Page 3 of The Final Beat

Amber took a deep breath. “He asked the doctor if they’d like a sample of his sperm for research.” She closed her eyes like she was gathering strength. “Apparently, the fact he got me pregnant while I was on the pill was, and I quote, ‘fucking awesome’, but the fact that he impregnated me withtwinswhile I was on the pill was, and I quote again, ‘a fucking miracle, doc. You need a sample of my sperm to check why it’s so good. I could change the history of medicine.’.”

We all burst out laughing because all of us could imagine him saying it. Ronnie’s face didn’t crack but even Amber was giggling. Then she must have suddenly remembered that she was having twins and she started to cry.

A couple of hours later and we were all on our way home. I’d stayed longer than I’d planned, but even all the damn love, romance and babies didn’t sour my mood. What it did was take my mind off things like the woman whose house I was approaching. Only a couple of weeks before, she’d helped me, and I hated that she had.

I liked to think that I fucking hatedherbut that was harsh. Constant irritation was more accurate. She was the only one who’d ever been able to talk me down, though. Even before Cassie died. Beau’s wife had done more than enough for me, I couldn’t keep relying on her and I felt like I was drowning in fear of relapsing. Then one night on a tour, a late night drink of orange juice in a bar while staring at the bottle of JD on the shelf, brought me another Guardian Angel. Unexpected and unwanted, but she sat down and asked me what the fuck I was doing because there would be no going back. She talked sense, even if it was filled with expletives. She made meseesense. She told me that drugs weren’t the answer to my problems, they were the cause of them. I kind of disagreed because genes and shit parenting had a lot to do with it, too.

Pulling onto her drive, I had to question my decision, but when the door was opened and she stared out at my car through the rain, I immediately felt calmer. I didn’t want to. Part of me just wanted to reverse out of there and go home, but if I did it was a certainty that I’d be back.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as I bleeped the lock on my car. “I told you, I’m not your damn crutch.”

“Great to see you, too, Daisy.” I smiled because there were no sunglasses hiding her green eyes.

“Stop calling me fucking Daisy.” She said she hated it, but I could see the hint of something on her lips. Not exactly what I’d call a smile, more the creepy smirk of a serial killer.

“Can I come in?” I towered over her and sighed heavily. I didn’t want to be there any more than she wanted me there. “It’s wet out here.”

She thought about it for a few seconds and then stepped back. “I have no idea why, but if you must. But I mean it, Joey, this can’t keep happening.”

I stepped inside the narrow hallway of the modern house, all painted white with black and white photographs in black frames covering all the walls. Each picture was a memory for her, some were memories for me.

“I’ve just made coffee,” she said walking towards the kitchen. “Do you want one?”

“Got any green tea?”

I was sure I heard her mutter ‘fucking pussy’ as I followed her. There on the table, just as I’d expected, was a vase of daisies, matching the print of the blind at the window—the yellow middles the only colour in the house.

She took a mug from the draining board and reached for a pot with tea bags in it. “It’s decaffeinated, that’ll have to do.”

“That’s fine.” I leaned against the breakfast bar, watching as she flicked the switch on the kettle. “Ronnie and Amber are having twins by the way.”

Turning to me, she frowned. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Is that why you’re here? Has that upset you?”

I shook my head, my gaze steady on her. “No, Destiny,” I finally said. “I’m here because I need you.”

And whether I liked it or not, whether she liked it or not, our tour manager was the only person who could help me.

CHAPTER 2

DESTINY

Watching Joey in my kitchen was unsettling. The shithead was too good looking for his own good. Too good looking and too…everything. I’d told him I didn’t want to be his crutch, yet he was there expecting me to talk him down from whatever it was he was going through.

I couldn’t keep doing it, seeing him and being there for him. It was too much. All I wanted was to live a normal life away from fucking rockstars. Yet, like a dickhead I chose to work with them. Why? Because I loved my job more than I hatedthem. If only being a tour manager didn’t involvethem.

“Listen,” I snapped as I handed Joey his cup of tea, “I don’t know what you think I can do, but I can’t.”

“You can, Dest. You always do.” He looked pissed off that he’d had to admit it, well he wasn’t the only one.

“Because we shagged for a couple of months, years ago, it doesn’t mean I can be your go-to when you need a pep talk.”

“Youchoseto help me the first time. You remember when you turned up in that bar on one of our tours before Cassie died.Yousat down next tomeand told me that I didn’t need the drink because that would only lead me back to the drugs.Youwere theone who toldmeI didn’t need anything else to make me a prick because I was already a big enough one.”

Unorthodox advice maybe, but clearly it worked because he’d stayed off the gear for the last five years. To be honest, I’d called him a prick ever since we’d had our ‘thing’, so I wasn’t sure why that particular night had stuck in his mind.

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