A Lush Betrayal (25 page)

I turn and look at him for a minute before I can compute what he’s asked. He doesn’t seem to notice my shock as he shuffles through messages on his iPhone.

“Actually, I’ve got his address and phone number. He gave them to me when I walked him out that night, but it didn’t seem like you wanted them right then, and after that…”

He looks up and smirks. “Yeah, I recall things got a little distracting after he left.” He winks. Cocky rock star.

I move to my phone and scroll through the address book until I find Joseph Senior’s contact info. Then I text it to Joss’s phone.

“There. Should be in your inbox,” I tell him. “Are you going to get ahold of him?”

“I don’t know, but a radio station in Denver is asking me to do a show next week. I don’t know…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I thought about letting him know so he could listen. Not sure though.”

It’s typical of Joss that he’s been thinking about his dad since we left Denver but hasn’t let anyone know, not even me. My guess is there are a few future Lush songs on his iPad that are about lost fathers too. It’s the way he works through things, analyzes them, considers his options. It may seem like this conversation came out of thin air, but knowing Joss, it’s probably been a long time coming.

I sit on the big king-sized bed and watch as he slouches into an armchair, tossing his phone on the table next to him.

“You going to tell me about it?” I ask.

He inhales and releases the breath slowly. “He pissed me off. I mean, he’s been pissing me off most of my life, but specifically he pissed me off in Denver.”

I nod, feeling the plush carpet under my bare feet as I wiggle my toes in empathetic agitation for Joss.

“I think it made me angry when he told me he didn’t want me to be like him. I mean, it was kind of like he was denying me the right to care about him—
again
. Sort of saying he’s such a bastard that I’m not even allowed to like him. Fuck that. I might hate him, but I might not, and I want to make that choice, not have him make it for me. He’s been making my choices for me my whole damn life. I’m sick of that crap.”

Suddenly, like a bright light shining in a small dark space, it all makes sense. Joss’s need to be in charge, to control, to be the head of everything and everyone around him. The super hot, super talented rock star spends his days trying to feel like he has control over his empire because the only thing he ever really wanted to control—his father’s love—he couldn’t.

“Maybe you could tell him that?” I suggest cautiously.

Joss looks out the window, his eyes contemplative. “Maybe. But first I think I just want him to prove he’s actually going to be interested in me for more than five minutes. Maybe he can start by listening to me on a radio show.”

“From what he told me, he’s been doing more than that for a while now. He’s followed the band, read all your interviews. I think he knows as much about you as any fan could.”

“Well, he’s not a fan, he’s my fucking father. He ought to know a lot more than that.”

“I understand. So what are you going to do?”

He walks over to me, standing in between my knees. He slides his hands over my hair. “I’m going to tell him to listen to me on the radio, and then maybe I’m going to tell him to email me. You think the old man can operate a computer?” He chuckles.

I smile. “I think he’s your dad, and you should get to know him before you jump to any conclusions one way or another.”

“We’ll see,” he replies before he takes my hand and pulls me up. “We’ve got an hour and a half before we have to leave for the airport. I think you need another shower.” He grins as he leads me to the bathroom.

Joss

W
E’RE ON
a plane from Atlanta to Cali to play Coachella. Mel’s been working the whole time, the logistics of the outdoor venue and multiple stages of the festival making her job a lot harder than it normally is.

Dave chartered us a plane so we wouldn’t have to deal with the chance of delays or flight cancellations. I’m grateful because I’m a little burned out on fan interactions and really need the down time before I have to face 250,000 of them in the California heat.

I leave Mel working on her laptop and head to the back of the mid-sized executive jet where the restrooms and the kitchenette are. On the way, I pass Mike and Colin, then Tammy and Walsh. Walsh is fast asleep, but Tammy sees me and gets up to follow. Fuck. The last thing I need right now is a session with Tammy. I take a couple of deep breaths in preparation, telling myself I won’t lose my shit no matter what she says.

I reach the kitchenette and turn to lean against the small countertop. She stops and faces me, her back to the rest of the plane.

“Tammy, let’s not do this.” I say as quietly as I can.

She folds her arms around her waist protectively. “Just give me a minute, Joss.” She looks up at me, her eyes sad, not angry. “Please,” she adds.

I nod and reach behind me for a bottle of water. I tip it at her questioningly.

She shakes her head. “Thanks though.”

“So what’s going on?” I ask, hoping this is going to be fast.

“I can’t take it, Joss.”

“Can’t take what?”

“The guilt. It’s killing me.” Tears come to her eyes. “I feel like my heart is going to explode. Some days it hurts so much it’s like I can’t breathe. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. There’s something wrong with me, Joss. How can you keep living like this?”

My stomach roils watching her anguish.
Betrayal
flashes through my mind, over and over.

“Jesus, Tammy,” I whisper harshly. “I don’t know. I try not to think about it. I play my music, I take a run, I kiss my girlfriend,
who I love
, and I try really fucking hard not to think about it.”

She takes a shaky breath, and I look at her for the first time in weeks. Really look at her. Her once tawny skin is sallow and dull. Her gorgeous, shiny hair is lank and dry. Her eyes have dark circles under them, and her cheeks are sunken. Christ, how have we all managed to keep from seeing that she’s fading away right in front of us?

Her hand is trembling as she brings it to her mouth and rubs at her lips.

“Maybe you need to talk to someone, Tam. A counselor? A doctor? The band will pay for it. We can fly someone to you if there’s a special practitioner in Portland you want. Whatever it takes.”

She shakes her head jerkily. “The two people I always talk to are the two people I can’t ever talk to again,” she says sadly.

Mel and Walsh. I’ve taken her whole world from her—the love of her life
and
her best friend. It’s no wonder she hates me so much.

“Tam,” I say softly as I reach out to touch her before stopping short and dropping my hand back to my side. “I’ll do whatever you need. You know that. I still care. You’re family.”

She looks down at the floor, answering quietly. “It’s okay. I just wondered how you lived with it. I’ve always wondered.”

With that, she walks back to her seat. I watch her as she carefully sits down and lays her head on Walsh’s shoulder, her body visibly relaxing when she touches him.

All I can think is,
My God, what have I done
?

C
OACHELLA IS
a fucking nightmare. We manage to put on a good show, but the logistics of the whole thing are insane. The semi-truck with all of our gear breaks down outside of Riverside, and we have to find a truck that another band used to get to the festival and borrow it to go pick up the equipment from the disabled semi and haul it all back. Once at the festival though, we don’t have a truck to store the shit in, so the crew ends up camping with the equipment stacked up around them in order to protect it overnight. I tell Dave to give everyone a bonus for hazard pay. No one signed up for this shit.

After the concert I’d like nothing more than to go see some of the other bands play. Mel tells me that she can create a disguise so no one will recognize me. I don’t believe her until she turns up with a bunch of eyeliner, a black fedora, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses with tinted lenses. She instructs me to turn my black
Who’s your rock star, baby?
t-shirt inside out, then puts egregious quantities of eyeliner on me, plops the hat and glasses on, and announces that no one will ever know me.

And sure as shit, she’s right. We manage to spend the rest of the day and on into the evening watching bands play, eating weird vendor food, and baking in the sun. It’s one of the best days I can remember in a long time. No security guys, no pushy fans, just good music with my girl.

Afterwards, we’re in the car that’ll drive us to the hotel when my phone buzzes. I look at the screen and see that it’s Walsh.

“Yo,” I answer.

“Hey, man, where are you?” he asks, sounding frantic.

“In a car just leaving the festival. What’s going on?”

“It’s Tammy. She passed out. I don’t know if it’s the heat or what. She hasn’t been eating lately. Shit, we’ve got her in a car taking her to the hospital. Can you and Mel come?”

“Of course. We’ll be right there. What’s the name of the hospital?”

I hear Walsh asking his driver where they’re headed. I relay the name and directions to our driver and we hang up.

“What’s wrong?” Mel asks, that little line appearing in between her eyes.

“Tammy passed out.”

“Oh my God! Is she okay?”

“I’m not sure. Walsh has her and they’re headed to the hospital. We’ll meet them there.”

I see tears sparkle in Mel’s eyes. I put my arm around her and pull her head down on my shoulder.

“It’ll be okay, sweet Mel. I promise.” I sure as hell hope I can keep that promise.

W
HEN WE
arrive at the hospital, one of our security guys is waiting to lead us to a private waiting room. Walsh and Mike are there already, and Colin is on his way. I go straight to Walsh and clasp his shoulders. “Was she conscious when you got here?” I ask, Mel at my side.

“Yeah, but she was pretty incoherent. Not making much sense. She just kept crying and saying how sorry she was. Jesus, she hasn’t been herself in fucking months. I should have never let it go on this long. I should have made her go to a doctor.”

My blood chills, and I have no idea what to say. Walsh scuffs the toe of his shoe against the tile floor in frustration, and I see his face twist in anguish. Mel throws her arms around him and leads him to the nearby chairs, where she holds him, the two of them clinging to each other in shared distress.

As I watch them, I sense someone next to me and look over into Mike’s face. His eyes are narrowed and there’s nothing in them but hate.

“Not now, Mike,” I warn.

“Feel good about yourself now, man?” he asks.

“Yeah, dude, because I wasn’t even there when she passed out.”

“But you know it’s your fault. You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself and look what’s happened. This is on you,
brother
,” he snaps before he turns on his heel and walks out of the waiting room.

I stare after him as I finally realize that somehow Mike
knows
. He knows everything. And he always has. I sink down onto the nearest chair, my breath coming in gasps, my hands shaking. My head is buzzing, the sounds of the waiting room fading away as a noise like a swarm of bees takes over. After a few seconds it starts to take form and it says,
Betrayal,
over and over again.

I hold my hand over my mouth, choking down the bile that threatens to make itself known to everyone in the room. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My mind races back to that night. How the hell can Mike know? The night it happened I’d picked Tammy up so her car wasn’t parked at my place. Mike had known we were going to visit Walsh that day, but even if he’d tried to find Tammy afterwards, he’d have had no reason to think she was with me—and especially no reason to think she was with me having sex.

I watch Mel and Walsh. She sits next to him, rubbing his back as he tries to get himself under control. I stand on unsteady legs and say quietly, “I’m going to get us some coffee,” as I walk past them. Mel looks up at me, nods, and gives me a small smile. I make it to the bathroom before I collapse, sliding down the wall onto the tile floor, grateful for the cold, smooth surface. I lean my head back against the wall and just breathe, because right now even that’s a chore.

I slowly count as I inhale, one, two, three, four. Then exhale, one, two, three, four. After a few minutes the static in my head fades enough that I can form coherent thoughts. Mike knows. And if he tells, he’ll blow all of our lives to hell. The band. My relationship with Mel. Walsh and Tammy. God. All of it. I’ve accepted that my friendship with Walsh will never be the same, and he’ll never understand why. I also know that I’ll never be whole because of the guilt and the lies, but if the truth comes out, I’ll be missing a lot more than a few pieces. I’ll be nothing, because in two months I’m so far gone that without Mel I can’t exist.

I pound my fist on the floor. “Goddammit!” I shout. In all the various nightmares I’ve had about the truth coming out, never was Mike the catalyst. How the fuck did he find out? I have to know. I’ll find a way to pull him aside and hash it out. Once I make him see what this would do to the band, he’ll keep his mouth shut. I’ll do whatever he needs. Give him all the fanfare and attention he wants. There has to be a way to ensure he won’t talk, and I’ll find it. I can handle this like I always handle everything. I’ll take control and I’ll get it done.