Chapter 84: Drummer Boys Say Good-Bye

Bodie

When we get to the band house, Leed greets us at the door. He's solemn, no play, no joy.

"Be quiet, Trace doesn't know either of you are here yet and you'll want a few minutes alone..." he sweeps a hand toward the small study at the front of the house where we do video conferences and phone interviews.

Leed grabs Marley's hand and drags her away without anymore words. His curtness hurts, but I understand it better when I open the door.

I am completely shook to see Row draped on the small couch, her hand looking three times its size and swathed like a mummy's. She's sitting with legs splayed slightly and an aimless expression turned toward the window.

She looks boneless. When she turns to me and smiles, I realize she's high on painkillers.

I stare at her hand, mine clenching, wishing I had about a half a bottle. That's what it would take, to make me not feel this.

I cross, drop to my knees in front of her, my head bowed in surrender.

"Oh, baby girl, tell me what to do."

"Get up."

"Can't do that. I think this is where I'll live the rest of my life. On my knees, begging for your forgiveness."

With some effort, she struggles against her oxy haze to sit forward, putting her good hand around my shoulder.

"My Bodie-Buddy, with so many secrets," she pats me soothingly. "Wanna hear a secret?"

She leans forward and whispers in my ear and though she sounds completely lucid, I can't believe she means any of it.

"You're high, Sweetheart," I mumble through the tenseness in my throat that precedes the water rising to my eyes.

"I can be high and mean what I say. I have tolerance out the ass."

I kiss the knees of my crazy, wild, wonderful friend. "Don't make me laugh, it doesn't go with my grovelin'."

She tilts my chin, forcing my eyes up to hears. "Fucking stop. I mean it. It doesn't feel like sorry. It feels like pity."

Okay, I guess I can see that. And I know, worse than anything, Row hates to be seen as weak or pitiable.

But what she's feeling, it just doesn't square with what I'm feeling.

"Alright. Let's make it feel like something else," I say, pulling her to her feet.

"Like what?"

"Let's make it feel fair."

I coax her to the kitchen where Leed, Mac, Adam, and Marley are standing around the bar. Still holding Row's hand I rummage the utility drawer and pull out a hammer. I put it in Row's good hand, and I put my right hand on the marble counter.

"Do it," I encourage. "It's okay. A hand for a hand. I want you to do it."

"Whoa—"

"Shut-up Leed. Do it, Row. Go ahead." I give my hand a last look. Honestly I don't think it matters. Or it won't, after this meeting.

Row laughs at me. "You are so stupid. I'm not gonna smash your hand."

"You have every right," I remind her.

"I have no desire. I just told you, I want to—"

"I'll do it," A tense voice says from behind. We all turn to see Trace, standing at the top of the basement steps.

"You will not," Ash says, coming up behind him, peaking around him to see the action and grabbing the caps of his shoulders in alarm.

He shirks her, and is suddenly beside us, jerking the hammer out of Row's hand, addressing her and not me.

"What in the hell are you doing here? You are supposed to be in the hospital still. They have another specialist coming to ultrasound your hand this afternoon." He says with a look somewhere between absolute disbelief and exasperation.

"Did you know that you can just walk right the fuck out of a hospital and no one notices?" Row says in a liltly haze, gesturing with her good hand.

"Jesus Christ, Matt is gonna flip his shit, if he's not already," Leed sighs, picking up his phone, texting frantically. Trace and I watch each other.

His hand grips the hammer; my fingers twitch on the cool marble.

I see something in Trace's icy eyes I've never seen. A man who only thought he knew that control was an illusion, but now he's reached the end of his ability to lie to himself that way.

I see a man hating that he can't rule his world, so he's stopped giving a fuck about controlling himself.

I want to tell him I'm sorry for driving him to the truth that we all gotta grow up sometime. I want to tell him I hate that it's me, ruining the last of his childish rock star fantasies.

"Do it," I say. "Really, it's okay. Hell, I want you to."

"Fuck you," Trace growls and slings the hammer through the window. Glass explodes, and the sound is strange and variable—large sheets falling on the concrete outside the window, a smaller piece shattering in the deep bowl of the sink.

Ashlynn stalks up to Trace and grabs his face in both her hands. "Trace Gallant! That is enough!"

"Ashlynn let go—" he jerks his head away and she grabs it right back.

"No. I've let this go on long enough. This is not just the band house. This is my sister's home. The place she loves you, and feels safe with you. And you are breaking her heart. She is out there up in a tree because she doesn't know how to reach you without fighting with you and she won't fight with you right now. But I will. You are fucking up, Trace! Do you hear me? You have come so far! Do you want to go backwards? Marley—tell him!"

Ashlynn gestures to Marley, who folds her hands on the bar. Her engagement ring is large and obvious as she fingers it and everyone is suddenly aware of it. After a long moment of pressing her lips together, she speaks in a low voice.

"Trace, I care about your mental health and your well-being just about as much as I care about anyone's, and I know this is extremely difficult for you, but today, I'm here for Bodie," her dark eyes meet mine, full of sad, but sure, love. "I love him, and he's hurting just like you are. And I'm hurting, because the man I love has to leave me. Try to remember that."

Trace looks at Marley's ring for a long time. "Yeah. I get that. For you, Marley, I am sorry."

Finally he sighs, bowing his head and holding Ashlynn's hands in front of his face. "I'm sorry, hon. Will you please try to get Kat to come back inside? Tell her...I said...I'm all done breaking now. Nothing left to break, just a mess to clean up. And that mess is mine."

His eyes are on me; his meaning clear. The band is shattered, there's nothing left but to dispose of the sharp pieces so they can't hurt anyone anymore.

Ashlynn pats Trace's chest and glides out the back as Leed's eyes follow her. The glow of pride fades as he returns his gaze to me.

"Bodes." So much regret in that one syllable. "This ain't right. Muling drugs? Shooting people? Stings and spies and crimes? I'm tryna wrap my head around it, but it just ain't you."

"You are right. Lotsa days these last couple of years, I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize myself. Some days I only feel like me in Marley's eyes." The back of my head still hurts as I rub over it lightly, feeling self-conscious beneath all their sorrowful, judgey stares. "But the drugs, the double-crossing, even the shooting somebody? I did it all. I have had a separate, secret life of sins, for two years now. It's over except for the paying part, but at least now I can finally tell you everything."

"This is gonna be good," Row says. She's trying to hop up on the bar, but can't do it with only one hand and high as fuck on painkillers. "Buddy, gimme a boost." She flaps at me. "Ooooh, and then get me a Coke. Do we have any old-school? In the glass bottles? I like those. You'll have to open it for me, of course..." She raises her mummified hand. "You know what Bodie? You want make this up to me? Just follow me around and open my cokes forever, okay?"

"Rowan, you are not funny at all. You would try a Saint's patience and you've blown mine to bloody bits and pieces," Riley claims irritation but his voice is smooth as sea glass. Moran enters the kitchen on his heels but Riley goes straight to Row. He effortlessly boosts the petite love of his life onto the counter seat she wants, looks her over thoroughly and gives her a tiny irritated shake. "Leaving the hospital AMA and altered? Really? You couldn't simply rest for two hours like you promised while I handled this mess?"

She adjusts his glasses for him. "I'm a part of this mess. Trace should hear what I have to say about all this."

She wiggles a little on the counter, turning to face her brother.

"I'm not even that pissed about my hand, Trace. Honest. I was more pissed that you are a better guitarist and you have a better band and you are going to be the del Marco that everyone remembers as Daddy's protege.

"I know it's petty, but I don't want to play if I can't win. So...yay!" She lifts her hand. "Busted moneymaker. Easy out. I quit," she nods at Moran. "I already told the girls. They can keep the name. Strut needs a new front."

"You already tried to quit, Row. On the six voice messages you left me this morning," Moran says dryly. "And I'm here to tell you, you can't quit and expect they can rebrand with a new front. They can't. You are Strut."

"Then Strut is done. I never wanted to be a front anyway. I wanted what he has," Row slings a hand at Trace. "When I was fourteen and started Strut, it was just me and my guitar and my songs and my three best friends, two of whom didn't even know how to play an instrument. Sadie and Harper learned because they thought it would be cool to be in a band, but I wasn't about the glam side. Not then. I wanted to be a songwriter and a kick-ass guitarist. I wanted people to know I was mega-talented, not just charismatic with a decent voice and cool clothes. No offense Leed—"

"None taken, I'm an incredibly secure person," he winks at her.

"That's true. Look...Trace...Moran...I'm sorry, but I won't take the stage and have someone else play my songs if I can't. I'm not bitter, I'm not crazy, I'm not depressed, I'm just...done with that, if I can't be the best," Row says nonchalantly. She snaps her fingers at me. "Where's that soda, Bodie?"

I dutifully play her servant. She sips, cool as fuck, glaring at everyone, daring them to contradict her.

Riley, of course, is the only one with big enough balls. He turns to the President of Colossal. "Ignore her. She's altered and suffering from trauma. She is obviously not competent to make such a decision right now."

She points her coke at him. "Do not do that, Riley. Do not unquit me! It's my band, I can quit if I want to!"

"What about the girls? You can't just destroy their careers on a whim—"

"I made their careers," she says calmly. She looks to Moran. "Tell me, if you think it's not true."

"It's true. But you're under contract for one more album—"

"My dad will buy it out—"

Moran shakes his blond head in fierce negation. "I know he will, but goddammit, I'm not losing two of my biggest rock acts in one day!" Moran casts about the room glaring at us all.

"Trace is destroying his own house, and I'm not just talking about the fucking windows and china,and you're walking off the job and I'm not fucking having it!"

He slams his fist down. "No one is leaving this room until I have a clear understanding of just what the fuck has happened to destroy Colossal's projected revenue for the next two decades, and until we come away with a plan to save at least one of my pain in the ass del Marco legacy bands and thirdly, until we have one helluva spin story for this bullshit!"

He points at me. "You! Start fucking talking and don't leave anything out!"

I walk out of the kitchen and sit on the fireplace in the open great room. "Are you gonna sit down, Moran? Cause it's gonna take more than a minute to tell my story."

They all wander to the sofas and the floor. Kat and Ash return, too. I tell the same story that I told before, but without Darius listening, or maybe because I feel so many of these creative minds in this room, I find myself confessing details, imagery, and sensations that explain my feelings without explaining my feelings.

I talk about the grave dirt. I talk about seeing Cain's ghostly image just before Connor shot me up the first time. I talk about the feel of hitting the pavement during the club driveby, and hearing Marley's cry of pain. I talk about the feel of a gun in my hand as I put it Daemon's head. I talk about the way the goat I had to kill tried to run from its death. I talk about the endless flights from Thailand on private jets with drums filled with heroin, where I made the flight attendant pour all the liquor down the tiny sink because I wanted to drink it. I talk about the sweat that rolled down my back at each trip through customs. I talk about the smell of Marley's burned flesh and the red rage I saw when Daemon stabbed Row. I talk about the most beautiful sound I have ever heard-the swift sting of a sniper's bullet.

It's dark when I finish. Dark and silent, because no can be moved to turn on a light and no one can speak.

I look at Moran.

"Well"

"Fuck."

Accustomed as I am to constant concession I sigh and put them all out of their misery.

"Look, I'll make it easy. How about this, Moran? I'll quit the band and you can spin me anyway you want. Soundcrush can absorb Chili. Dharma will buy out Strut's last album and offer Sadie and Harper a restyle as a country or indie duo, whichever they want, they can both sing well enough for either--and I've got a bank of songwriters who can make them over. Row gets to do..." I smile at her, "whatever the fuck she pleases."

Row has pretty dimples when she smiles. "Works for me. I think I'll be an actress." She bumps Riley's shoulder. "Wanna expand your management to acting talent?"

He kisses her good hand. "I promised you a Grammy and you got it. You think I can't deliver you an Oscar?"

She lays her head on his shoulder. "I think you can do anything, Riley..."

"Wait—" Trace growls...

"Deal." Moran nods tersely. "In the interests of disclosure I should tell you that in the wake of Thompson's demise, Colossal is moving to acquire B-Side...and thus...Dharma..."

"Awesome," I say, "I'm totally over being an label owner. I'll sell my shares short, but I keep creative control of my stable of Dharma artists for five years—"

"Very good—" Moran says, "There's just the matter of the film. That's not my project but I think that's the best opportunity to spin this nightmare.

"You'll feature of course. You'll have your lawyers work a deal with the prison—to tell your story from inside jail —a completely sanitized version, of course...none of the IRA stuff...just your old gang ties, drugs, bad choices, wrong place, wrong time, and most importantly, some kind of serious redemption, Bodie. You start saving baby bangers from the inside and you make sure your footage is so fucking sobworthy that the documentary puts Soundcrush back in social circulation—"

"I'll get on it," I agree.

"Good. You accomplish that, and you might actually not find yourself blacklisted when you get out of prison. At least not by me. I can't speak for Matt del Marco..."

"Daddy is not gonna blacklist you," Row says. "I won't let him."

"Wait a fucking minute!" Trace yells. "This is my goddamn band!"

"Fine! It's your band! Call your fucking vote!"

"I don't want a vote!" he yells back. "I want you all to fucking hear me when I say—"

"You can't fire me, I already quit!" I toss back."All in favor of the Moran plan..." I raise my hand and look to Adam for support.

"Aye," Adam says grimly and Mac follows, softer.

"Fuck," Leed hisses. "Aye, because it's the only way, but let the record state my vote comes with a big fucking raspberry."

"Don't you even think about bucking, Lion," Moran growls at him.

"I'm not going anywhere, I'm just not seeing the Funrise breaking on the horizon," Leed pouts.

"It's done," I say to Trace. "It was done when I quit, but you got your vote. Are you happy now?"

"No, I'm not fucking happy," Trace says quietly. "Nobody is happy, Bodie. You and Moran can shoot your mogul shit at each other and everybody can say this it just the way it has to be, but this is more than a goddamn handshake deal. More than a vote. This is a break-up. Of our band. Our fucking band, man. This is...this is terrible."

Trace leaps up, paces around the room. Finally he swings a hand at Marley. "What about you?"

"I..." Marley looks at me. She smiles. "I'm out too, I guess."

"It does not have to be like that," Adam says automatically. He looks at Trace. "I want a vote."

"You don't have to vote. Darius is losing TJ, Pat, and Bodie. He is my only priority right now. I resign," she says to Riley.

Riley nods slowly. "Ariadne will simply switch tracks. It will be seamless, Trace."

"Fuck!" he yells and punches the wall. He stabs a finger at Moran. "This is not what I wanted."

I'm not the only one scratching my head right now. Leed looks confused.

"Trace,come on. I don't like it, but what did you think was going to happen here today?" he asks mildly.

"I thought I was gonna call Bodie out for fuckin' up and getting my sister hurt and we were gonna wail on each other and then I would be fucking pissed enough to defy Moran and...I don't fucking know...somehow...someway...we would work shit out! I thought we would...take a hiatus while Bodie did his time."

Unbelievable. As angry as he is, Trace is the only one here who didn't vote Chili as my replacement. The only one here who thought Soundcrush might wait this storm out, and come through intact. The only one here with a vision that still included me.

But a vision is not enough. We have to all be capable of supporting his vision. And I can't. My hands will soon be shackled, and my drum kit will sit empty and I can't silence Soundcrush for years.

Mac gets it.

"That could be...more than three years, potentially. We can't bank on that plan, Trace. I don't want to stop doing what we do, for that long," she says softly. "We've worked too hard to let it all slip away."

I nod. "You are absolutely right, Mac. Soundcrush has to go on."

Mac nods slowly, smiling at me sweetly. "We will. And you'll do your time and you'll get out and your life will be better than ever." She nods at Marley's engagement ring. "You'll get your happy ever after. I know you will."

"I hope so. I also hope that big fucking rock is gonna keep all the men off my gorgeous fiancée while I'm in lock-up."

Marley rolls her eyes but grins at her ring. That feels good. I think it's the first time I've seen her look at it with more admiration than sadness.

Trace however, can't let it go. He paces all the way around the room and stands in front of me. "I'm still so fucking pissed at you."

I rise.

"All right. You wanna take it outside?"

He glances at Row, with her head on Riley's shoulder.

"You were fucking stabbed, Row? Why aren't you more upset?"

She twines her good hand in Riley's. "Trace, I mean this in the kindest way possible, but I think it's because...I don't have the kind of baggage you do. Yes, what we all went through in that hangar was unbelievable and horrible, but it's over. Honestly, something good came from it for me. Perspective." she tilts her face up to look at Riley.

"Riley, you know what? In that hangar, I never thought of my guitar, the stage, the music, the fans, the money, my fame...I didn't think of any of that. I only thought of you. You're all I really want. Ever. That asshole could have cut off my hand and I wouldn't complain, as long you're holding the other one."

Riley smiles at her and strokes her face. "Darling, you mustn't say things like that when you are on painkillers. I might marry you before you sober up, and then where will you be?"

"Quickly widowed," Moran says dryly.

Riley is looking at Row very much like he wants to lay one on her, but I've never once seen him do so. They are very private about affection beyond the simplest forms. "I'm not afraid of your father."

"I know that. Neither am I."

"Shut up Row, you're not getting married before you can legally drink alcohol," Trace says without heat. His anger is finally beginning to cool. He sighs deeply, like he's dropping a burden.

"You know the worst part, Bodie? You really thought we wouldn't give a fuck, if we had known what you were going through? You thought we wouldn't help? Shit coulda worked out differently than this."

He might be right, but it doesn't matter. We are where we are. Nothing can change it now.

I hold out my hand to him, casual, homie-style. "I can't do this anymore. Go over the same shit. Rehash what coulda been. I gotta go, man. I got maybe twenty-four hours before the Feds pick me up. They belong to my family."

"We were your family," Trace says.

I won't trade bitter good-byes with him, so I offer my hand again, silently. Trace takes it, pulls me in hard, releases me quickly and paces to the other side of the room.

Mac comes next, pressing a firm hug into me, kissing me on the lips, hugging me again. "I'll come visit you. I'll come with Marley or Darius or whenever they will let me, okay?"

"Send me pictures of my goddaughter, yeah?" I tell her. She growls because she doesn't want to cry.

Adam is right behind her, embracing me, pounding my back hard. "I got 'em. No worries about your family while you're in there. Anything they need, Marley won't even have to ask, because I will already know, and I will already be taking care of it."

"Thank you, Adam."

He's the best. Of all of us, he's the fucking best. I'm glad he loves my girl.

Speaking of friends, my oldest one is lounging casually, refusing to say good-bye. He winks at me, "I'll see ya around."

"Yeah, man." We swoop hands. He grabs mine with both of his, then lets go quickly, shrugging mildly, at a loss for words.

Ashlynn rises gracefully, giving Leed a mildly scolding look as she envelops me in her warm care. "He's—"

"Not good at good-byes," I murmur into her hair. "I know, Sunny. You take care of him, and let him take care of you."

"You be safe. You let me know if there's anything I can do for you, and I'll make sure to see a lot of Marley..."

"Thank you..."

Moran shakes hands; Kat and Row ply with me tears and kisses. Riley gives me a curt nod and a hollow "good luck" that lets me know he is far more angry than his reserve lets on.

I wonder, if like me, he realizes that Avery Thompson was the tipping point in the whole fucking thing. If it weren't for him, I might still be muling drugs indefinitely. But if it weren't for our revenge on him for Riley's first love, Row might not be hurt, either.

The thing about vengeance? It comes back on you. I'm fucking done with it.

I leave it behind with Riley to chew on, and we leave the band house. I don't know when or if  I'll ever come back here. I'm sure I'll see all these guys again, but I'm not sure that by then we won't be working our way to being strangers.

We drive in silence but our destination is not far, only about ten minutes. When we pull up, the lights in my mother's windows remind me of a warm oven and rising bread. As soon as we cross the threshold, I can hear Darius and my mom play-arguing over something, and the smells of sausage and basil draw us in. I know my mom has made my favorite Italian feast, but she'll also have a peanut butter ice cream cake for Darius.

Varrick has told her everything; she doesn't cry or scold or bemoan what's going to happen tomorrow. She embraces me with a warm smile and the strong hug that is so much like Marley's.

"Hey Mama. Is it okay if all stay here tonight?" I murmur into her hair.

"Of course it's okay, Baby. It will be just fine."

Well now, we are getting close to the end and time begins to slip...next chapter is our one and only prison scene....we'll check in with Bodie and see how life is on the inside...