by Shandi Boyes
I don’t know whether Delilah was fired from the record company or not, but she’s no longer in charge of Rise Up’s publicity. I want to say victory has heated my blood the past two days, but the triumph doesn’t feel so sweet. I should have stood up to her months ago; then maybe my life would be starkly different than the miserable existence I’m living now.
When the lights dim, announcing it’s nearly time for us to go on, I follow the routine I’ve done at each concert. After grabbing ahold of my necklace, I raise my eyes to the sky. “I love you, Beautiful.”
Once the sound engineer gives me the green light, I make my way to the taped X behind my mic stand. Tonight’s first song we've prepared to perform is “Tastefully Despised.” It has a long solo guitar riff Nick performs under the spotlight before the lyrics flow in, so I can’t see the hundreds of posterboard messages of support throughout the crowd until my spotlight illuminates, but when I do, I take a step back. The messages are overwhelming. Many of them have photos of Emily, and the ones that don’t are filled with supportive words.
I’m so taken aback by their support, I miss the introduction of the song. While tugging my earpiece out of my ear, I inch back from my mic. The crowd gobbles up every emotion crossing my face. They know I’m struggling, but they’re not going to push me. I love that about them. Emily was the same way. She supported me without ever making it seem like I wasn’t doing the best I could. Only I felt that burden.
She told me time and time again that I was all she wanted, yet I never believed her.
I do now.
“We need to play ‘Surrender Me.’”
Nick pushes his earpiece in closer to his ear, confident he misheard me. “What was that?”
“We need to play ‘Surrender Me.’ It’s the only song that will show them how much I loved and adored her.”
I hear his throat work hard to swallow, then, “Are you sure?”
With my lips quivering, I jerk up my chin. “I’m sure. It’s time.”
Marcus, Nick, and Slater seem hesitant, but they count in the beat all the same.
I close my eyes in preparation to perform a song I know will cut me wide open before pressing my lips to my mic. “I dedicate this next song to my angel in heaven, Emily.”
I keep my eyes shut the entire performance, imagining Emily’s beautiful face and dazzling smile. She loved this song, and I’m singing it directly to her.
I was broken beyond repair,
shackled by my miserable existence
Like a prisoner in a cage,
I was disturbed and twisted.
You broke all my walls,
and fought through my resistance
Because you believed my life
deserved a better existence.
I surrender myself to you,
please look after my broken heart.
I surrender myself to you,
and promise we’ll never part.
You mended my shattered heart
as if it had never been apart
and healed my blackened soul
by making my life whole.
Now I can live my life without despair
because I know you'll always be there.
I promise to cherish you in every way.
You are my girl, and I'll fight for you every day.
I surrender myself to you,
please look after my broken heart.
I surrender myself to you,
and promise we’ll never part.
You’re my best friend, my lover,
and one day you’ll be my wife.
I promise to cherish and
love you every day of my life.
I surrender myself to you,
please look after my broken heart.
I surrender myself to you,
and promise we’ll never part.
When the song finishes, the promises I’d made to Emily in the lyrics hit me full force. I promised we’d never part. I didn’t keep my promise. I ruined them—I ruined her.
Marcus, Slater, and Nick’s eyes track me when I run off the stage to empty my stomach's contents into a waste bin at the side. The pain is so intense, the only way I can get rid of it is by purging it out of my mouth. It isn’t pretty, but neither is grief.
Once my stomach stops churning, I raise my eyes, swiping vomit from my bottom lip in the process. Although sure my stomach is empty, I’m close to barfing a second time when my eyes lock in on Cormack’s troubled gaze. He’s disappointed I’ve left the stage, but I’m not up for an argument.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
I lean my back on the stage walls before cradling my head in my hands. I knew singing “Surrender Me” would cut me raw, but I wanted everyone to know how much Emily meant to me, except now I feel like I’m being torn in two.
I expect Cormack to request that we finish our set, so you can imagine my surprise when he nods instead. He doesn’t speak a word. He doesn’t need to because his eyes reveal everything he wants to say. He’s giving me permission to leave.
I’m done. I’m finally free.
And I don’t waste any time sprinting to my freedom. I race to the back entrance of the stadium faster than my legs can carry me. I’m wheezing by the time I break through the double doors, but I feel the most alive I’ve felt in months.
The area surrounding the stadium is dark. Not even the paparazzi are on guard yet. No one expects the performers to exit the building at showtime. Upon spotting a taxi dropping off a late concertgoer, I rush over and dive through the door she’s holding open.
After giggling at my eagerness, her face turns to stone. “Noah...?”
I flash her a quick smirk before throwing money at the driver, encouraging him to leave. I don’t care where he goes, he just needs to move—now!
He does precisely that a nanosecond before Jacob bursts through the doors. When he spots me sitting in the back of the cab, he pushes off his feet and chases me down. He follows us all the way out the parking lot and halfway down the street before he finally realizes he can’t chase down a moving vehicle on foot.
With his hands resting on his head, he stands in the middle of the busy street to suck in some ragged breaths. He will always be my brother, and I love him for that, but my love for Emily is greater, and it is time for me to go home.
When my taxi arrives at the Los Angeles Domestic Terminal, I hand the driver a one hundred dollar bill. Just like every day the past few weeks, my trip was a total blur. Traffic must have been light because we made it here in record-breaking time.
Not waiting for my change, I crank open the door and step onto the sidewalk. Just as I’m about to enter the sliding doors of the terminal, my vision is blinded by a bright light.
“Noah, where are you heading?” A paparazzi member with a chubby frame and a vicious sneer blocks my entrance to the terminal. “Aren’t you performing tonight? Did the concert get canceled?”
When he shoves the camera right up into my face, I push it to the side. With my blood still thick with adrenaline, I’m stronger than I realize. The pap’s camera smashes into his nose, adding a scratch to the bend at the top.
“I could sue you for that.” After tossing his camera under his arm, he grabs a handkerchief from his pocket. He wipes it under his nose to make sure it isn’t bleeding before tapping it over the cut. Now that his face is exposed, I realize he’s one of the regulars who harassed me relentlessly the past six months. Not even the prospect of a broken nose slows him down. He gets straight up in my business again, blocking each attempt to skirt by him.
I bite on the inside of my cheek, battling to keep my anger at bay, but the smug grin on his face makes it impossible. With my annoyance now at a boiling point, I snatch his camera out of his hand, slam it against the concrete, then stomp on it with my boot.
As he bends down to pick up the broken pieces of his camera, he mumbles, “Come on, Noah, fuckin’ hell, I’m just doing my job. I’ve got college tuitions to pay for.”
His grumble reminds me of the time Emily and I were caught at Bronte’s Peak. She defended them the same way. She said they were only doing their job. I laughed at how she saw the good in anyone—even the vultures of the paparazzi.
With guilt weighing heavily on my chest, I bend down to help the man. “I’m sorry; I’ll arrange to buy you a replacement camera.”
Not appreciating my offer, he snatches the piece I’m holding out of my hand before nudging his head to the right, giving me my marching orders. Happy to leave, I stand, step by him, then break through the double glass doors as I attempted many times only minutes ago.
I’m almost free from controversy when three little words stop me. “Tragic accident, eh?”
I clench my fists so tightly, my nails dig into my palms. I remind myself time and time again that he isn’t worth it. He’s algae on the bottom of the ocean, scum on a shower door, but he isn’t worth my time.
I’ll be the better man by walking away.
He doesn’t follow suit. “She probably offed herself to get away from you.”
Blood roars through my ears as rage overwhelms me. Anger about everything that has happened the past six weeks rolls into me like a freight train. I storm toward him with my head in lockdown and my anger at an all-time high.
Rearing my leg up, I kick him in the chest with my boot. He flies backward, his head impacting with the concrete when he lands with a thud. I could let that be the end of it, but I could never be accused of being rational when I’m losing control.
I force him onto his feet by clutching his hair in a tight fist. “Say it again, but this time, say it to my face like a real man, you fuckin’ piece of shit!”
He doesn’t flinch or protect himself. All he does is smirk, loving that he forced a reaction out of me—even more so when he realizes how many of his peers have cameras pointed our way.
Blood dribbles out of his mouth when he taunts, “Smile for the cameras, Noah.”
He’s a foolish man. Only someone with a death wish would taunt a man who has nothing left to lose. Not thinking, my fist adds to the ugliness of his face. As his head flings to the side with a sickening crunch, I’m tackled to the ground. My body doesn’t register the pain of being sandwiched between a police officer and the rigid concrete sidewalk. The pain tearing through my chest is too intense to feel something as weak as pain.
Two police officers use their bulky frame to pin me to the ground. “Stay down; if you move, I’ll pepper spray you.” One smashes my cheek against the sidewalk while the other removes his cuffs from his belt. “Put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest.”
Officer number one circles his cuffs around my wrists before locking them into place, unaware my arrest is most likely being streamed live around the world. After dragging me onto my feet by yanking on the cuffs, a third officer walks me to his police cruiser.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as I've said them to you?”
He pushes down on my head, assuring I don’t whack it against his cruiser’s door before shoving me into the back seat. When I nod, he slams the door shut. Just like they do every time I’m engulfed by silence, my thoughts stray to Emily.
When things are really quiet, I swear I can hear her whispering in my ear. I want to say it’s an experience I seek often. Unfortunately, that would be a lie. I can’t think about her without it tearing me up inside. That’s why I drink so much. Being able to hear her but not touch her is killing me.
I’m not strong enough for this.
Several hours later, Jacob picks up a visitor’s phone before taking a seat behind the thick glass wall lodged between us. “How are you holding up?”
I’m being held in custody awaiting trial since I was refused bail at my arraignment this morning. Jail is everything I expected it to be: three concrete walls and a steel cage door. I can’t stay in a place like this. My memories are haunting enough when I’m drunk, but they’re ten times worse when I’m sober and staring at white walls.
“Can you get me out of here? They don’t even let me have shoelaces, for fuck’s sake.” I don’t give a fuck about my shoes. I’m just saying anything to get me out of here. I’m going stir-crazy.
When Jacob scratches his brow, my jaw clenches. Now I know why everyone is looking at me with sympathy. Jacob had me put on suicide watch. I’m not fucking happy, but I’ll deal with him once I’m freed from hell.
Jacob gets a stay of execution when he discloses, “Nick reached out to Jenni’s parents. Michael is trying to get the charges downgraded if you agree to plead guilty to lesser charges, but they’re saying you’ll still do time, Noah. You knocked the guy out cold on live TV. He’s suing you for damages.”
He can take me to the cleaners. I’ll give him every penny I have just to get out of this hellhole. When I say that to Jacob, he promises to do everything in his power to have my charges dismissed.
Three days later, I’m nervously tapping my foot as the judge hands down my sentence. I accepted a plea offered by the district attorney’s office, but the judge has the final say on what my punishment will be.
“You should consider yourself very fortunate, young man.” The judge peers down at me. Even with me crapping my pants, I can’t believe how similar he looks to world-famous actor Morgan Freeman. “You will escape a jail sentence this time around, but if there is a next time, you’ll not be as lucky. I’m only giving you this chance after your lawyer informed me about the circumstances regarding your behavior as of late.”
Relief washes over me, pleased I’m not going to jail, but the gleam in his eyes warns me to hold my relief for a few more seconds.
I understand why when he bangs down his gavel while saying, “I sentence Noah Taylor to alcohol and anger management counseling for three months. If he fails to complete the necessary requirements of his rehabilitation, he will complete the remainder of his sentence in a state correctional facility.” He stands before peering down at me. “This is a chance to get your life back on track. Listen to the people trying to help you.”
When he steps down from the podium, the bailiff’s loud voice booms into my ears, “All rise.”
Once he exits the chambers, I slump back into my seat before my eyes stray to my lawyer. He appears pleased with the judge’s verdict. I have no idea why. For three months, I'll be continuously monitored. If that isn’t bad enough, I have to participate in counseling sessions. Just the thought has me rethinking my plea. Maybe I should just go to jail.
Spotting the disdain on my face, Michael leans into my side. “You’re lucky he only gave you three months. Judge Jackson isn’t known for clemency. I was praying for anything under a year. You only got three months.”
He can say that because he’s forgotten about the life sentence I’m already serving.
Chapter 51
Noah
“This will be good for you, Noah.”
I stop watching the scenery rolling by my window when Jacob directs his car down the driveway of Hope Hills Center for Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation. It’s set on a large hill overlooking the City of Los Angeles. The manicured grounds are crowded with patients participating in several programs. One group is doing Tai Chi, whereas another is painting.
“Yeah, real good.”
How will Tai Chi ease my grief from losing the love of my life?
The judge granted me three days of reprieve to finalize my affairs before my forced stay at Hope Hills. Jacob once again became my shadow, but he ramped up his efforts by not even allowing me to use the bathroom in privacy. It’s lucky he’s like a brother to me.
After parking in a space right at the front, Jacob removes my bag from the trunk. My eyes shoot in all directions as we walk up the stark white stairs in silence. Hope Hills Center is built around an old-style 1950s Hollywood mansion. Th
e walls are white; the tiles are white, and the uniforms of the staff members are white. If it weren’t for the green vines creeping up the concrete pillars, there’d be no color whatsoever.
My heart races as we stroll to a glass desk in the middle of the foyer. A well-built middle-aged woman peers up from her computer screen to greet us.
“Name?”
Jacob’s voice shakes when he begins to speak. “Noah Taylor, he is here for—”
“This is as far as you can go.”
Jacob’s lips quirk at her snapped tone, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he dumps my bag on the desk before giving me a brief man hug. “I’ll come back and see you when I can.”
He turns on his heels and bolts out of the foyer like his backside is on fire, leaving me to fend off the dragon alone.
The receptionist stands from her leather chair to rummage through my bag. “Do you have any alcohol on you? We’ll search you either way, but you should come clean now. Her eyes wander over my body. “It’s more complicated when it’s found during the strip search.”
Unsure if she’s being serious or not, I pull out the flask of whiskey in my leather jacket and hand it to her.
She tsks me. “I was joking about the strip search, but I’ll jot this down for future reference.” She points to a set of double doors on my right before handing me a sheet of paper. “Go through there, then take a left. The second door on the right is Dr. Miller. She’s your counselor.”
With a click of her fingers, two orderlies take my bag to a bench near stained glass windows to rifle through it.
“They’ll drop it off in your room once they’re done.” She once again points to the door. “Get your skedaddle on. Dr. Miller doesn’t appreciate tardiness.”