by Andrea Smith
Nothing would stop me from this tour, and I’d do anything I needed to do to get Ace back in the fold.
Anything.
Chapter 6
“I still don’t see why I can’t go with you guys,” Stacie whined as I folded the clothes I just pulled out of the dryer and dumped onto the kitchen table. Something her lazy ass could have done since I’d been working with Coop all day on another song for the tour, which started next week.
And yeah, I’d moved Stacie into the trailer with me. That was part of the deal to keep Ace in the group. We’d had a talk, and yeah, he’d been pissed, but mostly I think it was because his parents had laid all of the blame for Stacie’s condition on him and Katie.
“Dude,” Ace had finally said, “I know my little sister can be a piece of work, trust me, I’m not ignorant. But I can tell you this: when Katie turned up pregnant, I did right by her. And yes, if I’m being totally honest, she got knocked up the first time we had sex. We’d only gone out a couple of times in high school. So, I’m not completely clueless about this shit. But the truth is, Katie and I actually love each other, maybe not at first, but now for sure. I’m not saying that will happen with you and my sister - in fact, I’m sure it won’t,” he continued, “But no matter what, I love Andrew beyond anything I ever could’ve imagined. So, if that baby is yours, don’t deny yourself that chance to be a real dad. I fucking guarantee you, Emmett, it will be worth any of the shit Stacie dishes out until then.”
His words came back to me, and yeah, he was right. Especially about the shit Stacie had been dishing out. But she needed to be reminded of her place, and I had no problem doing that.
“Listen, Stacie,” I replied, once again stating the obvious. “You and me,” I emphasized those words by waving my finger between the two of us, “are not a couple. And even if we were a couple, I still wouldn’t be taking you along on this tour. You’re pregnant. You’re taking classes for your G.E.D., which is important if you ever hope to be self-sufficient. I’ve agreed to support you and the baby–”
She cut me off with a nasty, “Your baby,” she clarified, giving me a nasty glare. “And between you and it, my teenage years are fucked forever!”
I acted as if I hadn’t heard her. “As I was saying, I’ve agreed to support the baby, but that will need to be verified with a paternity test at some point. Now you know as well as I do what the deal is here. I’m stepping up to the plate, doing my part, for now, so don’t press your luck with me, got it?”
She stalked over to where I was standing, and raised her arm, getting ready to pound her fist against my chest like she’d done before when I’d been forced to reiterate our situation.
My reflexes were impeccable, and I caught her by the forearm mid-swing. “Stop it, you asshole!” she yelled, giving the inhabitants of the nearby mobile homes full audio of yet another one of her hissy fits. It was early June, and of course, everyone’s windows were open, or they were sitting out on their porches or decks. The little bitch just loved racking up the dirty looks I’d get from nosy neighbors as I came and went from my own home.
I was sick of her tantrums. Maybe her pregnancy hormones were raging evil, I wasn’t sure because this was indeed the first, and most likely last time I’d be sharing my home with a pregnant she-bitch like Stacie.
I went back to the folding, ignoring her muttered barbs. “Seems to me you have enough fucking money to get new ink,” she snarled, pointing an accusatory finger at me as if I needed to answer to her for anything. So yeah, I’d gotten some new tats, what of it? I made money; I had every right to spend it, however I wanted.
I put her folded clothes into the laundry basket and started on mine. “Would you mind taking these to your room and putting them away?” I asked in a calm, measured voice. “And bring the basket back so I can put the rest of my clothes in there for my room.”
“Your room, my room, how fucking cozy is that?” she spat, picking up the basket and heading down the hallway, running her mouth the whole way. “Some rockstar stud–Not! Why don’t you get your fucking dick tattooed?”
How do you know I didn’t, you crazy bitch?
Ten minutes later, she stomped back into the kitchen, tossing the empty laundry basket next to the table. I was standing at the stove, where I’d dumped a large can of beef stew into a saucepan, stirring it as it heated up for our supper.
“Emmett,” she whined softly, coming closer to me, painting a shy smile on her face, “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know?” she crooned. “I mean, we can have some fun once in a while, can’t we?” She ended the sentence with a purr as she palmed my junk outside my jeans.
Her mood swings were starting to give me vertigo.
“Babe, it appears to me that you had your fun three and a half months ago. I, on the other hand, apparently slept through it.”
The smile on her ‘come fuck me’ face morphed into a mask of rage. “You bastard!” she shrieked, her fingers squeezing my balls in anger. “You were wasted, and not all that good in the sack anyway!”
I pushed away from her. “Then it seems that neither one of us will miss the fucking,” I replied.
I pulled a can of refrigerated biscuits out. “Here,” I said, handing it to her, where she was still pouting, “make yourself useful in the kitchen.”
She slammed the can against the corner of the countertop, all the while watching me with narrowed eyes as the cardboard split with a loud “pop” followed by the dough oozing out.
“Good job,” I commented, pulling out a baking sheet and placing it on the counter.
“Just so you know, I was pretending that was something else,” she responded, her voice dripping with venom.
“Whatever works.”
All through supper, Stacie complained about the beef stew tasting like canned dog food, and the bottoms of the biscuits being burnt like charcoal. I finally had enough.
“Listen,” I said sharply, “Feel free to cook and clean up around here. You’re going to have to fend for yourself anyway once I leave. I don’t dig the thought of coming back to filth.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait,” she deadpanned. “You’re gonna leave some money, right? I’m going to be needing some bigger clothes here soon. And I’d kind of like to get some things for the baby, too.”
I felt a tug of guilt at that moment, thinking about the situation she was in which might be because of me. It couldn’t be easy for her. As much as I resented the situation, I needed to chill and try to put myself in her position, as difficult as that was for me.
I went to my room and got out the locked metal box I kept on my closet shelf. Yeah, I had trust issues, no doubt. I unlocked the box and pulled out a wad of bills, counting out five hundred bucks. That should see her through for the first couple of weeks. I’d send money orders once we got paid for a gig.
Returning to the living room, I saw that she was clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. There was a first time for everything. “Here you go, Stacie,” I said, putting the money on the counter. I’ll send you some money orders while I’m on the road. You have the keys to the truck to get to and from wherever you need to go.”
She nodded, counting the money out. “Thanks, Emmett,” she said softly. “I’ll make sure I spend this wisely. And don’t worry, I’ll keep the place nice and clean.”
I cocked a brow, wondering where her sudden complacency had been hiding. She was a walking kaleidoscope of moods. And I didn’t know her well enough to determine whether she was always this way, or if wacky hormones were at play. Either way, I would be glad to get some respite from it and her. Our tour date couldn’t come fast enough to suit me.
Chapter 7
One month later…
My ass was dragging as we finished loading up our equipment in the box truck we’d leased for the tour. Slade and Wayne rode in the truck; Ace and I rolled with Coop since his van had plenty of room to stretch out. We had a six-hour drive back to Fo
rt Wayne, where we had two weeks off before the rest of the summer gigs started back up.
Wasted had been booked for five nights a week for the past four, in seven different cities. The venues weren’t huge, but we’d done alright, drawing in a following. We’d already attracted a few groupie chicks, but I’d made my mind up I was staying clean and mostly sober while on tour. This was just the beginning for us, and I wanted to go much farther up the ladder with our music.
Katie had made it to one of our gigs in Peoria, leaving their three-year-old son, Andrew, with Stacie, who reportedly kept the place livable. I knew Katie wouldn’t leave the kid anywhere that wasn’t up to her standards.
She and Ace lived in a rough area of Fort Wayne, but their apartment was always neat and clean. She seemed to be an okay wife and mother.
Ace had taken the wheel, and Coop and I were working on a new piece. We had the melody down pat, but we couldn’t get the harmony into a smooth pitch.
“Let me play around with the music once I get home,” Coop said, after we’d reached a new level of frustration. “What about the lyrics? How are you coming on those?”
I picked up my guitar, and plucked the strings to the tune which needed a harmony, and softly sang the lyrics of my latest song, Raging Heart:
Words that drift in and out;
Promises that never count.
Hate that starves this raging heart;
Finish what we’ll never start.
It’s love, it’s hate,
No stopping our fate.
Pennies in the wishing well;
Dreams extinguished by this hell.
Tell me when you’ll set me free;
Toxic madness is all I see.
It’s love, it’s hate,
No stopping our fate.
Once the deed was said and done,
Fingers point to the guilty one.
From here I see my destiny,
The hangman grants me clemency.
It’s love, it’s hate,
No stopping our fate.
Watching you with clouded eyes,
Your future drowning in her lies.
What’s to keep you here with me?
The phantom love we never see.
It’s love, it’s hate
Together our fate.
“Wow,” Ace said from the driver’s seat. “That’s some inspired shit, Emmett. Anybody I know?”
I kicked the back of his seat with my foot. “Don’t read too much into it, brother. It’s just a song.”
“Kind of a dark one,” he continued, catching my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Hope it’s nothing prophetic. But in all seriousness, brother, a female vocalist for that tune would make it epic. Just my opinion.”
I gave it some thought, and actually, I couldn’t disagree with Ace. “You got anyone in mind, Ace?”
As if on cue, my cell chimed.
Stacie.
She’d been pretty good about not bugging me this past month. There were only a few calls here and there to ask when the money order would be coming or tell me I needed to look at the dryer when I got home because it was making a loud, squeaky noise.
“Yeah,” I answered, “What’s up?”
“Emmett, when are you getting in?” she asked, sounding excited and bubbly.
“It’ll be past midnight. Is anything wrong?”
“No, no - I just wanted to make sure you’d be back before tomorrow at ten. I have an appointment with my obstetrician, and I was hoping you could go with me. They’re gonna do an ultrasound. We’ll find out the sex of the baby!”
She wanted me to be excited about this. But it would have been a lie. The truth was, it didn’t matter to me if it was a boy or a girl. I couldn’t see myself as a loving father. Not in these circumstances. But I’d committed to supporting her, and the great unsaid was that after the baby was born, a paternity test would be done. There was no way I would make a lifetime commitment to a kid who wasn’t mine.
“Sure, yeah, I’ll be able to do that,” I replied. “See you in the morning.”
I remained silent for the remainder of the trip home, feigning sleep, but my mind was far from resting.
Shit was getting real as of tomorrow at ten a.m. I was going with Stacie to her doctor. I would listen to the baby’s heartbeat, and probably see some blurry outline of it on the ultrasound. I would even learn the gender of this mystery baby. Sorry, it was still surreal for me. I just couldn’t refer to it as ‘my’ baby because I wasn’t sure that was true. Time would tell, but I wasn’t going to get emotionally invested until that part of the equation was solved.
Going home wasn't like it used to be. My home seemed less welcoming ever since Stacie Coulter had moved in. It wasn’t like it was cramped because I was hardly there, but I avoided it even before we started the tour because she was there. She was a constant reminder that my life was about to change forever, and my dreams would be put on hold temporarily, or worst-case scenario, indefinitely.
It was close to one a.m. when I hauled my shit into my home, dumping it on the living room floor. Stacie had left a lamp on, and as I gazed around, I saw that she had kept the place neat and clean.
I took a quick shower and then hit the sheets. As I pulled the covers back on my bed, I saw that she’d left me a note.
Welcome home! I’ll wake you at nine if you’re not up before then. Sleep tight. - S.
What the hell is that about?
Chapter 8
I woke to the smell of bacon, coffee and the sun shining through the blinds of my room. It was a little after eight and I realized how much I’d missed the comfort of my own bed.
I raked a hand through my disheveled mop of hair, and threw the covers back. I’d set my window air conditioner on high last night, the mid-July heat and humidity was a bitch, and now my room was downright cold enough that even my morning wood was laying low.
I got my ass out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a piss. I could actually hear Stacie humming in the kitchen as the sound of sizzling bacon, and the hum of a whisk drifted to my ears.
Well, this is new.
After I washed up, I returned to my room and found a T-shirt to wear as I headed out to the kitchen. I was actually starved and recalled we were in such a hurry to get back to Fort Wayne, we hadn’t stopped for dinner.
“Hey there,” Stacie greeted me with a big ole smile as I entered the living area. “I’ve got your breakfast just about ready. Hungry?”
“Famished,” I replied looking at the table where she had plates, utensils, coffee mugs and napkins set out. “What’s all this?” I asked, cocking a suspicious brow at her. And as she stepped away from the stove, I could see her obvious baby bump protruding from her once flat tummy.
This is fucking real.
“Oh Emmett,” she giggled, “It’s called me cooking you breakfast. I figure you’re worn out from the tour, and I just wanted to show you my appreciation for sending me money; and you know, looking after me in my delicate condition and all.”
I watched as she set a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table. “Go on now, sit down and eat. I’ll get your coffee.”
Well, apparently Stacie’s pregnancy hormones had taken a positive turn. I could only hope it lasted until she pushed out the mystery baby.
I knew better than to push my luck, and yet I did. “So, what the hell’s gotten into you?” I asked, as she filled my coffee mug.
“What do you mean?” she asked going back to the coffeemaker and setting the carafe back on the warmer.
“I mean what’s with the Suzy Homemaker bit?” I replied, putting a forkful of eggs into my mouth and watching as she came around the kitchen island, her eyes now tearing up. A sniffle escaped, and then another.
“I… I just can’t win with you can I Emmett?” she sobbed. “I didn’t bug you on your tour, kept the place clean, and made you breakfast… and what? You think I�
�m trying to pull something over on you, is that it? That’s just so fucked up, even for you!”
She was downright wailing now and I felt like a shit. “Look,” I sighed, letting my fork drop to my plate, “All I’m saying–”
“I know what you’re saying! You always think people have ulterior motives, especially me! And no matter what I do, I’ll just never be what you want, will I?”
She gave me no time to respond. In a flurry of tears and wailing, she ran to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. The sounds of her sobbing continued for a good ten minutes. Long enough for me to toss my breakfast out and clean up the kitchen.
I got dressed for the day, feeling duly ashamed that I sent her off in tears like that. I walked down the hall to the other side of the trailer, and lightly tapped on her door. “Stacie, you ready?” I asked.
“You don’t have to go with me Emmett! I don’t want to put you out or anything!” she hollered out.
“C’mon, don’t be silly. I want to go. I really do.”
Christ! If all women are this fucking complicated I may just re-think my sexual identity!
I heard her blow her nose, and the door opened a sliver. I could tell her tears were real, which does nothing to make me feel less shitty. “Seriously Stacie, go wash your face and then let’s head to the doctor, okay?”
She nodded, coming out of her room and heading down the hallway toward the bathroom. “I just think you would want to meet Dr. Carlson,” she said, “After all, she is the person who will bring our baby into the world, Emmett.”
Five minutes later we were on our way to my first and probably last visit to a gyno.
I now knew that there are certain female things I preferred not knowing. A visit to a gyno was definitely at the top of my list. Stupid me, thinking my role was to stay in the waiting room until she finished, and then pay for the office call. Not at all the way it happened.
“You’re coming in with me aren’t you Emmett?” she asked after signing in. The receptionist had hit the electronic unlock button, and there Stacie stood with the door open, waiting for me to follow her.