Hard Rock Roots Box Set (110 page)

“What happened at the hospital?” he asks her, carefully keeping his gaze trained on her face. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything's fine,” Naomi says, pauses, touches her hand to her blonde hair. “For now. Just … rest up, take a shower. We can talk later.” She glances over at me and an awkward silence descends on the room. Everyone has a system here, a group, a set of people they should be with, things they should talk about, places to go. Me, I'm new here and I don't fit. I can't call a horde of demons to my hands and smash them into an instrument. I can't fight with that fury and that rage that I saw Dax in earlier. I'm not a singer or a musician or even an artist, I'm just a stripper with a stupid baby brother and his dumb friends. But I'm here to help, not make things more awkward.

“I'll be in Milo's room if you need me,” I say, and then, with one last glance at the beautiful, dark eyed drummer before me, I turn away and walk out the door.

Chapter 5
Dax McCann

“I'm not doing this again, Hayden,” I say, pushing her off of me. It takes a lot of effort. Sometimes, I just let her hang on me, touch me, whatever, because it takes so much work to get her to stop. Especially on days like today when I feel like I'm going to throw up. I should have never slept with her. That was my mistake. She's been a lot more lovey since then, usually when we're in private. But that day she came back … I was so wracked with pain over Naomi's supposed death. And Hayden seemed so upset, looked up at me with those eyes and told me horror stories.
I'm such a bleeding heart fuck,
I tell myself as I check my cellphone. There are no missed calls, no messages. Did I expect something different? A
good job, son
or something? If my dad even watched the concert – which is doubtful – then I probably don't even want to hear anything he has to say about it.

I sigh.

“I'm not mad, Dax,” she coos, turning away and busying herself with running a comb through her long hair. She's not wearing much, just a pair of white cotton panties and a tank top, no bra. Hayden is cute, but I can't look past the damage. And she is damaged. Maybe irreparably so. I want to help her out, fix her, but maybe that's not my job? Maybe she's the only one that can fix her? Fuck. I don't even know what to do anymore. I don't know which parts of her stories are lies and which ones are truth.

“Not yet,” I tell her as I run my hands down the legs of my sweatpants. Finally, I got a chance to shower and put on some clean clothes. I had to settle for a loose, old tee and some holey black pants because there was no way in hell I was getting into a pair of jeans or a tight fitting shirt. I can barely stand up. America made me see the medic, but all he could do was hand me some more pain pills and tell me to go sleep it off. I keep picturing that day the tornado hit and trying to figure out what exactly it was that got me. I saw this flash of metal and then nothing. I'm pretty sure it was a car door. “But when I tell Naomi everything, you will be.” Hayden freezes, going so still I'm not sure for a second that she's even breathing. The comb falls from her fingers as she spins around. I try to keep my gaze focused on the rose tattoo below her bellybutton, but inevitably, my eyes are drawn back to her face.

“Why?” she whispers, voice breathy. “Why does she need to know about everything? She has the fucking photo.” I sigh again and Hayden turns away, blue eyes watering as she stomps over to the table near the window and parts the white curtains with angry hands. A joint finds its way off the ashtray and into her mouth. I watch as she digs a lighter out of her purse and flicks the wheel. “Why does Naomi get
everything
?” she cries, leaning forward and clutching the edge of the table with too white fingers. “You, Turner, all the fame, the credit, the fortune.”

“Naomi doesn't want me, Hayden,” I say and I try not to sound bitter about it. She spins to face me, her brunette hair sticking to her lips and clinging there. The smoke from the joint whirls around her wet eyes, framing them like glasses.

“But I do, Dax.
I
do.” She sits back hard on the table and the ashtray clinks against the wood. “Why don't you want me?”

“We've been over this again and again and again. I can't sit here and have this conversation with you. I came here as a courtesy.” Hayden laughs bitterly, shaking her head and sending a few stray tears twirling through the air like shooting stars.

“You came here because you had nowhere else to go, Dax. You came here because you were lonely, and that's not fair to me.” She sniffles and leans back a bit, hunching her shoulders forward and emphasizing how thin she's gotten lately. I mean, Hayden's always been skinny, but now she's starting to look gaunt. “But you know, I could live with that. Cassie, though. Why does Naomi have to know about Cassie?”

“Hayden, come on. They all think you're the fucking devil. Don't you want to clear your name? It doesn't have to be like this. Things don't have to end badly. It's not too late. It's really not. We can fix this.” I consider standing up, but my muscles promise me pain if I do. Instead, I lean back and press my back into the wall. I watch Hayden watching me and try to remember back to the first day I met her. She was already pregnant then, but you couldn't tell, not even a little bit. I was never even supposed to find out. Nobody was. Hayden's one of those skinny chicks who can get away with that.

“Dax, please. Enough with the inspirational bullshit.” Hayden puffs away on her joint, her body stretched out across the table, toes just barely touching the floor. The position reminds me of that video, that fucking horrible video. If it was possible, I would wipe that shit from my mind forever. I didn't want to see that, didn't want to know about it. That's what I get for digging into other people's secrets, right? I hope nobody decides to delve that deep into mine. “I'm in this too deep to turn back, but that doesn't necessarily mean it has to all be shit, right?” I just keep staring at Hayden. In the back of my mind, I find my thoughts drifting to that girl, Sydney Charell. She's Trey's sister, so I figure she's got to be bad news, but I can't stop myself from fantasizing about her. It can't hurt, right? As long as I keep my thoughts to myself.

“If you're waiting for me to respond, I have nothing to say. They tortured you, Hayden. They're keeping you away from your daughter. How is any of that good news?” We've been over these points a dozen or more times, but no matter what I say, it doesn't make any difference to her. She's bound and determined to see this through, for one reason or another.

“You love Naomi?” Hayden asks, tilting her head to the side. She removes the joint from her thin lips and sucks in a deep breath. I roll my eyes to the ceiling and then close them. We've been over that, too, and I'm sick of talking about it. I haven't told Hayden about the rejection I got today. Why should I? I might be an emo bitch, right, but I'm still a guy. I have pride issues just like the rest of 'em. “Look, I'm tired of chasing after you, Dax. I told you how I feel about you. If you don't feel the same way, well, then all I want is to see you happy.”

“Hayden,” I begin, but she's not done. Instead, she jumps off the table and throws her joint onto the floor, stepping over it like she doesn't have a care in the world. I sit up straight as she comes towards me, wrapping her arms around my neck and touching her cheek to mine.

“If you could have her, would you?” she whispers, breath hot against my ear. I reach up and put my hands on her shoulders, pushing her back a step.

“What?”

“If you could have Naomi, would you?”

“What kind of a fucking question is that? She's in love with Turner. It's never going to happen, Hayden.” She smiles at me and stands up straight, moving away with a smile and a small laugh that scares the shit out of me. Her gaze pans across the white walls, the windows, and comes to rest on a small painting of a fox that adorns the empty space next to the bathroom door. She stands there for awhile, too long in my opinion, and then turns to face me with a grin.

“I could make it happen, Dax. We, we could make it happen.” Chills creep down my spine and I have a hard time swallowing. I run some fingers through my hair and try to imagine a way out of this situation. I need to get out of here before Hayden implicates herself. I just can't do this. I can't. I fucking can't. I'm tired of being the nice guy. It hurts. It sucks. It takes way less energy to just be a dick. I should take a page from Turner's book and start flipping the bird at everyone.

“Don't,” I warn her with a growl. And then I have to fucking wonder why it is that I'm so angry. Am I angry at Hayden for implicating I join her on the frigging dark side? Or am I angry because it's almost tempting? No. No. I'm not like that. I am not fucking like that.

“I could get her for you, Dax. You could be happy. You could have everything you ever wanted. We need another drummer for Ice and Glass, you know? Lola's so out, she's practically toe tagged.”

“Hayden, stop!” I shout, and I don't hold back. I stand up and the world spins around me. “This isn't you. It doesn't have to be you!”

“We could get rid of Turner. We could … we could get Naomi. You could keep her warm and safe and comfortable. Dax, you could fuck her whenever you wanted. You could – ” I move forward and before I know what I'm doing, I'm slapping Hayden hard across the face. I don't mean to do it, not really, but I can't seem to control the rage that's building up inside of me. I want to believe the best about people, but I can't. I can't. Why? Why does the world have to be so fucking cruel.

“Shut your fucking mouth, Hayden,” I bite out at her, turning away as she scrambles at my arm, digging her nails into my bicep, drawing blood.

“Dax, no!” Hayden screeches, and her voice echoes around in my head like a curse. She loves me, I think, but I don't love her. I really wish I did. Maybe then I could figure out a way to free her from herself? I wonder if Naomi feels the same way about me? If she wishes she could love me. But love's not an emotion that can be forced. It has to fall from your heart like a skydiver, floating through the air, captive to no one. Eventually though, eventually you have to hit the ground. “Don't leave me, Dax! I love you. I love you. God, I love you.” I jerk my arm from her grip, slamming my hands against the door, palms flat against the wood as I lean forward and suck in a massive breath, gritting my teeth and holding back the tears of frustration that are threatening to tear through my eyes. “Dax, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dax. Just please don't leave. Don't leave. Everybody always leaves me.”

I stand there for a minute as she wraps her arms around my waist, and I almost give in and stay. Almost, almost, fucking almost.

“I could give you the world, Dax, if you'd just let me. We could make things happen together.”

“Like making Naomi my sex slave?” I whisper bitterly, my breath fogging against the glossy paint on the door.

“Whatever you want, Dax. I would never say no to you; I love you.” I squeeze my hands into fists. I'm so disgusted by Hayden right now, I can barely breathe. My chest feels tight and my heart hurts like crazy. All I want to do right now is lay down and sleep it off.
Fuck.

“Yeah, well, I don't love you.”

And then I push back, untangle her arms from around me, and storm out the door.

I wonder if I'll regret that decision later.

“Is it true that you identify as a woman, Mr. McCann?” the interviewer asks me. She's a pretty chick with long, blonde hair and a movie star smile, but fuck. Really? Really? I turn and glance over my shoulder, catching America's forced smile. She's standing next to a table covered in finger food. When she sees me looking at her, and not at the reporter, she gets this mean look that I'd be hard pressed to describe. Just imagine what a crocodile would look like if you first crossed it with a velociraptor, and then pissed it off.

I sigh. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. My interview is going
nothing
like Turner Campbell's. Or Naomi's. Or even Hayden's. Why am I sucking so freaking much? I turn back to the woman, Pearl I think is her name. Nothing hip or cool about that. My grandmother's name, on my dad's side, is fucking Pearl. I keep reminding myself of that as I stare into her white-blue eyes and try to think up an appropriate response. Somewhere nearby, somebody's chuckling.
Fucking Turner Campbell, piece of shit eating, self-aggrandizing sack of garbage.

“If you mean, do I embrace my feminine side, sure.” The laughter intensifies, and I have to fight the urge to get up and pummel the crap out of Turner. Maybe he could kick my ass; maybe not. But he reminds me of all the boys in high school that made fun of me, teased me to within an inch of my life. I won't take that crap anymore. Not from anyone. I've tried to be civil, but I have a breaking point. I probably won't go all bat shit crazy like Ronnie McGuire, beat a guy to a pulp on the street, but you never know.

The reporter's eyebrows are raised now. I try to cut in before she can comment on that.

“All I mean is that I'm in touch with my feelings.” Her smile gets a little wider, and I can tell I am fucking this up so bad, it's nobody's business. Okay.
Breathe, Dax. Breathe. You can do this.
I imagine my dad might read this, too. He's not going to like it, not one bit. “Look lady, I have a dick and I'm quite aware of it, okay? I'm not a woman, and I'm not interested in being a woman. That doesn't mean I have to be a self-serving, penis worshipping sack of shit.” Pearl's mouth twitches, but her smile never changes. She didn't like me from the moment I walked in here. Fine. Whatever. I don't care.