Synister: The Push Series - Book 1 (17 page)

With the familiar
ping
,
Scottie had messaged me back.
Damn, he had to be sitting on his phone.
It was then that I realized I hadn't even taken a minute to tell them Brooklyn was okay or where I was. Nothing. Scottie was undoubtedly worried sick. I had focused on getting the information to everyone when we were stuck in limbo in the waiting room, but the minute I saw her, saw how much she needed all my attention, the rest of the world fell away. Scottie would understand. He always had...

Scottie: It’s real bad, isn’t it?

Me: I can’t do this. It’s all so fucked.

There was no way I was breaking this news to him over the phone or even more in a fucking text.

Scottie: Okay.

Me: I need out of this hole. My skin is crawling.

With every step, every landing I placed my feet on, somehow explaining what had happened to Brooklyn seemed easier than telling my brothers my fate.
I am a selfish prick.
I rationalized to myself that I was the reason she was going to be fine. The hospital was going to fix her, and if they couldn’t, I would have her out of here and under the best care money could buy. I had a ton of cash, and in this moment, I would spend it all to make her whole again.
What if she was never whole again?
I shook the thought from my mind. I couldn’t go there. There was no way I would be negative when Brooklyn was fighting so hard. As I continued to cascade down the steps, I heard my phone. Luckily, I was between stairs, because when my feet hit the landing and my knees wobbled, I placed my hand on the wall to steady myself. My nerves were shot, and I was operating on a hair trigger. I managed to get myself into and out of so much over the years, but I had no idea how I would get through today. For a brief moment, I thought about scoring some blow to calm my nerves, clear my head. I knew that was just a short-term fix to my long-term, fucked-up situation.

Scottie: Some chick in admin recognized me, so we got the fuck out of Dodge before the bloodsucking press showed up.

Fan-fucking-tastic.
All Brooklyn needed was the press to get ahold of this. This circus was my life, not hers. She didn't need people in her shit. She needed to get better. With Big T and Scottie gone, I had no idea how I was getting out of this place. Hailing a cab would be a disaster if the press were lurking in the shadows. After a few minutes, and by the time I reached the lobby steps, I was still contemplating my escape when the
ping
of my phone jostled me.

Scottie: Guys are in route. Big T is in the lot.

Me: Roger

Luckily, it was still dusk, and the cast of shadows out the rear exit shielded me from any nosy ass reporters. It was just the night, some dumpsters, and I. A smile crossed my face, and the oddest of realities stretched before my eyes. Here I was moving in the shadows toward a fate I did not want but had tried to avoid out of my own denial.
What a rock star I was.
I was no different than any other man. I was alone more than I was whole. Caged more than I was free. The music had not bought me happiness. It had brought me closer to my dream than I ever thought I would be. It had brought me Brooklyn. For those two things, I would be eternally grateful. All the lights, access, excess that I had witnessed and participated in were the best motherfucking roller coaster in the world. So as I prepared to exit the ride and send the guys on their way to continue this amazing adventure, I needed to start the next chapter for myself. I was holding on to a reality that was like trying to catch a sunbeam. It shone brightly, warmed your face, and made you happy, but it was also elusive. You could feel its effect on your heart, your life. It became a part of you, but it was never yours. Like the band, it belonged to a new fate—one that I was not a part of.

Stepping out into the still crisp air, I noticed a large SUV parked in the doctors’ parking lot with only the fog lights on. Big T had me covered forward, backward, and every way in between. Shoving my hands into my pockets and keeping my head down, I wove between cars and bushes. Anything to keep my cover from the group of about thirty reporters camped out along the sidewalk of the hospital. Some had brought their entire crew, while others were huddled together smoking, holding only their cameras, hoping to catch a glimpse of Scottie, me, anything they could sell to those sleazeball tabloids.
I hate the press. Good for nothing hound dogs looking to dig up any morsel of shit on you and then twist and pull it until it no longer resembled the half-baked truth they had started with.

When I reached the SUV, I opened the door and pulled myself inside. As I closed the door, it made no more than a whisper and immediately the engine purred to life. I watched the lights of the hospital mix with the streetlights into a watercolor illusion. I couldn't help but feel as though I was a coward for leaving B behind. I should have stayed with her. Both she and I knew that I had unfinished business to deal with. Without removing that obstacle from our path, there was no future for us.

With my head resting on the window, the cool glass felt like the hands of death were boring into my head. I was too tired to care. Too exhausted to argue. Big T was oddly quiet, but in moments of utter hopelessness, how does one find the right words? Are there really any words you wanted to hear? As I allowed the silence of this moment to envelop me, it was not lost on me that this was my future. Seeing my not hearing. Only getting part of the emotion in any given situation. I started to concentrate on all the noises that I typically let bleed into the background. The hum of the tires off the asphalt. The siren off in the distance. The muffled laughter and conversations of people when we came to a red light on the strip. The whistle of the wind as it moved outside the window. What an amazing song the world was playing for me. With the world passing me by and filling my ears, I began to replay every conversation, emotion, missed opportunity, and epic adventure with Brooklyn like a highlight tape. She was safe in my thoughts until I was beside her again.

When the SUV pulled up in front of the Cosmopolitan, I took a deep breath and forced my stomach from my throat. Big T must have arranged with the staff for me to use the service entrance.
God, I love that guy.
A shadow appeared outside my window, and as the door was opened, I was met by a man in a suit and gold name tag that read
Bruce
.

Big T spoke for the first time since we left the hospital, “Synister, everything is solid. Scottie said all the guys are here.” Pulling me into a hug—in all the years I had known him, I had never seen him hug anyone—he whispered into my ear, “You do what you gotta do and then get back to our girl. When she is all better, we find this son of a bitch and explain how we take care of business.” With a pat on my back, Tony ended the embrace and left in the air a promise that we would make this right. Bruce and Tony exchanged a few words, a simple handshake, and then an exchange of money. It was done. My presence would remain quiet. Big T disappeared around the front of the SUV, leaving Bruce and me alone.
Awkward.

“Mr. Smith, I have assured your bodyguard that we take your privacy very seriously. I have arranged for you and your guests to be set up in the west end penthouse. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help you. Anything at all.” He reached out his hand to me. I stared curiously at the simple gesture. This man had no idea what I had been through tonight, nor the shit storm I was walking into. I was in no mood to shake hands. I did not immediately reciprocate the offer, so he pulled his hand back. I could tell he was dejected, but frankly, I didn’t give two fucks. I wanted this over with. I had shit that needed my attention—namely Brooklyn.

“Very well, sir. This way.”

The trip from the ground floor to the penthouse passed without incident. Bruce didn’t say another word, and I didn’t in return. With the chime of the elevator, he handed me the key card, mini bar key, and some random hotel shit. Stepping out of the elevator and scanning the card, I knew what waited for me behind those doors. Four very confused, concerned, testosterone jacked-up men who were ready to fight to defend
our girl
. And here I called them to have a discussion like some women’s group to discuss the kids, coupons, and how much they hated their husbands. When the green light on the door flashed, I pushed my way into the room and saw everyone. Hendrix, Scottie, Oscar, and Zeke were all seated in various stages of discomfort. Having no idea what was in store for them, they shot me a curious stare. It was time to get this over with.

Scottie was the first to speak up. Standing from the chair, he started walking toward me. “Synister, is she okay?”

I put my hand up, and he stopped and then returned to his chair. I needed the space, and he gave it.

“No, dude, she’s bad. Real bad. I didn’t even know it was her when I walked into the room. She was beaten so bad. That motherfucker put his hands on her and broke her.” The gasps in the room were audible, and a round of
I’ll kill him
followed. “The worst part is she is worried about me. Leave it to Brooklyn to try to be strong.” Reaching my hand out, I balanced my ass on the edge of a modern chair. With my feet on either side of the arm, I continued, “She had some internal bleeding, but they got that shit stopped. There is a cut on her face, and I’m not sure where else the fucker put a blade to her. The doctor said the blindness is only temporary due to the head trauma. I’m forgetting something.” When the
something
entered my mind, the tears started, and my palms became sweaty. When the giant body of Hendrix appeared in front of me, I was shockingly cool with his invasion of my space. He placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Synister, man, we are all here beside you and Brooklyn no matter what it is. Take your time.”

Time. What time?

I needed to get it out. “That bastard hurt her so bad that she can never be a mom.” With a crash, I watched the silver and glass lamp fly across the room. Scottie was the reason behind it taking flight. It gave me comfort to know that I had these crazy ass brothers in my corner, and so did Brooklyn. I continued, “I wish I could tell you that that is the worst news I have to deliver tonight. This is the exact wrong time for any of this. But I have been painted in a corner, and there are no Bob Ross happy trees to soothe my mind. Before I get started, please let me get this all out. You are going to want to ask a million questions. I need to get through this in one shot, okay?” With a silent agreement between the group, I began to explain or apologize—I wasn't sure which. “When I was a kid, all I ever wanted was to play music. It was the one thing in my life that gave me hope. That I could control. I never thought in a million years that I would be sitting here with four brothers instead of the one I was given.

“My job was to protect Scottie. To make sure he wasn’t hurt. I have been convincing myself that I have been keeping this secret, if you will, to protect you. To protect Scottie. But I have been keeping it to protect myself. As a result of me refusing to accept what I know to be, I have not only hurt Scottie but Brooklyn and the band, too. Walking into that hospital and seeing her so fucked… It ripped my soul from my body and made me realize I was being selfish, and that nearly cost Brooklyn her life.

“Three months ago, I went to the doctor because I was having trouble transitioning between songs. Pieces and parts of the music were jumbled in my head. The doctors only confirmed my suspicions, or should I say, my nightmare. I was losing my music. My ability to do the one thing that had a positive impact on anything. I was also going to lose my family, the four of you fuckers. Brooklyn is lying in a hospital bed fighting for her life and staring down a long, nasty road to recovery because I couldn’t man up. She was beaten so bad that just thinking about it makes my blood boil with rage. She will never be able to have a family because some motherfucker hurt her so bad. All because of me. I wasn't the one that put the blade to her skin, the one that violated her. I was the one that didn’t come to her rescue. When she was reaching out for someone to save her, I let her down.

“I’m rambling, because frankly once I say it, then it becomes real. I have to accept what lies ahead for me, and I don't want to. I don't want to walk away from the band. I don’t want to be some has-been. I want to stay with you to keep making music, rocking out with the fans that have embraced us from the beginning and all the new ones we have yet to win over. I asked Tony to bring you all here so I could explain about Brooklyn but also to tell you that I’m going deaf. As quickly as it is deteriorating, I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish out the tour. I wish I had an answer for you on what to do next, who to call to fix this. Hell, I have been thinking through that for months, but all I can see is the stop up ahead, and it’s my time to get off the bus.”

I looked up from my hands, and all four men in front of me were in various stages of disbelief. Scottie had his knees to his chest in the chair he was sitting in, just staring blankly at me with his head cocked to the side. No shock that Hendrix had tears and mascara running down his face. He was always the softie. Zeke had his back to me with his arm propped up on the window, and he was staring at the Vegas skyline. Oscar, still the new guy to this band of misfits, was shaking his head, answering questions being asked in silence.

“Come on, you fucks. Don’t look at me like that. Say something sarcastic. Anything.” My voice cracked at the end. I knew I had nothing left to explain. I had given them everything. My talent—the last God knows how many years—blood, sweat, tears, and tequila as Scottie would say. I didn’t even have to look to know that Zeke would be the one to lighten the mood first. If there was anyone that hated feelings more than me, it was Zeke.