Twenty-Four - Callum
“Where’s River?” Kieran asks with accusation, side-eyeing Asher.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch with fascination as Asher heaves his guitar strap over his shoulder, gritting his teeth through the pain radiating from the wounds I caused him yesterday when we finally found out the truth of our situation.
Violence never used to be the answer to all my frustrations—music was. My bass was my relief. A way to step out of this world, dive straight into the music, to forget I’m a human walking this earth. Forgetting all the pain life has brought me at every damn step. When I lose myself in the music, I’m no longer Callum Rose—airplane crash survivor. I’m simply the bass player, strumming along to the beat of our creations—a no one with nothing stirring inside me but a constant heartbeat.
When I witnessed Van kissing River and what I thought was her reciprocating, I lost that special piece of me to the noise of the world. I let it take me over, becoming a no one without an escape. Every note and string reminded me of her. My River. My Little Star. Her smile. Her laugh. The ghost of my past constantly followed me, threatening to jump out at every corner. Much like my parents, she was dead to me. She may have had a heartbeat pumping blood through her veins, but she was as good as gone.
To push her existence out of my mind, I injected poison into my veins, falling victim to its intoxicating addiction. Once again, I found something to lose myself in for hours at a time, floating above the noisy world. It fogged my mind, subduing my wayward emotions threatening to spill out of me. With every hit I took, the more the edge seemed to loom in the distance, getting closer and closer until the drugs didn’t do it for me anymore. I felt more, no matter the amount I took. It was either take more and fuck myself up badly or find something new to take my pain away.
Stumbling across the cage boss, Ruthless, in that empty alleyway outside some random bar was the best mistake I ever made.
“Yo, you’re going to fuck up your fists if you keep trying to break the brick,” the random voice rings in my ears as I grunt, pummeling my flesh into the scratchy brick, breaking my skin. Blood pours from my wounds, leaving my mark behind on the unforgiving surface. “I said fucking stop,” he growls, pulling my fists away from the wall and forcing my back against it. “You wanna fight, Killer? You want to pound into something that will give back as good as you give?”
“Let me the fuck go,” I snarl, trying to yank my wrists back.
His grip tightens until I’m stuck between his broad body and the brick behind my back. A large, raised scar runs the distance of the left side of his face, from his forehead, down his eye and cheek, and finally stops before his collarbone.
“Get yourself together. You want to make some money, Killer? Prove to the world you aren’t some junky rock star looking for his next damn fix? Hmm?” He raises a brow, pushing off me when my body slumps against the wall.
“You don’t know me,” I grunt, pulling my shoulders back and squaring my chest. “You don’t ? —”
“Callum Rose. Whispered Words. Rock star extraordinaire,” he snorts. “You almost fell off the fucking stage last night in front of thousands. Yeah, I know exactly who you are.” He rolls his dark eyes, pulling a cigarette pack from his back pocket. “Listen, I could use a real fighter like you in my octagon. Not only would your pretty boy face bring in a crowd, but by the looks of your punches, you need the damn release. Are you interested?” Fire illuminates his face as the end of his cigarette blossoms red, and smoke pours from between his lips.
“Sounds tempting.” Staring down at the wounds coating my knuckles, I swallow hard. All I wanted was another fix to try and take away the pain rotting my fucking insides and poisoning me day by day. But nothing is working like it should right now.
“Yeah, how’s your fucking head right now after beating that wall?” My muscles tense at his question, but it’s then I realize…
“I don’t feel a single thing,” I mumble in awe, breathing fresh oxygen for the first time in months instead of drowning in my own damn sorrow and darkness.
“Yeah. Here’s the deal. You ditch the fucking drugs, and then you come to me. I’ll set you up with as many damn fights as long as you’re healthy. You’ll bring more people to the show, and my place will bring you relief.”
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask when he hands me a card with an address close to the edge of town on the bluffs.
“They call me Ruthless,” he says with a shrug, taking a step back. “See, now we know each other. Come to that address when you’re feeling frisky. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.” The mystery man marches down the alley and disappears into the darkness, leaving me with a spark of hope.
Fighting became my damn religion, blackening everything and dulling my pain. Pounding flesh became my drug of choice. Spilling blood became my addiction, relieving all the pain festering in the depths of my soul, rotting me from the inside out. For thirty minutes at a time, I was no one—a blank space, circling opponents with one mission in mind—causing pain.
The daily cravings grew less for drugs, going completely extinct without trying. Soon, my mouth watered for the opportunity to jump into the octagon. In a sick way, it knocked her memories away and blanked out my damn mind from the useless noise around me. After pummeling Asher’s face, I went to the ring and took on two more opponents, winning each round within five minutes until I wore myself out. Absentmindedly, I rub along the bruise forming under my right eye, reveling in the slight tinge of pain.
Seeing Asher black and blue for his crimes leaves me with a mixed bag of emotions. On one hand, I feel victorious for my swift retribution. Asher got what he deserved and much more. On the other hand, my stomach churns at the thought of what I’ve become due to my unswallowable pain—a violent monster addicted to cruel bloodshed. The old Callum would vomit at the thought of what I let consume me.
Asher slightly shakes his head, twisting his expression. “I don’t know. She didn’t exactly say,” he mutters, darting his eyes across our faces, scrutinizing our expressions.
Kieran scoffs, hastily marching toward Asher and baring his teeth like a rabid dog on the damn hunt. My body stiffens when Kieran pushes at Asher’s shoulder, knocking him back an agonizing step and causing him to cry out in pain. His body pitches forward, slumping over his guitar hanging from his body.
“Fucking hell,” he wheezes, taking deep breaths.
“Jesus,” Rad groans, rubbing his forehead. “Didn’t we just discuss that violence wasn’t the answer? Drag your balls across his face or something. Let him smell like cottage cheese dick for a few days. Lesson learned.”
I snort at his reasoning. Pure fucking Rad. Pure fucking stupid. There’s no getting over what he did or leaving it alone. Asher deserves multiple punishments.
“You’d seriously just forgive him? Just like that?” Kieran snaps, curling his fingers into Asher’s shirt and bringing him close again. Asher frowns but doesn’t fight him off, letting him growl in his face. “After he fucked not only us but River over?”
“You think I’d let it slide?” Rad asks through clenched teeth, slamming his drumsticks down on his stool. “He deliberately fucked us all in the ass with no lube and a spiked fucking dick. There’s no way in hell I’d forgive him with the clap of my ass cheeks.” Rad takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But we have shit to do. Instruments to play. And a lucky lady to get back into our good graces.”
“Her good graces? You think she’s going to forgive us?” Kieran asks, dropping Asher back to his feet, forgetting his rage.
“Pfft. I’m not giving her a choice,” Rad quips, waving a hand. “Ask Cal about my date.” He beams with pride, puffing out his stupid chest.
“Your date?” I scoff. “More like a third wheel no one invited along.” I’d never tell Rad how invigorating it was to spy on her while she dined with Rocco. The way her body fit into the dress she wore nearly gave my attraction to her away, even if I was still in denial about it all. Rad was right about everything that night when he slapped his chest and told me nothing felt right.
“That offends me! I bought her flowers?—”
“And then she pulled you out of the restaurant by your ear and rode home with me.” My eyebrows raise when he frowns, turns his back to me, and mutters to himself.
The warmth of her arms ghosts around my middle, pulling herself closer to me. Discreetly, I hide the heat traveling up my neck and face as I remember how she felt against my back. Like she was meant to be there—like she was mine again. But will she ever be that girl for me again? The one I look for in a crowded room? The girl who holds my aching heart in the palms of her hands? Fuck. Maybe I never belonged to anyone else. I sure haven’t touched another woman since her—my one and only.
“Anyway, it was a good date,” he quips, twirling his sticks between his fingers. “And I can’t wait to do it all over again. It’s all about the actions, boys. Do you want River again? You gotta show my Pretty Girl how much you want her. Tell her sorry all you want, but she won’t buy it.” Rad’s smile fades into nothing, swallowed by a darkness clouding his face, plopping on his stool. “Believe me, I tried.”
“You tried?” Kieran asks, rubbing his chin. “Even before this asshole admitted to what he did?”
Rad shrugs, twirling his sticks again. “I can’t fight this feeling, bro. I almost forgot what I was fighting for. And what I’m fighting for is my lady. All of her. My daughter…”
“Mine,” Kieran growls, clenching his fists.
“Lyric is all of ours, you tithead. She doesn’t just call you daddy. River made sure Lyric knew who we were.”
“But why?” I croak, hanging my head in shame. I’ve missed everything in Lyric’s life.
“I don’t know,” Rad murmurs. “She knew whose kid she was biologically. Yet, she still introduced Lyric to our faces as her damn fathers.”
Silence fills the space. Our thoughts consume each of us with the possibilities of what we missed and what the future holds. At least, that’s where my mind travels to. Lyric. Our child. She calls us daddy, looking at us with wide, loving eyes like we didn’t put her mother through hell by walking away with our tails tucked. Looking back, I wish I had done so many things differently.
Our story isn’t written in pencil. We can’t erase the things we’ve done with a few swipes and move on like nothing ever happened. We’ll continue our broken tale on damaged paper riddled with marks and scars, filled with old wounds and betrayals.
Every foundation starts somewhere—built on shifting rocks and unsteady ground. We won’t move on until we’ve patched up our past, talked through our failures, and begin to rebuild on—sturdier terrain.
“Because of her dad,” Asher rasps, clearing his throat as he leans against the wall in defeat.
“What?” Kieran snaps again, turning his furious focus on Asher again.
Asher rolls his eyes. “She told me that her mother never let her know her father. So, she gave Lyric a chance to get to know us. We are her fathers.” He hesitates another moment, sucking in a breath. “We can’t break Lyric’s heart. She comes first through everything.”
“No. I don’t fucking plan on being without my daughter for another damn moment. I won’t break her fucking heart, but you’re pretty damn good at manipulating and breaking hearts. Aren’t you? Fucking prick. Stay away from her.” Kieran narrows his eyes at Asher, who doesn’t move. But I see it in his determined gaze. There’s no way in fucking hell he will back off from knowing Lyric. Somehow, he’s known her the longest.
“No,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “River told Lyric we were her fathers for a reason. Lyric expects all of us to be in her life.”
“Fuck! Even him?” Kieran grunts, pacing the length of the practice room, pulling at the ends of his dark locks.
“Even him, asshole,” Rad grumbles, shaking his head. “I know he royally fucked us over, but Lyric is four, bro. She wouldn’t understand why he stopped showing up.”
“It would break her heart,” Asher whispers, licking his lips. “And mine.”
“Then we need to make a pact,” I say, turning to look at each of them, letting them see the seriousness of my expression.
“What kind of pact?” My eyes drag to Asher’s ghostly pale face as he slumps to the floor, cradling his guitar to his chest.
“For our daughter,” Rad agrees without a second thought.
“It’s for Lyric. Right here. Right now. We promise each other that no matter what shit happened in the past, we don’t show it in front of Lyric. She’s our priority, but so is River.”
Wild plans of groveling run through my mind. I’ll get on my knees for hours on end until she looks me in the eyes and tells me she forgives me for my misdeeds. I failed River in so many fucking ways, and it eats away at me. I’m the reason we fucking left. I confirmed what I saw. Hell, I took a picture of his lips on hers. I’m the reason we all got into that SUV and drove away with nothing more than bitterness and our thoughts guiding us into the future.
And I’ll never forgive myself for what I did.
“We will not be my fucking parents,” Rad proclaims. “Fuck them.”
Though he doesn’t show it often, his parents’ neglect wears him down, even after years of being out of their grasp. Sure, they fed him, housed him, and clothed him. But their cold stares and constant need to control his every move drove him away from them in the form of rebellion. It’s something they’ve never forgiven him for. As for Rad, he’ll never forget their words, actions, and the catalyst of it all—when they kicked him out.
Pain envelops my heart. My parents were fucking saints through everything, taking in Rad when he needed someone most. They nurtured us with love and support, letting us explore our passion for music and never tearing it down like Rad’s parents insisted. I was the lucky one. The others didn’t fare well in the parents’ department and look at where it got us. Deep down, it isn’t that big of a surprise that Asher let his desperation drag him down the road of betrayal in hopes of leaving his father’s grasp.
“Hell no,” Kieran agrees, stopping right before all of us. “Fuck our piece of shit parents.”
“Lyric comes first,” Asher agrees from the ground, staring up at the ceiling with a pained expression.
Kieran blows out a breath, and his face falls. “We’ll be the parents we never had.” Running a hand down his face, he turns his icy stare in Asher’s direction. “But you stay the fuck away from River. No canoodling or trying to prove yourself. Your story with River is fucking done.”
Asher lets out a humorless laugh. “You think she’d have me after what I did? I know it doesn’t mean shit, but I am sorry. I was a?—”
“Selfish fucking prick?” Rad quips without an ounce of humor lining his tone.
“That,” Asher agrees, pointing a finger toward Rad. “More than a fucking prick. Listen, we can disagree as much as we want…” he trails off, taking a deep breath. “But if we want this to work, we need to work together to achieve this band shit…and with Lyric.” He swallows hard. “I’ll be the best dad I can be. I won’t interfere with anything. But I will continue to make it up to River in any way I know how so she sees how fucking sorry I am. I just?—”
“I get it,” I say, surprising myself with my admission. He may be a prick, but I can see it in the desperate expression he’s sending our way. He needs Lyric in his life as much as she needs him. He loves her and has a strong connection with her in just a short time. “Lyric is all of ours. River has made that clear.”
Kieran silently broods, deep in thought, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Fine,” he concedes with a nod. “We do this together. Even if I can’t stand to be in the same fucking room as you. We do this band shit, go to the therapy she insists on, and try our fucking best. At the end of the day, we step up and help with Lyric. Whatever River needs, we need to be available for her. We need?—”
“To let her know how sorry we are,” I say softly, earning a nod of appreciation from Kieran.
“Yes,” he whispers, taking a deep breath and swallowing the emotions I know he’s feeling.
“Here, here!” Rad shouts, tapping out a light rhythm on the snare drum, adding a few light crashes of the cymbals. “Here’s to our new future, bros!” he shouts before jumping into our first song, sounding more confident and crisper than he has in months.
We’ll make it through no matter the heartache or the trials before us. One day at a time. One steppingstone at a time. The boys and I have been through hell, but now it’s time for us to pull our heads out of our asses, swallow our hurt and rage, and let River know we’re here for good.
There’s no getting rid of us.