Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel) (14 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Confessions of a Lunatic

Not fifteen minutes after I wake up the next morning, my
phone is ringing off the hook. I pick it up reluctantly.

“Hello Bran,” I say, trying to shake the cobwebs from my
sleep-fogged brain. I need to be really focused if I’m going to get out of this
call in one piece.

There’s a long silence, then: “Why did you do it June? And
how did you do it?”

Oh man, it is too early for this conversation. “Can we talk
in person Brand?”

“Why not. I’m not going anywhere, so you may as well come
over.”

With my stomach fluttering, I climb into my Prius and head
over to the hospital. Over and over I keep playing opening lines in my head.
Which one sounds the best? Which one will most likely get me out of the trouble
I’m in?

That’s really why I’m doing this, if I’m going to be honest
with myself. I’m going to see him in person so that he’ll feel something for me
again and won’t press charges...if it’s not too late, that is. I’m hoping that
I love June password thing hasn’t turned into I hate June. What will happen
when I am face to face with Brand I don’t know.

As I ride the hospital elevator up to the fourth floor, I
start to feel the anxiety building up again. This is going to be rough. I knock
softly at his door.

“Come in,” says a very familiar, very stern voice.

With great trepidation I walk in. Brand is sitting up in bed
watching some news channel in TV. He turns it off when he sees me enter.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, taking a seat in a chair at
the foot of his bed.

“I was feeling fine until a couple days ago. Why did you do
it, June?”

I hang my head in shame. I certainly won’t have to fake that
feeling. “I just didn’t want you to ruin Silas’s career. He deserves his big
break.”

“He deserves his big break but I don’t deserve mine? And his
big break, by the way, isn’t even legitimate. They guy can’t play. Maybe none
of them can. By the sounds of things Silas doesn’t deserve anything. He never
worked a day in his life for what he has today! What makes a man like that more
deserving than a man like me, who’s worked his ass off trying to create a life
for himself? What is it about him that makes him more deserving than me June?”

I guess he’s had a few days to stew about this while I’ve
been jet setting off to LA and back with the enemy. “What makes you say he’s
more deserving than you, Brand?”

“He’s not. I’m not saying he’s more deserving than me. Your
actions say he’s more deserving, at least in your eyes. Why didn’t you answer
my calls? Where have you been I asked a friend to drop by your house and he
said you’ve been gone for several days. Where’d you go June? Did you run off to
see your new boyfriend?”

“My new boyfriend? You’re my boyfriend, or at least I
thought you were.”

“Wow. If you treat your boyfriends this way, I’d hate to see
how you treat your enemies. You went to see Silas, didn’t you?”

“I went to see my favorite band. I am a Lunatic, you know. I
had tickets and the day off, so of course I’m going to go.”

“Yes, you certainly are a lunatic June, but I think we each
have a different interpretation of that word. So how’d you get there so fast?
Your car’s been in the driveway. You take a taxi?”

“The band’s manager picked me up.”

“The manager? He flew all the way out here to pick you up?
So you flew in some fancy jet, did you? Got the royal treatment. Jesus. You’re like
one of those high priced call girls. A dressed up hooker. May as well call a
spade a spade right?”

More and more venom is seeping into his voice. He’s becoming
even more animated. Maybe I should have had this conversation over the phone
after all.

“Look, he did pick me up,” I reply defensively, “And yeah,
we did fly out in a private jet, but Silas is not my boyfriend. He’s just a
friend.”

“Yeah right. A rock star sends his private jet to pick up a
beautiful girl to do what? Just chat? Have a cup of tea and talk music?”

This is really getting awful. I had hoped to leave out
anything about the trip to LA or any relationship I may be having with Silas,
but it’s not working.

“We’re just friends,” I tell him.

“At the very least, at this point I would have hoped you
could be honest with me. But you just can’t, can you? Why did you even come
here, June?”

“I just...I just wanted you to see how sorry I am over this
whole mess...”

“Sorry? You’re not sorry. I think you’re here because you’re
afraid. What are you afraid of June? You came here hoping you could convince me
not to press charges, didn’t you?”

I hang my head in shame. I cannot look him in the eye. “Well
of course I don’t want to go to jail, Brand. But I came here because I figured
you deserved to hear it in person from me.”

“You figured I deserve it, do you? I deserve it, but you
can’t even look at me or be honest with me. Do I deserve that? You must really
have a low opinion of me.”

“I’m sorry things just got out of hand...”

“I can’t believe I forgot to sign out of my Gmail account,”
he mutters, “That’s the last time I forget to do that! But something good might
come out of this after all.”

“Really?” Maybe I’ll get out of this after all.

“I’ve seen your true colors now, haven’t I? I know what kind
of person you are now. You’re not who you seemed June. But that’s not all. I
spoke to one of the editors, and it seems they really like my writing style. In
fact, they’re considering giving me an assignment even if I don’t win the
contest. Who would have thought?”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing. If I hadn’t—”

“That doesn’t excuse what you did. You still betrayed me,
and I wouldn’t be surprised if I do win, so your new boyfriend’s days are
numbered.”

“I’m so sorry Brand, I—”

“I don’t think I can help you June.”

“What?”

“I know you came here to try to get me to not press charges.
You thought that if I don’t press charges everything gets dropped, right? But
it’s not up to me. The wheels that are in motion are beyond me to stop. I’ll
give you a free piece of advice. Get yourself a good lawyer.”

Chapter Eighteen

A Little Birdie Told Me

It’s almost ten when I finally stumble into my apartment and
collapse on the living room couch. That could not have gone any worse. Now I
just get to wait for the police to come cart me off to jail. It’s almost like
calling a lawyer will make it happen. If I talk to someone, it makes it more
real.

I wish I could just go to Silas and...shit. I can’t talk to
him. I can’t tell him that he is about to lose his spot in the band. I can’t
tell him that I have just singlehandedly ruined his life and then what? Cry on
his shoulder?  How the hell did I get myself into this mess?

I’ve ruined my best chance at a good relationship, and now
I’m ruining another. It’s not like I have had a lineup of guys trying to date
me either. Suddenly I have two, and I’m screwing them both up. I just wanted to
help Brand. He was in the hospital, and I just wanted him to have his chance at
the career he wanted more than anything in the world. I had good intentions. I
was just helping a friend in need.

But it’s not my intentions that are the problem. It’s the
choice I made to get into Brand’s email account and impersonate him. That was
wrong. But is it so wrong to try and protect Silas? He doesn’t deserve to have
his life ruined either. I don’t believe that he’s a fraud.

I’m exhausted, but I know that if I lie down there’s no way
in hell am I going to be able to sleep. I need coffee. That will help me feel
better. As I walk into the kitchen I see the calendar on the fridge. I’m
scheduled for work tonight. This is not good. I really need to sleep before
pulling a 12 hour shift. If I don’t get some rest, my judgment may very well be
compromised. I crash out on my bed, still fully clothed, and close my eyes.
Sleep has to come.

My shift begins at eleven, and by the time I walk through
the doors to the ER I am dead to the world. The nice thing about working in the
emergency room is that time flies by. A little coffee and a lot of adrenaline
is all I need.

Twelve hours later I’m in the nurses lounge changing out of
my bloodied scrubs and jumping into the shower. As the hot water sluices over
my tired body, the events of the last couple days come rushing back to me.
That’s the other thing about where I work. It is so completely consuming,
everything else takes a backseat to what’s going on here.

Not one time did I think about my boyfriend troubles or the
prospect of going to jail, Sadly, now that I am heading home, it all comes
rushing back to me. I feel like I’m halfway into a tunnel and walking down the
tracks with a freight train opposite me. I can’t escape the blaring horn or the
blinding light. I’m going to be crushed like a bug on a windshield.

By noon, I’m walking in the door to my apartment, once again
greeted by my phone ringing off the hook. I don’t bother checking to see who.
They can wait for about 12 hours, ‘cause that’s how long I plan on sleeping.
It’s going to take at least that for my body and mind to even begin to recover.
I trudge over to the couch to watch a little TV before crashing. It usually
takes me an hour or two to shake off the workday and relax enough to sleep. The
moment I find a good program to watch, there’s a knock on my door.

“That can’t be good,” I mutter to myself, wobbling over to
the door. I look out the peephole and see that it’s Stewart. What the hell is
he doing here uninvited? For a moment I consider just not answering the door,
but he knows I’m in here and the only way I’m gonna get him to leave is by
answering the door. I’ll just politely tell him I am too tired to go visit
Silas. It’ll have to be another day.

“Just a second Stewart!” I holler through the door. I undo
the chain and open it. The moment I see his face, I know there’s something
wrong. My first thought is that something happened to Silas. He must have
gotten hurt.

“What’s happened?” I ask as I let him in.

I offer him a seat but he remains standing. “He’s going to
be okay. There was an accident at the show last night. He was standing too
close to a flash pot when it exploded.”

“Oh my god! Oh no, oh no...” It’s all I can manage for a
couple minutes. I can’t believe this is happening. First Brand nearly gets
killed, then Silas has a terrible accident. This is all too familiar. This
scene has played out before, when my little sister was killed in that accident.
Now I nearly lose two guys I care about all within a couple weeks of each
other. It can’t be a coincidence. People who matter to me are always taken.

“He’s asking for you, June.” Stewart’s face is a study in
pain. He obviously cares a lot about his nephew. He has to be wondering if
Silas will ever play again. Oh my god, his fingers must have been badly burnt.
“June?”

“What? Sorry, it’s a lot to take in.”

“He wants to see you if—”

“Of course I’ll come.” I may be totally exhausted, but I’d
fly around the world if he asked me to. “I just need to grab a few things.”

“Sure. Take your time. There’s a car outside. I’ll wait
there.”

“Okay,” I reply over my shoulder. I grab my overnight bag,
my purse, and another change of clothes. I have no idea how long I’ll be gone.
I should be prepared to stay more than just a few days if he needs my support.
I climb into the back of the limo and take a seat across from a very
worried-looking Stewart.

“Drink?” he asks as the car pulls out into the street.

“Sure, what do you have?”

“Well, before we pulled up I had an excellent gin and
tonic.”

“Sounds good to me.” After a few long pulls on the fiery
liquid I ask, “So which hospital’s he at?”

“Uh...It’s a private one.”

“Oh. Sisters of Providence?”

“No, it’s Catholic.”

“That is a Catholic hospital, Stewart.”

“It’s a private teaching hospital.”

Never heard of that one. He must have the name wrong or
something. I wasn’t aware of any private catholic teaching hospitals down
there. “What is his prognosis?”

“Good.”

Since when does the talkative Stewart clam up and stop
talking? It’s like he doesn’t remember me or something. There’s a question
that’s been eating me up ever since he told me of the accident, but I’m
terrified to inquire.

“Is he going to still be able to play guitar?” I ask softly.

“He’ll be able to play.”

Looks like Silas dodged that bullet. But a sudden thought
cuts through me like a knife. His face must have been burned. That would
account for Stewart’s strange behavior right now. He probably knows Silas is
going to be deformed or something from the burns and he’s wondering if I’m the
kind of girl who bails when her prince charming isn’t so charming to look at.

“Stewart...his face burned?”

“Oh no. He’ll still have his rock star good looks. Don’t
worry, June.”

I let loose a burst of pent up air. Until now I hadn’t
realized I have been holding my breath. What luck. A flash pot blows up in his
face but neither his hands or his face has been burned. How is that possible?
I’m just about to ask that very question when we pull into the airstrip. When
we board the plane, Stewart disappears from my sight. He has to be taking this
whole accident pretty hard. Maybe Silas is his only family.

An hour later we’re landing at another private airstrip.
There’s a limo awaiting our arrival. I assume it’s going to take us straight to
the hospital. The chauffeur escorts me over to the limo and opens the door for
me. The door closes, and I’m surprised that Stewart isn’t already in the car
waiting. I’m just about to ask the chauffeur about it when my window rolls
down. Stewart is standing there, looking even more ragged.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I’m sorry June. I’m really sorry.”

Before I can ask what he means, the window is already up. I
grab the handle, but I seem to be locked in. Before I can protest, the door
opposite me opens and in steps the last person I expect to see.

“Silas!” Instinctively I reach out to hug him. I am so glad
to see he’s okay. But then he holds out his hands between us, palms facing me.
I get it. His chest. The burns are there and my hugging him is going to be
excruciating. “Silas, you’re okay?” I ask.

“I’m far from it.”

“What are you doing out of the hospital, Silas? Don’t you
have bandages that have to be changed, and physical therapy and all?” There’s something
here I’m not getting.

“I never went to the hospital.”

“What? Silas, you could get an infection. Burns are
notorious for that. You have to—”

“There was no accident,” he replies, cutting me off.

“Wh-what do you mean no accident?” I manage to stammer.
“Stewart said—”

“Just what he needed to say to get you on the plane.”

“I don’t get it. What have I done?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“But how could you know?”

“A little birdie told me.”

I’m speechless. No way could he know about the article. Even
if Brand did win, the article wouldn’t be out until December. They’re certainly
not going to issue a spoiler alert and ruin the big reveal. And if Brand has
won, surely they don’t want him blabbing about it before the magazine has had a
chance to put it into print. This is not making sense to me.

“Got a call from Hugh Goldstein this morning. He’s one of
the execs from our record label. Said he got a call from the Editor and Chief
of Guitar Player, and they had in their hands some very inflammatory information.
Thought we should hear it from them before it goes to print, seeing how we’re
in the middle of our sold-out world tour. It was a courtesy call really. They
don’t normally let the cat out of the bag about stories, but it seems somebody
at the magazine owed our label big time and was calling to settle a debt. Why’d
you do it June? Do you really hate me this much? So much that you had to go and
ruin my career, my life?”

“B-Brand was dying in the hospital...”

“Brand? The guy whose medical bills I paid? He did this?”
For a moment, his angry penetrating gaze softens. He thinks Brand did this. “He
did it for the contest? The Get the Dirt contest? He ruined my life so he could
win some fucking contest? He...”

I wish I could go on letting him believe it was all Brand,
but I can’t. Every time I see Silas for the rest of...whatever, I will always
remember my secret. If he ever found out about it, we’d have to go through this
whole awful conversation again. I don’t think I can do this twice. Silas takes
my silence as an admission of guilt.

“But it wasn’t all Brand was it?”

I shake my head miserably.

“You did it for him. You betrayed me for Brand. But it’s not
just me whose life you’re trashing. This is going to ruin us as a band. Do you
fucking think anyone is going to buy records from guys who lip synched and
played air guitar during their shows? Then there’s all the people who put the
show together and take it down every night. They’re all out of jobs because of
you. What do you have against them and their families? Or were they just
casualties of war? You disgust me. Tell me why you did this.”

“Look Silas...I thought it was true. After that other band
got busted for using studio musician’s recordings in their live shows—”

“And you thought that’s what we were doing. But did you even
try to verify your information? Information, I might add, that came from three
guys who’d love nothing more than to see me fail so they can replace me with
their top prospect and not Stewart’s. Pathetic.” Our limo is stops. I look out
the tinted window. I hadn’t realized it, but we just pulled into the downtown
Los Angeles Greyhound Bus station. Silas looks at me with smoldering eyes.
“This is your stop. This is where you get out.”

“Silas, please—”

“Save it and get out.”

The door on my side opens. Guess this is it. I step out,
squinting in the bright sunlight. The chauffeur presses an envelope into my
hand. “For a ticket,” he says, then shuts the door and turns to leave.

“My bags! They’re in the trunk.”

He comes back around to the rear of the limo and unlocks the
trunk. I wrestle my bags out, and returns to the front of the vehicle without
so much as a glance back. As the car speeds off I slip on my backpack and pick
up my suitcase. This is gonna be one long hellish ride back home.