“Oh,” I said, acting as if this wasn’t in every fucking newspaper out there. No, I wanted to know the truth. My heart hadn’t settled since talking with her. Seeing how depleted she seemed, distant.
My skin crawled as the image of her popped into my head.
“What are you doing here, Andy?” Celine asked bitterly. Her voice was low, strained, like smoke was her only oxygen and she had five packs a day without water.
“Answers,” I let out, my breath shuddering as my head tried wrapping around what the last five years had been.
“Well, ask the questions we both know you’re dying to ask.” My eyes scanned her face. What was once nice and soft skin was wrinkled, aged by drugs and alcohol. Her platinum hair from the past was now an ashy brown, like hay but lackluster of color. She seemed so broken and lost as she sat on her sofa. Pulling out a box of cigarettes, she lit one up and inhaled.
When I didn’t respond, she waved her hand. Sitting on the chair across from her, unease met me.
Smoke permeated the air as she let the room be her ashtray, and as much as I loved cigarettes growing up, something about them now sickened me.
That was the thing about trauma, it changed things you loved into bitter memories you related to hatred.
This would be a long morning, and a part of me knew sitting here would be as draining as my meet with her husband later.
I shook off the way I could still smell her cigarettes and sadness. The mixture was potent and unappealing, but it helped set the course of the present.
What Celine told me earlier today, it changed everything.
Like how Justin hadn’t even graduated from his class, how the pilot who always flew had a heart attack the day prior and this Justin man was somehow available.
The thing that Celine also mentioned was that Don planned this all. He poisoned Alfred Bail, the pilot, and made sure a rookie flew Dox and Harley in one of the worst storms. He bribed Justin with a million dollars, letting him know it’d help him have a happy life.
They all died because Don wanted more money, more fame, and revenge.
You see, Celine and Dox only had a fling. Dox was high as a fucking kite when he fucked her and he regretted it every single day of his life.
Harley understood his turmoil, and honestly, their relationship was so messed up I couldn’t possibly tackle that.
“So, you found Justin for the trip?”
He nodded. “Yeah, he was new but he was fit for duty, an amazing asset.”
I held in the contempt on my own face, the sneer wanting to come through. I recorded all of this. It wasn’t enough to get him to court. But it was enough to settle my conscience, hiring someone to kill him in a back alley somewhere.
“Perfect, I’ll have Madden set up a time to discuss the transfer,” I bit out, trying really hard to not come across as harsh. He needed to feel safe before his throat was slit.
I’d stab him in the front, back, and smear his name along the way. He killed my brother, his wife, and an innocent man who apparently wanted money badly enough to die for it.
“It was really nice seeing you, Andy,” Don commented, cupping my shoulder. I inhaled, forcing myself not to flinch from his unpleasant touch.
“You too, Don. I’ll have to visit more often.”
“Yes,” he confirmed with a grin. “I’d like that.”
“Me too,” I finally said, knowing this was goodbye. He’d be fucked and not the kind he tried with his wife; it’d be miserable.
No one came after my family. Not even my pseudo one.
Chapter Fifty-One
Forgive Me – The Plot in You
Madden
The lights went down on the stage, my skin tingled as I thought of the song I’d yet to sing. It was one we decided to add to the set list after Glasgow, after I’d rewritten it for the fiftieth time. I really just wanted to see Andy’s expression when I sang it.
It was our history.
Our moment.
Our destiny.
“What’s that?” Andy asked. We were at her new condo. I’d been here a few times, but this time felt different. We didn’t have my parents doing a consult of what to expect. It was just her and me. The duo of trouble making.
I stared at the notebook I had scribbled the words on. The melody humming in my head. It didn’t feel right, it never did. I heard the tune in my head but the lyrics didn’t match.
Dad told me if I wrote him a song, all keys in place, he’d talk Don into performing, but for some reason there was a disconnect in my head over the words and rhythm.
“Just something dumb,” I grumbled, looking at a refreshing Andy. It’d been four months since we made out at her boyfriend’s apartment. Looking at her lips now, I felt so many emotions, and it scared me. No one should have that kind of power over me.
My dick twitched as she licked her lips, wetting them before leaning toward me. “Is this... a song?” Her scent invaded me. Citrus and feminine. The mixture so pleasant to me.
“Not dumb, doofus,” she chastised, looking at what I had written.
“Chaos is written. Incomplete. Unbidden with need and tangled in words,” she recited. “Wow, Madden. This is really good.”
“It’s not,” I promised. “The lyrics don’t match the melody.” I stroke the piano keys, my fingers dancing atop them in the tune I memorized.
Looking up at her, I noticed her eyes were closed as if she felt the possibilities behind the tones but didn’t know what to add.
“Madden,” she surmised, leaning to my cheek. She brushed it with her own, not purposely, but it sent shivers down my spine and to my erection nonetheless. “I’m in awe.”
I thought of that moment, of the way she smelled, the way she brushed against me in a loving way. It was something I missed. Not once had I let her freely touch me. Giving myself over scared me, but she was willing to try for me, so I needed to try for her.
I stepped up to the mic, watching everyone freak out from the crack in the curtains. They couldn’t see me yet. I wanted to play the beginning, the beats and acoustics, with the guys. So only Andy would know what this song meant. She told me to change the pace, make it slower, more romantic. But while in London, I had an epiphany after she and I fucked for the first time.
The lyrics came.
They hit me like a fucking freight train.
I stayed up writing it. Fixing every stall, until Al helped. Then Memphis added his input and Carrig did too. We were all in agreement and we were playing it for the first time tonight.
For her.
My little demon.
Carrig’s drums hit, Al’s guitar playing soundlessly.
When my acoustics hit the still air, I felt it. It was the feeling of connecting on a soul level. Something deeper than simple lyrics and beats. It was a soul attachment. Creating art that seared one’s soul.
My fingers hit the strings, brushing over them, a soft caress, like the way I brushed through Andy’s hair while she slept.
She didn’t know this, how I slowly touched her body in every way, making sure no skin was left unloved. I connected with her soul while she slumbered away in her own bliss. I needed the connection when she wasn’t aware.
Bliss was ignorant, after all.
Honeyed eyes and rainy footfalls
My voice bled into the lyrics, allowing each word to consume me entirely.