“What? No way. I’m sure—”
She stiffens, pulls her hand away. “No, you don’t get it.” Her eyes are wet now, shiny with a pain that searches for me again. “I want to be disbarred. I want to be nothing. And this thing with Miranda? It just confirms… Ah, never mind.”
My heart hammers against my ribs, its echoes roaring in my ears. “What were you going to say?”
She clamps down on her lip. Tears glaze her cheeks. This room is suddenly too loud, too fucking quiet. “Nothing. I mean…”
Dammit! “Hannah, talk to me.”
“I don’t want to exist. I don’t think I need to.”
A sob rushes out, and I pull her against me. Tears soak through my shirt, searing their way to my heart. I’m no therapist. But the thought of a world without Hannah Drake is something I can’t handle. It forms a cavern in my gut, a void, as I hold onto this beautiful soul.
“Okay, well, I need you so we’re going to have to figure this out.”
Her head moves in disagreement against my chest, and I hold tighter.
“Think of how much easier your life would be without me,” she whispers, and I have to temper a spark of anger.
“No. You know that’s a lie. That’s not you talking and even if it was, you’d still be wrong. I fucked my life up so badly right now you’re the only thing I have left. I can be damn selfish, so we’re getting help. Real help.”
The slightest of smiles pokes through when her gaze arches to mine. “My viper, huh?”
“Damn straight. Get used to it.”
“You just need me for the female lead in your songs.”
“That’s not true. I need you for the harmonies too.”
Her soft laugh fills the void with a dull ache as she settles against me again. “Wow, you really are selfish.”
I kiss her hair. “Extremely.”
A hiss escapes when she takes my bad hand and examines it.
“So do I want to know what happened?”
“Probably not.”
She traces the skin around the purple ridges.
“I guess it’s too much to assume this is from defending yourself against Miranda’s wrath after you broke up with her?”
I let out a dry laugh. “She’s vicious, but pretty sure I could take her without a scratch. Well, maybe a scratch.”
I feel the disappointment seep from her chest into mine. “You should get that checked out. How did you even play?”
“It’s my pick hand. Anyway, I don’t think anything’s broken. The swelling has gone down.”
“At least it wasn’t from punching Luke again.” Her lips touch my bruises, and I close my eyes. Guilt maybe? I don’t know, but it sucks. Everything about this moment, this woman, so wrong and so incredibly perfect.
“A headboard.”
“Huh?”
“I fought a headboard.”
She laces her fingers with mine. “We’ll figure this out. Just don’t break your hand. Not a good solution for a musician.”
And that’s the moment I decide if I break my hand over anything, it will be making sure Hannah Drake finds her way back.
12: RENT
I don’t know much about mental illness and even less about searching for therapists. Fortunately, ignorance doesn’t have much of an effect on me. That fact gets me in trouble more often than not, but today it has me on my laptop running searches and making phone calls.
Dr. Marla Conner is accepting new clients and emerges as my first choice.
“What’s her approach?” Hannah continues studying the ceiling as I hover at her door with my notes.
“Her what?”
“Her therapy style. Psychoanalysis, cognitive, behavioral, holistic…?”
“Geez, I don’t know. But she’s within walking distance of my place and seemed like a cool person when I talked to her. She has a lot of experience working with depression.”
“I prefer cognitive therapy.”
“Right.” It sounds like an excuse to me, but I have no clue. “Maybe that’s what she does. Will you at least meet her? I told her you were free tomorrow at ten.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh really? Is that when Judge Hamilton’s on?”
“The previews looked really good.”
“Record it. You’re going.”
“I probably won’t like her.”
“Maybe not. I’m just asking you to meet her. Rent, babe, remember?”
“I hate you.”
“You and everyone else. You’re still going.”
∞∞∞
This isn’t the first time I’ve been in the waiting room of a counseling office. Not when you have demanding, authoritative parents who insist you’re mentally ill if you’d want to waste your life pursuing music. What they didn’t know was that they were paying for my therapist and me to figure out a way to navigate my situation.
Holland Drake and Dr. Gabriel Yates—the reasons I’m a successful rock star instead of a homeless ex-convict.
The white noise machine whispers beside me as I wait. Am I bored out of my mind? Hell yeah. But Hannah is worth it. It’s not hard to keep promises when it comes to that girl.
I insert my earbuds and replay some rough recordings on my phone. Old progressions I’ve been working on. Music that desperately needs lyrics, and my mind keeps drifting across the dated waiting room furniture to the closed door on my right.
Session in Progress
Session in progress. We’re all sessions in progress. Aspiring humans trying to survive a world that rarely gets better. Only we do.
Dr. Yates once told me that forgiveness is about the offended not the offender. He wanted me to let go of my anger so I could break free from the effects of my parents’ tyranny. I thought I had. My wall is strong, ironclad when it has to be, but maybe this thing with Holland, Luke, Miranda… maybe my session didn’t end as cleanly as I thought. Maybe my mess is still in progress.
Session in progress
The hardest journey we take
Raise a glass to the past, it’s the future we break
If all goes well or damns you to hell, it’s your story to own
So tell if you dare, to care about your mess, in progress.
Maybe, just maybe, this monumental implosion means my session has only begun.
∞∞∞
I recognize the look on Hannah’s face when she emerges from the office. I also get her silence on the walk back. I know better than to ask pointless questions like, “How did it go?” She doesn’t know the answer yet. You never do until these moments are reclassified as “hindsight” and you’re sitting in a waiting room reflecting on them while waiting for someone else.
What I do is buy her takeout she can eat on the couch while watching petty criminals face charges of vandalism and debt default. It makes her smile which makes me smile from my creepy vantage point in the kitchen.
“I don’t know how you can even watch that crap,” I call over to her.
“Why not? It’s hilarious.”
“Don’t you just want to punch your fist through the screen and sort everything out for those poor bastards?”
“Not even a little bit. Do you want to participate in singing competitions?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Exactly.”
I drop beside her and hand her a water bottle. “So what’s this chick’s problem?”
“She claims the defendant’s daughter caused damage to her car with her bike.”
“And?”
“The car is a fifteen-years-old wreck. No way she can prove it unless she has a video.”
“Does she?”
“No, but check out her outfit.”
“Is she wearing a toga?”
“People never know how to dress for court.”
I pop a dumpling in my mouth and pull out my buzzing phone.
Miranda.
I ignore the call.
“You need to break it off with her.”
I swallow my food slowly. “I know, but—”
“No, screw the consequences! This isn’t about me. It’s not even about Holland when it comes down to it. This is about you.”
“She could ruin Holland.”
“She won’t ruin Holland. My sister is a goddess. She has an entire team supporting her. She’ll recover. It’s you who will be left behind. You’ll be the one taking the hit for screwing up again and coming out the villain when this blows up.”
“Since when have I cared about being the bad guy? Isn’t that why you came to me in the first place?”
“You don’t, but that’s not what this is about.”
No way are we having this conversation. I start toward the kitchen.
“You’re clinging to the last strand of the status quo you have left,” she calls after me. “You’d rather sell your soul to Miranda than face the prospect of starting over. That’s what this is about.”
“Bullshit,” I fire back, fist clenched to keep it from slamming into the counter. “You honestly think I’m afraid of change?”
“No, I think you’re afraid of who you are without Holland.”
The guillotine drops. We stare at each other across the room. The compassionate look in her eyes is even worse than anger.
“You don’t even know who that is, do you?” she says softly.
Fuck this.
“I’m going to the gym.”
∞∞∞
I push myself hard, but my head is so jammed with shit right now I lose count of reps and inclines. What I need is escape, a mindless inferno that can consume the rage enough to think clearly for once. I need pain. Shaking limbs from overexertion and streams of sweat tracing every line of my body. I had a trainer once, but we butted heads over my aggressive workouts. It’s not good for your body to push so hard all the time.
So what? It’s good for my head, and probably my soul too if it tames my sins.
By the time I wrap, I can barely wipe the towel over my face. That’s when I know it’s safe to return to the nightmare that is my life.
I breathe in cold air as I exit the gym, and after a long walk, pick-up a snack at my favorite burger joint. I’m not hungry, but it feels wrong to return to the condo without a peace offering.
My grip tightens on the bag of food I brought the second I enter my condo. “Miranda?” I scan the space for Hannah but come up empty.
“Hannah let me in. She’s in her room.”
“What are you doing here? What about work?”
“I moved some things around.” She eyes my takeout bag like it’s a kilo of heroin. “You haven’t answered my calls or messages.”
“I was working out.”
Her gaze lingers too long on Hannah’s closed door.
“Know what I think?” Clearly, she doesn’t care because she keeps going. “I think you’re full of bullshit. I think you do have feelings for that princess in there.”
“Princess? Hannah is about as far from a princess as a woman can be.”
“You’re defending her?”
“Of course I am. She’s my friend.” So much for the soul-saving workout.
“Wow. This is…” Her hand rests on her forehead, scorned southern belle style. “Just… wow.”
I brush past her. “Why are you even here?”
“Pardon me?”
Her indignation pisses me off more. Hannah wanted a fan full of shit? Oh she’s getting it.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, showing up at my place whenever you feel like it? From day one, I’ve been up front with you. I told you we’re not together. And now, you’re what? Extorting me? Is this the only way you can get sex?”
She’s speechless, eyes growing wide enough to release the fury. “I sincerely hope there’s a good explanation for this outburst.”
I shake my head and drop the bag on the counter. “Miranda, this is my place, my life.”
She draws in a deep breath, and I can almost see the meditation steps cycling through her brain. “You’re obviously having a bad day. Let’s just go back to your room and work this out.” She tugs at the neckline of my shirt, but I pull away.
“Not happening.”
“I moved two meetings around to come see you.”
Is she for real? “Guess you wasted your time. Hannah, food’s here!”
Her sliver of the room boils. I swear she’s wheezing flames as she stomps forward and grabs my wrist. “I didn’t come all the way here for nothing!”
“Apparently you did.”
Her grip tightens. “You’re making a mistake. You know who I am.”
I yank my arm away. “Do whatever the hell you want. I’m done with your games,” I say, pulling food out of the bag.
“Is this really the choice you’re making?”
I glance over at the human lava pile. “Technically, it’s already been made. And you can save the ‘you’re going to regret this’ bullshit. I won’t. Not for a second.”
Miranda’s wrath focuses behind me, and I turn to see Hannah frozen in the hall.
“Hey, Han. Burgers okay? I got bacon and pepper jack for you.”
“Fuck you, Wes!” Miranda shrieks.
“Just get out of my house.”
The door slams behind her.
Hannah and I watch it rattle, and she clears her throat.
“You’ll probably have to get that fixed.”
∞∞∞
Hannah laughs through a mouthful of burger. “Man, when you dump someone, you dump them.”
“I’m not usually so brutal, but that woman…” I shudder.
“Woman? Is that what the kids are calling it?”
I snicker and slide off the island stool. “Want anything to drink?”
“Just water.”
I grab two bottles from the fridge.
“So now we wait, I guess,” she says, taking one from me.
“I guess.”
She stops and stares me down. “You did the right thing. You did the only thing.”
My nod is instinctive. I’ve given up trying to figure out what that is anymore. “She’s going to crucify me. You were right about everything you said last night. My life, who and what I am, it’s all about to be obliterated.”
“Probably.” She reaches for my hand.
13: CONSEQUENCES
We’re partway through a terrible gross-out comedy when my phone erupts again. I half-expect another furious message from Miranda, but it’s worse.
Jacob.
“I’ll be back,” I mutter to Hannah, and rise from the couch. “What’s up, man?” I say into the phone.
“You tell me.”
I glance toward the couch and retreat farther down the hall at the tension in his voice.
“Huh?”
“Let me read you a headline the Label just jammed down my throat. ‘Platinum-selling Canadian rock band calls it quits after ten years.’”
Oh shit.
“The Label is wondering why they’re the last to know. I just got off the phone with Holland and the funny thing is, it appears she’s actually the last to know. What the hell, Wes?”
“Wait, you think I—”
“‘I heard Wes discussing their issues with his manager. He sounded really tense,’ said Mr. Alton’s former girlfriend on the condition of anonymity. ‘I think something happened on their last tour to cause the split.’”
“That’s all bullshit, Jacob! You know that.”
“Do I? Who is this woman?”
“How can anyone even take this seriously? She wants to remain anonymous? What the hell is that?”
“It’s a tabloid. They sell stories, not truth.”
“Well, then we need to sue their asses. Along with Miranda, because it’s not true.”
“Miranda? Is that the ex-girlfriend?”
“She was never my girlfriend. I went out with her a few times. I barely knew her.”
“And she overheard a conversation with me?”
I lean my
head against the wall. “Yeah, maybe, I don’t know. I didn’t think she could hear me. Still, at no point did I say we were breaking up the band. Miranda made that up. I told her the opposite. That we were working it out.”
“Wait, so you had a highly controversial and private discussion in front of a stranger? And then elaborated on it?”
“It didn’t go down like that. Everyone was hounding me. You, Holland, I don’t know! I just answered the damn phone and next thing I know she’s stalking me.”
FUCK.
“Hold on, what? This woman was stalking you?”
“Look, never mind. I finally got rid of her and the leak is retaliation. Let’s just call PR and figure out how to fix this.”
The silence on the other end is not a good sign. Jacob only stops running his mouth for one reason. He’s too pissed to form words.
“It’s way past that, Wes. PR can’t fix your broken relationship with Holland. Like I said, I just got off the phone with her. This mess is exactly why she wants protections in place. You’ve pushed her to the edge. Sign the damn contract or she’s moving on.”
His side of the connection goes dead this time.
Worst part? I don’t disagree with a thing he said.
∞∞∞
It’s the day of role reversals. A tap on my bedroom door is followed by a “you okay?” and my brain scrambles for a believable lie. Sometimes the best lie is the truth.
“That was our manager.”
Hannah drops beside me and joins my staring contest with the floor.
“It sounded rough.”
“These walls, man. I need to get them soundproofed.”
“Or just stop accepting nosey strays into your place.”
“You’re the only one I accepted. Miranda forced her way in.”
Her weak smile doesn’t help. “So she got you in trouble? That was fast.”
“She got me in a shitload of trouble.”
“Like?”
“Like, telling the world Tracing Holland broke up.”
“Wow. I bet your Label isn’t happy.”
Viper (NSB Book 3) Page 11