had been made. And if there was even a chance in hell that those words had made their way into his subconscious, if they helped him recover, I’d stand by them.

  So, as much as I wanted to tell Doug to go fuck himself with all his bullshit promises and threats, I had to keep my mouth shut. No, I couldn’t even do that. I had to talk this asshole out of dropping the band.

  Once things were back to semi-normal, I’d try to get out of it again. Maybe that had been my biggest mistake—everything had happened too fast. Too fast for Trevor to deal with. Not enough time to make sure the band could go on without me.

  “This is the last time, Doug. I promise. Trevor will need a break, go to rehab for a bit, but we can spin that, right? Turn it into a public service message about alcoholism or something.” I fucking hated the desperation in my voice. Not to mention the absolute void of pride or integrity. “Tons of bands go through shit worse than this, and they don’t even have you in their corner.”

  I guess he’d been right, after all—I was coming back, begging him for something. Of course, he’d been wrong about why or what I’d be begging for.

  “I’m going to speak slowly, so there’s no way you’ll misunderstand me,” he said. “There is no more band. Say goodbye to Self Defense, Declan. And if you ever pull any of the shit Trevor has, you’re off my books, too.”

  “Wait. What are you talking about?”

  “I’m dumping those tragedies you call bandmates. There’s a reason all my most successful clients are solo acts. Because I’m fucking good with the mano a mano!”

  I hoped his one-on-one skills were better than his Spanish. But I didn’t say anything about the mistake because it would probably only get him more fired up.

  “I knew I should’ve gone with my original plan, but I was nice. I saw how tight you and Trevor were and figured I’d be nice.”

  In what world had Doug ever been nice to me or to anyone else? Ass-kissing wasn’t the same thing. Neither was patronizing people who saw you as the gatekeeper to their version of Heaven. It had made me sick the way Doug talked to my bandmates, as if he were the only one who could make their dreams come true. Maybe the only reason I’d seen through his bullshit was because fame had never been my dream. I’d always known he couldn’t get me what I wanted.

  “I’m not going to keep playing babysitter to a bunch of brats, Declan. Not when I can take you a lot further with a lot less trouble. And a lot more dollar bills for both of us.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “You bet your ass I am. We get you the right songwriter, and you’re golden. And look, if you want, we can even buy the rights for some of Self Defense’s songs from the guys. That way, they’ll walk away with a little cash in their pockets.”

  “Buy the songs from the guys?” I asked stupidly. On top of everything else wrong with what he was saying, he didn’t even know that I wrote our fucking music. Someone else must have filed the legal forms, written the contracts, and looked over every other piece of paper where my name was listed. Doug had seen me as a pretty face with a pretty voice and no actual talent.

  I almost laughed. Almost. Because I think I finally understood him. He thought he and I were the same—the guys who stood out front looking good while other, expendable people did all the actual work.

  “I know you care about him, Declan. But you can’t get to where we’re going if you’re carrying a sack of shit on your back the whole way.”

  “You’re right, Doug. I don’t want to carry a sack of shit anymore.” I saw it all flash in front of my eyes—telling the sack of shit where he and his fucking contract could go. Imagining the look on his face when he realized there were people he couldn’t control, couldn’t make or break.

  But that couldn’t happen. Not today. Not with everything I had to lose. So, I swallowed my pride and let him win.

  “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Hallelujah,” he said dryly. “I’m glad you’re finally getting it. And, Declan, you’re doing the right thing.”

  Was I? Sure didn’t feel like it. “Look, I’ll do whatever you say, sign whatever you want me to sign, be whoever you want me to be. On one condition.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He sighed, long and hard. “What do you want?”

  “Six more months. You give Self Defense six more months to pull it together and see what happens. If we don’t have a contract by then, I’ll sign whatever you put in front of me.”

  His pause gave me a chance to regret the offer and every choice I’d made that got me here. It also gave me time to accept I had no other option now.

  “Three months,” he said finally. “Starting today.”

  I still didn’t know how long it would take Trevor to regain consciousness. But three months would barely cover his time in rehab, let alone any recovery he’d need.

  “Come on, Doug. The guy’s in a fucking coma. Give him a break.”

  “I’m done giving Trevor anything. I’m giving this break to you. If you want to include anybody else, that’s your problem. Three months, Declan.”

  “Without Trevor, I have to find another bassist and teach him all our songs.” And I’d have to pay him with money I didn’t have. Plus, who’d want to put in the effort, knowing he was just a placeholder until Trevor could come back?

  “No one is irreplaceable, Declan,” he said. “Come on. Tick, tock. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll… I’ll take it.” With each word, it felt like a hundred pounds dropped onto my shoulders.

  “Good. So, as of this moment, we have a deal—a verbal contract. By the time you get here, I’ll have the specifics written up, so there’s no confusion and nobody accidentally forgets our agreement three months from now.”

  “You want me to sign something now? I have to get back to the hospital, Doug. Trevor might wake up any minute.”

  “Then he’ll be awake when you get there.” He muttered, “Shit,” before returning to his normally abusive tone. “It’s Sunday, so I’m on my own today.”

  “Then let’s wait until tomorrow.” I’d be just as desperate then.

  “No, I can write it up myself. I want this done today—signed, stamped, and delivered. My office is barely out of your way, and it’ll take you a whopping thirty seconds to sign. I’ll even meet you in the lobby.”

  Wow, what a saint. “Fine.” I wanted this over with as much as he did. “I’ll get a cab and be there in ten minutes.”

  “Great. And, Declan? If you tell the guys about the deal and they decide to spend the next few months fucking me over, you’ll be the one paying for that mistake. Understood?”

  “Yes, boss. I understand.” Getting screwed isn’t something that’s easy to miss.

  43

  Declan

  With Sunday morning traffic, it had taken me eons to get from my place to Doug’s, then from there to the hospital.

  But I was here. Finally. I wasn’t sure if I was more motivated to be here in case Trevor woke up or to be anywhere Doug wasn’t. But I’d signed the paper, tossed the pen at him, and was out the door in three minutes. I hadn’t even waited for him to make a copy for me. Doug had so helpfully offered to send my copy to the hospital by bike messenger, so it was probably already on its way over.

  I had three months to make sure Self Defense got a recording deal, or I would be forced to hand over my soul and let him do whatever he wanted with me. I’d had some choice words for him when he slipped in the fact that for those three months, Self Defense would be on tour again. But I’d already agreed to it, and I knew Doug would never change it out of the kindness of his heart.

  I didn’t know what I was going to tell Trevor. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t come out of his coma until I could figure it out. And that might take a while, considering I hadn’t slept at all last night. Honestly, I couldn’t even remember a night I’d slept well.

  That worry morphed into a whole new one when I saw Sara’s mother sitting on a chai
r in the hospital waiting room. She was looking down, typing something on her phone.

  Fuck. “Is she okay?” I asked loudly enough so that everyone turned to look at me, including Elaine. “Is she…is Sara okay?”

  Please, don’t do this to me. I couldn’t take any more.

  Her eyes widened in recognition and concern. “Sara? Yes, she’s fine. I drove her here to see your friend.”

  I’d barely finished my sigh of relief when the last part of her comment sank in. “She’s here to see Trevor?” I shouldn’t have been angry, but my brain was running on anxiety and sleep deprivation. So, somehow, that turned the fact that Sara was here to support him instead of being there to support me into one more blow—and this one stung.

  “Well, she was looking for you, but she’s back there, waiting with him now.” She flicked her head toward the heavy door that led back to where I’d left Trevor.

  “So, she’s okay? Promise?” I wasn’t sure why it seemed so impossible to understand. Maybe because over the last eight hours, I’d gone through every terrible emotion, one after the other, with no sleep. My mind couldn’t keep track anymore. It had forgotten what an appropriate reaction to anything was. Any second, I’d start laughing hysterically, or crying, or breaking out into song. I just didn’t know.

  “Declan?” She stood quickly, dropping her phone and purse onto the floor and rushing toward me. “Are you alright?”

  No. But I hated to think my emotional state was so obvious that anyone could tell just by looking at me.

  “Sit down. You look like you’re going to faint.” She took me by the arm and tried to lead me to a chair. I didn’t move. I barely knew her, and what little I did know about her hadn’t made me her biggest fan.

  “I can’t. I need to go check on Trevor. He’s not doing well.”

  “Neither are you, honey.”

  I pulled away from her. “I gotta check on…” Why couldn’t I remember who needed me? Did anyone need me? Yes. I shook the fog out of my mind and body. “Trevor. Trevor needs me.”