She thumbs at the door. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to get myself a front-row seat.”
Ronni stomps over. “Are you back for good or are you going to quit every time you get your period?”
My mouth hangs open.
“Ignore her,” Crew says, tugging on my elbow until we find an empty corner.
I look around to make sure nobody is listening. “I don’t want you to think … I’m not back beca—”
“You’re back for the band, not me.” Disappointment momentarily flashes in his eyes. “Listen, I’m just glad you’re back.” He touches my hand and a pang of want surges through me.
“Me too.”
“You ready for this?” Garrett asks.
I nod. “I’m more than ready. I’m sorry I left you in the lurch.”
“You’re back now, that’s all that matters.” He squeezes my shoulders. “We missed you, girl.”
“I missed you, too. A lot.”
Ronni stalks to the door in a huff. “No point in my staying now.”
God, she is such a bitch.
“I’ll be out of town for about a week,” she says. “Niles has me scouting a new group in DC.” She shoots me a look. “Hopefully the band will still be intact when I get back. We’ve got SummerStage coming up.”
Jeremy puts a fatherly hand on my shoulder as he responds to her. “Everything will be fine, Ronni. Things are back to normal. We’re all good.”
She turns up her nose and leaves.
I used to believe Jeremy was the bad one. He’s an angel to work with compared to the catty Veronica. I wonder what they said to each other a few minutes ago. Because, suddenly Jeremy is on our side, not hers.
Jeremy checks his watch. “See you out there. Have a good show.” He points to me. “That means you, too, Bria.”
He called me Bria! I cock my head at him, and he winks.
“Bring it in!” Garrett shouts.
As we gather in a circle, there is a twinge in my stomach. Did they do this with Tiffani?
Crew sees my hesitation and elbows me in the ribs. “We wouldn’t do this with anyone but you.”
I smile big. He counts us down, and we all yell, “Let’s get Reckless!”
For the next few hours, I float on air. How did I ever think I could live without this? The energy between Crew and me is as good as ever. Maybe we can do this and not be a couple, if it comes to that.
His eyes burn into mine when he sings.
Please don’t let it come to that.
After the show, we go out front for a drink. I’m nervous. I know what happens after we play. People come up to us. To me. Men mostly. And Crew usually runs them off.
I stiffen, waiting for it to happen, but before anyone can get to us, Brett finds me and gives me a hug. “You were fantastic.” He looks at the others. “All of you. Man, you’ve really got something.”
A few men who looked like they were going to approach back away. I laugh, wondering if they saw Brett and thought twice about it. My brother can be intimidating. His arms are as big as my thighs. He towers over me by almost a foot. Crew watches the men retreat. He looks deep in thought. I’m grateful that Brett’s here. Maybe he should come to every show.
“I ordered drinks for everyone,” Brett says.
Jeremy finds us and says he’s taking off after Bruce gets our equipment loaded. The rest of us sit around a table, Brett and Crew flanking me.
“I’m glad you’re all here,” Crew says. “I need to talk to you about something.” Brett tries to get up, but Crew stops him. “This includes you. Sit.”
“What’s this all about?”
You could knock me over with a feather when, right here in the nightclub as we drink whiskey shooters and beer, Crew tells my brother and all the band members what happened to Abby. He doesn’t give them the details, saying only that she was kidnapped and died as a result, and that’s why he acts the way he does.
Garrett and Brad don’t know what to say, but it’s obvious none of this is news to Liam. Makes sense. They grew up together. Brett isn’t surprised either. I told him everything this morning when he got off shift. I think it’s one of the reasons he pushed me to come tonight. Brett has seen a lot of messed up stuff over the years because of his job, and he has a soft spot for survivors.
“Shit, Crew,” Garrett says. “That’s messed up. I’m sorry, brother.”
Brad nods. “Same. I mean … damn.”
“I didn’t share this with you so you’d feel sorry for me. I want you to help me get out of my head when things happen.”
“What kind of things?” Brad asks.
“Like when strangers come up and talk to Bria, you can keep me from losing my shit. My therapist said I need to rely on those closest to me to help.”
I put my hand on his, but then quickly take it away, remembering we aren’t a couple. “You’re seeing a therapist? Since when?”
“Since today. I found one who took emergency weekend appointments.”
I look at him through narrow eyes. “You’re serious about this?”
“Whatever it takes,” he says evenly.
“How can we help?” Garrett asks.
Crew snorts. “I haven’t exactly gotten that far. I’ve only had one appointment. But I was thinking you could warn me when I get too protective of her.”
Brett clears his throat. “As the big brother, I’m not opposed to you being a little protective.”
Crew laughs. He’s laughing about this. I have to believe that’s a step in the right direction. “Yeah, but I need to know when I cross the line between being a little protective and batshit crazy.”
“How do we do that?” Brad asks.
Garrett slaps the table. “We should have a safeword.”
Everyone looks at him like he’s lost it.
“You know, a safeword,” he says. “Like when you want to do a chick in the ass, but she doesn’t want to, so she yells ‘pineapple’ or some shit like that.”
The five of us simultaneously break into laughter. Oh, how I love being back with them.
“Or,” Crew says, when the merriment abates, “you could just tell me I’m crossing a line.”
“Fuck that,” Liam says. “I’m going with ‘pineapple’.”
I’m having so much fun that I don’t want to leave, but Brett just got off a twenty-four-hour shift. He needs his sleep. When we get up to go, Crew corners me. “I’m glad you’re back.”
I smile. “I’m glad too.” I kiss him on the cheek, because that’s what friends do. Don’t they?
“Text me so I know you got home?” he asks sheepishly.
I contemplate telling him that’s what a boyfriend asks his girlfriend, and I’m not his girlfriend anymore. At least I don’t think I am. It’s all very shades-of-gray at this point. But he’s taken many important steps in the last day, and it’s the least I can do for his peace of mind.
“I can do that.”
Chapter Forty-four
Crew
After rehearsal, Bria shows us lyrics she’s been working on.
“Damn, these are good,” Garrett says. “Maybe you two should break up more often.”
Liam hits him on the back of the head.
“Too soon?”
Liam swipes the notebook from Garrett and studies her songs. “Garrett’s right. These lyrics are good. I wish I could get out of this slump I’m in and write some goddamn music for them.”
“It’ll happen,” Bria says. “You’re waiting for your inspiration.”
She looks at me like I’m her inspiration. God, I hope so.
“I’ve never needed inspiration in the past,” he says. “Shit always just comes to me. It’s kind of a gift.”
“But apparently not the kind that keeps on giving,” Brad says.
Liam broods. “Shut up.”
We turn off the amps and clean up our mess. Nobody turned on the radio, and I realize how quiet it is. “You guys hear that?”
They stiffen and li
sten. “Hear what?” Liam asks.
“The sweet sound of silence. Of Ronni not breathing down our necks, and Jeremy not being her little bitch.”
“I don’t know,” Bria says. “I think Jeremy is coming around.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“He called me Bria. He hasn’t done that since we signed with IRL. I think he and Ronni had it out Saturday night. Maybe he’s getting as tired of her crap as we are.”
“If only,” Garrett says. “It’d be nice to have him on our side.”
The barn door opens, and Dirk walks in. Liam beelines over to him. “I thought I told you to leave us alone.”
Dirk laughs smugly. “As this is my property, it’s within my rights to tell you to go fuck yourself. But I won’t because I’m not as rude as you are.”
“What do you want?” Liam asks.
“It’s your mother. She’s piss drunk. Must be a record, as it’s barely noon. The housekeeper got her into bed after she vomited in the hallway, but you’ll probably want to monitor her. Make sure she doesn’t choke in her sleep or something.”
Liam abruptly checks his phone. “Oh, shit, today is—” He turns. “I gotta bolt.”
As he runs out the door, Dirk yells after him. “You’re welcome!” He lowers his voice. “Little shit doesn’t appreciate a goddamn thing I do for him.”
After he leaves, I rack my brain. Oh, Jesus. I feel like a douche of a friend. With everything else on my mind, I totally forgot what this day means to Liam. Then again, he did too. I quickly get out my phone and text him.
Me: I’ll bring the whiskey. See you around nine?
Liam: Thanks, bro.
Every year on this day, Liam and I get shitfaced. It’s a tradition neither of us particularly enjoy, but it’s his way of dealing. I have my own ways. I glance at Bria. Ways I hope to change.
Starting now.
I follow her outside, catching her before she leaves. “Are you free this afternoon? There’s someplace I want to take you.”
Her face falls. She thinks I’m asking her out.
“It’s not what you think. I have another appointment with the psychiatrist. On Saturday she said it might be helpful if you came to a session.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the reason I’m there.” She cringes, and I backtrack. “You’re the reason I wanted to get better. I’m doing this for you.”
Her expression softens. “I hope you’re also doing it for yourself, Crew.”
“Will you come? Please?”
She leans against her car and thinks about it, then she nods.
“Great. Give me a sec to get my things.”
Bria follows me into the heart of Stamford in her car. She said it would make it easier to leave from there. The truth is she didn’t want to sit in the car with me. She’s back with the band, she’s singing with me, but she’s making every effort to stay away from me when the music stops. My gut tells me she’s giving me space. I hope I’m right, because if she’s pulling away, I would be losing one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.
We sit in the reception area in silence, both of us fiddling on our phones. I hope this wasn’t a bad idea.
We get called back.
“Dr. Hardy, this is Bria.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Dr. Hardy says. “Please, have a seat on the couch.”
I sit on one end. I expect Bria to sit on the other, but she settles on the middle cushion. Not close enough for us to be touching, but close enough to send a message. To whom, I’m not sure.
“What brings you here today, Bria?” she asks.
“Crew asked me to come.”
Dr. Hardy jots something in her folder.
Bria asks, “What are you writing? That I called him Crew? You think I should call him Chris, don’t you? I do sometimes.”
“No, Bria, that’s not what I was writing. Crew is his nickname. It’s perfectly acceptable for you to call him that. Back to my question: I know you’re here because Chris asked you, but why did you come?”
Bria shrugs. “If he thinks I can help in some way, that’s good, right?”
“What do you think he needs help with?”
Bria looks at me like she doesn’t know what she can say. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “Dr. Hardy knows everything.”
“He needs help getting over losing Abby and the baby. Maybe that will help make him less overprotective. My brother, Brett, said he’s probably got PTSD.”
“Chris, how do you feel about Bria discussing this with her brother?”
“I’m okay with it. I told Brett and the rest of the band Saturday night.”
“What did you tell them?”
“About Abby and the baby. No details, just generalizations.”
Dr. Hardy makes notes. “That’s good progress. Talking about it with those close to you is a big part of recovery.” She looks at Bria. “I’m not sure Chris has PTSD, however.”
“He doesn’t?”
“He tells me he seldom has nightmares about them anymore. As with any trauma, it’s normal to experience intrusive memories, flashbacks and bad dreams after the event, but that decreases over time. What seems to be happening with Chris is that, like most people, he experienced a combination of rage and grief, along with feeling powerless. Those emotions are difficult to overcome, particularly for men.”
“And that’s not PTSD?”
“I don’t believe so. Chris is dealing with behavioral patterns that are rooted in the trauma he experienced. He told me about the overprotective behavior that led to your leaving him and the band. This behavior is born of his belief that the world is a dangerous place, and no one can be trusted. His confrontational response suggests an increase of aggression toward others, which is another trauma-based behavioral feature.”
Bria turns to me. “Does that mean you don’t trust me?”
“Of course I trust you.”
“He does but he doesn’t,” Dr. Hardy says. “For the most part, he doesn’t trust other men, but on some level he doesn’t trust you to take care of yourself either.”
Bria sighs, nodding. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“Chris can’t control everything and that leads to a lack of trust in himself.”
“So what can we do?” Bria asks. “What can I do?”
“A lot of things. We will work on increasing his feelings of safety and security by establishing structures and routines to make his days seem more secure and predictable. This can make him feel more in control. He can also spend time doing activities he likes and excels at, improving self-confidence.”
Bria smiles. “He already does that. The structure thing I’m not so sure of. We’re in a band. Our schedule changes weekly, sometimes daily. The biggest trigger, I’d guess you’d call it, is when men recognize me and want to chat. How can we control that without quitting the band?”
Dr. Hardy nods thoughtfully. “That certainly makes things more difficult but not impossible. Chris, you say you’re close with your bandmates. That’s good. Spending time with people you trust is important. We’ll work on reviewing your traumatic event and exploring the disoriented thinking that resulted from it. You may have unresolved feelings of guilt over their deaths. You may even still be angry at Abby for leaving.”
“Angry at Abby?” Bria says. “Why would he be angry with her? It wasn’t her fault.”
“It’s perfectly natural to be angry at people who have died and left us. On a deep, unconscious level, we may even blame them for vanishing from our lives.”
Bria looks sad.
“What is it?” Dr. Hardy asks.
“Sometimes I still get mad at my mom,” she says. “She died when I was little. I don’t even remember her, but I’m embarrassed to say I often get angry at her for making me grow up without a mother.”
Dr. Hardy offers a sympathetic smile. “It’s normal to feel angry. Don’t beat yourself up about how you feel. It’s part of the process.”
“So
he needs to forgive Abby for leaving him?”
“Perhaps. Chris, would you like to share what you’ve been doing as part of that process?”
Dr. Hardy asked me to bring my notebook to appointments, since my feelings are bottled up inside it. “I’ve been writing one song for a long time, and I finally finished it yesterday.”
Dr. Hardy looks pleased. “That’s wonderful. You must feel relieved to have finished it after all this time.”
“I wanted to finish it before …” I look at the calendar on the wall.
She says, “Would you like to tell Bria what tomorrow is?”
“It’s Abby’s birthday.” I swallow. “She would have been twenty-five.”
Bria’s eyes fill with tears. “That’s also the day they found them.”
I nod.
“I know the song is intensely private,” the doctor says, “and we’ll respect your decision if you choose not to, but it might help to share the song with Bria. It could help her understand your grief, your helplessness.”
I stare at the notebook.
“You don’t have to,” Bria says to me. “I know how uncomfortable that can be.”
Seconds of silence—maybe minutes—pass. “You can read it.” I flip through the pages until I find it, the memory of finishing the song still raw. I hand it to her. The lyrics are burned into my mind. I close my eyes and see them in my head.
Can you see me, can you hear me
From wherever you are now
If I tell you where my heart is
Is it like a broken vow
Though a piece of me stays with you
As I leave you in the ground
I’ll cherish you for always
My love for you profound.
Promises were made, now I turn a different way
Letting go is a fatal blow, but I’ll get through it somehow
I’m letting go
It’s time to grow
I’m letting go right now
So goodbye I say forever
As I put you in the past
You’ll be gone but not forgotten
Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series) Page 27