Chasing Kane (22 page)

Such was the case with The Brewers. Yardley approached me with a TC post published solely about them two years ago, while Celtic Summer was still on tour. I read it, liked what I saw, then scrolled through the archives where it was revealed that Tough Critic had followed The Brewers for at least three years before that. There were small mentions of them in the scheme of larger articles, even if it was just including them in the line-up list of a festival. Further on there were profiles of each of their musicians as Tough Critic took a keen interest in them. When Nessa joined the band that year, TC went
nuts
in the best possible way.

TC admitted that the band had started to fall flat, needing something new and refreshing in their lineup. Even TC was shocked when the all-male ensemble—as they had been for years—chose this shocking beauty as their new lead singer. The blogger vowed to keep a close eye on the group and held up their end of the deal. The Brewers received mentions every few days, it seemed. The blogger was impressed with Nessa’s vocal range, command of the stage, and instrumental knowledge. Nessa played the keyboard and sometimes guitar—though there didn’t seem to be mention of a violin in any of those articles now that I think about it.

That aside, Yardley was unsure about pulling the trigger on signing them, as they were a much larger band than she felt equipped to handle at the time, so she called up Toni, her friend at Wound Sound, and asked her to take a listen. Toni liked what she heard and made quick work of putting together an offer.

An offer that at this moment in River Junction’s studio, was thrown graciously in front of Nessa as a reminder of her responsibilities as a contracted musician. Yardley didn’t use the word contract. She didn’t have to. All she needed to do was remind Nessa that despite the flexibility and creative authority afforded by indie labels to their artists, Nessa was still
under
someone. Wound Sound at home, and GSE on this tour.

“Well, that was tense,” I attempted humor as I pulled out my violin and shuffled through some sheet music.

“Fuck her,” Nessa spit out.

My jaw dropped. “Um … okay. So … uh … what?”

I tried not to ask her
what
, but it was nearly unheard of for any of the musicians working with Yardley to speak poorly of her in any context. She treated her charges like family, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

Nessa sighed, her shoulders dropping in what seemed like defeat, but I hadn’t a clue what she was fighting. “Nothing. Let’s just play?”

I fought my curiosity. Hard. I picked up my violin, nodding to Nessa that I’d honor her request that we get down to business. I even struck my bow against the instrument and spewed out a few notes on a scale, but I couldn’t follow through.

“Nope,” I said, setting the violin down, and closing the case. “Nope …”

Nessa, halfway through a chromatic scale, held her hands out, still holding the violin and bow. “What the fuck? What are you doing?”

I extended my hands, taking her instrument from her, and locked it away in its case before setting my hands on my hips. “I’m taking you to dinner. And drinks. Let’s go. Yardley?” I shouted, causing Nessa to jump and swear under her breath. “Someone lock down this studio. Nessa and I have a non-instrument practice thing to do.”

Yardley poked her head inside the studio, her south Georgia accent like syrup. “What’s that now?” she asked with a nervous smile.

I put my hand up. “No one steals the violins. We’ll be back. Trust me?” I asked with a firm pat on her shoulder.

“Do … I have a choice?” she responded, sounding confused, but conservatively trusting.

I shook my head, grinning. “Nope. Come on, Ness,” I extended my hand, which she accepted easily, “let’s go.”

***

“So … gonna tell me why we’re here?” Nessa handed the waitress her menu after placing her order, keeping her eyes on me.

I quickly ordered my sushi dish and another one—ramen—before looking back at Nessa. “Dinner.”

“Cute,” she mused. “By the way, where do you
put
all the food you eat? Honestly …”

I laughed, raising my glass of water to her, since our ordered drinks hadn’t arrived yet. “A toast. To relaxation.”

She crinkled her nose, an adorable look of disgust and confusion before saying, “Cheers … I guess.”

I took a sip of the ice cold water and leaned back in my seat.

“
What?
” Nessa asked, after a long minute of my silence. “You’re freaking me out.”

Sitting forward, I offered a non-committal shrug. “It’s just been a hell of a month. We’ve been playing
and
practicing a
new
set for a whole month without a break.”

She winked. “You got a break last night. By the way, please,
please
tell Georgia I’m so sorry for that.”

I waved my hand, forcing a grin. “It was nothing. We made up for it this morning,” I lied. “Anyway. It’s been a lot. And, you had an … interesting reaction to what Yardley said back there.”

“Are you saying I overreacted?”

“I’d never dream of telling a woman how she acted.”

Nessa laughed, relaxing a little. “I know Yardley’s not a bitch. But that was a nasty move, wasn’t it?”

“Reminding you of how you started? Hardly. Look, whatever stall tactics you’re employing to avoid getting up on that stage with the violin … fine. But, even if you use them all up, you’ll never be able to play the way I’ve heard you play if you carry around that nasty attitude.”

Her jaw dropped. “Do you presume to know what emotions I can play through on stage?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Well done. But, I have no proof, since you refuse, for whatever reason, to do it. Play your violin in front of anyone but me.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” she mumbled.

Reaching my hand across the table, I made contact with her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I do,” I said, my voice near a whisper. “I
do
consider myself lucky. And, I can’t keep what I’ve heard from you all to myself. You’ve gotta share it.”

Nessa rolled her head back and let out a groan. Facing me, she looked rather indignant as I sat back. “Let me ask you this, Regan. Have you ever lost someone that you love so deeply that you walk around with a gaping hole in your chest? Certain that it’s visible to the outside world? That you’re just see-through.”

Rae
.

Closing my eyes, I thought of my former girlfriend and the horseback ride we took that day.

“Yes,” was all I could say.

I didn’t know if she remembered me mouthing off about Rae a month ago at that truck-stop diner when CJ and I almost got into it, but she didn’t seem to.

Why didn’t we choose a different activity?

Nessa leaned close to the center of the table, and I did, too, while she whispered. “Then let me ask you
this.
Has that ever happened while the other person was still alive?”

Her eyes misted over and the tip of her nose turned red. It became clear in seconds that she was holding back more than just tears, but something too heavy to discuss over dinner, or maybe ever.

“No,” I finally answered. “Not while they were still alive.”

She cleared her throat, her eyes drying almost instantly. “Well, then. It seems like we have a lot of ground to cover.”

Our drinks arrived just then, and I unabashedly took a large swig of the beer.

“Guess so,” I said. “Guess. So.”

***

“So, who died? The girlfriend?” The music around us was blaring, a driving bass thumping through my chest, but her question silenced almost all background noise.

Nessa and I had enjoyed a civil dinner with general tour conversation at the sushi restaurant before making our way to a nearby pub that morphed into something of a nightclub with a DJ on Thursday nights, it seemed. It wasn’t often we found many exciting things to do on Thursday nights while on tour, so it was a solid score for Minneapolis in my book.

We were a few drinks in when she tossed the question. She was just loose enough to ask it while maintaining eye contact. And, I was just loose enough to answer. With questionable eye contact.

“I figure it was a long time ago,” she shouted. “Since you and Georgia have been together forever.”

“Rae,” I started. Then stopped.

We were tucked away in a small part of the bar that remained a seating area while the rest of the place turned into a dance floor. It was loud and private at the same time.

“Rae …” She sounded out, looking for more information.

I ran my tongue across my teeth, setting down my pint glass. “One for one?”

“Excuse me?”

I nodded toward the pool table. “We’ll shoot. Whenever we make one, we ask the other person a question and they
have
to answer.”

Nessa shook her head. “Pool’s not my game.”

My eyes widened. “Seriously? With arms and legs that long you could glide right across the table.”

She laughed. “Darts?”

“Nah, that’s all CJ.”

“Oh, right. I remember …” she trailed off, and I didn’t ask for more. “Cards then.”

I patted myself down, comically buzzed after a few beers, but nothing serious. “Fresh out.”

Inexplicably, Nessa reached behind her and produced a pack from her back pocket. “Here.”

Nodding in approval, I said, “I thought those were a pack of cigarettes, which I thought was weird since I’ve never seen you smoke. Who carries cards with them?”

She grinned, opening the pack. “Someone who’s picked up some tricks on her first tour. Always be prepared.”

“Fair enough. What do you want to do?”

“Keep it simple.” She split the deck in half, gesturing for me to choose one pile. “We turn over the top card at the same time, person with the higher card asks the question. We go until we’re out of questions.”

“Or cards?” I suggested.

She laughed. “Oh, I have way more questions than cards.”

I shot her a challenging glance, then ordered a pitcher of beer for myself, prepared to settle in for the long haul.

“Can I order a pitcher of vodka?” Nessa asked the waitress. I thought she was serious. The waitress seemed to think so, too, judging by her shocked expression. “Whatever,” Nessa continued with a wave of her hand, “I’ll have a pitcher of whatever he’s drinking.”

Okay then …

“Flip ’em, Kane.”

To my dismay, my
three
was trampled by her
ten.

“Shoot,” I said, leaning forward on my elbows.

“Rae,” she said. “This was the girlfriend?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Long time?”

I waved my index finger in the space between us. “Uh uh. That would be another question …”

She didn’t look amused, but turned over another card. A
seven
. I turned over a
nine
and raised my hands in victory. Still, I decided to start easy.

“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

Her eyes pinched at the sides for a split second. “One. One brother.”

It was her turn next.

“Were you and Rae serious?”

I allowed a soft smile. “I guess …”

Nessa won the next flip, too, and I chugged half my beer down, prepared for more Rae questioning.

“What is Rae’s last name?” she asked.

Was
.
What was her last name …

“Cavanaugh.”

Nessa looked confused for a moment, then her eyes widened and focused back on my face. “Rae Cavanaugh. Like Bo Cavanaugh’s little sister? Shit,” she cut off my start to answer, “different question.”

I put my hand over hers as she started to flip another card. Her eyes met mine again. “I’ll give you this one. Spare you the agony of the fate of a deck of cards.” I swallowed the rest of the pint and filled it up again, setting it to the side. “Yes, Rae Cavanaugh, Bo Cavanaugh’s little sister. We dated but didn’t really break up.”

Nessa swallowed hard. “Horseback riding accident?”

“Yeah …”

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head and looking down. I moved my hand off hers. “Can we flip? This is heavy.”

I beat her
four
with a
king
.

“Did you find out about Rae on the Internet searching for me? Or for Bo?” I let the beer ask the question that had been tumbling around my subconscious mind.

“Bo. He’s
dreamy
.” She fluttered her eyelashes and rested her chin in her hands like she was a Disney princess at a window.

“Real nice,” I mused, rolling my eyes.

Nessa burst into laughter. “It’s true. He’s a total dreamboat. So sue me, it was like three years ago and I was new to the business. All you guys were like my idols.”

I shifted in my seat, and she caught me.

“Ohh,” she goaded. “Someone suddenly uncomfortable with attention?”

“Suddenly? Always.”

She huffs through her nose. “Doesn’t seem it up on stage.”

I clinked my glass against hers. “Same to you. Seriously, do I seem self-centered in any way?”

She grinned. “Is that a question? We didn’t flip.”

I rolled my eyes. “Throw me a bone.”

“Fine. No. You don’t seem self-centered. Which is a bit annoying. Though, most people on this tour seem pretty down to earth …”

“Kind of the indie stereotype, huh?”

She laughed. “Yeah.” Then she chugged the rest of her beer down that long, slim throat. “Fine,” she said, slamming the pint down.

“Fine,” I repeated, finishing off my pint and feeling quite cloudy. “Fine what?”

Probably from the vodka she’d consumed before downing half a pitcher of beer, Nessa’s eyes were glassy and her speech wasn’t fully slurred, but slippery.

“I’lltellyou,” she said, as kind of one word.

I looked side to side, leaning in. “What?”

She patted the space next to her, sliding over. “Here. I don’t want to yell it across the table.”

I did as she commanded, joining her on her side of the table; loud, club sex music pulsating around us. Nessa leaned close, the sticky heat from her arms connecting with mine as her lips settled millimeters away from my ear. “I don’t want to play that
fucking
violin on stage, because of my brother.”

I swallowed hard, the sharp edge of her voice calling me to drop it. “We don’t have to talk about it,” I spit out quickly.