Chapter 12: Drummer Boys Hurt

Bodie

First class air travel brings no rest to the kind of weary I am.

Nor does the crown and ginger I'm drinking.

I keep trying to work it out in my head, but I can't.

I gave up trying to work out my guilt over the dead man.

Or maybe Marley was right. Maybe her compassion, her tender care, washed some of that desperation away.

Yeah, so I lied to her in the note I sent her.

I remember everything.

Every word. Every touch. Every feeling.

I gave up trying to block it out—the way I feel about Marley. How I'm drawn to her, even at the same time I'm afraid of her.

I even gave up trying to work out how I can feel Marley so much while I'm supposed to be with Arabella.

I decided I'm going to chalk all that shit up to what chics always say—you never get over your first.

I don't even know Marley. I didn't really know her twelve years ago, and I don't know her now. I layed beside her this morning for more than an hour, watching her beautiful sleeping face, trying to work out whether or not she's lying to me about the boy.

That's the thing I can't stop trying to work out.

Does she think he's my son?

Was she trying to hide his existence from me?

Is she, like me, afraid of the truth?

If she really thinks he's Daemon's son...why didn't she tell me already that she had a kid with him? We've talked about Daemon three times—virtually every time I've talked to her since we got real. We talked about old times. We talked about prison. We talked about Daemon contacting her in the present. She never mentioned he had good reason to.

No, I can't tell if she's lying.

Probably because my own truth is so murky.

Why didn't I tell her on that beach, when I asked her about prison, that I knew she had a baby in jail? Why didn't I ask her what happened to him?

For god's sakes, why didn't I tell her the truth last night? Why didn't I tell her about the paternity test? About TJ? About his plan? The plan he denies now? The plan he so suddenly says was just "all talk" that he didn't follow through on?

Okay, I know the answer to those questions.

I didn't tell her because Daemon is still a dangerous, lying motherfucker. And if Marley is telling me the truth—if she really does think Daemon is the father of her son—it's best if she goes on believing that. If he had any reason to think the kid wasn't his, I'm not sure what he would do. To the kid or Marley.

I replay what happened in the garage after Marley left, word for word, action for action, seeking any clue, any hint, that he might suspect what I suspect.

The door hadn't fully closed behind her when he bared his teeth.

"Feels like we've been here before, Bodie, but I have to ask. Are you screwing around with Marley? Fucking her? Messin' with her head? Making her think she's more than one of your fangirls?"

I refrain from poppin' back that I might be the only dude that's ever been straight with her. He certainly wasn't, and from the sounds of it, the ex-fiancee was scamming her, too.

But I hold my tongue. Dae is doin' me a real solid, here, handling this Cain Priestly situation. No need to get overtly hostile.

Instead I shake my head and grin. "You must be losing your hearing in old age, Dawg. I know I just heard Marley say she wasn't with you. Erego," I shrug, "it ain't your business who Marley sees."

His white teeth shine as his lips widen in a grin to match mine. He crosses his arms and leans back on a counter. "Well, call me old-fashioned, but I disagree. The fast life, the drugs, the fantastical money you spend, the high risk fun, all the kinky fuckery you guys get up to...that's not a good environment. Not any better than the thug life I'm putting behind me."

"Marley's a big girl. She gets to decide for herself how to live, who to hang with."

"That's not exactly accurate. Because it's not just her life, impacted by her choices. I'm not sure I want the mother of my child involved with a rock star. See, I don't think our son should be exposed to your lifestyle."

I feel like he just punched me in the gut without ever touching me.

"Your son," I repeat numbly.

I see Daemon's eyes light. Then he pretends to look confused. "You didn't know about him? He's twelve now."

"News to me," I say hoarsely.

I focus on the wall, somewhere over Daemon's head, to keep the room from spinnin'. Fuck-all. She kept the kid.

Daemon's talking again.

"I guess she's been honest with me when she says she just ran into you recently. You guys haven't even had time to catch up properly, if she hasn't told you about him. She's very proud of him, and for good reason. He's smart, confident, hard-working, good-hearted. Just like my brother here," Daemon gestures to TJ, who's just walked in the door, looking suspiciously between us.

Daemon crosses to him and squeezes TJ hard on the shoulder. "I can't ever thank you enough, T. For standing up, being a surrogate dad to my son when I couldn't be. I want you know, I know how much he loves you. I know you are the only father he's ever known. I'd never try to push you out, brother."

TJ's glance goes to me at once. He looks like a deer in headlights for one brief instant, but then the thug version of a rock star face descends. He shrugs at me. "He's easy to care for. Jaz took one look at him when he was born, and that was it. She was in love."

Yeah, I know how that happens. My own mom has told me a similar story about my birth. How she was conflicted when she was pregnant with me. Her own mom put her out, and she was livin' with friends. Part of her wanted to give me up for adoption, so I could have a better life. But when I was born, and she held me, she knew she couldn't. Even though she was barely sixteen and a baby herself. She just knew. We were meant to grow up together.

"Well, sounds like one big happy family, then," I shrug, like it don't make a damn to me. "So for the record, I'll give you a late father's day gift: peace of mind. There's nothing between me and Marley. She's counseling one of my bandmates, is all. He's got some childhood shit and she's really helping him. That's her connection to my world. It's strictly professional. Obviously, I gotta a girl I'm...in deep with." I gesture to the bloody pile of upholstery in the rolling dumpster.

Daemon's gaze follows mine to the gore. "Yeah. You're in deep alright," he agrees.

"Bodie," TJ says sharply, drawing my attention away from the blood on his carpet, the blood on my hands. "Just...let this go, man. Don't worry about it."

"Let it go?" I echo. He ain't talking about Cain Priestly, that's for damn sure.

"Yeah, let it go," he responds with heat. Then, he glances at Daemon and takes a deep breath, trying to regroup, refocus the conversation on why we are here. " I promise you, I'll take care of all these...loose ends. This truck is getting stripped to the metal and everything burned. There's nothing that will link Sixmob or you to this guy."

Shit. This is too much. The kid and the crime? I feel like I'm losing my mind.

I nod at him, and try to focus on the crime, because it's easier to comprehend than the kid.

He's wrong about there being no evidence. My DNA is all over that corpse. The dude has my flesh in his mouth, my skin under his fingernails probably. If for someone reason  his body is found before it decomposes...

Shit, man. Be cool. Think it out. That's unlikely. Priestly will be bones probably before anyone realizes he's missing. Even if by some chance, his remote grave was uncovered while samples could still be recovered, there's no reason I would be suspected. I have no link to the guy. My time in juvi was before DNA samples were so routinely collected. My DNA is not in an FBI database. Only my prints. There ain't gonna be no recoverable prints on Priestly, not after a couple of days in the ground. I never touched him anywhere but his face. All that soft skin? It goes quick.

I fight back the nausea, thinking of his flesh oozing away, just like his life.

"Yeah," I say to TJ, with more confidence than I feel. "I know. We're golden here, as long as everybody keeps their mouths shut," I glare at Malik and Jalen. I can maybe see them tellin' other Sixers at the stash house how fucking funny it was to see the asshole rock star that faded his gang ties sweatin' while he dug a grave.

Then some Sixer tells his Shawty and shit starts to spread like wildfire and...that would be my fuckin' luck, outed for murder on the internet, and the cops go huntin' for the body, because some lady detective has an alert to keep up with me on TMZ.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about Mal and J," Daemon assures me. "They say one fucking word about where they've been today, they'll answer to me."

I nod my thanks. "Thanks, Daemon. This shit went sideways, and I appreciate you following through like this..."

"I got you, Dawg. Next time you'll have my back. That's how Sixmob works. We might leave the illegal shit behind, but we don't leave behind where we came from." Daemon gives me an evil smile that I feel it all the way down to my balls. "Speaking of that...what's your philanthropy set-up like?"

I feel my jaw clench. I know where he's going with this.

"My charitable contributions are considerable. But they all go through the del Marco Foundation. To legitimate non-profit work. Well, except for the money I give my family, but even there, it's not a handout. All my younger cousins, they are going to college on my dime, but they have to make good grades, stay on track. There ain't no free lunch."

"That's admirable," Daemon smiles. "But I'm surprised you don't want to honor your roots. This community is struggling, Bodie. I guess you don't know that, since you moved your mama out of the hood, but developers are buying up property, tearing down shacks and putting up mansions. I know TJ wants to raise his family in a nice home," he slaps his brother on the back, "And I don't fault him for that, but a four hundred thousand dollar house like TJ can afford? They are going up on the north end of this hood, and they raise the property taxes on humble folks on every block. The city is gonna take Mrs. JJ's house, because she can't pay. The house is paid for and she's gonna lose it over taxes, Bodie. But I guess, concerns like that are too small for a man like you."

I look to TJ, and he nods. "One of her sons is trying to get the money together, but it's a lot, Bodie. She just ignored the bills. Mama said she's got like, three years of back taxes and thirty days to pay. I'd pay it, but the truth is...I'm kinda strapped right now. It's a big business I have, but high overhead when I buy new inventory, and if I get jammed with a few slow months like right now...I take a salary cut to keep my guys paid. I'm living a little beyond my means these last few months."

"Give her son my number," I tell TJ. "The woman practically raised me. I'll pay the taxes."

He smiles. "Your real number that you called me from yesterday or the one I had before? The one that goes to your damn manager?"

"My real number," I tell him. I look at Daemon. "Thanks for bringing Mrs. JJ's situation to my attention. You're right, I guess. I could do more for my old community."

He smiles again. "Glad to hear you say that. How about investing in a few small legitimate ventures? I am trying to get the Sixers out of crime, Bodie. Ain't lyin' about that. But it takes money to make money."

Ha. The shake-down didn't take long.

I take out a business card. It has the number and email that goes to Riley. "Send me a business proposal. My guy and I will look it over, see what we can do."

Another big evil smile that grips me.

"'Preciate that, Dawg."

TJ gestures toward the front office. "Marley's pulling the car around front. I'll let you out."

I give Daemon the chin tip and clap it out with Mal and J.

"Don't worry, Dawg. We ain't gonna sell your story to some fucking blogger. Sixers never rat," Mal assures me.

"Thanks, man."

I'm just at the office door, following TJ through when Daemon yells, "Bodie! Watch out!"

I turn, automatically catching the item that's being hurled at my face.

Motherfucker.

I know what it is in the instant my hands grip it.

It's the gun that killed Cain Priestly. Wiped clean of Mal's prints and now imprinted with mine.

"You son of a bitch," I snarl, pulling my shirt to wipe them away, but Jalen automatically pulls a gun on me, halting me. He walks over and puts it to my head.

"Grip the gun. Take the empty cartridge out and put it back in, Dawg," Jalen says, "Or I'll end you right here and we'll burn you with this bloody trash."

TJ whirls around. "Put that fucking gun down, J. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Jalen keeps the gun at my head and looks to Daemon.

Daemon is impassive. "Do what J says, Bodie. Please." He adds with the evil smile.

"Daemon! What the fuck, man?" TJ yells, striding over to his brother and shoving him.

Daemon hauls back and slugs TJ, who staggers back under the weight of Daemon's considerable punch. I stand still, with a gun to my head, as TJ sways to keep on his feet and Daemon rubs his knuckles.

"Don't fucking touch me like that, TJ. You're my brother, but I fought off enough shit in prison. No man ever fucking touches me again, you understand?"

TJ straightens up, breathing heavy. "What the fuck are you doin' man? All that shit about going legit, and you're trying to frame Bodie for something he didn't do?"

"I'm not trying to frame him."

"No, he's just trying to blackmail me," I say calmly.

"I wouldn't say that," Daemon says. "What's to say you don't turn on me? You're the one with millions that can hire lawyers to keep you out of jail. Hell, you can even skip the country, disappear, if things got too rough. I'm here in this hood—with my boys, with my son—for life. I have to make the most of the opportunities that come my way." He smiles again. "That's all this is, Bodie. An insurance policy that you will remember the favor I did you, and the murder wrap I'm holding at bay for you."

He rummages the work bench, and comes up with a clean cloth. He advances toward me, holding out. "Do what Jalen said and give me back the gun. If you can't do that, Bodie, then I know you are a threat to me. And we both know that I can't let you be a threat. I have a son to become a father to. I'm never going back to prison again. Certainly not for a murder that's on your hands."

I'm silent as I pull the cartridge and replace it.

To be honest, I'm not even surprised by this. It's smart. It's what I would have done, if our positions were reversed.

It's always good to have leverage over someone powerful who hates you. And he knows damn good and well, I hate him. He knows I hate him for what he did to Jasmine—mind-fucking her, abusing her, debasing her—ordering her to mess around with me as part of my initiation.

But he has no idea how desperate I really feel at this moment.

He has no idea that the kid he thinks is his son could be mine, and that I would do anything to protect Marley and her son from him learning the truth I suspect. Even let him think he has the leverage. This is good, in a way. If he thinks I have reason to play his bitch, I can keep him distracted. And maybe if he's distracted, he'll have no reason to be suspicious about the kid. At least until I can get to the truth.

I hand over the gun.

He laughs. "That wasn't so hard, was it? You can go now."

"Fuck," I swear, shoving open the office door.

"Bodie," Daemon says.

"Yeah, I know. You'll be in touch with that business proposal."

Thirty seconds later, I have TJ shoved against the front brick.

"Get the fuck off me, man," he snarls. "I didn't like what went down anymore than you do. That was some fucking bullshit, he just pulled."

"I don't give a fuck about that right now," I hiss at him. "What the fuck did you do, TJ? The paternity test was supposed to roll the other way. So that Pat wouldn't want to keep it. So that Marley would give the baby up for adoption. So the kid could have adult parents in a stable home. Not a teen mom and a  drug-lord father in jail or a fifteen year-old baby daddy."

"Well, if you haven't noticed, shit tends to go sideways around here," TJ muttered. "Jaz changed her mind about adoption.So...I helped her the best way I could."

I shove him against the wall instead. "That's not what you said, man. You said she was confused. You said she was a mess. You said she wanted to the baby to go to a better home, but that she felt guilty giving the baby up when it had a grandmother who wanted to raise it. You said it would be better off if she thought it was mine, that it would make it easier on everyone. You said if the result came back as my kid, Pat would hand over the baby to the adoptive parents, and Jaz would let her."

"Well you said shit, too. You said it couldn't be yours. You said you were only with her once and you used a condom."

"I was only with her once. I did use a condom...mostly."

"Mostly? Jesus fuck, Bodie. That was a risk for me to take—planning to switch the samples without the real information. You told me the kid couldn't be yours. Like 99.9% no way, you said." TJ laughs.

I'm so pissed at my own stupidity, I slam TJ against the brick again. "So you did switch the labels on mine and Daemon's samples? Are you saying the kid is mine?"

My heart is pounding.

TJ sighs and shakes his head. "No, Dawg. I didn't switch the samples. Now, I'm so glad I fucking didn't. My mama, she was so in love with that baby, even though she kept fussing about his shade and the shape of his head. And when I looked at him...I felt something, too, you know? Like he was my kin. And Jaz, I went to visit her in prison to tell her how the baby was doing and she cried and cried, because she missed him so much. Missed him being a part of her."

I feel like vomiting again, thinking of the heartbreak Marley went through in jail. Knowing it was maybe because for fifteen minutes so long ago, I loved her.

"But you came to me in juvi with a different story, after all that. With the paternity test swab, with the plan. To switch the samples..."

"I know!" he growls in irritation. "I fucking know that. I know what I said. I know it was all my idea. I know I said I didn't want my mama struggling with another mouth to feed. I know I said I wanted the baby out of our house. Better for us, better for him, if the result came back that he was your kid, not Daemon's. And you said, he couldn't be yours, and we agreed, I would switch the labels on the samples. You would become Candidate A, but with Daemon's name attached to that sample. And then...the result would show Candidate B—Daemon's sample—to be the father, with your name attached. Pat would be pissed, but she wouldn't raise your kid. Daemon would be pissed, but he wouldn't have the reach to take any kind of revenge on Jaz in a women's prison, and then she would move onto a new life when she got out. Problem solved for everybody.

"But in the end, when I went to the mail the samples...I...I couldn't go through it. We all loved that baby already. He belonged with his family, Bodie." He shoves me off. "I switched the labels back. The truth is...Daemon fathered him, but I'm the kid's actual dad, okay? I raised him. Me and Marley and Pat. So you need to step the fuck off, asking about this. He's not yours."

"Why don't I fucking believe you, TJ? I think it's much more likely you never came back to juvi to visit me after that because the results didn't come back like we expected. And in that six weeks while we were waiting, you were visiting Jaz, telling her about the baby, consoling her, and maybe you kinda liked the way she was leanin' on you. I think you switched the samples, and the kid is mine, but when the tampered test showed he was Daemon's, you decided to keep quiet and play daddy. Maybe you thought you'd get Jaz in the deal, too? But that part never quite rolled your way?"

TJ shakes his head. "Fuck you, man. I love that kid. Too much to fuck up our family messing around with his mama like that. You're the one in love with her—that's why you don't believe me. You don't want to believe me."

"Bullshit. What if I tell Marley about all this sketch shit that went down with the original test and demand another one? What's that gonna show?"

He gives me a dead level stare. "It's gonna show the same result. Daemon is his biological father. The only thing that's gonna change is that Daemon is going to be very fucking angry with Marley for shit that happened a long time ago. And the kid is going to get caught in the middle of that anger. Is that what you want, Bodie?"

"I want to know if he's my son," I growl.

"You want to know who's son he is? Then you come down to the hood and you fucking ask the kid. Ask him who fed him dinner and read his bedtime stories, when his grandmama had to work and his mama had class. Ask him who taught him to dribble a basketball. Ask him who swatted his butt and corrected him when he deserved it. Ask him who scared away the monsters under his bed. When he answers all that, you'll know who's son he is. He's mine." He shoves me off. "Get the fuck out of here, with your righteous indignation and your dangerous fucking questions."

There is nothing about TJ that looks like Leed. Not his color, his build, his features. But in this moment, there is something ferocious about him that reminds me so much of my best friend. That kind of primal, territorial energy that runs so shallow underneath Leed's skin and is so easily seen every time he takes a stage, or every time he defends somebody he loves—it's risen up in TJ right now.

That's how I know he loves the kid, and he would do anything to keep him safe.

He might be lying to me about the kid being Daemon's. Or he might be right, maybe I'm only feeling what I want to feel right now. But the one thing I know for sure—TJ is scared of what his own brother might do, if he found out the truth—that there's even a chance the kid could be mine.

He would punish Marley for that. And if something happens to hurt Marley, the kid gets hurt in the process, no matter what.

I take a deep breath. If Marley and her son need protecting, TJ ain't the only damn one that can do it. Even if the protection they need is me not making hasty waves over the past.

"Daemon—he really doesn't know there were two samples? He still only thinks the DNA test was a formality to get him on the birth certificate?"

"Yes," TJ says tersely. "But it never happened. All Pat really wanted was confirmation. Marley never filed for a new birth certificate and she has the paperwork from the courts that stripped his assumed rights before the baby was born, so she could give the baby up for adoption. He currently has no parental rights. Everything that Marley is doing to work with Daemon, she's doing because she thinks it right. Not because she has to."

"Okay, then, for now, we keep it that way," I say. I grab him again. "For the record, I still think you are a lying motherfucker."

"You can think what you want, back in your rock star world. I'll keep raising my nephew and make sure he grows up right. That he don't become a drug dealer or a drug addict," he sneers as he throws me off again. "How much fuckin' speed are you on right now, anyway, Bodie?"

"Fuck you, man. I haven't slept in two days. You know how fucking hard it is to dig a grave?" I say defensively.

That's when headlights panned across us shoving each other, and Marley jumped out of the car and started yelling at us in her mom voice.

Because she is a mom. She's the mother of a kid named Darius whose birthday is January 23rd.

And that's all I know about a child that could be mine.

Jesus fucking Christ. I'm no better than my own of piece of shit father.

"Another. Drop the ginger ale, make it a double," I tell the flight attendant. She purses her lips in disapproval but she pours two little mini bottles, because this is first class and I'm famous.

Yeah, I'm a famous drunk. A famous druggie.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Even last night with Marley, I fucked up so bad. I drank that whole bottle of codeine. That was crazy for so many reasons.

The main one being, I can't afford to lose control around her like that. If she does truly believe Darius is Daemon's son, I can't afford to get wasted and say some shit that causes her to think otherwise. Not right now, at least. Not until I get Arabella straightened out. Not until I get I myself straightened out. Not until I figure out a way to flip the leverage on Daemon, because right now he's holding all the cards.

I try to think of some play, some plan, some long-term strategy, but my brain is fucking fried.

I'm so fucking tired, I ask the flight attendant for a coffee straw. I get up and make my way to the plane bathroom, where I crush a couple of Bell's diet pills and snort them, just to get my brain working again.

It helps. The perfect solution forms in my racing brain. I feel so crystal clear as the plane is landing.

I've been thinking about this all wrong. Daemon has no parental rights. And neither does TJ.

What that really means is...Marley is the kid's only parent. If she had a reason to take the kid out of that hood, she could.

What Marley needs is a reason to get the hell out of Atlanta. Like, a long-distance boyfriend.  A boyfriend that morphs into husband material. Into father material.

As I head through the airport to the bank of cars, where I'm sure Riley has one waiting for me, I pull out my phone. I dial the one person whom I know is completely on board with this kind of Marley-needs-a-boyfriend-thinking.

"Bodes!" Adam yells as he answers. "How's the hand?"

"It's fine, just a few stitches. Doc said I can even play tonight, if I can tolerate the pain."

"Maybe you should take another night off."

"Nah, it doesn't hurt that much." Or it won't, if a pop a couple of oxy, before the show, but I don't say that of course. Not to Preacher.

"Cool," he says. "So...you're coming straight to the venue, then."

"Yeah. Listen, guess who I ran into in Atlanta?"

He chuckles. "A certain pretty little brunette who worries about you. A fucking lot, considering you both say nothing happened between you at Labor Day."

I groan. "Marley already called you."

"Yeah. She said she was worried about your pain management for your injury. I told her you were tough as nails and probably wouldn't even need a damn Tylenol for something like that."

"You know it. Thanks for having my back on that, brother. She nags as much as my damn mom." I complain.

"Yeah, why is that, Bodie? It's time to be real."

"Okay, here's the downlow I haven't told you. Marley...I knew her when we were kids, growing up in Atlanta. Well, when I was like...fifteen."

"Bullshit."

"No bullshit. I mean, I knew her briefly. She showed up in my hood and we hung out for about three months."

"You hung out?" Adam asks mildly.

"Yeah well, we messed around a little bit," I confess. "But we were kids, it was nothing serious."

"Are you fucking with me right now? Because you guys acted like you didn't even know each other, that day we met her at the Lunar Lounge."

"Well, the truth is, I didn't recognize her. I think she had a boob job since then," I say lightly. She hasn't had a boob job, but she is a bit curvier in the T&A department—which is another legitimate reason why I didn't recognize her at first. I guess becoming a mama changed her body a little bit.

Adam laughs, because no matter how hard Preacher tries to be Preacher, he's a rock star at heart. "Naw, I saw her in that bikini at Labor Day. She's all natural."

"Mr. Mackenna Lawson, you better watch yourself." I say, with a mild warning tone.

"Jesus Christ. I'm married, I'm not blind." Then he sighs. "Ok, I really need to stop talking about Marley's rack..."

"Yeah, you do. You really do," I say, and I'm surprised at the tightness in my chest when I say that.

"You brought her boobs up," he says defensively.

"Naw, I brought her ass up because I need you to set her up with Kade," I growl at him. "I've reconsidered that shit. I think he's perfect for her."

He's perfect all right. He's about as white boy pretty as her gay boyfriends were, I'm sure. I bet Marley and Kade could have an idyllic, no-chemistry, whirlwind romance.

I know what that girl really likes. She likes a brother like me. So her being with Kade, it won't make me crazy with jealousy like the thought of her playin' house with TJ. Or crazy with worry at the thought that Daemon will wear down her reservations.

"Okay, time-out. Before you turn me into Tinder, I need you to circle back to the part where you didn't recognize her. How, exactly? She's real pretty and...sort of...unique in her personality. Quirky, you know? And if you messed around with her at fifteen, seems to me like she would have been sort of...memorable..."

"She was a black girl named Jasmine back then. Now she's white and her name is Marley. Threw me off for a minute," I say.

Silence. "Bodie...are you high right now?"

"Jesus Christ, Adam. I'm not high, you're fucking slow. Marley is biracial."

I say that like it should explain things, when it really doesn't. But Adam is so whitebread, he'll just back the fuck right off, not wanting to offend me.

Maybe I shouldn't have thrown in the part about him being slow, but speed makes me irritable. I'll admit it.

"Oh," he says vaguely. "Sorry, I didn't realize. Wow."

See, I knew that's how he would react.

"Yep. Back then she had braids, and a real deep tan, and she looked as fine as she does now, just...way different. Now she works all the damn time and ain't got no time for all that... personal care. All this time, you've been hot for a secret sista," I joke with him.

"Bodie," he growls. "I'm not hot for her."

"Look, are you gonna help me out and hook her up with Kade or not?"

"Why? Did you fangirl her last night and now you are feelin' guilty 'cause she thought it was something more?"

"No, Adam, for the last fucking time, I did not tap your sidepiece."

"Stop callin' her that."

"Well, stop actin' like she is."

"She's my friend, Bodie. Have you never had a friend that happens to be a girl?"

Jasmine was my friend all right. She was my best fucking friend and all I wanted to do was make her more.

"No," I say. "I never had a girl friend that I didn't want to fuck."

"Well, then you've never been in love. Because I don't want to fuck anybody but Mac—my wife, the woman carrying my child, okay?"

"Okay," I say mildly. I mean, I get it. Shit. I was just jerkin' his chain. I do remember now, what love felt like. For about fifteen minutes, I was mad in love with Jasmine.

"But Marley is a friend and Trace's counselor," he adds, "And I don't want to see her messed up."

"I'm not tryna to mess her up, for chrissakes. I'm tryna fix her up!" I yell at him in exasperation. "She's..."I sigh. "Look, Marley has a kid."

"What?" Adam says blankly.

"She has a son. Darius. He's twelve years old."

"So, Marley is biracial and she has a twelve year old kid? How did I not know this shit?"

"I guess you aren't as good of friends as you thought you were."

"Twelve years old," he says suspiciously. "You said you knew her when you were fifteen? And you've never had a friend you didn't want to fuck..."

"See, this is why I don't tell you shit, Preacher. You always jump to the guilty verdict. I was into her, alright? Hung out with her, got a little flirty with her a couple of times, but then...she chose my ex gang-leader over me. A drug lord. He just got out of prison, and it's gonna twist Marley and her son's world into a bad scene. The kid doesn't even know his dad. He doesn't need to know his dad, you know what I'm sayin'? Marley and her son deserve...a stable environment. A knight with a white coat?"

"So you think Kade should just...take on an instant family?"

"Why not? You did. Ben too, for that matter."

"Hmmm. Fair point."

"Awesome. So...try to hook it up, Adam. Like today."

"Bodie, if you care so much about Marley and this kid...and you are into her..."

"I was into her. Like a lifetime ago..."

He snorts. "Dude, stop livin' in denial. She talks about you all the time. You keep bringing her up to me, almost as much. Maybe you should...pursue this thing with her."

"Adam, be serious. I'm not you, or Ben. Besides, I'm with Bells."

"And that's another excellent reason to divert the Bodie Love Train to Marley's track..."

"Don't fucking start with the Bells Hate. I fucking mean it."

"Fine, I'm sorry. It's just...she's been a real handful while you've been gone. She's so pissed at you for cuttin' out and not even callin'. She's been hanging on me for two days, bitchin' about you, upsetting Mac..."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes. I'm sure all her negative attention will be turned on me then," I say wearily. "That's why I'm talking to you about Kade and Marley right now. Are you gonna be a friend here or what?"

"Why are you pushing this thing with Kade so hard?" he asks quietly. "I've never seen you the way you are lately. You're tense, man. If you have feelings for Marley...Bodie, you aren't married to Bells. You haven't promised her forever. It's okay to let a wrong thing go, if there's something more right for you. Maybe there is something more right out there for Arabella, too."

"This is not about Arabella. It's about Daemon—Marley's ex. He's all about gettin' back with her, and he's really truly a bad guy, Adam. I've seen her face all busted up courtesy of him. And I guarantee you, he's come out of a twelve year stretch in prison worse than he went in. Look... they have a kid together. You know how powerful that feels. I'm afraid she's gonna fall back into things with him, because of the kid. I'd hate to see that."

Adam is quiet for a long moment. "Okay. Yeah. I'll uhm...I'll see what I can do, about encouraging Kade and Marley. Shit, maybe it's meant to be, because...you know what? Kade is here in Omaha, for some medical conference. He's coming by the show tonight."

I blink. I was not expecting that. For Adam to actually agree to this. Usually, he doesn't like to meddle.

"Meant to be..." I echo. "Yeah. Maybe. Look, I gotta go. I need swing by a convenience store and grab a few caffeine shots before I get there. Get ready for the shitstorm, you know?"

"Yeah, man. I'll...I'll go have a drink with Bells. Try to get her in a good frame of mind."

"Thanks, Adam. You're a really good fucking friend."

I hang up.

Shit.

You know how you think you want something to happen, but then as soon as you set it in motion, you realize, you were just fucking foolin' yourself?

This is one of those times.

Adam—actually agreeing to go along with my wild plan to push Kade and Marley together—it makes me feel like I want to fucking die.

Like seriously. I feel a little suicidal, right now. Like, what's the point of all this shit? I keep trying to do right, but every time I try to make something better, I only make it worse. Maybe I'm just a total fuck-up. Maybe there's just no point to trying anymore.

Fuck. No. That's crazy thinking.

Maybe I just feel this way because I have amphetamines crawling the fuck all over me.

I pull my candy bottle out of my pocket and pick out a couple of Vikes. I legit need them anyway—my hand is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch about three songs into the set and I know that.

I pop them and lay my head back on the seat.

The show must go on.

All of them, I cackle.

Tonight's show.

The Bodie-Bells Show.

The Dating Game with Kade and Marley, too.

That's what all this feels like.

Television.

Hollywood.

Make-believe.

My poor Bodie. He's a mess. He's hurt and violently swinging through all kinds of emotions, and making his pain ten times worse by trying to erase his feelings with drugs. Lots of drugs. How do we feel for him? Sorry for? Angry at him? Disappointed in his behavoir?