CHAPTER FOUR
TOMMY
Sleep has not been my friend since arriving back in New York three days ago. Max and I are here on band business, as well as personal, but jet lag is kicking my butt with no time to catch up. Our flight back to the UK leaves in a few hours.
I watched the morning sunrise through my window while I tried to process the events of the last couple of weeks.
Now, as I stare into thin air, my mind overflows.
The buzz of my phone on the bedside cabinet catches me out.
Chelsea’s arm hangs limp across my chest, and she groans at the sound but doesn’t wake. Not even when I answer the call.
“Hey, Max,” I whisper with a croak. “What’s up?”
“You sound like shit. Did I wake you?” he asks.
Sliding my arm from underneath her, I shift out of bed, trying not to rock it too much.
“Nah. I was up.” I take the phone from my ear and glance at the time. “When are you coming over?”
“In an hour.”
“Shit.”
“What’s up? Don’t tell me you haven’t done the deed,” he asks.
“Oh, I did the deed all right. Just the wrong fucking one.” I’m an idiot.
“You fucked her.” This is not a question. Max can read me like a book.
“Yeah, and no lectures. No one feels more guilty than me. Look, maybe I should meet you in Braebeach. It wouldn’t be cool to drop a bombshell and take off.”
“You can’t stay. We’ve got to get home for Ash and the family. They’ve got a funeral to organise, remember?”
“We don’t even have a date yet,” I argue. “It could be weeks away.”
“But what if it’s not? Don’t chance it, Tommy. You don’t need the regret of missing this flight on top of everything else.”
I know Max is right, but if I hadn’t complicated this breakup by thinking with my dick, this wouldn’t be a problem. I’m wracked with guilt. “What else can I do? I can’t just—” I stop in case Chelsea isn't sleeping at all.
“Is she with you?”
I glance over my shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Dude, one-night stands were never a problem before you met her, so just think of this in the same way. Get it done. The guys at home need us. Don’t flake out.”
“I know. I’ve got it.” My fingers comb through my hair. The line is silent apart from my teeth grating together.
“Do the decent thing, Tommy.”
“I heard you.”
“I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I run my fingers through my hair. If only I’d been straight the minute I got back to New York, I wouldn’t be dreading the conversation I know I have to have.
The shower is ice cold and my skin tightens as the water rains down. This is just the way I like it and the best way to shake myself up.
After I brush my teeth and wrap a towel around my waist, I glance in the mirror.
Jesus, where did the black rings around my eyes come from?
I run my hand down my face and over my beard, which could also do with a trim.
I’ve got no time or energy for messing around with razors and shit. I guess I’d better get this over with.
I drop down on the bed, hoping to wake her up. The bed moves and the warmth of Chelsea’s fingertips as they dust over my shoulders and against my chest tells me she was already waiting. Fuck, this was a bad idea.
She growls into my ear, “Hey, you.” I guess she didn’t catch too much of my conversation with Max. Either that or she’s a glutton for punishment.
I break away from her embrace, guilt running through me.
“What's going on?” she questions.
“Nothing. I didn’t realise the time and I have to get dressed.”
Avoiding her stare, I pick up my jeans from the bedroom floor and put them on.
She silently watches me pull a clean white t-shirt over my head as if she wants to eat me alive, but I’ve bided my time long enough.
There is nothing else to do now but brace myself for the shit storm that’s about to happen.
This won’t be a straightforward conversation, but I don’t doubt what I’m about to say either.
There’s so much going on in my life. I can’t give her what she wants; that isn’t fair to either of us.
The truth is, returning to Braebeach isn’t just about attending Scott’s funeral.
I tried to support Angie as best as I could, but she’s so deep inside her grief that it’s going to take a lot longer than a few weeks to see her through this. My heart fucking breaks watching her fall apart day after day, unable to process or accept Scott is gone.
Ash and Calla are doing their best too, but Angie refuses to deal with anything legal.
It wasn’t until the coroner’s office called Calla directly that she found out the autopsy report on Scott’s body was complete and the family were able to arrange the funeral.
Angie was ignoring their calls, so Ash and Calla took over.
I don’t know where they are with the arrangements, and I don’t want to ask, but I do want to be there for them and help where I can.
“Where are you going?” Chelsea asks, sitting up in bed.
I put my thoughts to one side. “To the airport.”
“The airport? What the—what for? You just got here.”
“You knew this was a flying visit,” I say while grabbing various clothes from my drawers.
“And hardly worth it,” she huffs.
This is the stuff I can’t deal with. The spoilt child act really grates after a while. “You know why I have to go, Chelsea. This shouldn’t be a shock.”
She draws her legs up to her body and hugs them to her chest. “Oh, yeah. That guy. The one that died while he was out running.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
She shrugs. “Like what? I’m just stating a fact.”
“Yeah, and you’re cold as fuck. He wasn’t just anybody. He was a great guy.”
“I didn’t know him.” She huffs, flopping back against the headboard.
I stop what I’m doing, fully aware my stare in her direction is ice cold. “You met him at Ash and Cal’s wedding.”
“Did I?”
I feel sick to my stomach when Chelsea talks about him like he’s a nobody. How fucking disrespectful. In response, I can do one of two things. Lose it or let it go. The second option is better, and as I throw clothes into a sports bag, I keep quiet and hope she gets the message.
Her sigh is loud; she wants to be heard.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asks.
I ignore the question and scoot around the bedroom, gathering up clothes. I’m biding my time so I can decide how to soften the blow. She might be an insensitive pain in my arse, but I don’t want to be cruel.
Her eyes follow me around until I stop to pack a towel and toiletries. “What?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Your silence doesn’t cut it with me, so I suggest you say what’s really on your mind.”
This is it. It’s now or never.
I take a seat beside her on the bed. “We've had a blast. Some great times, but this is where our story ends.”
She blinks repeatedly. “Wait, what the hell does that mean?”
I grasp her hand, brushing my thumb across her knuckles. “Ash needs me. He needs all his brothers, and I don’t have time for anything else right now. I can't be the man you want or need, so it’s only fair to let you go.”
“You’re breaking up with me?”
“I’m sorry.” I wonder if I am. All I feel inside is a sense of relief that I’ve finally told her we’re over.
Chelsea glances down at our entwined hands. “What if I don’t want that?”
“You'll thank me one day. My priority is family, and you need a man who puts you first. That isn’t me, Chelsea. I’m not the guy for you.”
“They’re not your family, Tommy. They’re just your bandmates, for Christ’s sake.”
And this is another reason we won’t work. She doesn’t get it. “If you knew me at all, you’d know exactly what they mean to me.”
“Are you lying? Is there another woman in your life?” A knock on the door comes at the perfect time, but her questions don’t stop. “Well? I need to know.”
“There’s no one else. I promise.”
“Why should I believe you?” Her defiant eyes glare into mine, and when I attempt to leave the room, her hand slaps flat against my chest. “You’re lying to me,” she says through gritted teeth. I’m not, but maybe it’s better this way.
A few intense seconds go by. Her eyes catch mine, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of turning away. I glare right back until the knocking starts again. “I should get that.”
She huffs loudly, wraps a silk dressing gown around her body, and beats me to it by charging down the hallway.
“Don’t bother yourself. I'll answer it,” she calls sarcastically over her shoulder.
I don't blame her for being angry. I was nice enough when I wanted to get in her pants. Now I’m telling her it’s over.
I’m not proud of myself for treating her this way.
“Is he ready?”
“In here, dude,” I call back to Max, and a few seconds later, he appears in the doorway of my bedroom. He leans up against the frame as Chelsea barges past him and points her finger in my face.
“Why is it okay to shag me senseless for hours, then the next morning, tell me it’s over? What changed overnight, huh?”
It wasn’t my smartest move and I don’t have an answer for her. The frustration on her red face is evident when I don’t reply, so she turns to my friend.
“Let’s see what Max thinks, shall we?”
“Chelsea,” I warn.
“No, Tommy. We should hear what your so-called ‘brother’s’ opinion is, on you leaving me at the airport weeks ago, hardly keeping in touch while you were away, then turning up out of the blue—”
I stop her there. “I can turn up at my own apartment when I want, babe.”
“That’s not the point,” she answers, dropping to the bed and turning her attention to my friend. “Now, what could have happened in England to make Tommy change his mind about us? Any ideas, Max?”
Max holds up his hands in defence. “Hey, this is none of my business, Chelsea.”
Ignoring him, she replies, “I can give you a clue if you like. His ex-girlfriend is there—”
“Enough, Chelsea.” She’s really testing my temper now by insinuating that something is going on between me and Angie just a couple of weeks after losing her husband. She has a sick mind.
“Then tell me I’m wrong,” she says while watching me pack in silence. When I carry on with what I’m doing and ignore her some more, her hand slams across mine. “You're not going anywhere until you give me answers.” Her wide-eyed glare doesn’t bother me at all.
“Really?” she roars. “You have nothing more to say?”
Max clears his throat. “I'll wait in the hall.” He shuts the door behind him, leaving Chelsea to let rip.
“There has to be more to your sudden change of heart. Ever since Ash and his mate had that damn accident, you’ve been a different person towards me. You hardly call or text, and when you do, it’s like you can't wait to end the conversation.”
She’s right. I have changed. I've realised this isn’t what I want. “It might seem out of the blue to you, but breaking up has been on my mind for a while. There’s no good way to say it, except that I’m sorry I led you on. That wasn’t the way I wanted this to go.”
Just two words leave her lips as she stares into space. “You bastard.”
She will be okay. I don’t have to worry about hurting her when the only thing she wants to protect is not her heart, but her lifestyle. Perhaps my offer will sweeten the deal. “You can stay here for as long as you want or go back to your own apartment. It’s up to you.”
I open the drawer by my bed, grab my passport, and peck her cheek before leaving. “Take care, Chelsea.” She looks away as I toss my bag over my shoulder. “Let's go, Max.”
While we wait for the lift on the landing, something hard hits the back of my apartment door and the shattering sound of glass rings in my ears. I guess Chelsea is taking out her anger on my décor. Whatever. I’ve made the right decision.
We’re three hours into this never-ending flight. I shouldn’t complain. We travel First-Class everywhere so it could be worse, but this time around, I’m impatient to get home.
The drink started flowing as soon as we hit the lounge and continued onto the flight.
I was hoping to sleep most of the way, but it’s not working.
I try watching a film, but nothing catches my attention long enough and I end up turning it off.
Finally, I’ve given in to my thoughts while Max snores like a bear.
This isn't a night flight, yet he’s sparko. Bastard.
My head drops back against the headrest. As I reflect on the last few hours, relief washes over me.
At least now I’m free. All these plans for the future form in my head like buying a house in Braebeach with enough land to build a studio and ideas for new songs.
Finally, we can record the new album. It was always on the cards before Ash’s accident, and it could be the perfect distraction for him.
Once the funeral is over, we can slowly start working and try to put Ash back together again.
Shit. The funeral. Whatever we do, there are hurdles to jump, and it affects so many more than just our band. Somehow, we need to help Angie rebuild her life. She has a lot to cope with, but also so much to look forward to, if she could just see it.
Fuck, if only I knew what to say to help.
I try, but I’m constantly watching every word that comes from my mouth in case it’s the wrong thing.
Once upon a time, me and Angie got on like a house on fire and everything between us was easy.
I wish we could find a way back to that. Maybe one day we will.