Bittersweet Chronicles: Pax

by Selena Laurence

  Then I feel her hand on my back, just a whisper of a touch, and then another on my neck, and her fingers drift through the hair at my nape, sending little chills down my spine.

  “There’s this thing called compromise,” she whispers as she drags a finger along the stubble of my cheek.

  I turn my head so that more of my face is within her reach, craving any touch this girl is willing to give to me. “Yeah? How would that work?”

  Her fingers work their way farther into my hair, and then her palm cups the back of head as she applies pressure to get me to face her. With one hand still on my skull, she brings the other up to my cheek. I gaze into her velvety eyes, and for a moment, I can’t remember why we’re even here.

  “Take me with you,” she says.

  “What?” I give my head a small shake to reorient myself as heat travels down, down, down my body.

  “Take me with you on the jobs for Lagazo. Let me feel like I have some control over what happens. Don’t make me powerless like I was all those years with my father. I need to know what’s going on when you do this stuff. I need to feel like I have something to do with what happens out there. Please at least give me that.”

  I remember Carly when Lagazo kidnapped us. How determined she was even though she was also afraid. She stayed calm, she didn’t back down, she was patient, and she knew to keep her eyes and ears open. She’s street smart, even if she is young.

  I sigh, gazing down at her beautiful face. I know I’m in way over my head. With Lagazo, with my dad, and with Carly. I’ve never felt this way about a girl before. I don’t know what it will mean after all of this is over, but I can’t cloud my thinking with that now. I can only take things one step at a time.

  “Okay,” I finally concede. “You win. You can come with me on the jobs.”

  Her face breaks out into a grin, and she gives a little jump as she plants a loud, smacking kiss on my lips. I can’t help but chuckle as she does it. I think a reaction like that is part of why I’m so fascinated by her. Even with the strange life she’s had, there’s this unquenchable enthusiasm about her, and she can go from being angry to serious to cheerful in moments. Nothing could ever be boring with Carly around.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she says. “You’ll see. This will go so much better if you have me there. We’ll do this together. We’re a great team.”

  I smile and shake my head at her optimism. “I hope you’re right. If something happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself. And worse than that, Vaughn will take a chunk out of me.”

  She scoffs. “Please. Vaughn’s all bark. One time when we were kids, I broke his favorite scooter. He not only didn’t do anything to me afterwards, he even lied to his mom and took the blame for it.”

  “He’s not going to like this arrangement,” I tell her.

  “Well, it’s not up to him—even though he wants to think it is.”

  The man himself interrupts us then.

  “What the hell are you two doing out here?” he asks as he sticks his head out the door. “I have a beer waiting for you at the bar, dude.” He steps out and leans a shoulder against the doorframe, watching us. “Your little lover’s spat over?” He smirks.

  “Shut up,” Carly says, playfully pushing him.

  He doesn’t budge. Vaughn is lean, but tall, and Carly is kind of a runt.

  “You two are going to drive me nuts. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, man, that’s pretty much the intent,” I tell him as I give him a smack upside his head and open the door.

  Vaughn throws an arm around Carly’s neck and kisses her on the top of the head. “How many more weeks of you two do I have to endure?” he asks as she squirms in a weak attempt at escaping his embrace.

  We go back into Burn, and for the next few hours, we’re just three friends having a night out. It might be our last night like this for a long time.

  **

  The delivery van I’m supposed to drive is parked at an abandoned lot near the docks. The keys were left in my mailbox along with two addresses—one for where I pick up the van and one for where I leave it in Port Oasis. Vaughn and I head up during the day and leave his rental car at the drop-off so we can get home later tonight.

  When it’s dark, Carly, Vaughn, and I pile into my truck and drive to the abandoned lot, apprehension about what we’ll find in that van making the atmosphere tense. When we get there, I park next to the generic, white Ford with no rear windows.

  No one makes a move to get out yet.

  “You think it’s drugs?” Vaughn asks quietly. “Or stolen goods?”

  “I don’t know, man. At least this isn’t a border state, so we can rule out twenty-five illegal immigrants stuffed in the back starving or something.”

  Carly nudges me. “Not funny.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be,” I answer. I take a deep breath and release it. Sitting here won’t change what we have to do, and it won’t change whatever’s in the back of the van, so I open my door and tell them, “Let’s get this over with. The damn thing’s not going to drive itself to Port Oasis.”

  Vaughn gives one sharp nod and opens his door as well. Carly follows me out my side, and we meet Vaughn at the back of the van.

  “You want to know?” I ask, indicating the rear door with a tilt of my chin.

  “Yeah,” Vaughn says in a stronger voice. “Open ’er up.”

  I shove the key into the lock and turn the handle, wrenching both doors open at once. The lighting in the parking lot is almost nonexistent, but there’s a big moon out, so we can see outside pretty well. Inside the van, things are darker, and it takes a minute before my eyes adjust.

  Vaughn shoves his head in next to mine. Between the two of us we’re blocking Carly’s view, and that naturally frustrates her.

  “What is it?” she asks, jumping up and down behind us to look over our shoulders.

  I look at Vaughn, completely confused. “For real?” I ask.

  “What the hell?” he responds.

  “What is it?!” Carly jumps up again, trying to shove us apart.

  “Here. Take a look for yourself,” I say as I step to one side.

  She moves forward next to Vaughn and then stops. Her head tilts to one side and then the other as she processes it all.

  “You’re kidding.”

  I shrug as she glances at me.

  “That bastard,” she mutters.

  “The guy’s a lunatic,” Vaughn seconds.

  “Well, at least we don’t need to worry about getting pulled over by the cops,” I tell them.

  “He’s up to something,” Carly says. “There’s no way he’d send you all the way to Port Oasis with an empty van unless he had a reason.”

  “Well, I have no idea. I say we count our blessings, take this very empty van and get it to where it’s supposed to go.”

  We’re nearly to Port Oasis when my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and hand it to Carly.

  “Can you answer that?” I ask.

  “Hello. This is Pax’s phone,” she says after she slides her finger across the screen. “Yes, of course. He’s right here.” She holds the phone out in front of me. “It’s your mom,” she whispers.

  Vaughn reaches over Carly to grab the phone. “I’ll talk to her, man. You’re driving.”

  I nod in response. My mom loves Vaughn, so I’m happy to let him handle whatever she has going on.

  “Hey, Mrs. Clark, it’s Vaughn… Yeah, he’s here. He’s just driving. We’re on our way somewhere.” He grimaces at Carly and me. We both shrug. “What? You’re kidding. God, I’m so sorry.”

  His voice tells me that whatever my mom has told him isn’t good, and my heart races as I remember that the last time I was out on the highway in the dark, I thought I might lose my sister.

  “Is it Lyric?” I ask loudly, my hands tightening around the steering wheel.

  He shakes his head and holds up a finger to indicate he’ll be with me in a moment. “Yes. Yes. Okay. I’ll le
t him know. I understand. Tell Lyric we all love her. Goodnight.”

  Vaughn ends the call and I’m frantic with worry.

  “Maybe we ought to pull over, Pax,” he says as he sets the phone down on the dash.

  I swallow and nod, slowing down and pulling the van over onto the shoulder. I put the flashers on and turn to face him. Carly reaches for my hand and gives it a quick squeeze.

  “It’s Canuck,” he says, referring to my family’s ten-year-old chocolate lab I named after the Vancouver Canucks hockey team when I was twelve.

  “Oh man,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face as I feel my throat thicken. “That’s my dog,” I tell Carly when she looks at me. “Is he sick? Did they have to put him down or something?” I ask Vaughn.

  He sighs. “It’s worse than that, dude. Your dad found him this morning out in the yard. He was unconscious, foaming at the mouth. They took him in to the animal ER. They’ve been there with him all day. The vets tried all kinds of stuff to help him, but nothing was working, and your dad couldn’t stand to see him suffer any longer, so they put him down about two hours ago.”

  “God,” I say, my voice rough with pain. I lean my head against the window.

  “I’m so sorry,” Carly tells me as she holds my hand gently.

  “What the hell happened to him?” I ask. “A stroke or something?”

  Vaughn is silent for a moment as he gazes out the opposite side window.

  “Vaughn?” I ask, prompting him.

  He finally looks me in the eye. “He was poisoned, Pax. Someone poisoned Canuck.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. My family’s had two dogs in my life: Sailor, a chocolate lab my dad got right after my parents were married, and Canuck, the dog he got me after Sailor died of old age. Those two dogs were full-on members of our family. We bred Canuck when he was younger, and Uncle Joss and Aunt Mel adopted one of the puppies. Mike and Jenny adopted another. Canuck came to the beach house with us in the summer, and when my dad went on tour, the dog would often travel on the bus with the guys. He used to come to my hockey practices at the ice arena and was an unofficial mascot for my team.

  “Why?” I breathe out. “Why would anyone want to hurt Canuck?” My chest hurts and my eyes are stinging, but I can’t cry in front of Vaughn and Carly. I have some damn pride left.

  “I don’t know,” Vaughn says sadly. “There are some sick people out there, dude.”

  “How would anyone even get to him? Our property is secured. You can’t just wonder into our backyard, the neighborhood is gated, and there’s a security guard there twenty-four-seven. None of neighbors would ever hurt Canuck. Everyone knew him.”

  “I don’t know, Pax. Your mom said they’ve notified the authorities and the neighborhood security staff. Everyone’s going to be working to figure out what happened, but they don’t have any answers yet.”

  I lean my head back against the seat, and I’m hit square in the face with it again—I need to be with my family. I belong in Portland right now. I can’t believe this is happening and I’m not there to take care of them. What the hell kind of son and brother am I?

  Through the swirl of emotions I’m enduring, I feel Carly’s hand on my arm. Her fingers are soft and her touch is gentle. She strokes down to my hand, where she weaves her fingers between mine as my hand rests on the seat. She gives a small squeeze and I know she’s telling me that it’ll be okay. Without words, she tries to comfort me, and I can’t deny that I would feel even worse if she weren’t here with me right now. There is something very soothing about her touch.

  “You want me to drive the rest of the way? Maybe you can call them back?” Vaughn asks.

  I clear my throat and try to clear my head at the same time. “No. It’s all right. Let’s get this over with. I’ll check in with them later.”

  He nods, and I turn off the flashers, accelerating to pull back onto the highway. Before I do though, I turn to look at Carly. I give her hand a squeeze before I move it away to the steering wheel, and I mouth, “Thank you,” at the same time. She gives me a smile that is the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen on a girl, and my poor, aching heart trips a beat. So much bad and so much good at once. It’s hard to hold it all in one place.

  When we arrive at the nightclub in Port Oasis where we’re supposed to drop the van, I’m surprised to find Lagazo himself waiting for us next to Vaughn’s rental car.

  “You’re late,” he announces without preamble when we exit the van.

  “Had to take an important call on the way up. You wouldn’t want me driving and talking, would you?” I snark. I’m heartsick and in no mood for Lagazo’s hazing.

  He looks at me sharply. “Oh yeah? What could be so important you’d risk our little arrangement?”

  “None of your damn business,” Vaughn speaks up. He’s apparently not in a much better mood than I am. “He delivered your van, so unless you’ve got another job for him tonight, we’re taking off.” He takes Carly by the elbow and guides her toward the car.

  I can see by the way her lips press together that she doesn’t like it.

  Lagazo gives Vaughn a wicked grin before he turns to me. “Nicky says you played real good the other night at Burn.”

  I raise an eyebrow and don’t respond.

  “Says you played one of my favorites—‘As Lush As It Gets.’ I’ve always loved that one. Kind of old shit for a kid like you to play though.”

  I see Vaughn shoot me a look of concern. Carly is standing at the car, her arms crossed, glaring at Lagazo. There’s a sound of sirens wailing in the distance and it seems to distract Lagazo from whatever path he was heading down. He glances over to where his car and driver are waiting.

  “Be at the warehouse on dock nine Tuesday at seven p.m.,” he says to me. “You get a few days off. Enjoy them.” Then he turns on his heel and strides back to his car, leaving the van sitting where I parked it, not seeming the least bit concerned about it.

  It isn’t until we’re pulling out of the parking lot, Vaughn driving and me sitting shotgun, that I glance in the side-view mirror. I see Nicky exit Lagazo’s car as it continues to idle in the parking lot. He walks to the van and reaches under the rear bumper. When he stands, he’s holding a package the size of a shoebox in his hand and I realize that we most likely just transported drugs for Lagazo. My stomach churns and I close my eyes, leaning back into the seat, disgusted with myself—and with the world in general.

  **

  Over the next week, I spend all of my time doing things for Lagazo and performing. Every performance I do, either Nicky or one of Lagazo’s other guys shows up. Meanwhile, the jobs he has me do are bullshit. Things like working the door at his strip club when someone calls in sick, delivering paperwork to his accountant, picking up loads of liquor for a bar he owns downtown. I should be happy that it doesn’t seem like he’s all that interested in having me involved in the less legal aspects of his business, but I get the sense that he’s making stuff up to keep me on the hook. Carly comes along each time and seems just as confused by his motivations as I am.

  I text my family about Canuck, but I don’t call. I can’t. I’m sure they think I don’t care enough to be bothered. But the truth is I care too much. I know that, if I hear their voices and their heartbreak, I’ll be on the next plane out of here, and I can’t do that. Because not only do I need to help Carly, but Blake has scheduled a meeting for me with a club owner up in Birmingham. The guy has two of the biggest live-music venues in Alabama, and he’s heard a demo Blake sent him. He’s interested, and it would be a big deal for me—the kind of thing that could get me noticed by a regional label that might be willing to sign me. There are several decent-sized labels in the South with national distribution. You put out a hit single with one of them and you’re liable to get an offer from a heavy hitter in New York or L.A. next.

  Knowing this—that I could be on the edge of a big step toward my dream—I can’t risk slipping up. I said that I wouldn’t go back to Portland unt
il I was a success, and if I get signed by a label, I could go home with a contract in hand, money in my pocket, and the knowledge that I did it all myself. Every. Single. Thing.

  So I do what I’ve been doing for two long years—I put Portland and everyone I love there into a box in my mind. I shut it tight and try to make it through each day alone. Except, for the first time in a long time, I’m not so alone. I have Vaughn, a little taste of home, and I have Carly, a little taste of heaven.

  Carly and I have been growing closer each day. Vaughn spends most of his days in Birmingham at the recording studio there. He’s always back in the evenings, but the task of making sure Carly is safe getting to and from classes is left to me, and I can’t say that I mind at all.

  I realize I’m using my time with her as a distraction from all the other stuff that’s going on. It’s easy to lose myself in her and her world. I drive her to campus, hold her hand, and walk her to class like a love-struck high school kid. Then we spend hours just hanging out on the beach or watching movies at my place. She loves slapstick comedies and cheesy Samurai movies. I think she might be the coolest girl I’ve ever known.

  “You seriously want to watch Revenge of the Shogun with me?” I ask one night as we both settle into the sofa, chocolate chip cookies and popcorn close at hand.

  “It’s a freaking classic!” she says reprovingly. “Why would I not want to watch it?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer, watching the way her eyelashes float up and down as she takes a bite of cookie and savors it. “There just aren’t many girls who are into Samurai movies.”

  “There aren’t many girls who were raised by a compulsive gambling father who once had to hide out in our apartment for three straight days with all the lights out and the phone off, and the only entertainment was a weekend-long Samurai movie fest at Movies Online.”

  I stare at her. She has a funny little smile on her face, but her eyes aren’t laughing at all. They’re daring me to challenge it, to turn her interpretation of the story into what it really is—a tragedy.

  “A weekend-long Samurai fest?”

  She nods, her smile more assured now and the subtle scent of chocolate drifting through the air between us. “It was the only account he’d paid the bill for that month, so if we wanted to watch something, it had to be at Movies Online. And that weekend, he was hiding out from Ricky Fortier over a twenty-grand tab he’d racked up at Saucy’s, so he couldn’t set foot out of the apartment, or turn on any of the lights, or answer the phone. Three straight days of corn dogs and Samurai movies.” She shrugs.