Page 217 of Reverse

Is fate real?

The universe starts to feel small as I sort through the domino effect. I wonder if LL even knew his call to the paper in Austin, Texas, held such a history for my mother or if it was a coincidence.

He’s an observant fuck, so chances are, maybe he did his research. Perhaps the reason he placed the call was that he was aware of my mother’s history at the paper. It’s a well-known fact she started her career there.

“What the fuck, man?” I watch LL from the plastic-covered chair at his bedside, the monitors steadily beeping.

Syd and Tack held out for as long as they could, regretting their overindulgence at the party before heading back to the hotel to sleep it off. For some reason when we arrived, I lied to the hospital staff and told them I was LL’s next of kin. Oddly enough, Dad was listed as his emergency contact, so my lie would have been believable enough, though it was clear they knew who we were. Dad and I haven’t had a chance to talk about his huge fucking omission regarding my lead guitarist yet due to his mission to cover us with PR and get the hotel situation under control while the doctors stabilized LL. I cradle my neck, both hangover and fatigue setting in as the question of how long Dad’s known about LL’s condition begins to grate on me. As if sensing my need for answers, Dad appears by my side. Eyes on LL, he breaks the silence first. “You should go back to the hotel. Shower, eat. Get some sleep.”

“Dad, why didn’t you tell me?”

He sighs. “You want to do this now, son?”

“Considering what this bastard confessed, yeah.”

“He didn’t want any special treatment, and he knew his time was limited. That his disease wouldn’t let him play permanently with the band, and I felt for him.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?”

“A kid who grew up dirt poor, neglected by shitty parents, and wandered around totally fucked up until he found a guitar. That’s his summary, and it’s not even the worst of it.”

“What is?”

“Ask him yourself when he wakes up.”

“Dad, we don’t lie to each other. Or at least, I thought we didn’t. Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry, son, I am. This is the only thing I’ve been keeping from you, and it was for selfish reasons. I always knew I’d have to come clean, and this would probably be why. I was hoping you two would bond, so he would tell you himself.” He chuckles dryly. “That didn’t work out.”

“Selfish how?”

He looks down at me. “Try not to take offense, but you’re such a perfectionist, and I hate saying this, but I think his condition would have clouded your judgment and you would have missed touring with a great guitarist, and . . . in turn, LL would have missed fulfilling his dream. This was his last chance.” He exhales harshly. “I’ve been in his shoes, been as desperate as he was, and I noticed it right away.” Dad’s expression darkens, as it does when he talks about that time in his life, years before he and Mom got married. “He wanted it so badly, so much more than anyone else that auditioned, and he’s more talented than over half the guitar players I know. I’m sorry if that pisses you off, but I wanted him to have it.”

“You’re kind of making it hard to stay pissed off,” I say, glancing up at him.

Dad doesn’t answer, his eyes back on LL as I study him, nothing but empathy rolling off him as I spot my messenger bag dangling from his hand. Dad seems to realize he’s blanked out and lifts it within my reach.

“I brought this, just in case you decided to stay. There’s some grub in there too.”

I grab the offered bag. “Thanks. They’re bringing me a cot, though I’m completely clueless why I am staying. I damn near threw him off the balcony tonight.”

“Kindred spirits don’t always get along. In fact, they often butt heads. I’ve learned that over the years. Try to understand, son, the hand he was dealt was brutal. He may have proven to be a shifty asshole, but for some reason, he had a part to play in our lives.”

“You believe that 11:11 cosmic crap, Dad? Truly?”

“Fuck yeah, I do. There have been times that I tried to reason my way out of it, and even when I’m successful, there has to be a reasonbehind that reason. I gave up trying to figure it out years ago.”

“I get exactly what you’re saying. I wouldn’t have ten minutes ago, but trust me, I’m reeling.”

He shakes his head, eyes wary. “Facts are facts, and what’s happened over the years—especially in our family—most would consider a series of coincidences, but I deem small miracles.” He blows out a harsh breath. “I’m fucking beat. I’m going back to the hotel. Text me when he wakes up.”

“What if he doesn’t?” I ask, and we share a long, loaded silence.

“Then it will be a tragedy,” he replies, eyeing LL before pulling his gaze away.

“I don’t hate him, and I’m really not even that pissed anymore, but I can’t figure out why,” I confess.

“He looks pretty harmless on life support, and maybe because you finally recognize beneath his bullshit, he’s a human being that’s suffering, and I raised a good man.”

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