Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

SIXTY-ONE “Dead Man Walking”

SIXTY-ONE

“Dead Man Walking”

Jelly Roll

Easton

Five months later . . .

F aded black boots propped and crossed on one of the dressing room tables, Dad expertly twirls his sticks before tapping them on his thighs. His restless energy is palpable from across the room as he stares blankly through the blurred motions of his expert hands. I have no doubt he’s running through music none of us can hear, as I often do while tapping out the beats in perfect synchronization. While he’s too much of a professional to be nervous, there’s an energy surrounding him. Pacing, cellphone in hand, Mom’s eyes lift and remain fixed on him where he rattles. Sensing her stare, he pauses and looks over at her, his mouth twisting up in a half-grin. “Something on your mind, Grenade?”

“I’m so proud of you,” she declares, her voice shaking with sentiment as the decades they’ve spent between them shine in their eyes. Dad lifts his chin in summons, and Mom immediately walks over to him. Dropping his legs as she reaches him, he pulls her into his lap. After a few exchanged whispers, he brackets her face before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

Averting my gaze to give them the privacy they clearly don’t give a shit about, I catch Rye talking to his daughter where she’s propped against the wall. Rian is Rye’s only child, resulting from his first marriage to her mother, Angel. Their divorce ended up being the first of Rye’s three failed marriages. Rian smiles at her father, tossing her hands into the conversation for emphasis as he grins down at her with affection and pride, no doubt not retaining a single word.

My thoughts drift to Natalie and the times I just stared at her as she chatted me up post-orgasm. Far too exhausted for conversation, I kissed her quiet until she fell asleep.

Fuck, I miss that.

I haven’t spoken a word to my wife since the night of the gala, since the night I got the email. Firm on keeping a promise to myself not to be the first to reach out because of how it went down, I have no intention of remedying that anytime soon. When our silent standoff lasted past New Year’s, it only confirmed what I already felt—my wife left me to swing alone in the dark before leaving me altogether. There’s only one universe for us to exist in now, but even in this one, she remains my wife . I rest in that fact, though it’s little-to-no consolation anymore.

My focus shifts back to Rian as I note what a knock-out she’s grown into. Benji is going to lose his shit when he lays eyes on her. Even so, he’ll do no more than burn the looks of her into memory. At one point, I know she returned his affections, but he walked away from the opportunity, closing the door purposefully. The two have barely spoken since. He didn’t even give himself the time to love her.

Maybe he is the smart one, even if he’s the world’s biggest fucking hypocrite when it comes to matters of the heart. Fact is, when it comes to Rian, there’s no denying her significance with him.

Adam sits comfortably a couch over, plucking at his unplugged bass as he chats with his wife, Lucia—the most gentle and generous woman on the planet. Adam was the last of the Sergeants to marry, save Ben, and lucked out in his choice for all of us. Lucia has a gift in the way she’s aware of everything going on with the band, both personally and professionally, at all times and guards us all ferociously and protectively.

Ben sits solo in a chair adjacent to Dad, a table over. Dressed to impress by Lexi in vintage corduroy, suspenders fastened and hanging loosely at his sides, he methodically rolls up the sleeves of his linen button-down, probably by her strict instructions. Fidgeting with the collar, he anxiously flits his gaze back to the door.

True to her ambitious nature and stellar reputation, Aunt Lexi took a last-minute job styling high-profile client and family friend, Mila, who is Hollywood legend Lucas Walker’s wife. The last-minute job was commissioned because of an unexpected pre-premiere event. Just after, Lexi and Benji met up in LA to board their flight, but it was delayed. It’s apparent that they’re cutting it much too close for Ben’s comfort with the way he’s fidgeting. Over the years, and on certain occasions, I know Lexi’s presence has played a major part in Ben’s performances. Her absence, especially when painfully missed, led to some of his most guttural shows. For Ben, it seems as if he uses their tumultuous relationship as a fuel source. Right now, in that respect, I can relate.

Though a rock and roll family, we’ve been through it all and continue to spend our lives together despite the Dead Sergeants’ long-standing hiatus in recording and touring. Holidays, birthdays, Grammy wins and other award shows, vacations, and sadly, one too many funerals, we’ve been there and through it together . Blood or not, we are family in every sense of the word, which would make Benji and Rian’s coupling a little taboo and predictably disastrous. Just as forbidden as, say . . . falling madly in love with your mother’s ex-fiancé’s daughter and eloping with her.

Even as pride fills me for the fact that we’re celebrating another milestone tonight, I can’t help but wonder what my family will look like five or even ten years from now, and more so, what it would have looked like if Natalie had accepted her place at the table.

She never even got to meet them.

Ben’s attention whips back to the dressing room door as it bursts open, and a perplexed Aunt Lexi stalks through, Benji on her heels as he steps in behind her before he subtly begins searching the room.

“Thank fuck, get over here,” Ben rushes out, relief taking over his anxiety-filled expression as he pulls Benji into his arms. When Ben’s eyes meet Lexi’s over Benji’s shoulder, I feel it the second they connect.

The grudge on Ben’s part is noticeably absent today, as it has been for some time. He used to be the first to look away, purposefully rejecting her and breaking their connection.

Ben’s long-standing go-to punishment.

It seems he’s done penalizing her now as their eyes hold before Mom pulls Aunt Lexi into a hug. They embrace the other like they haven’t seen each other in years, not days, but their state is understandable.

Truth be told, they’re the ones with the most history together. Their friendship and bond sparked the start of our family, and the two of them combined became the backbone. That fact is further emphasized as an undeniable sense of relief fills the room.

We’re all here.

Save one Crowne.

A place I’m still holding for her, probably in vain.

Shaking the thought away, I focus back on our reunion. Ben’s smile lifts marginally when Lexi transitions out of Mom’s arms and into his. It’s so clear he needs her. It’s so clear she wants to be needed by him.

Similarly distracted, Benji stands frozen in place a foot from his parents, his eyes sweeping Rian as she catches his gaze and gives him a small wave before resuming her conversation with Rye.

Ouch.

Clearly stung, Benji quickly schools his features before spotting me, stalking over, and collapsing with a sigh on my right.

“How was your flight?” I jab, grinning.

“Fucking hilarious, bro,” he growls as I keep my gaze focused on his parents’ exchange. Benji follows my line of sight.

“Don’t ever try to figure them out. Their ignorance when it comes to the other is mind-boggling.”

“Yeah, I agree. It’s moronic to ignore the way you feel about someone.”

His reply is a cold, dead stare.

“You’re a hypocrite, and you know it.” I press in.

“Jesus, man. I just got here.” Even as he protests, his eyes drift over to Rian, who’s inching her way toward the dressing room door. His shoulders lift and tighten, and I know he’s fighting the urge to go after her.

“She stopped waiting for you, Benji,” I inform him. “A long time ago.”

He shrugs. “So, when the time comes, I’ll shake her fiancé’s hand, have my dance with her at their wedding and then spoil her kids.”

“I’m calling bullshit on that right now,” I say, knowing he’s incapable.

“I made choices I can’t unmake,” he confesses thoughtfully. “So, it’s the only way I’ll be able to remain in her life. I’m too tainted for her at this point anyway. She’s a fantasy, and if I touch it,” he admits, his voice raw as his eyes roll over her, “I’ll destroy it for both of us. The fantasy is always better than the reality anyway.”

“That’s some jaded, not to mention recycled bullshit.”

“Think so?” He turns unforgiving eyes on me. “You hit concrete not too long ago. How’s that working out for you?”

“Fuck you,” I grit out. “You’re right. She deserves better because you’re fucking poison.”

“And you’re filled with it,” he bites out, eyeing his parents, who are now wrapped up in conversation. “Haven’t you gotten it yet, East? Nothing is revered anymore. It’s all talk, all words made meaningless by actions.”

“Actions, Natalie, get on the plane.”

The truth of his declaration hits too close to home, I move to leave him in his tainted state, and he grips my arm and yanks me back down.

“Sorry, man, it’s just my perception. Doesn’t mean you have to buy into it.”

“Also doesn’t mean I have to keep listening to it. Your headspace isn’t anywhere I want to be right now.”

“Sorry.” He ruffles my hair, and I slap his hand away. He ignores the blatant animosity I’m displaying and questions me. “Seriously, how are you?”

“Not feeling the warm and fucking fuzzies at the moment,” I clip as the dark cloud he brought with him lingers overhead.

“Have you talked to her?”

“No, and I’m trying not to think about it.”

He sighs and stands. “I’m going to grab a beer. Want anything?”

“I’m good, thanks,” I manage in an even tone, his presence grating.

“Brought my kit. Up for some ink therapy later?”

“Yeah . . . maybe.”

Dad’s focus flits between Benji and me before he stalks over to me. “Come on, I need a smoke.” He eyes Benji’s retreating back, “Let’s take a walk.”

Knowing he’s full of restless energy, I stand as he informs our crew we’ll be back. Exiting the dressing room, we start the long trek to the parking lot. A few steps in, I roll my eyes down his frame. His own look, though spruced up by Lexi, remains true to his roots and typical stage appearance. Dressed in all black, I note just how much justice she did him. “Nervous?”

“Not really, just ready. The wait is what’s killing me. It really doesn’t get much better than this,” he grins. “It’s a good send-off, right?”

“Send-off?” I stop my footing altogether and turn to him. “This is it?”

He nods. “We decided this morning. We waited for everyone to get here to let you all know. Ben, Rye, and Adam are telling the rest of them now. A farewell tour would just be a formality anyway, and none of us want it.”

“Seriously?” A ball lodges in my throat as I avert my eyes, gutted by the fact that his music career is ending in mere hours. No wonder Mom’s been so emotional today.

“We stopped touring years ago, East. We’re done.”

“Jesus,” I rasp out, my eyes stinging. Lowering them, I go to resume our walk, and Dad stops me by gripping my arm.

“Look at me, son.”

I do and see my own eyes staring back at me, his filled with calm serenity, something I so desperately wish I had.

“I’m ready, Easton.” He shrugs. “Not all of us have a son with enough talent to create their own musical legacy,” he relays with pride. “I lucked out in that department, and I’d rather kick back and watch you make your mark. I’m so proud I had a hand in it, no matter how small the part I played.”

“It wasn’t small. Not at all.”

“Don’t bullshit me. You’re already surpassing me in a lot of ways.”

I shake my head, incredulous. “You’re wrong if you think any part of what I’m doing doesn’t have everything to do with you and Mom.”

My chest tightens as he clamps a hand on my shoulder. “All I’m saying is if this is it, I’m cool with it. So, you be okay with it, too.”

“Shit,” I reply hoarsely, reeling, “I’m good if you are. Just give me a minute to process.”

He nods, and we start walking again. A few steps in, he glances over at me. “It’s been a heavy couple of months.”

“Yeah, it has,” I say, keeping my focus ahead.

“You want to talk about it?”

“No. Not today.”

“You haven’t talked about it at all , son, since I peeled you from the floor of that hotel room.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to talk about. I’m at where I’m at, and I’m dealing with it.”

“Just so you know, you come first.” The last part he quietly delivers in a guilt-ridden tone he’s used a couple times since our standoff. The morning after Mom bitch-slapped her logic into me, literally and figuratively, Dad and I came together like we hadn’t missed a second. When he opened their hotel door in New Orleans the following morning, I didn’t have to say a word. He pulled me to him, and after I choked out my apology, our fight was over. We’ve been inseparable since. I did move out into a one-bedroom I treat like a hotel room and as Mom predicted, a storage room, unsure if I’ll ever pass out the second key.

“I know I come first without you ever having to tell me.” I relay with conviction, determined to keep my focus on my family despite the underlying gnawing in my gut, which must be apparent to everyone with the way I’m being goaded and gawked at today. “We’re good, Dad. I know you’re there if I need you.”

“That’s all that matters to me,” he asserts, his voice thick.

Needing a shift in energy, I nudge his shoulder and flash him a grin. “You know, you’re getting to be a sentimental old man.”

“Yeah, well, so fucking be it,” he quips back with a grin while patting his jean pockets in search of his cigarettes.

My spirits continue to war as we round the corner, and Dad comes to an abrupt halt, slapping a protective hand on my stomach just as I look up.