Chapter 7 Chelsea
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Chelsea
With both hands resting on the sink, Tristan stared into the mirror. Water dripped from his face and his lips quivered. Memories of that day kept resurfacing, haunting him in every spare moment, especially when he sought peace and a chance to catch his breath.
And then there was Leaf. Tristan hadn’t expected to be greeted by a radiant knight, but he hadn’t anticipated Leaf to appear so haggard and broken …
My fault.
Tristan hung his head and massaged his temples.
It could be coke. That’s what he had started taking again at the end of the last tour.
Keep calm. He got off it before.
We’ll manage.
Damn, what was I thinking?
Carol’s briefing about the upcoming tour had almost overwhelmed him. So many countries. So many concerts. He searched in vain for the bubbling joy that had almost driven him crazy before the last tour because he couldn’t wait for it.
Maybe Carol was right when she concluded her speech with, “But let’s focus on the gig at the Whisky for now.”
Yeah, maybe that’s best.
One step at a time.
The longer he studied himself in the mirror, the stranger his reflection seemed.
The burden on his shoulders threatened to crush him.
Something in him had definitely broken. Fear and pain coursed through his veins.
But that was actually good. Better than grief.
Grief consumed all his energy and made him even more sluggish than he already was.
He couldn’t afford to sink into apathy. Although he continued to try to hide his true feelings behind a thick mask of indifference, he would have preferred to bash his head against a wall to stop all the pain.
He was out of the clinic and free again but still dragged his burdens like a ball and chain. It felt as if he had to choose between two worlds, but he had no idea which one was right. His confidence wavered, sensing that a decision loomed ahead. The game continued—with or without him.
“Take it slow,” he heard Snider in the back of his mind. “You have time. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
Leaf, Tristan thought, leaning forward again and splashing his face with water.
The door swung open, and José appeared. “Tris? Everything okay?”
Tristan wiped the cold water from his face and looked at José through the mirror.
“You okay?” the drummer asked again.
“Yeah, chill out.” Tristan shook off the melancholy and followed José back into the bar. There, Andrej was saying goodbye to Carol.
“See you tomorrow for rehearsal,” Andrej said, turning to them as he reached for his car keys in his pocket. “I’ll check if I have an old phone lying around at home for you.”
They fist bumped and Andrej left the bar. Tristan’s gaze drifted to Leaf, who was lifting himself up at the bar, downing his glass in one go, and slowly turning toward them, as if he were scanning the entire bar for them.
How high is he?
As Leaf approached them, Tristan swallowed the lump in his throat.
He had forgotten how handsome Leaf was, how fragile and absent he could be when he wasn’t on stage or making music.
Brown strands fell across his face, and dark shadows lay beneath his eyes.
It hurt Tristan’s heart to see him like this.
He wanted nothing more than to catch him, hold him, stroke his head, and kiss away his pain.
Leaf couldn’t even bring himself to look at him.
Fuck! This is my fault! If only I hadn’t left him alone …
“Are you leaving?” José asked worriedly, resting his hand on his childhood friend’s shoulder.
Leaf nodded and gave Tristan a furtive glance before turning back to José. “Can you take him home? I … need to go somewhere.”
Where? Tristan opened his mouth and took a deep breath. Damn it! You live two minutes away from me! Come home with me!
“Sure. I can do that.”
No! The longing for Leaf held Tristan captive as he desperately searched for words. He didn’t want to let Leaf go just like that because he suspected it was better everywhere else than where Leaf was going. “Will I see you tonight?” He felt like a cursed teenager.
“Yeah, maybe,” Leaf replied, avoiding his gaze.
As Carol approached them, Leaf waved goodbye and hurried out of the bar.
“What was that about?” Tristan asked, dismayed.
“Come on,” José said with a good-natured smile. “I’ll take you home.”
“Tris, do you have a minute?” Carol asked.
He peered at José for an answer, but José merely nodded, so they returned back to the table.
Tristan sat there, tense and on edge, staring at the empty glass in front of him. He could hardly wait to get home. From the moment he entered the bar, his pulse hadn’t calmed down—he had sensed something was off when José parked directly in front of the entrance and refused to get out.
“I don’t know if it has already reached you,” Carol began, “but this Frank Chelsea has filed a lawsuit against you. For assault.”
Tristan hung his head, which apparently conveyed regret to Carol, but in reality, he was exhausted.
“Don’t take it too hard,” she said in a gentle tone. “I’ve already contacted our lawyer, who will handle the matter.”
“Am I going to jail?”
With no response forthcoming, Tristan lifted his head toward Carol.
“No! Dexter will hopefully prevent that. What else are we paying the man for?”
“I attacked and beat up this Chelsea guy. I can’t deny that.”
“Okay … um … Let’s ignore this admission of guilt for now. The circumstances … um … You know, the pressure you’re under, and the death of your brother—all of that could speak in your favor. So, let’s shift the blame onto that.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows in irritation. Seriously?
“The lawyer’s name is Dexter Evans, and he works for the label. He will want to get in touch with you to discuss everything further. Let me know as soon as possible once you have a phone again and are reachable. You too, José. After all, you were also on the scene.”