Broken Promises (4 page)

When I do, I press the phone to my ear and say, “He’s beautiful! Everything about him is completely and totally perfect. Be jealous. Very. Jealous.”

I’m still giggling when I look up and see Dad. He’s leaning against the Bentley, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes are wrong, devoid of emotion, red.

I forget the phone, forget Katie. I walk over to him. “Dad?”

We haven’t spoken much since I left home. Though things are tense between Dad and me, I’m getting to see more of Mom. It’s weird, but it’s like I’m getting to know her all over again—differently this time. I really like her.

The best part is that she’s really happy for me. She likes that I’m taking theater classes. She encouraged me to change my major from pre-med. And she even likes Trystan. She knows about us, about him. I wonder if she’s always known how much I love him.

Daddy has had a rough time lately, and I know it’s because of me—because I refuse to follow in his footsteps. For a second I think he’s here to tell me off, but when his lips part he gives me the most god-awful look.

An imaginary anchor pulls down uncomfortably on my heart. I stiffen and hold my ground. I won’t cry in front of him. It doesn’t matter what he says.

“I need to talk to you, Mari.” His voice sounds harsh. I’m not doing this in a parking lot.

I laugh bitterly, turning my back on him. “I’m not doing this now. I have class. Leave me alone, Dad.”

Dad hesitates, then slams his fist into his car. I freeze and turn around. He loves that stupid car. I scratched it once and he nearly disowned me, but he created a hugeass dent on purpose? My eyes fixate on the indentation, then drift up to his face.

He swallows hard. “I don’t know how to tell you this—”

The anchor is ripping my heart. I can’t do this again. “Then don’t, Dad. I get it. You’re out of my life.”

“Mari, that’s not it! Damn it! Will you listen to me?” He’s breathing fast. The color has drained from his face and a bead of sweat lines his brow. “It’s your mother.”

“What about her?”

“She died last night.”

CHAPTER 6

MARI

A 
s Dad wrings his hands, nervously trying to find the right words to say next, I numbly focus on the details of his appearance. His shirt, normally neatly pressed, is wrinkled, and the buttons at his neck are undone. He wears no tie, no shiny shoes. His face is stubbled where it should be clean-shaven. The longer I look at him, the more I see. My gut tells me he's speaking the truth, but my heart can’t accept it.

We stare at each other for what feels like ages before I manage to speak. My throat feels so tight, so dry. “What happened?”

“She was driving home from work at the hospital last night and got clipped by a tractor trailer. It crushed her car.” He swallows hard, pauses, then continues in the calm tone he uses when delivering horrible news to the family of a patient. “They pulled her out and brought her back to the ER, but there was too much damage. They couldn’t stop the bleeding, Mari.”

My eyes widen as rage rips through me. “She died in the hospital?” Dad nods his head. “You didn’t bother to tell me? Couldn't you text? You were there, and you let her die without saying a word to me! How could you?” My voice drops to a deadly low volume. My words are barbed and, at that moment, I want to hurt him. My hands clench at my sides—open, closed, open. I try to hold it together. I try to breathe.

He let her die without giving me a chance to say goodbye.

Students pass by us, averting their eyes and walking faster. No one stops. No one wants to see a father-daughter fight over losing a mother.

Dropping my bag to the ground, I charge at him, shoving him in the chest, screaming in his face, “How could you?” I push him again. My lips wrap around words laced with poison, words meant to destroy any relationship we have left. Yelling louder this time, I scream, “She’s gone and I didn’t get to say goodbye! You’re such an angry, bitter, miserable, conniving little man to keep me from the last precious moments of her life! You ripped that moment away like it didn’t matter! Like I don’t matter!”

“Mari!” He snaps my name.

Passersby are stopping to watch now. The wind blows gently through the trees, stirring the leaves. The sun slices through the canopy, peppering the ground with golden shafts of light.

There are familiar faces in the growing crowd. I’m aware I look like a child throwing a fit, but this was over the line.

“No! Don’t talk to me! Never, ever come looking for me again. Do you understand?” I’m in his face, snarling. “I never want to see you again, and when you die, no one will mourn you. I’ll make sure you’re as far away from Mom as possible. Even seeing you in the ground is more than you deserve.” I suck in a deep breath, lean forward, swipe my bag off the ground, and turn the other way.

I have no idea where I’m going, but I have to get out of here.

Dad calls after me, “I tried, Mari. I called you.”

I don’t stop. He’s lying, trying to save his ass. I feel no pity for him, only anger. He stole the last few moments of my mother’s life so he could hoard her attention the way he always does. He never called me.

“The wake is tonight. The burial is tomorrow. Come and make your peace.”

My shoulders tense, and my body shakes. Rage explodes from my mouth as I whirl around, screaming at him from across the parking lot, “Thanks to you, I’ll never have peace—not ever.”

I’m breaking. My mind is shutting down, unable to process anything due to the overwhelming waves of emotion raging inside me. There’s a storm inside me, something that could rip me in half if I don’t figure out how to calm it.

A crazed idea rushes at me—I suddenly want to dart across the highway and hope a car hits me so hard I can’t feel this pain anymore. The impact would be an injury I can comprehend. I understand broken bones and bleeding skin.

I can’t understand this invisible agony drowning me from within.

I steel myself, knowing I need to find Trystan. I can’t do this alone.

CHAPTER 7

MARI

I
have no idea how I managed to get here—Madison Square Garden is a hike from my dorm—but I make it. Before I realize where I am, what I’m doing, I’m walking down an empty hallway toward the sound of his voice.

Trystan is singing my song. The acoustic guitar and his voice are the only sounds amplified through the sound system. I tug open the door to the arena, and keep walking. I pass the sound guys, but they don’t notice me until it's too late to stop me. The security team Trystan hired is suddenly surrounding me. They’re wearing uniforms—navy blue—with security badges on their left forearms.

Trystan is on stage, sitting in darkness save a single light illuminating him from behind, forming a perfect silhouette. It’s like his YouTube video, the one that made him famous. His voice aches with longing, as he sings about wanting a girl who has no idea he’s alive.

I was that girl.

I had no idea until he told me.

My lip quivers, and I’m lost in the past for a moment, remembering him in the basement of our high school—remembering everything we’ve been through to get to this moment.

That’s when one of the guards takes my arm and pulls. He’s a big guy with thick arms and a neck bigger than his skull. His nametag says BOB. “You can’t be here, miss. Come with me, please.”

Another one asks, “How’d she even get in here?”

“Let go of me!” I yank my arm back and scream his name, hoping he’ll hear me over the speakers. “TRYSTAN!”

The men think I’m a deranged groupie—and why wouldn't they? His first concert is tomorrow night. No one knows about us. No one knows who I am or how much I love Trystan.

Tears sting my eyes when I realize he can’t hear me. The guards are using their bodies to force me back. They’re practically stepping on me, shepherding me toward the exit. We’re near the doors. They’re going to lock me out.

I scream again, “TRYSTAN, PLEASE!” Hot tears roll down my cheeks. If they lock me up, I’m going to miss the wake. I won’t feel Trystan’s arms around me. I’ll be forced to deal with this alone. I can’t do it. My voice is shrill as I continue to call his name, crying out into the darkness.

One guard speaks into his shoulder, “We’re going to need to escort her out.”

The walkie-talkie makes a static sound, and then a harsh-sounding voice replies through the speaker, “Broken glass on the north side of the building. Hold her for the police.”

The guards are irritated—one rolls his eyes. The others speak to each other like I’m not there. They think I’m unstable and aren’t sure what I’ll do. Neither am I. Desperation is bubbling up inside of me. I feel like my body might plummet to the floor, seep into the concrete, and die. I can’t handle this.

The ache in my chest grows larger, and my screams grow louder.

The music stops. The notes fade off until the only sound remaining is his voice. “Mari?”

Trystan doesn’t wait for me to answer. He jumps off his stool, shoves his guitar into Tucker’s hands, and moves to the edge of the stage.

A voice yells, “Don’t jump!”

But Trystan doesn’t listen. He launches himself off the scaffolding, lands in the pit below, and then climbs the railing. He rushes toward me. He’s a beautiful blur of white in that clingy t-shirt.

He’s next to me, prying between his guards, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. He looks at them sternly. “This didn’t happen.”

I’m shaking with tears streaming down my face. They won’t stop. I lock my jaw and swallow my sobs. He’s here. I want to melt into him. I want his hands on me, telling me it will be all right. I need him.

The guard who grabbed me shakes his head and points at me. “She’s going to have issues with the cops. She broke in. There’s broken glass on the other side of the building.”

Trystan shakes his head. “I broke it. I’ll pay for it. Tell them to bill me. As for her—she was never here—you never saw her.”

“Yes, Mr. Scott.” The man nods and walks away with the other men following in his wake. He picks up his phone and says they made a mistake. Then he explains how Trystan broke the glass. He doesn’t mention me. I fade from the story.

Trystan keeps his fingers firmly wrapped around my wrist. He pulls me toward the back and suddenly Mr. Tucker is there.

His face is rosy, his skin is glistening, and he’s out of breath as if he'd run over. “Mari, my God—what happened?” He reaches out and touches my shoulder, squeezing it for a moment before letting go.

I try to speak, but I can’t. My mouth opens and moves. There should be words, but there are none.

He waves his hands and looks at Trystan. “Where do you want me to take her?”

A conversation goes back and forth quickly. “To your dressing room. Say she’s your niece. Say her boyfriend dumped her, and tell people to get lost. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Trystan tips his head to the side and looks at me. Our eyes meet. “Mari, listen to me. Whatever is wrong, I’ll be there for you. I just need to separate for a second or people will see. Do you want them to know?”

I shake my head. “No.” My voice is small, barely there.

“Me neither. It’ll make everything a lot harder. I can barely handle things as they are. So stay with Tucker. I trust him, and I know you do, too. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Trystan nods and runs off. When the workers around the stage ask what that was all about, Trystan flips into his charismatic mode. “Tucker’s niece. Boyfriend problems. Plus I was screwing around earlier and broke a window. They thought she did it.”

He shrugs like it doesn’t matter and gets back up on stage. “Once more?”

The guy at the sound booth says, “From the top.”

The chatter fades as Tucker walks me backstage with one arm draped over my shoulders. “Anything you need, Mari, I’m here for you. Remember that.”

CHAPTER 8

MARI

M 
r. Tucker was our English teacher in high school. It feels weird, sitting here with him like he’s a friend. I guess he is, but the role he plays in Trystan’s life is so much more. After everything that happened with Trystan’s father, Tucker became the family Trystan never had, the family he needed.

When Trystan finally chose a record label and signed his contract, he asked Tucker to be his agent. That was only a few months ago. The two men seem to work well together, and their age difference is part of what helps Trystan find balance.

Trystan has always been afraid of damaging his life beyond repair. Tucker helps keep him focused and moving forward.

Tucker settles his massive body in a tiny chair and offers me the other one. His dressing room is more of an office. A computer sits on the ledge in front of the makeup mirror, with several pages of a legal-looking document taking up the rest of its surface. Several patches of highlighted text stand out against the stark white paper, and notes written in Tucker's handwriting litter the margins.

The room is simply constructed, with concrete walls and the same white flooring used in the emergency room where my parents work. The same emergency room where my mother died last night.

My eyes hurt. They’re swollen, and my vision is blurry at the edges. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. I know I look like a train wreck, but I don’t care.

Tucker leans back in his chair, pulls his keys from his pocket, and tosses them on the papers by the computer. “You guys can take my car and find someplace private to talk.”

My head bobs, up and down as I stare blankly at a spot on the wall. I’m on autopilot, and my manners pop up because it seems like I should say something. “Thank you.” My voice doesn’t sound like me. I sound like a cat tried to claw its way up my throat. I swallow hard and try to clear it away, but that tight, raw feeling won’t move.

Tucker folds his massive arms across his chest and watches me. “It’s no problem. None, at all. We’ll get you a badge for the future, so they'll let you in. I didn’t think you’d come here. I should have thought of emergencies.”

My eyes slide to the side, and I look at him. “This won’t happen again, thank God.”