Whisky Lullaby: Rock Star Romance, Step-brother New Adult Romance (Tennessee Romance Book 1) (4 page)

Dust Bowl Dance

“All right, Logan! Later, man!” Dale called out as his buddy got up to leave.

Logan slapped Dale’s hand and bid him adieu. “See you around nine at the Cave.”

“Word,” Zip called out, and he packed his cigarette against his hand.

Not giving his friends another look, Logan climbed on his black Harley, his banjo case strapped to his back. He sped off, leaving the serene campus quad behind him. He took a lot of heat from his friends for still living with his mother and his stepfather, but he knew it was all in fun. If they knew the real reason he was reluctant to leave, he was sure they wouldn’t be so quick to judge. Logan knew they were right, though. It was time for him to beat a path of his own, and with the opportunity of the Rock Star Royale coming up, it was too delicious to resist. The question was, how was he going to tell his mother?

“Gently,” Logan whispered to no one. “Very gently.” He continued home in silence, the wind his only music.

His Harley revved loudly as it flew down the old dirt road where he grew up. It was an hour ride from campus, sixty-six minutes by bike, but Defeated, Tennessee might as well be a galaxy away. The tiny country town was no man’s land. It seemed a land of broken dreams to Logan. It was easy to see why, too. No one ever left. No one ever “made it”. Even the ones with the best intentions and the brightest talent, somehow fell short. It was a looming reminder over Logan’s head every time he strode down Dust Bowl Road.

Was it a fool’s errand to think that he could actually be the one to make something of himself, when all the others had tried and failed? Logan had to forcefully shake these thoughts from his mind as he rode home from campus. With his friends at school, Logan was confident, self-assured and felt like he was building something important with the band members of Whisky Lullaby. Then when he went home, the spark that rested within his soul threatened to burn out when faced with the cool winds of hostility inside his mother’s house.

Logan’s stomach churned like a maelstrom just thinking about stepping inside. Some homes welcomed you. The Murphy house came with a warning. You could hear Logan’s stepfather’s demands from far down the country road. His mother’s house felt more like a war zone.

Bringing his bike to a full grinding halt outside 24 Dust Bowl Road, Logan could hear the grating sound of his stepfather’s voice.

“Sally! We’re out of beer. Again!” the man’s voice screamed from the kitchen. The pure sound alone grated against Logan’s nerves and set him on edge.

Logan hated listening to his stepfather berate his mother.
Asshole.
“If you wouldn’t drink all the damn beer, you might have some left over, dumbass,” Logan spat through his teeth as he climbed up the rickety porch steps of his mother’s worn down white paneled house. The storm door groaned open as Logan cross the threshold, anxiety burning in his stomach.

“Oh, look!” Floyd yelled out loudly from the kitchen. “The prodigal son has graced us with his presence.”

Floyd was not a big man, but he had a personality as tall as the Empire State Building.
At one point long ago Logan would have said he thought Floyd was a good man. That point had long passed, though. After he lost his steady job at the oil fields in Oklahoma, he was home more often, and started drinking. That was five years ago. Floyd was now a full-blown alcoholic, and a mean drunk. All semblance of the man Logan remembered as a kid was gone. Just a devil remained.

Logan rolled his eyes at his stepfather’s comment. For someone who was complaining about not having any beer, Floyd sure seemed to have an abundance in his system. “Yup. I’m here. You can all rest easy now.” Logan’s voice was rampant with sarcasm as he gave his mother a wink.

“Hey sugar,” Sally said in a raspy voice that sounded nothing like the saccharin sweet voice of her youth. Decades of cigarette use had eroded it. Sally planted a kiss on Logan’s cheek as her son glared towards Floyd with animosity.

“Hey, boy!”

Logan heard Floyd loud and clear, but only glanced his way and didn’t reply. A cool look escaped from Logan’s eyes. All of the warmth that had been visible earlier was now gone.

“I said, hey boy!” Floyd called again as he rubbed a hand over his balding scalp.

Logan noticed his mother’s pretty face grow nervous. He sighed.
Here we go again.
“I know you ain’t talking to me, old man. Ain’t no little boys here.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Chill out and sober up, before you go and get the girls all upset.”

The girls, referring to his mother and his younger sisters, Kelly and Tammy. Logan was fiercely protective of his mother and his sisters, and he hated how he had to continuously fight against his stepfather and his stepbrother to keep the peace.

“What did you say to me?” Floyd shot up straight as an arrow, popping his head out of the refrigerator. Fury burned in his dark beady eyes. “Don’t nobody talk to me like that in my house!”

“Your house?!” Logan hissed, clearly leaving his calm demeanor at the door. “My daddy built this house! You were a replacement! A bad one at that. Couldn’t even wait a year ‘til you moved in. He was supposedly your best friend! Some friend!”

“Logan, no!” Sally pleaded with her son to hold his tongue. She didn’t deny that he spoke the truth, she just didn’t want another fight to break out.

“No, Momma. Somebody’s got to stand up to him,” Logan said bluntly as he broke free of his mother’s grasp.

“That boy ain’t got no sense of responsibility. He’s a two-bit piece of shit that’s never gonna amount to anything.” He threw an empty beer bottle at Logan, who easily ducked it. “Git outta here, boy! Pack yer shit!”

“Don’t worry, I planned to anyway,” Logan mumbled, shooting his stepfather a look of pure hatred. He turned to leave and then looked back at his mother. “I wish you would wake up. You don’t deserve this and my little sisters can’t grow up like this. None of us deserved this.”

Floyd emerged from the kitchen with a pair of scissors in his hands. He snorted at Logan. “You’re too busy playing with that damn fiddle of yours to pay attention to anything ‘round here. If your lazy ass could work a full-time job we wouldn’t be drowning in debt.”

“Floyd! It’s not his responsibility to hold up this family! It’s yours!” Sally spat out, a spike of courage growing seemingly out of nowhere.

Floyd raised his hand. “Woman, if I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it!”

Logan stepped between them. “Go ahead, try and hit her. See what happens.” He’d rather go to jail than let that bastard of a man touch his mother.

Logan’s sisters had come downstairs. His mother sat on her chair, unable to do anything. Logan turned around and motioned the girls to go back up.

He felt a tug at his back and heard the zipper on the bag still hanging on his back unzip. He tried to spin around to stop Floyd from getting what was inside.

For a drunk person, Floyd had fine motor-control. He pulled the banjo out with one hand and slipped his fingers through the scissors with the other. In one quick motion he attacked the strings and snipped the chords before Logan had a chance to rip the banjo from his hand.

Logan shuddered as the painful twang echoed in the kitchen.

Floyd smirked.

“Are you crazy?! What the hell!” Logan rushed forward and ripped his banjo from his stepfather’s grasp. He couldn’t breathe or think. His body went on automatic as he shoved the instrument back into its case. He zipped it up and slid it over his shoulders again. This was it. Never again. “I’m sorry, Momma. I have to go.”

“Logan, no. Please don’t.”

“Git the hell outta here! You’ll never amount to nothin’, stupid finger twiddling lazy shit!” Floyd raised the scissors. “Want me to cut you up like that banjo?”

Logan stomped to the door. “Tell the girls I love them.” He shoved it open without bothering to look back.

Sally rushed out the front door as a light wind swept her hair and the hem of her dress. As Logan’s motorcycle revved loudly, Sally stroked a tear away. “It’s okay. Go. You’ll prove Floyd wrong. I know you will.”

Logan didn’t turn to look back or acknowledge he had heard her. He would. He’d make himself into something bigger than anyone. Or die trying.

***

Ashley neatly put away her belongings. She placed her clothing in the barren drawers of the bureau and set some family photos by her desk. Over her bed she hung posters of some of her favorite bands including Clean Bandit, Florence and the Machine, and Mumford and Sons. Near the door, she hung a poster of Beethoven’s Fifth with all the chords and transitions. On the bed, she ditched the sterile, lily white blanket for something with a little more character. Quickly, she smoothed the green and purple paisley comforter across the mattress, and plopped down two purple pillows she had brought from her bedroom at home.

“Almost like home,” Ashley said to herself with a smile.

Flicking on her iPod, she danced around the space, happy with her newly found independence. As she found her voice and sung along to the lyrics, her cell phone vibrated. She turned the iPod speakers down. It was her mom calling.

“Hey, Mom. I’m here!”

“Hi, honey. You were supposed to call me when you got in. I was worried.”

“I’m sorry, as soon as I got here, Kaylee had me busy.”

“Oh, I’m sure. That girl is a social butterfly! I think you two will get along well. Just be sure to keep up on your studies. You don’t want to lose that scholarship.”

“I know Mom…”

“Did your father call?”

A lull fell over the silence. It was an uncomfortable topic for Ashley. Their separation, and then, ultimately, their divorce had been difficult. It had all come so seemingly out of the blue. She couldn’t understand how her mom never figured out her dad had a mistress all those years. She wondered if her mom even knew that her ex-husband had a second family. And while Nora and Ashley lived paycheck to paycheck, David’s other family lived like the upper crust on Park Avenue. It was a lot for Ashley to swallow.

“Ashley honey…” her mom repeated. “Did your father call?”

She sighed. “He hasn’t. I don’t think he will. I think he’s still upset about Juilliard.”

“Ahh, honey. I’m sure he’s pleased. You picked a good school. At the end of the day, it was your choice, not his.”

“Yeah, it was my choice.”

“I’ll miss you while you’re gone, but I’m glad you’re getting a different experience outside of New York.”

“I miss you too, Mom,” Ashley assured her.

“Maybe you should try to give your father a call.”

Ashley sighed. She didn’t get why her mother cared so much. Not a cent of this college experience was coming from her father’s pocket. Ashley earned her education with scholarships and hard work. “All right, I will in a bit.” She didn’t want to disappoint her mother.

“Give me a call tomorrow, after you’re done with your classes! I can’t wait to hear about them!” The enthusiasm in her voice was genuine.

Ashley smiled. “Okay, Mom. Bye… Love you.” She hung up the phone as she reluctantly looked at a photo that sat on her bureau. Growing up, she had always been something of a daddy’s girl. She adored her father. David Slater was the type of father other kids dreamed of having themselves. He was playful, supportive, strong and funny. Although, Ashley was an only child at her parents’ townhouse, she was not David’s only child. Across town from their midtown townhouse, her father had another family – a beautiful wife, twin babies and even a golden retriever. The thought made Ashley sick to her stomach. She felt like everything her father had every told her was a lie.

Despite the battery acid feeling that swarmed in her stomach, Ashley picked up her iPhone again and dialed her father. She tried his cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail. Rolling her eyes, she pressed the end key and hit the number for his house. His mistress’ house phone.

Well, technically Corinna was his wife now. She waited for someone, anyone to pick up. After fifteen rings, the call went to voicemail: “Hi! You’ve reached the Slater Family! David! Corinna! And the boys! We’re not here right now, leave us a message and we’ll call you back! Bye!” The sugary sweet message made Ashley want to puke.

Stifling her sick feeling, Ashley managed to find some composure as the loud beep sounded in her ear. “Hey, it’s Ashley. Just wanted to let you know I arrived. Call me or… whatever. I have my cell.”

She hung up the phone and dropped it down on her bureau. Giving her father’s photograph another glance, she placed the frame face down, so that she didn’t have to look at his face again until she was good and ready. 

She moved away from the desk, dragging the chair with her. Pulling out her cello from the case, she decided that rather than bottling up her fears, she was going to release her anxiety through the intricate composition of Bach on her strings.

***

“Look what the cat dragged in…” Dale nudged Zip as Logan strolled through the front door of the apartment with his banjo strapped to his back. Logan had an unreadable expression on his face, and he looked like he was in desperate need of a beer.