Rogue Wave: Cake Series Book Five

by Bengtsson, J.

  Pacing back and forth, my brother was chomping down on his knuckle while emitting low groans like an animal caught in a leg clamp.

  “No, I’m not Jake, but I work for him. He got your message.”

  “He did?” More squeals. “I saw him pick it up, but I never thought…” She stopped to breathe. “Does he want me to come over? I’m still at the stadium.”

  I sought Jake out and found him crouched near the ground, his hand covering his mouth. He appeared alternately horrified and enthralled. Our eyes met and I queried with my thumb – yes or no?

  After a moment’s thought, he removed his hand from his mouth and turned his thumb up, green-lighting the operation.

  “Yes, LeAnn. Jake wants to meet you. I’m going to send you a text. Bring it to security and tell them Keith sent you. They’ll get you to his bus.”

  By the time I hung up the phone, my brother was lying flat on his back on the tour bus floor hyperventilating. I got up and nudged him with my foot. “This will not impress LeAnn.”

  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he groaned.

  “Of course it is. Sex is like pizza…when it’s good it’s good, but when it’s bad it’s still pretty good.”

  I offered him my hand, and to my surprise, his fingers wrapped around mine. I pulled him to his feet.

  “You’ll be fine. Now, I’m warning you ahead of time, don’t be too ambitious because chances are you’re going to suck. I mean, dude, the first time is never pretty. Most newbies are ‘two pump chumps,’ if you know what I mean. Don’t panic. It’s totally normal to blow your wad before she’s even gotten started. But here’s the thing – at this stage of the game, her satisfaction isn’t your problem any more than the safety of other motorists on the road is the concern of a 16-year-old with a newly minted driver’s license.”

  Jake nodded, soaking up my wisdom. “But what if I want to make it good for her too?”

  “It won’t be, so there’s no sense in worrying about it.”

  “Keith, I’m serious. I don’t have much time.”

  I sighed. “All right, fine. A little trade secret – you can buy a lot of time with a well-placed thumb.”

  * * *

  Once the knock came at the door, I made my exit. Wandering for a while in the dark, I resisted the sounds of riotous fun streaming from the band and crew buses. Jake was playing the same venue the following day as well, so we were camped out in the parking lot for the night. And overnights became tailgates. And tailgates became blow-out parties. And partying came with shit I had no business ever getting involved in again.

  Addiction had taken me down a treacherous path, and I found myself drifting that way more and more the further away I got from the protection of home. It was easier to stay on the straight and narrow when the people around me were as committed to my sobriety as I was. But on the road, the lines were blurred, and convictions became harder to abide by.

  After Jake’s return, I’d tried so hard to hold it together, having only to look to him for motivation. Withdrawal had been a bitch, but I knew if Jake could pull his life out of the shitter after everything he’d been through, then I sure as hell could do it too. That day in the hospital was the turning point for me. Whatever issues I had, Jake had them ten times worse, and the only way to support him was to keep myself in one piece. So that’s what I did. For Jake. And for my parents who’d suffered enough. And for me – like I promised Sam all those years ago.

  But long stretches of sobriety were routinely interrupted by nasty relapses, the last one even landing me in an outpatient rehab. I’d only been clean for four months when the offer to tour with Jake came along. His manager presented me with a very detailed list of duties; just as long was the list of don’t-ies. I signed on the dotted line, knowing the risks involved but believing that entering into a binding contract would be the best way to keep me away from the bad influences. Wrong. In true Keith fashion, all it had done was drive me into the shadows. A drink here, a blunt there… maybe even a pill or two for good measure. It was all about moderation and keeping my head above water.

  Sliding my hands through my hair, I walked toward the gate separating me from the real world. Fans were still milling around, perhaps waiting for an invitation to the crew party they could hear even from across the parking lot. I knew trouble lay on the other side of that fencing; and yet I went straight for it as if I were being pulled to the dark side by some hypnotic force. Shaking my head, I focused on what had happened a couple of weeks ago when Jake caught me flying high. I’d promised him then that it would be the last time. And he’d promised me then that there would be no more second chances.

  “Hey, do you work for Jake?” a woman asked, pressed up against the fencing. She appeared only a couple years older than me, but the relatively short amount of time she’d walked this earth hadn’t been kind to her. “Sounds fun back there, but you know, every party needs some entertainment.”

  I stopped. Why did I stop? “What type of entertainment are we talking?”

  She perked right up, perhaps not expecting my sudden interest. “Honey, I’m my own talent agency. I can get you anything you need and more.”

  I cast her an eager glance. There was no doubt she was connected, and in only a matter of minutes I could have the drug of my choice in hand. Temptation called my name. I could find myself an empty corner of the lot and enjoy a little peace of mind for a change. No. Keep it together. Any relief I felt would only be a temporary, and as soon as the euphoria faded, I’d be right back to chasing the high – and back to delivering pizzas to a different type of addict.

  Walk the fuck away.

  And, for once, I listened to that voice in my head and took two giant steps back. “Hey. Sorry. I was mistaken.”

  Perhaps sensing the loss of easy money, the temptress reached her arm through the fence. “No. Don’t leave. I can get you the finest blow. Honey, come back.”

  As she kept calling for me, it became clear that merely walking was no longer cutting it, and before I knew it, I was sprinting frantically away from danger, back to the bus where I’d be safe. I skidded to a halt at the sound of Lassen’s rough, husky voice.

  “They’re still in there,” he warned, in an accusatory tone. “Give the kid his privacy.”

  “I wasn’t going in,” I replied, with an equal amount of antagonism. Did he really think the plan was for me to beaver dam my little bro on the day of his deliverance?

  Lassen and I glared at each other like the enemies we were. Throughout our entire stare down, he was spitting sunflower seed shells from the corner of his mouth. A pile lay on the ground by his side.

  “What are you running from?” he asked, more shells spurting out from the tiny opening in his lip.

  “What do you care?”

  He shrugged, a shell going airborne. “I don’t. Just passing the time. Don’t tell me if you don’t want. It’s not like I’m going to lose any sleep over it.”

  No, I didn’t suppose he would. Lassen never had any trouble sleeping, as evidenced by the restless nights I’d spent listening to him snore and fart, fantasizing about silencing him forever. I glanced at the empty chair beside him. There was always an empty chair next to the Grinch Who Stole Happiness. Just to defy him I plopped down and made myself comfortable.

  We sat in silence while he added to the pile of seeds between our chairs, and even though he had no interest in my drama, I felt the need to explain myself. “I’m running from my past.”

  Crunch. Spit. “And how’s that going for you?”

  “Well, I got back without pills in my pocket, so I’d call that a good day.”

  Lassen nodded, another mouthful of seeds spat into the landfill. Without commenting on my rather telling statement, he tipped the bag in my direction. “You want some?”

  “Nah,” I replied, waving off his offering. “I don’t like sunflower seeds.”

  Spit. Spit. “I suggest you develop a taste for them.”

  “Why?”


  “It’ll help with the cravings.”

  “I don’t need any help,” I responded, defiantly.

  “Suit yourself. But just so you know, I’m running from my past too.”

  * * *

  Later, lying in my cot in the bus, my mind raced. I’d been so close to destruction tonight. Why did I always insist on cutting myself off at the knees? The urges were getting stronger, to the point where I was now actively sabotaging myself. Tonight, I’d walked right into the path of temptation. Something had stopped my forward motion… this time… but it was getting harder to resist.

  I just wanted life to be normal again, like it had been before the kidnapping. Before the endless relapses. Before I lost her. Every day that went by, I drifted further from where I’d once been… from the man I wanted to be. It’s not like I’d been a real prize back then either, but at least life had been easy and fun, and I had sunlight and dreams. I had the ocean… and Sam. Now, it was all gone, and finding my way back to that light was as daunting as retracing my footprints through a forest after a punishing rainstorm.

  When I was feeling particularly down in the dumps, like today, I’d lie in bed and ponder what had made me the one degenerate in a family of champions. What had been different in my upbringing? Why had I felt the need to self medicate where my siblings seemed content inside their own heads? Even Jake, who clearly had the most to lose, seemed to be functioning on a level higher than me. To the outside world, I was a flirty, outgoing guy, but inside there was darkness – an entity that refused to just let me be.

  Left to my own devices, I’d be lying dead in a ditch somewhere; but I was a McKallister, and that meant every single person in my family was all up in my business, like Jake had been earlier. I knew it came from a place of concern, but until I was ready to accept the help, no amount of intervention would stop my downward spiral – not the counseling or the parent participation, and certainly not the outpatient rehabilitation programs that were routinely forced upon me. God knows, I’d figured out how to work that system like a champ. Never taking it seriously or trying to learn from my mistakes, I’d done nothing in rehab but dick around, charm the workers, and slip under the radar.

  My loved ones tried, they really did, but fixing me was the equivalent of treating a gunshot wound with Band-Aids. By the time I completed the various programs they’d lined up for me, I was no better off than when I’d gone in. It’s not that I didn’t want to be the man they expected me to be, I just didn’t know how. It was like a light had gone out inside me, and now that evil was lurking everywhere, I was content to just nestle myself in its shadows.

  Reaching up to the little shelf over my bed, I pulled down the well-worn letter I’d kept with me all these years. Sometimes I read it when I needed a little extra perspective, like tonight. The edges were frayed, and the body of the text was now being held together with tape. But even though I’d memorized the words and could recite them in my sleep, I reread the letter anyway.

  Once, I’d had a starring role in the story of Samantha Anderson’s life. And I never got tired of reading and rereading the part where she described how I’d changed her for the better. Yes, I’d brokered a peace between her and the sea, but I’d done more than that – I’d loved her unconditionally, something she admitted had been lacking in her life. And I could feel with every word she wrote that Sam loved me back. With just the stroke of her pen, she elevated me beyond the screw-up everyone else saw. She made me real and flawed and worthy. And that was what I held onto in my darkest days. There was a girl out there somewhere who had loved me… and maybe, just maybe, she still did.

  I’d made a huge mistake. I knew that now. Young and stupid, I figured she’d be around forever. But then, I hadn’t factored in the kidnapping or the drug addiction or her mother’s murderous ways. I knew I loved Sam, but I hadn’t fully appreciated what she’d meant to me; nor did I realize the extent of her suffering until she was gone. I wished I could go back and change the decision I’d made the day Jake was taken… the day I reached for the drugs instead of her. Maybe if I’d made a different choice, I wouldn’t be here today holding what I had left of her in my hand.

  The urge to search for her was always there, but what would I do once I found her? I couldn’t just drop into her life with a drug addiction. She didn’t need that, not after what she’d been through with her mom. If anyone deserved peace and happiness, it was Sam. I would be nothing but more hardships thrust upon her, and I refused to be a burden. Besides, if Sam had realized her dreams of an East Coast school, then it was safe to assume thousands of miles separated us.

  Maybe someday, when I was worthy of her love, I’d find Sam again – and then all bets would be off. I’d fight for her and stop at nothing to win her back. No obstacle would be big enough to keep me away. But that was when I was worthy, and I wasn’t so sure that day would ever come.

  Folding the letter, I ran my fingers over the flimsy paper before replacing it on the shelf and whispering, “Good night, Sam – wherever you are.”

  22

  Samantha: Genetics

  “Samantha Olivia Anderson.”

  The sun was warm and I could hear the sounds of the waves crashing onto shore as I crossed the stage to accept my diploma at this university by the sea. No, I wasn’t graduating from an Ivy League school, and no, I wasn’t getting that English Lit degree I’d always pictured myself earning, but life has a way of changing you when you least expect it, and adapting was the only way to get ahead of the game. And that’s where I was now – ahead. So far ahead of where I ever thought I’d be. My mind was challenged, my body was strong, and my soul was filled with happiness. Those old dreams of escaping to some far off place had faded away once I’d decided to live my life in the open, free of fear.

  With that change in outlook came a redirection of my passions. Instead of spending my life analyzing the literary classics, I’d applied and was admitted to the biology program at UC Santa Barbara with a specialty in aquatic studies. I spent my four years studying ecology, marine botany, and deep-sea biology. Not bad for the girl who once hated science.

  And now, here I was with my head held high as I walked across the stage to accept my due reward. This degree meant more to me than just a piece of paper. It meant I’d stopped living in the past and had embraced my future. Sure, there were a few key players missing from the celebration – namely, anyone blood-related to me – but I’d cultivated a small contingency of supporting players who meant more to me than some title. Who needed marrow-matches when you had friends like I did?

  Making the trip from San Diego were my Aunt Kim and cousins Jennie and Joyce. We’d grown incredibly close in the year and a half I’d lived with them … so much closer than I’d ever been to my mother the first seventeen years of my life. With them, I’d realized the full scope of who I could be as a person.

  And then there was Shannon, the one constant in my life. She’d graduated with a bioengineering degree last year and had moved back home to work in the same lab where both her parents and one of her two brothers were employed.

  “Samantha! Samantha Anderson.” Her shouts reverberated through the crowd, but it wasn’t just her voice I heard. Stewart, Shannon’s boyfriend of three years, was screaming just as loud. Never in the history of soul mates had there been two people more suited for each other then Shannon O’Malley and Stewart Fitzpatrick.

  Born on the same day, Shannon and Stewart could have been litter-mates. Their hair was the same shade of red, both were tall, skinny, and they both sported matching ‘his and hers’ humidifiers. Yes, that’s right – if possible, Stewart was even more allergic to the world than Shannon.

  And the similarities didn’t end there. The two were Harry Potter fanatics who regularly dressed up like their favorite characters and wandered around town flicking their wands and performing fake spells in front of startled onlookers. Like journalists on the national news stations, they agreed on literally everything. They ate the same food, they liked
the same TV shows, and they regularly finished each other’s sentences, playing the whole jinx/double jinx game ad nauseam.

  The two were in sync now as well, combining their vocals skills to catch my attention. As if their merged voices weren’t enough, they’d taken it a step further with the simultaneous use of cowbells. Under the misguided belief that graduation rituals couldn’t have enough of those handy little noisemakers, Shannon had brought four – one for herself, one for Stew, and two more for my cousins, who joined in the ear-splitting commotion.

  “Samantha Anderson!” Cowbell. Cowbell.

  I followed the sounds until I spotted my statuesque friend standing high up on a chair, her equally lanky beau beside her on the rickety contraption.

  “Did you have any trouble finding us?” Stewart asked, trying to appear serious when you just knew he was laughing on the inside. Shannon’s main squeeze was one of a kind. There were nerds, and then there was Stewart – their intergalactic commanding officer. Standing six foot three and weighing in at a breezy one hundred and fifty five pounds, his pale body was see-through in certain light, and if not anchored down, Stew could easily be blown to sea by a gusty wind.

  “Were we loud enough?” Shannon asked, a smirk of innocence stamped upon her face.

  “Yes, thank you. I think your cowbells may have disrupted the gray whale migration along the coast.”

  “Eh.” Shannon waved dismissively as she climbed down from the chair and hugged me. “They’re off the extinction list. If they swim around in circles for a few hours, it’s a small price to pay for your utter joy.”

  “Such pleasure,” I agreed with a wry smile.

  “I don’t think she’s amoosed.” Stew snorted at his own wit. Oh, how he loved puns! and, someday, maybe I would too – in my late seventies.