Chapter 20
Derek
“That sounds good, mate,” Hendrix says as I play the final chord to the song.
“The lyrics aren’t right,” I disagree.
Hendrix shakes his head. “You’re a perfectionist.”
I shrug and hang up the guitar. I’m nearly there; I know I am.
This song that’s haunted me for months is proving to be the most complicated, and important, thing I’ve ever written.
I have to get it right. The feeling of embodying the essence, the spirit, of what I want to convey grips me, leaving me unsettled and restless when I can’t pin it down.
I slip into the room where Hendrix sits, surrounded by equipment. He takes a swig of his coffee. “That why’re you up so early? Needing to get things perfect?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I give him as much truth as I’m willing to share.
Even though last night with Allegra was fun, she’s still holding back.
Yeah, we drank wine and laughed. We talked about serious topics, and I understand that she’s fearful of losing her brother, of jeopardizing that relationship when she’s just getting it back.
The sex was fucking fire and the sound of her moans is a soundtrack I want to listen to on repeat.
But that distance still lingers. She won’t give herself up to me the way I want, the way I know she’s capable of. Again, I fucking hate myself for hurting her so deeply, for rattling her confidence to the degree I did.
Unable to sleep, I slipped out early this morning and forced an unhappy Hendrix to open his studio for me. At least he stuck around and provided some feedback.
Not that it’s enough.
“It’s getting there,” I say, tipping my head toward the sound booth.
“Most musicians would reckon it’s there,” he volleys back.
I flip my chin. “I’m not most musicians.”
“Nope,” he agrees, popping the p. “You, Reign, are definitely not. What’ve you got going on the rest of the day?”
“Some work, some errands…” I shrug. I’m gonna stop by to see Levi, see if we can settle some shit between us.
Partly, it’s because of our history. We built the Clovers and for years, he was my closest friend, save for Dre.
Partly, it’s for the band. I gotta squash shit before it threatens to shake the foundation of our group.
And partly it’s for Allegra. I don’t want her to feel torn.
And the fact that she thought I’d date her just to make her choose me fucked with my head.
I want my little star to shine, not burn out and die.
“Swing by later. I got some ideas for your song. A couple of local guys I think you’ll like are rolling through. An impromptu jam sesh could be good for you. Help you work out the knots.” He taps his temple.
I heave out a sigh. It’s been ages since I jammed for the hell of it. Just for fun. “Yeah, all right. I’ll come through.”
Hendrix and I exchange a bro handshake before I cut out of the studio. I shoot off a text to Allegra, letting her know things came up with work. Then, I drive across town to meet with Johan.
Johan and I spend the morning together, going through marketing materials for River Wells. Our marketing conversation gives way to a whiskey tasting, which devolves into a late lunch.
“Come on, it’s one round,” Johan tries to convince me to a game of fucking golf.
“Dude, it’s almost 3 p.m.,” I remind him.
“So?” He shakes his head at me. “You got plans? A hot date?”
I snort even as Allegra cuts through my mind. I gesture to my ripped jeans and white T-shirt. “Do I look like a guy who belongs on a golf course?”
Johan raises a pale eyebrow. “You look like a guy who belongs wherever the fuck he says he does.”
I toss my head back and laugh. “Fair, you fucker.” I toss an arm around his neck and squeeze. “Have fun with your game. I gotta cut out. Got shit to do.”
Johan slaps my back and I release my hold.
After I leave him, I drive out to the rehab facility.
I know Mav and Allegra have been visiting Levi, but I haven’t been back since that first day.
Since he told me not to contact him unless it’s about the band.
I could spin this shit about the Clovers if necessary.
But it’s really about his sister, and if he cares half as much as he says he does, then he should sit down and speak with me, face-to-face.
He should show up for her, the way I am.
I sit in the parking lot. Take a deep breath. Run my fingers through my hair.
My stomach feels off and my fingers tap out a restless beat on the steering wheel. I’m jumpy.
Fuck, what the hell am I nervous about? It’s Levi. My best mate. A member of the band. My roommate.
I drop my head back against the headrest.
Allegra’s brother. Does he know how things went south between us before the tour? Did Mav tell him? Did Allegra?
I heave out another sigh.
“Grow a fucking set,” I scold myself. Then, I get out of the car and enter the facility.
At reception, a pleasant-looking woman with a bright smile greets me.
“Welcome, who are you here to visit with?” she asks.
I clear my throat and shove a hand in my pocket. “Levi Rousell.”
“And you are?”
“Derek Reiner.”
She nods, her eyes not giving away the flicker of recognition I’m used to. That puts me at ease and my shoulders relax.
See? You can do this. This is going to be fine.
“I’m so sorry.” She glances up, genuine remorse in her expression. “You’re not on the list of approved guests for Mr. Rousell. If you’d like, you may give him a call to see if he’d like to see you?” She gestures to a white phone on the other end of the reception area.
I bark out a laugh. A fucking cackle.
Is Levi shitting me? He’s not going to see me. No, he didn’t even add me to his stupid fucking list.
“No problem,” I tell the woman. I move toward the phone but at the last second, I detour.
I’m not playing this stupid game. I showed up; I tried. Let Allegra figure out exactly who her brother is without my needing to smooth shit over. Levi doesn’t want to talk? We won’t fucking talk.
I step back into the late afternoon and jog to my car. Slamming the door behind me, I punch the center of my steering wheel. A short, obnoxious beep rings out.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dropping my head back and turning it along the headrest. What a mess. What a fucking disaster.
Remorse sits heavy on my chest. Is this what Levi and I’ve come to? Is this the end of a friendship that felt more like a brotherhood to me?
I can’t believe he won’t see me. Or talk to me. Or treat me like a damn adult.
Pulling out my phone, I dial Dre. It rings a few times before cutting to voicemail. I end the call and move to toss my phone into the cupholder when a text rings out.
Dre: Yo! How’s LA life, man? I’m tied up with some kids right now. Hit me back later this week?
I grin at the message. Dre’s got his hands full with important shit—kids’ futures—but still makes time for his friends. He’s the real deal; he’s fucking gold.
Me: Absolutely. Miss you, man.
Dre: You okay, Derek?
I laugh. Yeah, the sentimentality of my message is concerning.
Me: All good. Just thinking.
Dre: ???
Me: Head’s fucked up half the time. You know how it goes.
Dre: Allegra?
Me: Her too.
Dre: She gives you an in, you take it. But only if you mean it. I’m not playing; she’s good fucking people.
Me: I know. Talk soon.
I scroll through the other text messages. One from Mav, two from Allegra, one from Jess. I sigh when I see Allegra called twice. I should hit her back and say…what? That I’m sitting in the parking lot of Levi’s rehab facility, and he won’t talk to me?
I shake my head, my anger rising again.
Nah, I’m not in the right headspace to talk to Allegra. I’ll pick some stupid fight with her because of how twisted up I am over this shit with Levi.
Choosing the safer option to clear my head and calm down, I place the phone in the cupholder.
I like that Dre has my back but also looks out for Allegra. I like that I can message him after weeks of not talking and he instantly responds. It’s a friendship I can count on, even with all the fucked-up history between us. He would understand where I’m coming from right now.
I thought I had that with Levi. I glance at the rehab facility as I flip the ignition of my car. Shaking my head, I pull out of the parking lot.
I guess not.
“He’s here!” Hendrix welcomes me back to the studio.
“What’s good?” I slap hands with him.
“Check it.” He points to a few guys. “That’s Jay, Skills, and Chris. This is—”
“We know Reign,” Skills cuts him off. Standing, he shakes my hand. The other guys follow suit.
“Good to meet you,” I say, meaning it.
“Y’all up to jam?” Hendrix asks.
Chris and Jay exchange a look. When Chris meets my gaze, he’s grinning. “Hell yeah.”
I laugh. “Let’s do it.”
We step into the booth and begin to mess around, just play random chords and covers.
Hendrix gives us feedback from time to time. But mostly, it’s me and the guys playing. And then, just me, lost in my mind. The music pours through me, coming out through new lyrics and different sounds. The guys keep up as best as they can, but they’re not on my level.
Still, I respect them for helping me get out of my own fucking head.
I don’t know how long I play, but when I hang up my guitar, the three of them look at me in awe.
“That was something else,” Chris comments.
“Fucking honor, that’s what that was.” Jay smacks my shoulder.
“I appreciate you,” I tell them. “I needed that and…thank you.”
Skills smiles. “All good, man. Hope it helped.”
“More than you know,” I agree.
For the first time in weeks, my head feels clearer. I expel an exhale, letting my frustration and resentment, hurt and anger, go.
Hendrix opens the door and sticks his head in. “Now, we fucking party.”
The guys laugh. I dip my head, about to make an excuse and cut out, but Hendrix clucks his tongue.
“One drink, Reign. Come on, you got fans here,” he tells me.
As I follow him back into his apartment, I’m surprised by the group that’s gathered. Guys and girls, hanging around, smoking a bowl, drinking some beer and whiskey, it’s a regular hangout. A gathering that reminds me of the early days in our Boston brownstone.
A pang of nostalgia cuts through my chest. I can still see Levi pouring out tequila shots when we heard our first single on the radio.
“For you,” a woman says, passing me a beer.
She’s got bright red hair, deep green eyes, and big titties. They’re barely concealed in a bikini top, the fabric triangles just covering her nipples.
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking a swig.
Fuck, I miss Allegra. I move to the side of the room and call her. Maybe she’ll want to meet me here to hang for a bit?
The call goes directly to her voicemail. I hang up.
Disappointment settles in my stomach even though it’s irrational.
Maybe she’s busy working. Or hanging with her friends.
Or, maybe, she’s fucking avoiding me. Making the wall between us higher and thicker and re-enforced now that we kind of went on a date.
I drain my beer and gesture to a guy that I’ll take a refill.
“I got that, honey,” the redhead says.
I ignore her; I’m not in the mood for the antics of a fucking groupie.
I haven’t been in a long-ass time.