Down Beat Read online

  I exit the mail app and tap through to Messenger with my heart in my throat. The thread sits empty, reminding me that I’ll never know what he said the day I left. Although… Kendall knows.

  I slip off the stool and make my way to her bedroom, where she sits on the bed tugging her jeans on.

  “You need help?” I tease.

  She snorts a laugh, falling to her back to hoist her hips in the air as she yanks on the denim. “No. I’ve got it.”

  “Hey. Do you remember what the messages from Rey said before you deleted it?”

  She jerks upright with a frown on her face. “Why?”

  “Curious, is all.”

  Her lips twist as she stands to hook the stud. “I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I know it was something about how you were the best liar he’d ever met. He seemed angry that you’d tricked him.”

  “Logical, given what I did.” I lean a shoulder against her doorframe.

  “It was a good thing you asked me to delete them, really.” She smiles softly. “They were quite harsh, the things he said. All things considered.”

  Probably warranted too. I ripped his heart out by walking away when I promised I wouldn’t. I became exactly like every other person that had let him down in the past.

  Why did he help me, then?

  “Thanks, babe.”

  I cross the hall to my room, nudging the door closed behind me. My violin case catches my eye as I walk in, reminding me of the decision I have to make. Do I persist? Or do I settle? My heart says to keep fighting for what I want most, yet my head says that at some point I have to admit defeat.

  The issue admittedly takes some of the pressure away from messaging Rey, which is a bonus. My subconscious is so preoccupied with the decision that I don’t have space to overthink what I’m going to say to him.

  T: The mail brought me a bit of a surprise today. Thank you for including me. I really appreciate your generosity.

  I read and reread the blue bubble that sits on my screen. God, I sound so formal. I’m right back where I started with him—cold and professional.

  The screen flicks to black, the green and red icons at the bottom for me to accept or decline his video call. Fuck it all—I cry. After everything, he still wants to see me.

  “Hey.” I keep the camera off myself until I’ve finished dabbing the unshed tears from my eyes.

  He drops a loaded sigh before talking. “Fuck, kitty.”

  Look at the screen, Tab. You can do it. My next breath catches in my throat, my heart pounding so hard I can feel the pulse point in my wrist as I pivot the phone.

  Ruined. I’m utterly ruined. He has the phone propped up on something, his head in his hands, face hidden, as he leans toward the screen. Damn, I’ve missed this.

  I’ve missed him.

  “How the fuck are you?” he asks, fingers working through his hair as they bend and flex, bend and flex.

  “How am I?” I’ve got no hope of stopping the tears now. None. “Why are you asking me that, after what I did to you?” I cry.

  “Hey,” he coos, leaning back. “No. Don’t, babe. Don’t do that.”

  God, those eyes. This is why I’ve avoided all news of him, any pictures, any chance at seeing a video. Because one look in those eyes and I wonder how I ever had the strength to walk away to begin with.

  I set the phone down on my bed and retrieve a tissue from the box on top of my dresser as I call out, “Why did you do it?”

  “Use your music?”

  “Yeah.” I blow my nose, ditch the used tissue in the trash, and then get another before I return.

  “It was cathartic,” he says simply with a shrug. “What else could I do when you wouldn’t talk to me?”

  “I read about what happened at the end of the tour.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckles, looking off screen. “Right fuckup, that was.”

  “So why aren’t you angry at me?” I whisper. “Nothing I did helped. You aren’t any better.” I state the fact, leaving no room to argue. “I was wrong, so damn wrong.”

  “What else could you have done though, right?” I catch a glimpse of the resentment I search for. “If you stayed I would have brought you down.”

  “I only left because I thought it would give you reason to fight for yourself, Rey.” God, my chest hurts. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I wanted to.” He drags both hands over his face, the sound of laughter interrupting his feed—a woman’s laughter. “Every time I thought I made progress, I realized that it was all a huge fucking misunderstanding and I hadn’t gone anywhere. I guess I gave up. I figured if I couldn’t even get it right for you, then when could I ever?”

  “And now?” I push aside the thoughts of where he is, who he’s with.

  Rey sighs, staring at the screen for a moment before he answers. “I still get dark, kitty. I still have those thoughts. But there’s one thing stopping me from going through with it—and it’s not myself.”

  “What stops you?”

  His smile reaches deep inside me and pulls all the emotions attached to it out kicking and screaming. I can’t go there. I can’t fall for this man again. “You.” I never stopped falling, did I? “Why would I want to die when you’d still be here? As long as there was a chance that I’d get to do this again”—he gestures to the screen—“then I held on.”

  God, this hurts.

  “Nothing’s changed,” I say.

  I wanted him. I wanted this so bad. But he’s proved that there was nothing I could have done. He’s accepted that this is who he is: dark and depressed. And no amount of love or light from me will ever change that.

  We’re fighting to reach the same boat from two different shores. We’re struggling against ourselves, and when all is said and done, one of us will likely drown.

  “I have changed,” he argues. “Jesus—if I hadn’t, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation sober.”

  “But you’re still using me as your excuse, Rey. I want to hear you say that you hold on because there’s so much left of your life to live. Not mine. I want you to hold on because you see what you have to lose.”

  “I can see what I’ve got to lose,” he grits out. “And I already lost it. I love you so fucking much, kitty. Give us a chance.”

  He trusted me to be the one thing that could help him, and I failed. I couldn’t do it.

  What makes him think now is any different?

  “I gave us a chance, Rey. I gave us every chance.” The tears return, only this time when they fall it doesn’t hurt so much. It disappoints. “But you still never gave yourself one.”

  “Tabby,” he pleads.

  I shake my head, pushing the phone aside so I don’t have to look at him. “This isn’t about me. It never was. This has always been, and will always be, about you, Rey. And until you understand that, until you live and breathe for yourself and nobody else, then I it won’t feel right to do this. I’m sorry.”

  Sorry that I ever said yes.

  Sorry that I answered his call.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Rey

  “Through it All” – From Ashes to New

  My breath shudders from my nose as I sit on the floor of the spare room, hands massaging my thighs in a vain attempt to expel the anger that rages through me.

  I have fucking changed. And I do live for myself.

  Except, unlike Tabitha, I can see that I’ll never fully live if my life isn’t connected to hers.

  “Hey. Mom’s serving lunch.”

  “Be out in a minute.”

  My sister withdraws from the room with a nod, more used to my bullshit mood swings than any sibling should have to be.

  She won’t ruin this. I won’t let Tabby ruin not only my day, but my fucking future. I didn’t lie to her; I still have suicidal thoughts. The counselor at the rehab clinic told me that it’s likely that I will never fully shake them. But unlike a few months ago, I can separate them from the moment and recognize them for what the
y are: my mind sabotaging my life.

  What has changed is that now I have the drive to fight back. Time was, I’d hit the low and float there, out of energy, and out of fucks to give. Now, I reach the bottom of my cycle and the shock as I hit the ground has me bouncing back.

  I get angry. I get angry, and then I get even with my mind.

  It will not win, and like fuck I’ll let it take away the thing I deserve the most: Tabby.

  “You okay?”

  I look to my sis, Cassie, as I head out to join the family. “I don’t understand your gender. Not one fucking bit.”

  She laughs, nudging me toward the dining room. “Rey, none of us understand you either. I don’t think it’s a gender thing.”

  Great. “You split up with Jack for a while, hey?”

  She nods, pausing at the doorway. “Why?”

  “What did he do to get you back?”

  Her eyes narrow, the brightest shade of blue I’ve ever seen on a girl. “Why? Who are you trying to win over?” She’s the best part of all of us, the little fucking ray of sunshine in our family.

  Which is why she barely knows the half of how serious my issues are. It went without saying between Toby and me that we’d protect her from it. But she’s a grown woman now, old enough to hold her own.

  “Can I talk to you after lunch?”

  “Of course.” She jerks her head to indicate we should join the noisy table. “Come on. You need to put some fat back on those bones, big brother. You’re skinnier than I am.”

  Liquid diet will do that to a person. If only she’d seen me before I went to rehab. Eish.

  “Take a seat, baby.” Mom pats my place setting. “Toby’s ready to jump the table to get to the ribs, I think.”

  “You know it.” He catches my eye as I take my seat, a silent question passing between us. “What did she say?”

  I shake my head, and then turn to where Dad enthusiastically dishes out steak. “Thanks for cooking all of this.”

  He gives me one of his signature grunts before answering. “It’s nice to see your mother happy with everyone at the table again.”

  “It’s been years,” she laments from the other end. “You boys need to come home more often. And bring the other two next time. I know Emery goes to see his folks, but I worry about that Kris boy.”

  Don’t we all? Next week the madness starts again when we hide ourselves away for a month to work on new content. We’ve had our time off, a little longer than usual thanks to my stint at rehab, but we’re supposed to be unwinding until we meet up again on Tuesday. Thing is, nobody’s heard from Kris in close to five weeks.

  Rick’s holiday was cut short the minute his old man sent him out to track the guy down.

  It’s like a fucked-up game of Where in the World is Carmen San Diego? with Rick tracking our guitarist from the clues he leaves on social media.

  “Pass your plate, Rey.”

  I hold it out for the old man, my arm sinking under the weight of the small calf he unloads onto my dish. Sure as fuck won’t need to eat for a week after this.

  “What happens now that you’re out?” Toby asks as Dad does the same for him. “Do you need to check in with anyone?”

  Straight to the hard topics, huh? I stare at the asshole across the table. He called me once a week while I was in there, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he did it out of obligation.

  If I thought my attempts on my life drove enough of a wedge between us, it had nothing on what I did when I fucked up that final show.

  Took two and half weeks for the black eye he gave me to fully disappear.

  “I’ve got a free pass,” I answer. “Only have to call if I think I need them.”

  “Really?” Cassie asks as she holds her plate out for the dainty slab Dad passes her. “I thought you’d have to do AA or something.”

  I consider how hard it would be to swap plates while she’s distracted. “Nope. Because I was a voluntary admission, I miss out on that.”

  “You shouldn’t have needed admission at all,” Dad gripes.

  Here we go again.

  “If you pulled your fucking head in and listened to your brother, none of this would have needed to happen.”

  “Clint,” Mom scolds.

  “Just saying it how it is,” he mumbles.

  “And don’t we love you for your continual honesty,” I snap.

  Toby groans, while Cassie sighs. And just like that, our Brady Bunch moment slides into something that more resembles a scene from Married With Children.

  Ah—home. No place like it. And Mom wonders why we don’t come back more.

  “Anyway,” I announce loudly. “I have a few pieces to go over with you later, Toby.”

  “Good.” The rest of his sentence is implied in his tone: at least you got something achieved while you were there.

  I fight the urge to set my phone on the table and record this bullshit. I could send it to kitty, titled And You Wonder Why I Drink.

  The meal continues in silence—at least, for me. The rest of my family unit make small talk amongst themselves, either oblivious to the fact I refuse to join in, or maybe thankful. Who would know? All I can state for certain is that without the bullshit that accompanies everything to do with me, their conversation holds a much lighter, easier feel to it.

  I’m completely and utterly the black sheep, and for once, that doesn’t make me feel bad. I’m okay with it. I’ve made my peace with it. My depression is part of who I am, but it’s not everything I am.

  I am my mental illness, but my mental illness is not me.

  And kitty thinks I haven’t changed.

  “Swell meal, Mom. Thanks.” I set my knife and fork on the plate, and then push out from the table.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  “People to see. Things to do.” I stick my hand out for the old man. “Good to catch up, as always.”

  He reaches out tentatively and gives it a pump. I can see it in his eyes; he thinks I’ve lost it again.

  Maybe I have. But this is the most right I’ve felt about something in a long time.

  It struck me, as I sat at the table eating, that once again I’m going through the motions of life, doing what I’m told. Sit here, Rey. Do this, Rey. Say that, Rey.

  Kitty wants me to fight for myself, well then welcome to the revolution, motherfuckers.

  Ain’t nobody going to cut me out of this box I’ve stuck myself in. Nope. I made that box so damn pretty that everyone around me rushes in to smooth the edges and tape it up whenever I try to break free.

  Not anymore. Fuck what they think. Fuck what I think. The only person who knows what the hell they’re talking about, the only person whose advice I crave, who is ready and willing to give me a high five when I finally fucking get it right, hung up on me not even a full hour ago.

  And if I’ve got anything to do with it, then she won’t be able to hang up on me again.

  “See you next week,” I toss Toby’s way as I push my chair in and turn to Cassie. “I’ll ring you later, sis.”

  “What do you mean next week?” Toby frowns.

  “I mean I’ve got a fucking plane to catch.” I toss a hand high in the air as I march out of the Mad Hatter’s tea party. “Sayonara, fuckers.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  Tabitha

  “Never Never” - Korn

  Steady income. Steady income, and no more debt collection calls. I repeat the reasons for doing this over and over as I wait on the cab to take me home from the audition. It went well, but I won’t know the outcome until they’ve seen the other applicants tomorrow.

  I’ve never wished so hard for a rejection.

  My phone rings in my coat pocket, forcing me to juggle my violin case between my hands in a hurry to catch it before it stops. The agent’s name flashes up on the screen, no doubt calling to see how I did.

  “Hi.”

  “Evening, Tabitha.” The guy is old school, super formal. But he knows his stu
ff. “You’ve finished your audition then?”

  “I have.” Don’t ask me how it went.

  “And how did it go for you?”

  Damn it. “I think it went well. I find out tomorrow.”

  “Brilliant.” I can tell by his tone of voice he’s already disinterested in what else I have to say.

  In a way, it’s a relief. I don’t want to get into the semantics of why I’m not feeling it.

  “I didn’t actually call about that, though.”

  He didn’t?

  “How’s your evening? Is it free?”

  “At this stage.” As if I’d have anything to do, anyway. “Why?”

  “I had a request for you to play at a private residence. Now, there are no concerns for your welfare; the parties have to fill out quite the comprehensive booking form, so we’ll know where you are and what time you’re supposed to leave. If you accept, then all I ask is that you phone me when you’re done so I know you returned home safely.”

  “Is this normal?” I knew he put me up on their website as listed talent, but I seriously didn’t realize people still do this.

  “Quite normal. One of my other gentlemen plays at least three times a month for private functions. If you’re comfortable doing such events, you can earn a nice bonus through them.”

  Wow. “I guess I’m thrown by the short notice, but that’s fine.” A girl has to eat. “What are the dress requirements? Cocktail?”

  My imagination sets to work conjuring up a montage of swanky places I might be booked for.

  “Casual. I’d say dress slacks and a nice blouse, but you don’t need to be formal.”

  A nice blouse. I giggle on the inside—I don’t own a blouse. “I’m happy to do it. Do they have preferences for what I play? How does this work?”

  “I’ll email you the particulars. You’re required there in a little under two hours, so I apologize for the rush. They literally booked you this minute.”

  “Thanks, Don. The opportunity is much appreciated.”