26. Head Over Heels
CHAPTER 26
Head Over Heels
JOEL
I look around the conference room, avoiding the eyes of James and Dave. They’ve never heard this story before, and I know they probably have a million questions, but it’ll have to wait until later.
“I realize I acted like a barbarian,” I admit. “But I was seventeen and already troubled and I saw that my best friend was in pain. I did—I did what I thought I had to do at the time.”
Everyone is quiet and the air is thick with discomfort.
“Do you know what it was that led to the final conflict between Mr. Prentiss and Mr. Samuels?” Judge Horowath asks.
I shake my head. “No, he never told me. And I never asked. I just knew it was important. Life-altering. I’ve never seen him more distressed than at that moment.”
He twists his mouth thoughtfully. “You mentioned in your testimony here today, Mr. Thanger, that you believe Mr. Samuels had never heard these songs prior to when you yourself heard them? What makes you think that’s true?”
I shrug. “Mr. Samuels seemed confused. Unable to follow along. Didn’t know when the verses would end—the lyrics, or the chords. Either he’s an exceptionally bad and forgetful guitarist, or he had never heard those songs before.”
I’m delighted when Logan’s face turns a delicious shade of crimson.
The judge nods. “I see.”
“We have evidence to present for our client,” one of Logan’s lawyers interjects.
My heart sinks. So they really have something.
“I’d like to see it, please,” the judge says.
From out of a file folder, the lawyer pulls a small stack of crinkled paper. As Horowath looks it over, the room spins. I glance over at James and Dave, who nervously rock in their oversized leather chairs. When the judge looks up, he’s staring straight at me.
“Mr. Thanger,” he says, passing one of the pages to Al’s lawyer. “Could you please tell me the title of the song on this paper.”
I crack my knuckles as it’s passed over, and my blood runs cold when I see the words at the top of the page.
“It’s, uh—it’s ‘Neon Crush,’” I say breathlessly.
“That is one of the songs in contention, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“And the letterhead at the top of the paper. Can you read that as well, please.”
I try to swallow but it feels like nails. “‘Samson Academy for Troubled Boys.’”
“One would assume, then, that this creative work was written during a stay at the aforementioned place.”
No words come out. My heart’s being cleaved in two.
“Mr. Thanger, can you identify the signatures at the bottom of the page?”
I want to lie. I want to sit here and explain to everyone that Key’s name isn’t on this page. I suppose it isn’t until this very moment that the horrifying truth becomes impossible to ignore.
And it will change everything .
“There appears to be two people’s names here,” I say, my voice sounding far away. “Logan Samuels and . . .” I hang my head. “Keith Prentiss.”
* * *
“Joel. Joel!”
I storm across the lobby and stab at the button for the elevator. I need to punch something and it can’t be one of these fancy office walls. Wouldn’t want to get stuck with another massive bill.
As the elevator rises and the lights above the doors light up, Dave and James are there, blocking my way.
“Dude,” Dave says. “We need to talk.”
“What’s there to say?”
He pushes against me, and steam is nearly pouring out of my ears. “How about what the fuck are we going to do now?”
“Dave,” James interrupts. “Maybe we take a minute to?—”
“It’s bullshit,” I whisper.
“What?”
“It’s fucking bullshit!” I yell, and it echoes down the tiled hallway.
“Joel—” James reaches out and touches my shoulder, but I shrug him off.
“No, James. It’s not true. Don’t you dare fucking believe it.”
He holds up his ring-covered fingers and backs up. “I don’t. Joel, I swear I don’t.”
“He must have done something,” I say. “Logan . . . he forged those papers, or—” I pull at the roots of my hair. “Or he forced him to write out those songs.”
Dave and James both bow their heads. “What do you mean?”
“Key’s brain is like a safe. He’s always been like that. Even stuff that we wrote at that fucking Academy after Logan was gone. It was never on paper. He always just remembered. It’s like he has a photographic memory.”
“What’s your point?” Dave sighs.
I groan. “My point, assholes, is that you’ve never seen him write a song or chord or lyric down, but this douchebag is trying to convince everyone else that there are seven perfectly written copies of songs he happened to write at seventeen years old while at an extremist Christian military academy?”
Dave shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
My jaw drops. “How can you say that?” I hiss.
“Because,” Dave continues on quietly. “We can believe him all we want, but that means nothing unless we can prove Key’s side of the story is true. And we don’t even know what that is, because he’s not here to tell us! He ran away and left us to clean up his mess and I for one am fucking pissed.”
James shrugs and adds, “He shouldn’t have left, man. He’s fucked us over.”
I close my eyes and try to take a deep calming breath but I can’t help it. I’m pissed too. In fact, I’m fucking furious. I’ve never been madder at Key and more desperate to see him in the eight years I’ve known him. What the hell was he thinking?
“The judge said we have two weeks,” I say, looking at them again. “Two weeks to prove those papers are fakes. Two weeks for Key to come back and tell us what really happened. To make this right.”
There’s an echo of laughter, and the three of us turn to see Logan and his two lawyers exiting out of the conference room, massive grins plastered on their faces. My body tenses, my knuckles cracking as I ball them into fists.
“Joel, don’t,” James whispers as he steps in front of me. “It’s not worth it.”
His eyes meet mine, those dark brown eyes begging me to be sensible. How did the youngest of our group become the wisest?
“Yeah, man,” Dave says, joining James. “He’s got lawyers with him. You do anything, they’ll use it against us.”
But I don’t care, and all I want to do at this moment is finish the job I started at seventeen.
“All right, Thanger?” Logan says with a grin as he and the lawyers stride up to the elevator next to us. “Sorry it had to go this way. I was really hoping we could have handled this without the suits,” he says, gesturing to the high-priced lawyers at his side.
My jaw clenches, and it takes all of my willpower not to push Dave and James aside to smash his face into the wall.
“Oh, and no hard feelings about that mess at Samson. After all, you putting me in the infirmary is what got me out of there.”
His lips twitch up into the barest hint of a smirk, and I’m shaking with restrained violence.
“When you see Keith, tell him I say thanks.”
The elevator dings, then the doors open, and the group disappears from sight.
“You okay?” James asks.
“No,” I reply honestly.
“Yeah,” Dave admits. “I don’t think any of us are.”
* * *
“Here, Joel, I made you some coffee,” Izzy says, pushing the steaming cup into my hands.
I try to smile at her, if only to ease the worry from her brown eyes. But I can’t manage it.
“Thanks,” I say, instead.
Izzy sinks into the couch next to Becks, who wraps her arms around her friend.
“I feel so useless,” Becks says.
“I think we all do,” Dave adds.
“I’m just so worried about him,” she continues. “What if—” Her mouth hangs open, and she looks across at me.
I frown. “What if what?”
Her posture straightens. “I just—as someone who’s been to some really dark places in my head,” she admits, and I don’t miss the way that James reaches across and places his hand on her knee. “What if he’s really not okay? He’s all alone without anyone or anything to pull him out.”
The room is pin-drop silent.
“No, I—he wouldn’t . . .” I start to argue, but after everything that’s happened in the past few weeks, how can I be so sure I really know the man? His signature was on those pages. Why did he never tell me what happened with Logan? Why did I never ask? What else is he not telling me? “No, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt himself. Maybe he’s just gone back to Iowa. Maybe there’s proof there that he needs to make this all go away. It has to be or—no. This can’t be over.”
It’s the thing we’ve all been thinking since the accusations came out. That this might be the end. The end of the band. Venues won’t host us. Our music video project with MTV is on hold indefinitely, and as of this afternoon, Al called to tell us the radio won’t be playing any of our songs until the case is settled. And just like Dave said, it doesn’t matter if we know Key is innocent in all of this, we need proof. No one wants to support a band they think is guilty of plagiarizing songs.
I watch as James and Becks, then Izzy and Dave, fall into their respective pairings. If this really is the end, I’m just glad that the four of them have each other. That they’ve been smart with their money, and while they might not make big bucks from music for a while, they’ve got enough under their feet to keep themselves afloat. Most of all, I’m glad they found love.
“Guys, I need to tell you something,” I say.
I nearly laugh as they all collectively hold their breath.
“No, not about the songs. Something else.”
They visibly relax and I sit up a little straighter. Run a hand down my face.
“I, uh . . . I met someone.”
Becks’s mouth drops open, and James blinks at me.
“You . . . wait, what?” Izzy asks. “You met someone? What does that mean?”
I roll my eyes. “It means what it always means, Iz. I met someone. A girl—or, well, a woman.”
It’s possible that Dave’s eyebrows have disappeared. “A woman?”
I nod. “Yeah. Her name’s Dusty and she’s . . . incredible.”
Something small but soft barrels into me, squeezing me into a tight hug. Becks squeals into my ear, “Oh, Joel!”
I hug her back tightly, then she sits next to me on the couch, her arm entwining with mine.
“What’s she like? Where did you meet?”
After the aching sadness that has sat heavy on my chest all day, the thought of Dusty lightens everything just enough. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Red hair, blue eyes . . . legs for days. But she’s more than that too. I don’t know how to describe it.”
James grins.
“And funnily enough, I met her for the first time the night of your wedding,” I say to Becks and James.
Becks taps a finger to her cheeks while James scratches his head, and I can even see Izzy and Dave trying to figure it out.
“Wait,” Dave says, “you met her in Vegas?”
“Really?” Becks asks. “How serendipitous is that?”
“But you were—” James cuts himself off. “Holy shit, Joel, is she a . . . stripper?”
The girls’ heads whip around to look at me, but I’m not ashamed. “She was.”
“Oh my god,” Izzy says, rising to her feet. “I met her!”
“You what?”
“The morning after the wedding, when we all met up for breakfast. You told us you spent the night with this gorgeous redhead. When I went to the bathroom there was a long-legged redhead in there. She had a Texas accent and gave me a tam—a tampon,” she finishes shyly.
“But, wait,” Becks says. “Does that mean she lives here now?”
I nod. “Yeah, we ran into each other at a laundromat of all places. It’s crazy.”
“So if she’s not a stripper anymore . . .” Becks turns bright pink “What does she do now?”
“She’s a phone sex operator.”
I was completely honest with Dusty when I said it doesn’t bother me what she does for work. But from the look of the slack jaws and wide eyes in front of me, I should’ve eased my friends into this detail. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because I want her to meet them someday and they’re not giving me much confidence they won’t make things awkward.
“Oh,” Dave says, glancing sideways at James. “That’s . . . interesting.”
Izzy opens her mouth to speak twice, but both times closes it, then crosses her arms and looks away.
Becks though . . . she tightens her grip on my arm and she rests her head on my shoulder. “I’m glad you found someone. She must be so special. I can’t wait to meet her.”
My head drops on top of hers, and I need to blink quickly to keep myself from getting emotional. I sigh. “There’s one problem though,” I admit. “Key doesn’t know.”
“You haven’t told him?” Izzy asks.
I shake my head. “I was going to, but he’s been in such a shitty mood the past few weeks and he—well, in not as many words, he told me that love sucks. That relationships aren’t real and he wants both of us to stay single for the rest of our lives.”
James gives a low whistle. “Yup, someone hurt that guy. Knew it.”
I frown. “What?”
He shrugs. “Come on. You can’t tell me you’ve been playing those songs of his for how many years now and have never clued in that they’re all about one girl.”
“No . . . no that’s?—”
“Joel . . . ‘Firebird’? ‘Neon Crush’? ‘Sunshine Mind’?” James counts off his fingers. “Obviously written about a girl he was nuts for. Trust me, I know.” He winks at Becks, and she giggles.
“And considering he wrote them before he even turned eighteen?” James continues. “It must have been one brutal breakup.”
I shake my head and wave my hands. “You’re wrong. Sure, he might have written songs about a girl. A muse, maybe, but—I’ve been his best friend for almost eight years. Never once has he mentioned being in love with a girl.”
Dave sighs. “That’s actually what makes it more believable. He can’t even talk about it.”
The idea percolates in my brain, swirling around like tea leaves in water. Key was in love? Did Key lose the person he loved? But why keep that big of a secret from me? Why not tell me?
“I’m sure he’ll be happy for you,” Becks encourages. “Just because he was heartbroken once doesn’t mean he’d deprive his friend of finding someone. It’s not like he had a problem with either of our relationships.”
I glance up at James and Dave for a brief moment, who seem to understand the silent communication between us. Because we’re a package. Because loving someone else might change what makes Key’s and my friendship so special. Reaching over to touch Becks’s hand, I nod. “You’re probably right, but now’s not the right time. It might never be the right time if he doesn’t come back.”
“He will,” Izzy states, brooking no argument. “He has to.”
* * *
Later, when I’m alone in the house, I sit for hours with my bass guitar across my lap. As I pluck the tune to Key’s songs and the lyrics run through my head, I let myself break down. Because I must be the biggest fucking idiot on planet Earth not to realize these songs are about a girl. Other than terribly in the shower, I don’t sing. Key is the songbird and James and Dave are the backups. I’ve never really had to fit my mouth around each individual word before. But now I can’t unhear it. Can practically see the events of this tragic love story play out in front of me. The pining, the longing, the betrayal, the heartbreak . . .
The sun peaks over the horizon to shine through the patio windows, and I’m exhausted, having only gotten bouts of sleep no longer than fifteen minutes all night. I need Dusty. I need her. I need her in my arms. To fall asleep next to me. She’s probably just getting home after a long night of work, but maybe she’ll come.
I push myself off the couch and walk over to the kitchen, slipping the phone off the hook. My palms sweat as I dial her number, but picturing Stella yowling at the sound filling their apartment has a smile tugging at my lips.
“Hello?”
Butterflies roam loose in my chest. “Hey, it’s me.”
“Oh, Joel, hi. Are you—is everything okay? It’s really early.”
I press my fist to my forehead. “I’ve been up all night. It’s been the shittiest day.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says.
“Listen, I know you probably just got in from work?—”
“Actually,” she interrupts. “I quit.”
I blink. “You what?”
She sighs. “I just couldn’t do it anymore, and to be honest, even though you said it doesn’t bother you?—”
“It doesn’t,” I insist.
“I know. But it bothers me . If this thing between us is going to work . . . I want to give myself over completely, and that means getting away from all the confusing emotions that come with my job.”
I smile and twirl my finger in the phone cord. She wants to be mine. “You’re incredible,” I say reverently.
She gives a small laugh. “It’s terrifying, but I think the change will be good. I’ve . . . I’ve never really known anything else.”
“I know it upset you when I offered before?—”
“Joel—”
“So I won’t offer,” I insist. “But, I will support you however you need, whether that’s reading over your résumé or circling the wanted ads. I’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“I need to see you,” I say. “I know you’re probably tired and want to just go to sleep but . . . would you maybe come over here?”
There’s a brief pause. “I . . . sure, of course. But, uh?—”
“I get it. You’re tired. I’m sorry I asked.”
“No!” she says a little forcefully. “No, it’s not that, it’s just?—”
“What?”
She groans. “I don’t know the bus schedule for that side of town.”
I frown. “The bus?”
She laughs humorlessly. “Are you forgetting I don’t have a car?”
“Oh!” Shit, I’m such a fucking doofus. “Dusty, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll come and get you.”
She hums. “Is your friend back? I thought he took off in your car?”
Fuck. “Yes, right. Umm . . . I’ll send a cab.”
“A cab?”
“Yeah. Be downstairs in ten minutes.”