So...it's time to see how the band is coping, awaiting their fate while Ash and Leed, et al were confronting Slade...
Trace
Arabella is getting on my last goddamn nerve.
"Adam, I'm serious," she whines again, dropping to her knees on the floor of my studio, where he's playing with Lennon, who is batting at one of the overheard floor gym toy bar things. She grabs his face, trying to pull his attention away from his daughter and put it on her.
A violent discord on the keys makes me turn my head sharply to look at Mac, sitting beside me on the synthesizer bench. Her makeupless face is pretty but scrunched in irritation and she's counting under her breath. "Five, four, three..."
I snort, catching her vibe immediately. She's giving Adam to the count of five to remove Bell's hand from his person. If he doesn't, Mac is likely to remove Bell's hand from her wrist.
"Easy, Maneater. Bells might give you the plague if you take a bite out of her," I murmur.
We both watch Adam jerk his head away from her. He picks Lennon up and rises quickly, like he's afraid Bells will contaminate her. His body language reads disgust, but his tone is patient as he says, "It's not the time, right now, Arabella."
Satisfied, Mac's fingers dance over the keys again, repeating the measures of the new chorus we are messing around with. "More like rabies."
"You right, girl. She's a rabid bitch," I mutter back with an evil grin.
"Be nice," Adam says as he leans down to put Lennon in my arms.
"Hey, Cheesie-Weesie," I plunk her little diapered butt up and down on the keys and she squeals in delight at the god-awful sound.
"Awwwww, sweet Len, you play keys better than Trace does already, don't you? Yes you do..." Mac leans forward into her daughters face. Lennon gives her a toothless smile at grabs at Mac's strawberry mane, tugging hard.
"Owww." Mac says dryly.
"See what you getâpooping on my playing ability?" I laugh as Lennon jerks harder.
Adam's already teasing Lennon's tiny fists away from his wife's hair. I grin, privately thinking if his daughter is anything like her mama, his days of refereeing between them have only begun.
Having disentangled his girls, Adam says, "Check this out, I'm hearing a whole different possibility..." He directs Mac to play the chorus again. I support-stand Lennon on my thighs while she plays the moody chorus and he picks out a bass line on the first octave. It's fastâsixteenth notes--on the bass it would be gritty.
"Let's speed it up," Mac nods, and plays faster. Suddenly the moody vibe becomes harder, more reminiscent of our first album but also a little electronica. I feel like we are about to break some ground with this next album and somehow return to roots at the same time. Foo-fighters meets Muse.
"That's dope," I grin, passing Adam a pencil to put it down on paper. He's not likely to pick up his bass in the immediate future. He sent the nanny back to their place for Lennon's swing, so we could really get into this song while Lennon takes her nap, so he's on daddy duty until she gets back.
"Adam!" Bells slaps the floor and crawls to her feet dead after him. "They are songwritingâ" she slings a hand at me and Mac at the piano. "Why can't we?"
My eyes flit to Bodie, who is watching the scene from his seat on the large utility table at the back of the mixing room, various small instruments of percussion spread around him. He's experimenting with all kinds of subtle bells, chimes and whistles every since Dom turned him onto that agogo bell for December Dawn.
"Bells, leave the man alone," Bodie says. "We're in this song right now...Adam can't be switching up gears to a completely different vibe to write for you because you all of the sudden give a shit about your music. That line he just wrote is genius...you want him to lose that?"
"I want him to use his genius to like Moran told him toâto make my next album!" Arabella yells. "Or have all of you forgotten that you owe me a record because of...that thing?" she wrinkles her nose and points at Lennon.
Oh shit, she did not. I hug Lennon to my chest and cradle her head protectively, because shit is about to fly around this room. Possibly Arabella's body.
Mac is off the bench in a shot, face to face, chest to chest with Arabella pushing Bells back with the force of her fury. "Because of that thing?!?! What thing? I know you did not just call my daughter that thing! Think fast bitch, because unless you come up with a damn good apology, I'm about to fuck up your nose-job and I hear that shit never goes well the third timeâ"
"Easy, Shortcake," Adam is putting himself between them, wrapping diminutive Mac in a bear hug and picking her up, planting a kiss on her nose. "No need for violence. Bells is leaving."
"I am not leaving. Not until you write me a song!" she stamps her foot and pulls up her tiny tube top. She'd do better to pull her daisy dukes out of her ass crack, that's got to be uncomfortable.
I look away, my glance going to Kat to make sure she didn't see me checking out Bell's ass. I wasn't doing it on purpose at allâmore like just wishing she didn't always have to dress like a stripper when we're just kicking it. I mean, leave something to the goddamn imagination. All the other chics up in my crib todayâMac, Kat, Marleyâleave the club clothes at the door of our down-time and they still look great.
Kat looks especially hot without looking like a stripper. She's rocking orange joggers, converse and a plaid, navy crop. Thankfully, she didn't see my gaze sweep Bells indecent shorts. She's sitting at the mixing board with her headphones on, typing furiously on her laptop, probably writing a paper for school. She's got handouts and even a couple of books on the controls.
I huff.
I've asked her a dozen times not to use the mixing board for a workstation, but it's not her fault that Bodie is completely taking up the table with his new toys. Plus she gets stressed because she's so fucking busy and she's always in-panic-drop-my-laptop-anywhere-and-bang-out-some-work-mode. I honestly don't know how she juggles school, working for Marianne, being a social influencer and hanging around to support me all the time, but she swears there's no where she'd rather be than in the middle of SCIC. So I try not to bitch about stupid shit like having to fine tune the board because she accidentally bumped a button.
"Adam!" Bells whines again.
"Preacher," Mac warns.
"Bodes," Adams says wearily.
"Bells," Bodie says with the same weary tone.
Marley looks up from her book. "Why don't Arabella and I grab lunch for everyone?"
"You go, I'm not the hired help," Arabella says with contempt so thick that now Bodie is pissed too. He tosses the beaded gourd he was experimenting with back into a large basket of rattles and small shakers.
"Apologize," he says.
"What!?!"
"I mean it. Or if you can't be civil today, just fucking go," he says without any emotion.
"It's fine," Marley says with the same tone, returning to her book like the discussion is closed. I shake my head. Marley absolutely does not give a fuck about Arabella's constant digs. She's tried to coach Mac not to swing at Bells everytime she says something mean, because it's allowing Arabella to take control of the situation, but Mac does not have it in her to let Bell's catty shit slide.
Neither does Bodie. "No, it's not fine," he tells Marley. He looks at Arabella. "You create a hostile work environment for Marley. I'm not keen on getting sued."
Marley rolls her eyes at him. "I wouldn't sue anyone, Bodie. I'm here by choice."
"Yeah, I'm not about you changing your mind on that, and bailing , either" he gives her a raised eyebrow, almost like he's daring her to quit. It's funny how Bodie and Marley swing from one extreme to the other. Some days, he seems irritated as fuck with her. Other days he treats her like his most precious friend. I guess their deal is hard...with Bodie's addiction and Arabella's assholeness and the kid in the mix. Not to mention their history.
Which Bodie won't talk about at all, but you ever just see two people look at each other and knowâthey are in way deeper than they are letting on?
Yeah, sometimes I see that look pass between Bodie and Marley.
Marley shakes her head at Bodie. Then she grins at me. "I promise to give two weeks notice on all my roles with you guys if I do finally get tired of all this nonsense." I notice the smile she tucks as she returns to her book. Bodie slides off the table, stops at the controls, switching off the mic's and strolling into the booth. He's sound-proofed the conversation from Marley's ears as he stalks up to Arabella.
"You want me to choose? Between you and the band? Between you and Marley? Cause you aren't exactly making it a hard fucking choice, are you? Goddamn, I try to stay in this with you, butâ"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Arabella says at once, tears welling as she latches on to Bodie's abs. "It's just, I'm so stressed out. You know how much I appreciate you. I know how hard you are working to stay in this. To come through for me. I just...with everything that's happened at Colossal...Bodie my album is so important. If I don't get it done...it's over for me. You know that."
Bodie's jaw tenses. His eyes shift from me to Adam, but he says nothing.
Adam looks at the floor. Of all of us, he feels the worst about Arabella. He thinks most of her drama is built on insecurity, which he says is a shame because she's a good musician and she's got decent pipes, and she could hold her own as a pop star for a few years, if she had the right vehicle.
But her train has left the station as far as Hollywood is concerned.
Adam and I talked about it yesterdayâthe possibility of trying to help her. If by some miracle Soundcrush gets out of the Slade massacre alive, where does that leave Arabella? If Slade goes down, does her name get scratched off the "blacklist?" Or is it like a mafia hitâyou can't recall it, even if you change your mind? Or is it one of those things like...once your exposure is in decline, it doesn't recover? How the fuck does all that even work?
We really need to know. If Slade ever gets to make his one phone call from jail, it will be to add Soundcrush to the list.
I tried to casually talk to Matt about it at the hospital yesterdayâwhat "blacklisting" really means, for both us and Arabella, but he smacked me in the head, shoved me in a supply closet and hissed. "What the fuck is the matter with you, Trace? You don't talk about shit like that in public. You start asking questions about industry blacklisting and you'll find yourself on that list and even I won't be able to do fuck about it. That's like...event horizon shit. You mess around investigating the phenomenon and you get sucked into the black hole. We're gonna take Slade down the normal wayâwith spies and bribed government documents and, of course, all the shade I can throw around to ruin his rep in the very public way. I don't want to hear anymore about this crazy blacklist shit. Don't go anywhere near that topic again, you hear me? My advice is...once we've deep-sixed Slade, Bodie should think long and hard about whether Arabella is even worth it. I think he should send her on a nice long vacation and hope she finds greener pastures. Maybe she falls in love with some New York real estate developer or even better...some rich European. She could play the east coast socialite or re-invent herself in the European scene, and everybody wins. Especially Bodie."
I told Adam what Matt said, but he rejects the idea of being unredeemable, so now he's actually feeling sorry for Arabella.
Apparently, like, right now. Because he says with a heavy sigh, "Look, Arabella, I know what I committed to. And if you are serious about songwriting, I'll help you. But you have to bring me something...a lyric, a melody, a hook. You have to show me you are serious. And you have to do it professionally. Get with one of our staffers and ask them to book us some time in between tour dates, okay? Today we are just messing around, waiting to hear from Riley, trying to keep our minds off what's going down at the police station with Slade and Leed and Ash. Today is about family, not your album, okay?"
She whips around to Adam, lips trembling. "You mean it?"
"I said it, didn't I?" he looks confused, like he can't believe it himself.
Arabella throws herself into Adam's arms. "Thank you, Adam! Thank you so much!"
Adam pats her back awkwardly, giving Bodie SOS-eyes to pull her off. Bodie grins and crosses his arms, like he's glad to be rid of her for two seconds. Mac's lips tighten and she comes to take Lennon from me. "Your daddy is the best man in the world. Too good for his own good," I hear her whisper as she kisses Lennon's temple.
Arabella is all smiles now. "Okay, I'm gonna get to work tomorrow. Should I call your West Coast PA or your Nashville PA?"
"Doesn't matter. They coordinate."
Then Arabella is back on Bodie. "This is awesome! Are we going out tonight to celebrate?"
He looksâdistressed. He doesn't really love being in the club scene right now. Too much temptation to deviate from his strict march toward sobriety. "Maybe...we could all go out?" He looks from Mac, to Marley.
Mac catches his meaning. He wants Marley with him if he goes clubbing, but he's still tied to Arabella professionally. More than ever, actually.
Mac is the Queen Bee right now. Adam sure is hell isn't going out without her, and I'm sure as hell not suffering through a night with Arabella without him as a buffer to keep me from accidentally snapping her neck.
Mac looks from Adam to me. We give her the it's your call shrug. She sighs. "What the hell? We'll either be celebrating a victory or drinking to the end of the world."
Adam puts his arms around her and Lennon. "Hey now, it ain't that bad. We are young, rich, and in mad love. Even if our band goes down in flames, I got my world right here."
Mac looks like a fifteen year old starstruck girl as she gazes into his eyes. "Preach," she says with a goofy grin.
"Always do," he grins and they kiss.
I'm glad Adam can be so freakin' philosophical. I stare at Kat, trying to take the comfort he finds in Mac.
Adam is right. If the ride ends, I'm still rich. I'm still young. I'm still in love with girl I want to spend my life with. I'm still riding high, compared to almost the entire planetary population. And if I had to make a choice between the band and Kat, she would win hands down.
Despite all that, I feel differently than Adam. I built this band with my blood, sweat and tears, and it's killing me to think one psycho's vendetta against us could erase everything I've built.
I feel beyond angry. I'm actually terrified. This is my family and I'm responsible for them and I feel powerless to protect us. All day, all I've been trying to do is hold on to the little normal things.
Write a song. Snark with Mac. Give Adam and Bodie shit. Kiss the band baby. Make eyes at my girl while I stalk around the booth with my guitar.
Because what if it's the last day for Soundcrush? What if tomorrow, my family is on the floor and I can't summon my rock star swagger to pick us up?
Suddenly, Kat jerks off her headphones and grabs my phone beside her, flipping a switch and to turn on the mic. My Country Tis of Thee is playing from my phone.
Except it isn't really My Country Tis of Thee. The cat that wrote those lyrics ripped off the melody of God Save The King. And Leed ripped off God Save the King to use for Riley's ring tone. And everybody else in the band ripped off Leed and now we all know Riley's calling when that snare drum roll starts and the horns start their stately tune.
For one brief moment, Bodie and I stare at each other, and then we exchange glances with Adam and Mac.
Shit.
It's over. Either Slade just went down or we did. It's already done, all that's left is to find out our fate.
We all try to bolt through the door at once, but Kat has already answered.
Her face is expressionless, and she repeats herself with a series of "okays" and "uh-huh's." At then end of the conversation she frowns. "Are you serious?" Then a sigh and another "okay." She hangs up. We all stare at her expectantly.
She walks to me and places her hands on my shoulders, looking up into my face with such tenderness that my gut slithers like snakes and my footing feels like the world is tilting beneath me.
Oh fuck. Oh fuckâ
"Congratulations. You still get to be a rockstar, Rockstar."
It's only then that my heart starts pounding and heat floods to ever part of me. I grab my girl to me tightly and swing her around wildly as she laughs and Mac screams. "Put her the fuck down so she can tell us!!!"
I drop Kat on her toes. Her eyes are glittering with triumph. "Slade's being extradited. He's in INTERPOL custody, but being remanded to the care of the German legal system. He's going straight to a psychiatric hospital in Germany. He's never getting out. Ash and Dev's father and Varrick...working together, they disappeared him."
Mac is hugging hugging Kat with Lennon between them. "You helped, too-Megan..."
I stifle a growl at that because this is not the time for another argument about that insane bullshit.
Now is the time for celebrating. Adam and I are yelling and high-fiving. Bodie is pulling Marley up from the couch and embracing her, grinning and speaking in close tones.
Then we are all calling somebody. Leed, Matt, Ashlynn. After that we move onto a second round of anxious persons waiting to hear our fate...the Heartleys, Mac and Leed's parents, the Ballards, Marcy, Andy the head of our technical road crew, John Rourke the head of our new private security firm. We spread the word fast that Soundcrush is still alive.
The only person I can't reach is my mom. I even briefly consider calling Ross, because I figure my mom has told him what's going on...but I don't call him. I haven't talked to him in years, and I'm barely getting used to exchanging emails with him. I'll shoot him one later.
Arabella even joins in the hugs and high-fives at some point, though she's pretty subdued compared to the rest of us. I have a brief hateful thought that maybe she was hoping Soundcrush was about to be sidelined, so that she and Bodie would be on a level playing field, but I'm so fucking relieved that my band is still breathing that I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt. She just doesn't know how to fit in with us, after all that shit on tour last year. I give her a one-armed hug.
"Thanks for keeping the vigil with us," I tell her and she nods and gives me a bleak smile. It's only then that I am close enough to look in her eyes.
The studio is dark. Too dark for her pupils to be that tiny. And believe me, I'm a fucking expert on reading opiates in a chic's eyes. How many times have I checked Ash up close?
Fuck. I can't believe she's using around Bodie. Bodie going out to a club or a party and being exposed to alcohol or even knowing the drug scene going on in the back of the VIP is one thing. Pretty sure the methadone have his cravings sated enough for casual encounters with substances. But he's trying so fucking hard to keep to his regimen, and she's flaunting his weakness in front of him? Is she using in his house? Is it just pills or is she shooting up still? I release her, disgusted at her once again.
Even as I'm judging her, Bodie is showing he has enough discipline to cope, now that he's put his mind to getting clean. Right this second he's pulling a Red Bull from the fridge for himself as he's passing out everyone else's favorite beers for a victory toast.
"You want the Grapefruit Shandy or the LaCroix?" he asks Mac as he passes Marley a Hard Seltzer and Arabella a can of sparkling wine.
"The shandy...since I'm taking the night off..." Mac kisses Lennon again and hands her off to the nanny who has impeccable timing. "But I will miss you, Sweet Baby Girl. So much." She smiles at the nanny. "Sorry, Izzy. Change of plans. We're going out tonight, not hanging here. But our girls' shopping trip is definitely still on for the morning, and I'm definitely going to treat you, LA style, because it's your first time in LA and you've been so flexible, making this trip with us, and gearing up for touring."
Adam kisses his daughters head, "Yes. Thanks, Izzy. We'll head back to our place with you in just a bit and put Lennon down before we hit the club. And I'll set that swing back up, since I asked you to bring it for nothing."
The nanny smiles easily and coos at Lennon as she takes her back upstairs. I imagine as far as celebrities parents go, Madam is pretty easy to work for. They require alot of flexibility but they are so fucking nice and generous with their rapidly growing staff. They remind me of Matt and Marianne.
I clear my throat. "So, ladies and gentlemen...a round of toasts? Kitty?" I look to Kat, to start. I've noticed that's what Matt does with the Bus. His Queen opens their rituals, and he closes them down.
We all raise our glasses. Kat doesn't play when it comes to her go-to drink. She prefers a chilled shot of high quality vodka. Gets the job done with less calories, she says. "Soundcrush Forever," Kat smiles at me, clinking her shot with my stout.
"Here's to the Bad-Ass Ballard sisters for saving our asses," Mac says, absolutely not caring that Adam and I glare at her.
"To Megan Davis, may she rest in peace," Marley says quietly.
We all drink to that one, and linger over a quiet moment.
"How about...to the Brits?" Bells says tentatively. "Riley, Dev, and his father? Cause without Dev taking a bullet, and Riley setting the stage for his father, and the Baron pressuring Slade's father..."
"You're absolutely right," Bodie looks proud at her ability to put the pieces together and see the cause and effect. Honestly, I'm surprised myself. She's high, but she's apparently got a handle on things.
"To Varrick," Mac adds. I do growl at that one but Mac thrusts her chin stubbornly in the air. "He's been through it, and it fucked him up worse than any person I've ever met. I know what that's like and I feel for him. He's trying to redeem himself." She looks up at Adam. "Redemption only exists because of the sinners."
"Amen." Adam smiles and pulls her head to his as they clink bottles. Kat and the two of them drink to Varrick but fuck if I will. In my book, he's an abuser. Like Slade. Like Ross.
Bodie swoops in to lighten the mood. He shoves a hand in his designer jeans, puffs up like a thug, and holds his Red Bull out to the center of the group.
"Here's to fucked up, rock star priorities. I'm specifically thinking of our Frontman and his Sunshine, who would rather run off to Costa Rica for make-up sex than celebrate our survival with us tonight," Bodie says dryly and we all laugh and drink to our missing family members.
Adam catches my eye and clinks his bottle with mine. "Here's to you, man. For today. For every day since the first day I backed your guitar with my bass. For getting us that first gig, for getting us to LA, and for keeping us going. Glad we get to keep doing this shit a while longer."
Fuck, Adam's steady gaze of respect and nod choke me up. I clink with him and take kill my beer, using the opportunity to compose myself and bring it home. Kat pours me a vodka shot and offers it so I can make the final toast.
"Here's to our Soundcrush family. Every one of us here, every one of us missing. Here's to the music that makes us whole."
Murmurs of appreciation go around the group. We drink. I kiss Kat and breathe in inspiration.
Then we get down to the business. It's time to party, LA style.
Everybody's home base is in minutes of my place, so we break to shine it up for the scene.
Kat always teases me that I smell like leather and she's never seen me wear it, so I opt for all black tonightâtopping it off with one of the dozen identical Saint-Laurent patched leather jackets that Tam has added to my touring repertoire.
Kat comes striding into my foyer looking like sin stacked on a storybook in an electric blue two piece bodycon, with her waist length chestnut hair swinging around her tan, toned arms.
That's my girl. Disney Princess that looks like she knows how to work a pole. But only for me.
Jeeeâzussss Christ. I can't wait to peel that dress off her salty skin when we get home.
"Damn," she breathes, sliding her hands beneath my leather jacket from behind, as I give my hair one last style in the hallway mirror. "I got so used to your boyfriend mojo, I almost forgot what a hardcore sexy rocker you are."
I catch her hands to my chest, admiring my woman in heels, draped around me. "Don't worry. I'm gonna bring my rock hardness to your attention. All night long."
I ordered the limo, because I want to swing by my mom's before we pick the crew up. She lives in the same complex as Kat and Ash...it's just around the corner.
When we turn in the opposite direction from Madam and Bodie's Kat asks "Where are we going?" as she's casually inspecting the vodka selection.
"My mom's. I can't get her on the phone. I think it must be dead. I just wanted to let her know the shit with Slade is resolved. Hey! I wonder what's going to happen at the label? I should ask Matt who's slotted to rise, or if they will go to the outside..." I'm already texting the Old Man to get his take.
"Trace, let's not stop by your mom's. I'm ready to get my party on, and it's going to take forever to ride west to twenty minutes out to get Bodie, then head back into LA..."
I watch Kat pouring shots. I take the one she offers and give her a puzzled look. It's way early and Kat is usually chill about the time it takes to accomadate our entourage plans.
"It'll just take a minute. Okay, ten tops."
She nods, not looking at me. We clink shots and knock 'em back. She slides to the opposite seat to put the glasses in the tiny bar sink and gets busy on her phone.
I try my mom again to give her a heads up we are two minutes out. No answer.
When we roll into the complex Kat says, "Let me call her. It's a Friday night, Trace. It's rude to just drop by. What if she has a date? It would be awkward..."
I snort, pouring my fourth or fifth shot of the limo ride. "Baby, I'm the king of cool when it comes to my mom meetin' her needs. I'm down to meet her Tinder date, if she's got one. Cougar power," I toast Kat and toss back the chilled Icelandic vodka.
Shit, Iceland makes the best vodka. It's all those arctic springs. I look at Kat, plotting. Fuck yeah, I'm taking her to Iceland in September when this summer mini-tour is done. I hear it's the best time to see the Northern Lights. Maybe we could double up with Leed and Ash. Leed loves the YOLO experiences.
My KitKat is looking anxious. "Traceâ"
"It's fine. She gives me shit all the timeâabout busting in on us during our first time. I'm totally down for returning the favor. Besides...it's eight o'clock. She's not having sexy times," I snort. "If she's gotta guy over they are probably just watching a movie after coming back from their senior citizen early bird special..."
"Trace, your mom is forty-five years old. Like, almost twenty years younger than my parents. Like, Adam's sister's Alex's age..."
"Yep, she's a happening chic." I nod to her red Jaguar XJ, "but she's still home before sundown."
I leap from the limo, jazzed to tell my mom that all the Soundcrush shit is going to be okay, that Leed and Ash seem to be on the road to recovery, that hopefully I can drag Matt from his Dev nursing duties, and that my awesome Father-Son-summer-on-tour is still on track.
Honestly, I can't wait to see Matt in his element. I know the dude's a straight up family guy now, but there's got to be a little of wild man from those hair band videos locked inside.
I'm totally down to go crazy with the Old Man on the road.
I hit my mom's door, punching in the key code. Kat is hustling in her heels behind, her phone stuck to her ear. Who the fuck is she calling?
"Goddammit Trace! Where's your fucking chill?" Kat sounds uncharacteristically hostile. I turn, slightly concerned, but the lock buzzes open and I push inside.
"It's okay, baby. My mom will be cool, I swear..."
She follows me inside, slipping my grasp silently as I stop, confronted with the complete darkness of my mom's small living area. Her layout is just like Kat's. The living area feeds into small dining area, with the kitchen to the left, at the back of the two story brownstone. I hear clinks and rustles that immediately bring to mind my mom rummaging through the pantry.
Kat grabs for my hand, but I shirk her, intent on the idea of sneaking up on my mom in the kitchen and scaring the bejesus out of her. I haven't pranked her in a while...
I try to be quiet but Kat's heels thwunk against the walnut floors, alerting our presence.
Except it's not my mom that hears us. A familar voice rumbles through the half closed pantry door.
"G, I don't think there are enough marshmallows to do the chocolatey popcorn justice. Doesn't it take a half a bag to get the chocolate to stick? I'm gonna run to the grocery store, is there anything else you want me to pick upâ"
I laugh. I don't know why, but that's my reaction. A laugh of dis-fucking-belief.
I jerk open the door and Ross turns around in gym shorts and nothing else. My first thought is...I've never seen my dad look so...strong. He was always alcoholic-skinny. Now he's muscular. Gym time must be how he distracts from the need to get shit-faced and shove me and my mom into walls.
My second thought is...
"Get the fuck out."
Oh. Did I say that out loud?
Sorry, not sorry.
"Trace. Your mom said you don't usually come by without calling." His tone is not surprised. Not angry. Not agitated. Not slurred. Not pleading. Not desperate.
His tone is also not unfamiliar. But it's like all the times I tend to forget, because the bad times always overshadowed the times like this.
His tone is totally sober. Totally calm. Totally normal.
Yeah, my tone is not going to match.
"Did you fucking hear me!?!? Get.The.Fuck.Out!!!!"
My father looks about ten years younger than the last time I saw him. In a way, he reminds me of Adam as he puts a thick forearm up to the pantry doorframe, bows his head and says patiently, "That's not your call, Trace, but I am sorry to catch you off guard, here. The last thing I want is a conflict with you, Son."
There is a huge part of me that wants to shove him to the back of the pantry wall. To get up in his face. To tell him never to call me son as I leave marks on his jaw.
But if I do that, I deserve to be called his son, don't I?
"Trace," Kat's voice is urgent. "Please be cool, okay?"
My dad's eyes flit to Kat, and he looks suddenly...embarrassed to be half naked. He crosses his arm almost involuntarily. "Hi Kat. Wow. You look so grownâ"
Suddenly I'm losing my shit, pushing him back into the pantry. "Don't you fucking speak to her. Don't look at her. Don't touch her."
Ross is holding his ground, refusing to be backed up. He's like...a wall. Unrelenting. Impenetrable. It's like I couldn't make him angry if I tried.
Wait. Am I trying?
I hesitate, unsure of my own motivation.
Ross's dark eyes meet my icy ones. "This is not you. Not who you want to be. We are not trading places, okay? That's not how this is going to be, going forward."
I laugh. "How it's going to be? You think mom's taking you back? You think she could ever live with you again, and not worry she will walk at any time into a drunken rage? You're fucking fooling yourself, Dad. You want to know what this is? She's lonely and LA is not her scene. You're the devil she knows, that's all."
He smiles at me. It looks sincere; it feels patronizing. I put my hands between us, trying hard to resist shoving him. He puts his hands about three inches above my shoulders. He doesn't touch me. He just hovers.
"You might be right about that, Trace. But I hope you are wrong, because I love your mother. And you. I always tried, I always failed. I'm going to try like hell not to fail again."
"All been said before, dad. Where the fuck is momâI'm done talking to you."
I turn away from him, and smack into my mother.
"Oh god. Sweetheart." My mom has turned the corner from the dining room, her hands trailing from the cord of her black satin robe. She looks from me, to Ross, to Kat, and back to me again.
I rush toward her, catch her in an embrace. "Don't do this. I don't want you to get hurt anymore."
She searches my eyes. "I know that. I know you only want me to be safe. You have to trust me, that I know what's safe."
A feeling like I haven't felt since I was a little kid overtakes me. I feel like sobbing. "You think he's safe? Do you even know how many times he hurt you? I don't. They were countless."
My mom hugs me tight. "I know it feels that way to you. I'm so sorry. It doesn't feel that way to me. It feels like your father and I hurt each other and we both tried so hard to stop when you got older and you started to step in between. I feel as much at fault for your trauma as he does, but you don't see it that way. Sweetheart...we wanted to give you more time." She squeezes her eyes shut. "Trace, there's something I didn't tell you. I...I...this was never what you thought it was. This was a recovery, a time of healing for all of us..."
I can't believe what I'm hearing. "You're taking him back? No...Mom...you divorced him for a reason. A damn good reason."
My mom looks past me, her expression pleading. Pleading for help from the man that I know hurts her.
"Trace." My dad's voice is calm. "What your mom is trying to say is...we aren't divorced. We're still married."
I laugh. "That's bullshit. I paid for the divorce. I think I would know."
My mom runs her hands over her face. "You paid the attorney's fees. In the end, I filed for a legal separation, not a divorce. We are still married. We have always been hoping...we could heal. I'm not one hundred percent sureâyour dad knows thatâbut we are...working on it..."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" The venom in my voice surprises even me. "Jesus, fuck, Mom! This whole time? Three years and you've been fucking lying to my fucking face?"
Ross moves around me, near to my mom. "Trace, please. You have every right to be angry, but you need to control your response. Your mother doesn't deserve any more hostility."
"You're fucking right about that. It should go to you." That's when I shove him with all my force. He goes against the wall without resistance now.
"Stop!" my mother says. She's sobbing. There's such pain in her heaving, I feel it. Exactly like all the times I felt her pain before. I turn, meaning to soothe her like I always did as a kid.
I swivel and come face to face with my own worst nightmare.
It's not my mother, crying from the horror of violence between me and my dad.
It's Kat.
The worst part? The honest truth?
I'm not even sorry for my hostility.
Because in her eyes, I see the truth, and it spurs my anger toward her.
She knew he was here tonight. She was trying to keep me from finding out. It's why she tried to talk me out of coming here. It's why she was preoccupied sending texts in the limo. It's why she tried to delay me and throw up obstacles over and over.
She knew and she was trying to warn them.
She was trying to handle me.
Rage ignites and flashes all over me. I feel...beyond anger. I feel...alien to myself. Even worse, the girl I've loved since I had hormones feels like a stranger to me.
"You knew," is all I can manage.
"Not about the separation," she whispers. "I swear. I only knew...they were probably seeing each other again. I saw your dad here at the complex a few months ago and...and then again, a few weeks after that. And then earlier today. I didn't know what to do...I wanted to tell you. I didn't know how to confront them. I didn't think it was my place. I...I didn't know what to do."
I thought the temporary tat shit with Street was a betrayal. I didn't know the meaning of the word. Part of me wants to walk the fuck away, but I keep moving toward her. My anger at my mom and dad seems...background to this hurt I'm feeling. I have to touch her, because if I touch her, maybe I'll remember the way I love her...and maybe I won't walk out of this fucking disaster and leave her here alone.
I move toward her and then...the unthinkable happens.
She backs up.
Three skittish steps, skimpering on her heels. Her face paling. Her chest heaving.
I stop, stock still, holding up my hands to her, showing her a surrender. The fear I felt for my band earlier today? The clench snaking through my gut? The feeling of the world going a-kilter beneath me?
Nothing compared to the tilt in my world, right now, seeing the look in Kat's eyes.
She's afraid of me. All my life, she's been my only surety and now she's afraid of me.
I put my hands over my face, the need to hide from her stronger than anything I've ever felt.
Shame is a powerful fucking thing.
It turns my path. It moves my feet. It makes me walk out of my mom's apartment without another word, climb into the limo and reach for the bottle of vodka. It makes me press the intercom and tell the driver, "I'm done here." It makes me turn the bottle up and ignore the frantic tapping on the window.
Shame puts blinders on me. As the limo rocks gently over the speedbumps in the complex, I ignore the world outside the limo. To tell the truth, even my close range vision is starting to go.
I could blame it on the third of a bottle I manage to down in about ninety seconds, but the honest to fuck truth is...it's not an acute swell of liquor blurring my sight.
It's tears.
Wow. This was a tough thing for Trace to be blind sided with. I think we all knew something like this was coming, right? Do you think Trace will be able to accept Ross and Gina working towards reconciliation? How will he and Kat handle what just happened between them? I think we might see some immediate answers through the eyes of other characters, but I don't think we will get a full resolution for Trace until Drastic. This is TrayKat's last story arc of the series...finally coming to terms with Trace's childhood wounds...
Now, onto our Couple of the Hour...coming up, the home stretch for Lash. I'm thinking five or six more chapters, maybe?