Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Ross
Instead of flying home to L.A., I rent a car and make the long, miserable drive to Wisconsin. I need time to think. Brood. Lick my wounds. I know I behaved badly, and I cringe every time I think about Tommy’s bloody lip. The confusion on his face. The way the ladies all looked terrified.
Fuck.
Even if Tommy knew, it’s not like he did it.
He was just a kid nineteen years ago.
But he knew and didn’t think to tell me? Did they all know? It’s hard to believe because everyone seemed genuinely confused.
Despite my anger, I’m a little embarrassed about the way I lost my temper. That was by far the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever done, so I’m probably never going to work in the music business again.
Which leads me to a whole other slew of problems. Like how I’m going to eat in the future. Never mind taking care of Wynter or having a family. I’m employable but doing what? I might be able to get in as a roadie for some band but the pay will be half of what I make now, with a lot less freedom.
What the hell was I thinking? I should have just quit and walked away. Attacking Tommy was the result of pent-up frustration and unresolved…something. Trauma? Grief? I don’t even know at this point. I just know that two wrongs don’t make a right.
Maybe if I point that out to Sasha, she’ll still give me a recommendation so I can get another job as a tour manager.
And I owe the rest of the band an apology.
My hands tighten on the wheel as I turn into the cemetery. I haven’t been back since the funeral and I get the strangest feeling of déjà vu. It makes no sense but it’s like I’ve been here much more recently. I remember exactly where Clara’s grave is, and I park on the road close by.
I stopped and got flowers—tulips, her favorites—and I grab them before turning off the rental car and getting out. My steps slow as I approach her headstone, my heart in my throat. I’m not sure why I’m here but this was the only place I could think to go.
“Hey,” I say, looking down at the well-maintained grave.
Clara Mullins
March 31, 1983 – August 17, 2004
Someone brought flowers not long ago, pretty pink roses, and I realize with a start that her birthday was last week.
And I forgot.
It’s the first time I’ve ever forgotten. I normally spend the day either blackout drunk or too busy to think straight. This year, I did neither.
Because I was happy.
Singing for the greatest rock band in the world.
Falling in love with an amazing woman.
Thinking about the future for the first time in nineteen years.
Then I went and fucked it all up.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I sink down on the cold ground, grateful that at least it’s not snowing. I absently start arranging the tulips in the same vase with the roses.
“I know, I haven’t been back to visit,” I say quietly. “I just couldn’t bring myself to come. Like maybe if I avoided it, you’d come back to me. Stupid, right? I’m sorry, honey. I should have come sooner.”
“Why?” The soft female voice scares the crap out of me, and I jump, whirling around.
The woman standing there is familiar.
Oh, shit.
Clara’s mother, Nina.
“Nina.” I slowly get to my feet. “You scared me.”
“I can’t believe it’s you,” she says quietly, slowly reaching out her arms.
Then she pulls me into a tight hug and I let her.
It feels so good. I haven’t seen her in almost nineteen years and I’m suddenly ashamed of it.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper.
“I’ve missed you too.” She steps back and stares up at my face. “You look terrible, Ross. What’s happened?”
“So much.” I shake my head. “I’m a hot mess.”
“Still?” Her eyes are filled with sympathy.
“I thought…” I stop and swallow, trying to gather my thoughts. “I thought I was good and then I found out that Thomas Bancroft is my friend’s father.”
“Ah.” She nods. “You didn’t know?”
“No. And I didn’t react well when I found out.” Somehow, I wind up pouring out the whole story. She listens without saying anything, letting me vent as I describe the good, the bad, and the ugly.
“Why would you react that way?” she asks finally.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It felt like such a slap in the face that Tommy knew his father killed the people I loved. Why wouldn’t he tell me?”
She arches her brows. “I think that should be pretty obvious given the current situation.”
“Would you be mad?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is that Tommy was a child when it happened. He has no contact with his father and you know this to be a fact since he’s told you this repeatedly over the years, right?”
I nod uncomfortably. Telling the story out loud leaves me feeling out of sorts.
I definitely overreacted. I don’t believe I was wrong for feeling angry and betrayed but there was no reason to hit Tommy.
To storm out like a lunatic. I could have expressed my disappointment.
Let him tell me his side of the story. Had a discussion before punching him, quitting my lucrative, enjoyable job, and then storming out.
Fuck. Me.
“Let’s go back to the house. You look like a feather might knock you over and I’ve the crock pot on.” Without waiting for my reply, she turns and heads back to her vehicle. It’s a gray minivan and she gets in without looking at me.
And since I don’t really have anywhere else to go, I follow her.
I only visited Clara’s childhood home a few times while we were together.
We lived in California and then I went on tour, but her parents liked me and I them.
They threw us the sweetest engagement party after I proposed.
We had so many plans and dreams. And all of them crashed and burned the night Thomas Bancroft ran into our tour bus head-on.
I’m a fucking broken record with this and I start to hate myself for allowing the same negativity to roll through my psyche on a loop.
By the time I pull up in front of Clara’s childhood home, I’m not sure if I’m starving or ready to puke. Either way, I get out of the rental and follow Nina into the house. We go in through the garage and step into a large, modern kitchen. This isn’t the same kitchen she had twenty years ago.
“This is nice,” I say politely.
“I renovated it last year,” she says. “I put the life insurance money Jim left me in a CD and then used the profit to fix the roof and give myself a new kitchen. It was time.”
I had no idea Clara’s father had passed. “I’m sorry about Jim,” I say.
She nods, moving to the counter and opening the crockpot. “We’ll eat in about thirty minutes. Bob will be home then.”
I pause. “Who’s Bob?”
She glances over her shoulder at me. “My boyfriend.”
“Oh.” What can I say?
“You can’t grieve forever,” she says quietly, getting out some dishes and starting to set the table. “We’re still here. Still alive. Clara wouldn’t want this for you.”
“You think she’d be thrilled that I replaced her?” I ask in confusion.
“You didn’t replace her,” she says quietly, meeting my gaze.
“You moved on with your life. Clara loved you more than anything. It would hurt her to see you so miserable. Jim passed five years ago. Yes, I grieved for a while. Then I met Bob. He’s kind.
Smart. He has two adult daughters who like me and who remind me that I still have lots of love to give.
Sadie just had a baby and I get to be a grandma now.
” She walks over to me and puts one hand on the side of my face.
“Ross. Why are you holding on to the past when you still have half your life to live? I’m old and was still able to find new ways and people to love.
You’re young enough to still have everything you ever wanted. ”
I stare at her, trying to let her words sink in.
“I know it feels like a betrayal on Tommy’s part, but he was a child when his father did what he did. And anyone who cares about you would know that bringing it up would be painful. Maybe he cares about you enough to want to protect you. Did you ever consider that?”
“No.” My voice sounds funny.
Like I might break down any minute now.
“You’re a good man, Ross. You loved my Clara and made her happy.
For that, I’ll always be grateful. She never had a bad thing to say about you.
I think it’s a blessing that she had that kind of love at such a young age considering she only lived twenty-one years.
Most people never find it. Don’t ever forget that.
” She smiles and caresses my cheek for another moment.
Then she turns toward the counter and points. “Will you carry the crock pot to the table? There’s already a potholder.”
“Of course.” My eyes are a little scratchy, but I lift the heavy pot and put it on the table just as the door opens and a guy of about seventy comes in. His white hair is sticking up a little and his nose is red but there’s a huge smile on his face.
“Hello, my love.” He leans over to kiss Nina. “I didn’t know we were having company.”
“Bob, this Ross. I’ve told you about him.”
“Ross Rockit!” He grins as he holds out his hand. “I’m a big fan.”
“Uh, thank you.” I shake his hand out of habit, somewhat surprised that he knows who I am.
“Nina’s told me a lot about you. I was going to try to get tickets to the show when Onyx Knight plays here.”
I blink, glancing over at Nina who just smiles.
“We’re older,” she says softly, “but not dead. We just move a little slower and sit down a bit more often. Doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy life.”
I’d offer to get them tickets but that bridge may be burned.
“Come on, let’s eat,” Nina says, squeezing my arm. “And you can tell us all about Wynter.”
Wynter.
Fuck.
If I screwed up with the band, I’ve royally screwed up with Wynter.
“She might be pretty mad at me,” I admit. “I haven’t called her since I left…”
Nina’s brows inch up. “What? Why on earth not?”
“I was embarrassed. Frustrated. Mad at the world. You name it, I felt it.”
“And you took it out on her?”
“Well, not directly, but I guess I did.”
“I’m really glad you’re here,” she says, shaking her head. “Because now I have the chance to knock some sense into you.” She pauses. “And don’t think for a minute I won’t.”
I have no doubt.
And I totally deserve it.