Chapter 6 #2
“Okay, Luke I get, but I thought you didn’t write. You said at breakfast Luke was the writer. You weren’t good with adjectives.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Seriously? Do you remember everything?”
“Am I wrong?”
I can’t help another chuckle at her smug expression. Her attempt at “smug” is everyone else’s “first sip of morning coffee” face.
“I guess not. I did say that. But to answer your question, I was just messing around. My name’s in the credits too. It’s true, Luke tends to bring the magic to the lyrics, but I’m the music guy. That hook in ‘Better Get Back’ that they use for all those hockey ads? All me.”
“The hockey song is from one of your songs?”
Right. I keep forgetting she isn’t obsessed with us. Maybe that’s why I’m enjoying this so much.
“Yeah. It’s not one of our bigger ones. Well, it wasn’t when they negotiated the rights to it.”
“I’d say it is now,” she mumbles.
She hums the melody, and I might free an eye-roll.
Great, now I’m The Hockey Song Guy.
“Yep, that’s it.”
“Wow, I had no idea. I actually really like that song. ”
“You sound so shocked,” I say dryly.
She returns a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I guess… I don’t know.
I try not to think too much about Luke the Superstar, so I haven’t made much of a connection between him and his music.
You know, staying out of the whole pop culture bubble thing so I can see him for who he really is.
I guess I did the same for you by association. ”
Wow.
Now I really get why he gravitated toward this person.
“I like that,” I say, thinking out loud. “He needs someone in his life who’s real, but you should still pick up our stuff sometime. If you truly want to understand your new friend here, you need to listen to his music. I think it might surprise you.”
I hesitate when my focus lands on Luke, heaviness settling over me again. “Or maybe it won’t.”
“‘ Step back, fast, I’m coming for you. Step back, you can’t handle what I’ve got.’”
Callie’s voice carries through the silence as if she’s visualizing the hockey opener.
“That’s it,” I say with a quick smile before the humor drains away again. There’s nothing soft or funny about that bitter anthem. “People think it’s an aggressive song. A challenge to someone, and the hockey link certainly doesn’t help.”
Her gaze shoots to me. “It’s not?”
“No. That’s not what Luke’s saying at all. It’s actually saturated with self-loathing.”
“Saturated with self-loathing?” she echoes in a dry tone. “What do you mean you’re not good with adjectives?”
I fire a smirk in her direction. “I’ve been known to string a few together. Anyway, the part you know is just the hook. The chorus is, ‘ I’m the anchor drowning you. I’m your infection, better get back. I’m the hurricane, angel, shred those wings. Step back, better get back.’ ”
The lyrics swirl around us like they’re caught in that deadly hurricane.
She shudders. “And that was even before Elena’s suicide?”
I flinch and go numb.
My chest tightens until it feels like my heart is being stung by a thousand needles. Guess she’s learned more of the story.
“Yes. Elena was…”
Words flood in, jumbled and raw. They press on my throat with a strange urgency.
I don’t get to talk about Elena anymore.
Not in a way that matters, the way I need to.
The media wants superficial soundbites. My therapist wants breakthroughs for my file.
Even my family deals with her loss like she was a beloved miniseries they watched a while ago and remember fondly.
Everything sugarcoated and “glossified” into a completely different reality that doesn’t help anyone.
Luke was the only one who understood my pain the way I felt it.
Who was willing to face it head-on and let it bleed him dry like it was doing to me.
It hurt like hell but it felt good at the same time.
Necessary. Elena was still real when we were together.
Her death happened and meant something. She was a three-dimensional part of our story, beautiful and flawed and angry and sad and strong.
When Luke left, he removed the only true connection I had to my sister and my grief.
“She was a beautiful person, inside and out,” I explain, desperate for her to understand. “Deep down, he never thought he deserved her.”
I study Luke’s sleeping face. He looks like a completely different person than he is. He looks like the person he could be. “I think that’s why he did the things he did.”
“What things?”
I flinch again, kicking myself for going down this road. I should have just left it at that. I avert my gaze, but end up with a direct hit in the mirror.
“You know, things,” I hedge. “There are a lot of temptations out there. On the road. For us.”
“He cheated on her?”
“A lot,” I confess in a hesitant tone. “He never should have married her and he knew it. For her sake. He couldn’t be the person she deserved. Not with the way things were for us. He couldn’t forgive himself before, but especially after. God, you want to see a person who hates himself?”
She follows my stare back to Luke. A knife twists through my heart like it’s happening all over again.
“And what am I supposed to do?” Now that the words are flowing, I don’t know how to stop them. “What do you say to a monster you love who’s finally figured out what he is?”
Fuck.
The unintentional mic drop sucks any remaining light from the room.
But I can’t take it back. I shouldn’t and I won’t.
I also can’t sit here and do this anymore. I’ve stalled enough anyway.
Time for the real nightmare to begin.
“I should go check on the party and see if I can wind it down,” I say. “When I get back we’ll try to get some alcohol out and water in.”
My hand feels warm and relaxed in hers. I don’t want to let go, but I have to. It’s best for both of us if we keep whatever this was confined to a moment of shared sympathy.
With a quick squeeze, I force myself to let go.
Then get the hell out of there before I screw things up… again.