Page 68 of Bleeding Heart

“So why would he damage my business when he already knew my reputation was on the line dating him?”

“For the same reason Jake destroys anything. It’s part of his charm.” Trig presses the fingers of his hand together in prayer. They move, making a slithering, snakelike motion. The corner of his mouth curls up and I roll my eyes. “He’s had a few things rougher than you’d think. Powerful people don’t much enjoy being powerless.”

“Jake likes to be in control.”

Trig hums in agreement. “I have to be forthright with you, Paisley. I’ve had this tape from the get-go and you’ve always had the right to see it. The trouble is, nobody got anywhere by telling an obstinate horse like Jake Ballentine what to do… ‘cept maybe you.” He nudges my shoulder. “I can’t explain why he couldn’t admit it was him and covered his tracks. However, beyond everything that rumor has it Jake does in his spare time, he had a vested interest in my company. Jake stopped putting up a fuss about me selling out to Walsh around the same time he skipped town. I think whatever happened between you two had a lot to do with his decision. So, I’m showing it to you as my way of saying thanks.”

“You could rake Jake over the coals with this.”

“So could you. He’s my friend, but I won’t stop you even though I don’t think pursuing it would make Jake have any significant change of heart. I’m pretty sure if Jake didn’t regret what he did then, he does now.”

The tender achy part of me searching for any way to soothe the pain wants to string Jake up by his toes. The problem is, turning this evidence over to the police also incriminates Trig.

So I guess the video adds to my unanswered questions. As does what Trig’s just said.

If Jake feels any remorse for hurting me, then where is he?

________________

32

________________

The guitar intro booms over the speakers. Cymbals crash and a symphony of strobe lights explode like lightning. I stand at the side of the stage as the crowd roars. Their anticipatory smiles morph into whoops. The noise and chaos build. Their energy thumps in my chest. A sly grin tips the corner of my mouth. My toe taps like I’m still striking the bass pedal on the drum set the roadies hauled away to set up for the next performer, and I clap along with the beat.

I hear this beautiful noise when I’m up on stage and we strike the first chords to the current number one single on the country charts. By the time the singer I’ve backed up this summer starts into the refrain, the chorus of voices in the audience has built. It drives my actions forward until I’m spent and sweaty.

But here, on the sidelines? I experience the complexity from the fan’s point of view.

I have been to concerts. I have played in concerts.

But I’ve never had the chance to play night after night after night in concerts. It’s enabled me to witness so many varied perspectives. From behind my kit to sneaking into the crowd, they’ve become innate.

But I have to admit, I prefer this one—hiding behind the long black curtain—over the rest.

And it’s as big a jolt to me as it is to anyone else.

It makes me wonder if the familiarity has to do with all my years at Sweet Carolines. As a kid, I’d hidden offstage, too. The last thing my parents needed was a child being seen during operating hours and someone reporting them for endangerment, or whatever cockamamie reason social services used to vilify my upbringing around strippers. Mothers, actually. I had a lot of good women looking out for my well-being. However, those aren’t the mothers anyone in charge takes seriously. Everyone presumes they’re cut from the same cloth as Carver’s… And, wouldn’t you know, it was my mom who took Carver in when he needed a place to stay.

So yeah, fuck anyone who thinks only virtuous people do good and only sinful people do bad. And if no one is willing to take my word on it, they can ask Cary Cass what his upstanding father did to him. I wish I’d cut my need for revenge against Rex Stanton out like the cancer it was sooner.

Hours on a tour bus have left me with a ton of time on my hands to reflect on how much shit I’ve gotten wrong. Starting with my jealousy toward Cris and my unwillingness to forgive him for mourning his wife the way a devastated husband needed to. I’ve been lost the past few months without Paisley, but at least I know she’s alive.

I’ve thought about sending her tickets and backstage passes. I’ve wondered how she’d react to finding out I disappeared to go see an old friend. I don’t think I believed what I saw in that picture in the restaurant in Nashville until I saw Cris for myself. My original intent wasn’t a sentimental journey, though I expected we’d commiserate over our mutual losses. Except Cris was right. The only person who’d made the choice to give up my dreams and live in misery was me.

Someday I’d like the opportunity to introduce Paisley to Daveigh. My old pal’s new wife gives Cris hell for staying away from her; his advice to me when it came to mending fences with Pais. However, it is exactly what I’ve been doing since Cris floated my audition tape in the right direction, and I set out on the road to replace the band’s drummer.

The first few nights on stage, I felt like an imposter. A no-talent, washed-up musician who’d usurped some young guy’s big break. Or girl’s. The headliner’s backup band includes a kick-ass female with a guitar of her own. It was her talent that lit up the audience before a single note was sung, and she’s playing her heart out right now.

But the reality is in any situation it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. If I hadn’t been able to cut it, the tour’s management would have cut their losses as fast as they’d offered me the fill-in spot.

There’s a firm pat on my back, and I turn. Tom, the guy who reached out to Cris, shakes my hand. I thank him for taking a chance on me. Tom says another high-energy country band has dates booked in Raleigh. They’ve been out a drummer this season, too. Instead of hiring a fill-in like me, they’ve been scoping local talent to play those dates. He offers to give their manager my name so they can look me up when they are in town. Tom can’t make guarantees, but the one thing I’m hard-core realizing is that there is a difference between saying life doesn’t come with a guarantee and accepting that it doesn’t. You have to keep plugging away at success and define it on your own terms.

Once we’ve said goodbye, I head toward the tour bus to grab my bag. I have a flight home in three hours that I don’t want to miss. The whole way to the airport, I’m mulling over what I thought I lost out on in my twenties when the lead vocalist quit the up-and-coming band I was in. It is a far cry from what I want today.

And what I want more than anything is for the woman who I’ve stayed away from to give me a chance to explain. Paisley’s sweet sass and fierceness broke down the walls surrounding my heart. I plan to wipe away her tears… But I haven’t yet finished chasing down my dreams so that I’m able to listen when Paisley tells me what kind of leg up she needs me to give to her to chase hers.

________________

---