Page 27 of Sustain

“No. It was just for fun.”

“You’d twirl a baton...For fun?” The surprise and doubt in his expression are laughable like it’s the weirdest thing he’s ever heard.

“Yes. It was something my friend Chelsie and I would do after school. We taught ourselves how to do it.” I stick my chin out defiantly. “We thought we were very cool.”

His eyebrows lift. “Oh, I’m sure you were extremely cool. No question. Coolest kid on your block.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re just jealous because I bet you can’t twirl a baton. Admit it.”

“You win that bet.” His smile is relaxed, and I love how easily we fall into conversations like this. It’s completely random, butat the same time, so insightful. Not necessarily about my baton twirling as a kid, but things like this give a glimpse of what made us who we are today. Like him being a Boy Scout when he was younger, it made an impression on him that survives to this day. And luckily, saved me.

“What about you?” I ask. “Any talents other than making hot cocoa from scratch and cooking amazing breakfasts?”

“Well...”

“Or building fires? Soothing nightmares? Saving damsels?” I go on, knowing that instead of stroking his ego, it’s actually embarrassing him a little. It’s not my intention, but he needs to stop being so humble. “Don’t you play guitar? Or is it bass?” I feel bad that I don’t know this about him. I’m not sure if we’ve ever talked about it and I just don’t remember, or if I never really knew.

“Both, really. But mainly bass, yeah.” He again isn’t bragging, though he probably should be. “Give me any stick with strings on it, and I can probably play it. Well…” His voice trails off.

“What happened with your band?” I ask, wanting to know so much more about this man who seems to have it all together. There’s got to be chinks in his shining armor somewhere. “Why did you guys break up? And why didn’t you keep on with music?”

A shadow seems to cross over his features, like a storm front moving in. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked about it. Or, maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Now, that is a long story,” he says, focusing intently on the fire. I can feel him tense up next to me, his shoulders rising slightly.

“We’ve got nothing but time,” I say quietly, not wanting to push him too far on it. “If you want to tell it. You don’t have to.”

sixteen

. . .

Confession Box

Ian

I flex my hand unconsciously, the ghost ache of arthritis flaring that always comes along with bad weather. Mackenzie regards me patiently, with no judgment in her open expression. Rubbing my jaw, I debate baring my long-buried pains to her, but I don’t want to put any more barriers between us. She’s been open and honest with me. It’s only fair that I do the same, about this at least. No matter how painful.

I take the leap.

“So, you know Corpse Limousine imploded. What you may not know is that it was over a girl.” I give a doleful laugh. “Isn’t it always, somehow?” I run a hand through my hair. “Our lead guitarist, Dylan, introduced us all to Brianna. They dated first but split amicably. Then she took an interest in me. I should have backed off out of solidarity, but the heart just fucking ignores logic sometimes.”

“That’s your ex-wife, right?” she asks, matter-of-factly.

Nodding, I lean forward, guilt still churning inside. “Dylan gave his blessing but must have secretly harbored some sort of resentment against me because one night we were all out drinking, and he made a crude comment about Brianna. Ofcourse, I couldn’t let that stand. I saw red and threw the first punch.”

“That’s not so uncommon in this business,” Mackenzie says, not unkindly. Just telling it how it is. “Internal fighting in bands is par for the course. I can’t count the times my guys have been at each other’s throats over something stupid.”

“That’s true, but…God, I was such an idiot...” Shaking my head, I glance at my almost-invisibly damaged knuckles. I see it like a bright neon sign, though I doubt anyone else does. “A full-on brawl exploded, and the whole band got involved. In the chaos, I slammed my fist into a brick wall trying to get to Dylan. Ended up with two broken knuckles and worse. Next day we all sobered up, but the anger stuck around. Accusations were thrown about over who ‘ruined everything.’ Like my hand, our brotherhood was fractured beyond repair.”

I turn my hand palm-up, tracing the faint surgical scar. “I shattered two knuckles and tore a tendon. Had two surgeries, but my hand was never the same after. I couldn’t play anymore. Couldn’t get the intricate fingerwork back up to speed.” Holding my arm up, I show her the faint crookedness of my hand from clumsy healing. “And you know how it ended. Oddly enough, I was the wordsmith, and main lyricist, so they couldn’t use my songs once I was gone. They fell apart too. The only silver lining from the brawl was that it put things with Brianna into sharper focus.” I can’t help the cynical chuckle. “A lot of good that did me in the end.”

“Why do you say that?”

As I again stare into the fire, I can still see that fateful night play out again in my mind’s eye. The echoes of it haunt me. I try for a sardonic smile that I’m certain resembles more of a grimace at the painful memories this stirs.

Turning, I meet Mackenzie’s gaze. “It was a small consolation when everything else crumbled that night. Everything changedwith one rash moment. Bri stuck with me, for the most part. But she wanted the rockstar, the lifestyle. When she eventually saw that I wasn’t going to be able to give that to her, well…things changed. She changed.”

Lapsing into a pained silence, I think of Brianna. In trying to claim love, I’d ultimately destroyed it and so much more in the aftermath. I doomed June and Hayley to a life separate from me.

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