Chapter 62
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Gabriel
I found Cleo reading a book on the wicker sofa on the front porch with her feet propped on the table and Otis’ head resting in her lap. She didn’t even look up from her book when I stepped onto the porch.
Otis lifted his head then sighed and rested his head in her lap again.
Even my dog knew I’d acted like an asshole.
I leaned against the porch railing and stared at the exposed roots of the live oak in the front yard. The roots had pushed through the ground, seeking oxygen. Covering them with topsoil would cut off their life supply.
The arborist who pruned my oaks last winter told me that these trees had some of the most sensitive root systems. Any damage would wreak havoc.
If the damage was extensive, the overall health of the tree would suffer serious consequences.
But he assured me that these trees were tenacious and wouldn’t go down without a fight.
All this to say that I could relate to that tree. I’d put down roots and then I buried them under a mountain of dirt until they withered from lack of oxygen. Now I was trying to fight my way back to a good place. A healthier place. In my life. In my broken brain. In my damaged relationship.
Maybe I should have apologized to Cleo but that’s not what I did.
“Is that really what you think I’ve been doing?
” I asked because it seemed important. Like something she should have known without my having to tell her.
“You think I’m the kind of guy who cheats on his wife repeatedly and then invites her here to rub it in her face?
” She set the book aside and met my eyes.
Hers were glossy with unshed tears, but I soldiered on regardless of how fair or unfair my questions were.
“Is that who you think I am, Cleo? A man without moral convictions? A liar and a cheat?”
“No.” She sounded uncertain. Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
“You don’t know.” I nodded and took a few deep breaths through my nose. “Is that who I used to be? Was I unkind to you? Was I the kind of man who would sabotage something good for the sake of a cheap thrill?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, that was never you. But I don’t know you anymore. People change.”
“Not that much. I don’t think the important things change.
My conscience is still healthy. Yeah, I’m an asshole sometimes but not that kind of asshole.
” I pushed my hand through my hair and came clean.
“The condoms in the kitchen drawer aren’t mine and I don’t have any stashed in my bedside table or anywhere else.
I’ve never bought a single box of condoms because I’ve never needed them. ”
It took her a few seconds to realize what I’d said. “Oh. So, you haven’t slept with anyone?” she asked hesitantly like she still wasn’t sure.
“No one.”
She was quiet for a minute, mulling that over. I could almost hear the wheels spinning in her head. “So why did you say all that?”
“I don’t know…” I gave it some thought. “I guess I was hoping you’d put your faith in me.” I knew that Cleo didn’t trust easily. I knew she was guarded. She’d said as much in that notebook. “I was expecting you to trust me without any real proof. But that’s not how it works, is it?”
“I always trusted you. Until I stopped trusting you.”
“So we’re starting over. And I need to earn your trust.” Not sure why it sounded like a question when it was exactly what I needed to do.
Cleo stroked Otis’ fur, her eyes on him.
“People aren’t as easy as dogs. When we enter into relationships, we already have all this baggage, you know?
Whether it’s from our childhood or past traumas…
we all have our own flaws and weaknesses and fears.
And you and I…we both had abandonment issues.
I mean, you knew that about me and it was such a big part of our relationship, just making sure that we never let each other down.
We knew each other’s boundaries. We knew how to show up for each other.
“And I know this doesn’t really have anything to do with that whole condom thing…
or maybe it’s just all wrapped up together.
But now, whenever you walk away from me, whenever you say something hurtful, it hits so much deeper than it would have four or five years ago when I had all the faith in the world in you.
You knew me so deeply and intimately that you knew how I felt about my father cheating on my mother with his groupies and how scared I’d been that you would turn out to be like him. But you never were.”
She chewed on her lip and looked over at me.
“You were never a cheater or liar. You were the truest, most honest person I’d ever known.
But earlier, in the kitchen, I was jealous.
Maybe sex is just physical for some people, and maybe it’s no big deal for them, but with us it always felt special, and I hated the thought of you being with someone who wasn’t me. ”
I rubbed my hand over my chest and tried to digest all this information. She’d given me a piece of herself that I used to know. A line I never would have crossed in the past. I wish I had the magic bullet to fix everything, but I guess those things took time.
“I was jealous, too,” I admitted. “Still am.”
“I went out with him that night. Jack, I mean. We were at a bar and one of your songs came on and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I was so annoyed by that. Furious with you, really, and you weren’t even there.” She let out a shaky laugh.
I didn’t want to let on how happy that made me. “Even from behind the scenes, I was working for the greater good. A guy named Jack who invites you on a yacht is never going to make you happy,” I scoffed.
“You don’t even know him. He invited you to sail on his yacht too.” She laughed. “Can you imagine?”
No, I couldn’t. “Good thing you didn’t accept the invitation.” My hand flexed at my side. “I would have had to punch him in the face.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “So, there was no one else, huh?”
I shook my head. “No one. You?” I braced myself for the answer. If she said a number above zero, I’d just have to suck it up. Wouldn’t change anything. Not like I’d deserved her loyalty.
But still. If she had been with other men, a big part of me would rather not know.
“No one since you,” she said.
Relief flooded my body. “Because you still love me?”
“It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me and what I wanted and needed.” She lifted her chin and looked me right in the eye. “If I’d wanted to sleep with someone, I would have.”
That last part wasn’t necessary, but Eddie was calling my name, so I didn’t have time to further debate it.
We’d made our peace. Just in time, too.
Eddie charged out the front door, brandishing his sticks. “Where the hell have you been?”
I pushed off from the railing. “Waiting for you and Dev to get your act together.”
Dev ambled out with a beer in his hand. “We’re good. But we lost our bass player.”
“What do you mean, you lost him?”
“He’s gone,” Eddie said. “Walked out about an hour ago. We thought he’d come back but this time I think he’s gone for good.”
“What do you mean, this time?” I asked.
“He was always threatening to quit,” Dev said. “He’s a good bass player but never really gelled with us. Whenever we were on the road, he just kept to himself. He hated when we drank or smoked weed or had any kind of fun.”
“He’s a devout Christian,” Eddie said as if that explained everything.
Truth was, I didn’t really know Tyler. This was only the second time I’d met him (post-surgery, anyway).
“Fuck,” I said, looking at the driveway. The van was still there but that meant nothing. It was Devin’s van. “Do you know any bass players?” I asked Eddie and Devin.
“No one who’s good and available,” Dev said.
Cleo joined our circle. “Call Ian.”
Tempting but that seemed excessive. “I can’t ask him to fly all the way from London to play at a dive bar.”
“He would though,” she insisted. “He would fly halfway across the world just for a chance to play with you.”
“He’s filled in for Tyler before,” Eddie said. “Ian played with us at Glastonbury.”
As luck would have it, Ian didn’t have to fly halfway across the world.
He was already in New York.
Through Alice, we eventually tracked him down, and he and Curtis, who offered to play keyboards, arrived the following day by seaplane.
“The Rogues are here,” Cleo announced, ushering them into the studio where the rest of us were already gathered. She quickly departed, throwing a “Good luck, they’re all yours” over her shoulder.
Ian and Curtis looked exactly how you would expect 80s rock stars to look on a Friday morning—hungover, in dark shades, with drinks in hand and cigarettes clamped between their lips.
“Mate, you think I’d miss your first gig?” Ian said, shaking his head like he was disappointed that I thought so little of him.
“Alright, lads,” Curtis said, waving his cigarette at us, “show us what you’ve got.”
I took a hit off the joint and pressed my lips against Cleo’s, shotgunning the smoke into her mouth.
She held it in her lungs before releasing it. “You’re so bad for me,” she said, running her fingers through my hair. “So bad.”
I passed the joint to Dev and skimmed a hand up her thigh. “You love it when I’m bad.” I gave her thigh a little squeeze. “You look so pretty in the moonlight.”
“How did I end up in your lap?” she asked.
“You fell right into it.” She didn’t. Cleo was walking past, and I tugged her into my lap, but she didn’t fight me on it. She stayed.
She laughed and swatted my chest. “Liar.”
I held out my arms. “You’re free to go at any time.”
“Maybe I want to stay.”
My arms wrapped around her again. “I’m onto you. You’re just trying to escape the party,” I said, brushing a lock of hair off her cheek.
“It’s almost like you know me,” she teased.
As soon as we’d finished rehearsing for the day, Curtis and Ian made a few calls and shortly after, an SUV delivered liquor. A few of their friends showed up with a mountain of nose candy. And another SUV chauffeured women to the party on my deck.
No wonder Cleo didn’t trust musicians. Her dad’s former bandmates were in their late forties and still partying their asses off with girls who barely looked legal. It was like hanging out with Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood.
It was all too easy. The drugs. The liquor. The women. Didn’t entice me in the least.
Ian’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Oy, watch your bloody mouth, you stupid git.”
“It’s the British invasion,” Cleo said.
“My soul is withering.”
Cleo laughed and kissed me on the cheek.
I heard ice clinking in glasses. Shrill laughter. Oasis blasting from the speakers.
Eddie was making out with a blonde. Dev was getting stoned and dancing with two girls. Curtis was…no idea. Last I saw, he was snorting cocaine off a girl’s stomach.
Earlier, Eddie regaled us with road stories that may or may not have actually happened.
I always got the impression that they were like tall tales and got more exaggerated every time they were told.
Ian had chimed in with some Rogue Prophets’ road stories, which were even wilder than Eddie’s, so maybe he’d embellished for the sake of a good story.
Who knows? Not me.
This was the first time Curtis and Ian had ever been to my house in Montauk, so none of this should feel familiar and yet it did.
“Have I been here before?” I asked Cleo. It made no sense. “Not in Montauk. But why does this scene feel so familiar? The road stories. The party.”
Cleo shifted so she could see my face better. “You’re probably thinking of the summer party in the Hudson Valley.”
“Baby Blue,” I said, nodding. “Ian was telling stories about you and your dad.”
“Yeah. I was sitting on your lap that day, too.” She brushed her fingers over my forehead and gave me a sweet smile. “That was the day you told me you loved me.”
I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her palm then guided it to my chest and pressed it over my heart. “It’s still true.” I placed my hand over hers to keep it there so she could feel my heart beating. “Not loved . Love. Present tense. I still love you, Cleo.”
“Don’t say that,” she said sharply.
“Why not? It’s true.”
She shook her head and released a breath. “You barely know me. I’ve only been here for eleven days.”
I laughed. “So what? What does time have to do with anything?”
“You’re high on weed and I don’t want you to say something you don’t mean.” She yanked her hand away, climbed out of my lap, and walked away.
I scowled at her retreating back.
I wasn’t high and I’d meant it. I knew I loved her. I was in love with her.
But try telling Cleo that when she was already gone.
I lit a cigarette and wrote lyrics on the night sky so I wouldn’t lose them. Even Cleo’s rejection inspired my music. She was a muse for the ages. How had I even functioned without her?
I was still writing lyrics on the sky with the cherry glow of my cigarette when Cleo tossed a notebook and pen on the table then walked away again.
“It’s almost like you know me,” I called after her.
Come back.
Come back.
Come back.
She did not, in fact, come back. Stubborn, like me.
There was not a single doubt in my mind that we belonged together, but I had a song to write so I retreated to the studio while the party carried on without me.