Return to Me (Breaking Free Book 2) Page 16

  “Alright?”

  “In case Rose mentions something… I figured you should hear it from me first.”

  “Okay?”

  “Roger asked me to marry him.” The corner of her mouth twitches like she’s trying to hold back a huge smile.

  I guess she finally convinced him to leave his wife for her. Sheesh. “Congratulations.”

  “Also… We’re having a baby. Rose is going to have a half brother or sister.”

  I barely suppress an eyeroll. This poor bastard. I guess Leah figured a baby would fix things between them, just like she thought a second would repair the damage between us. Maybe in a year or two when he figures out what a moody, nagging harpy she is, Leah will decide for the both of them that another child is the perfect solution to their dilemma. “I’m happy for you, Leah.”

  It’s not untrue. I want Leah to be happy, but I’m mostly relieved that maybe this will mean a bit of stability for Rose. At least now I don’t have to worry about a series of random men wandering in and out of my daughter’s life.

  “I’m so glad you could be an adult about this, Gabe.”

  Did she expect me to cry and lament over my missed opportunity? Thank god I don’t have to try and decipher her cryptic moods anymore. I’ll leave that impossible to task to Roger. “Well, we are both adults so… Is Rose about ready?”

  ∞∞∞

  Becca’s yard is flat, but her middle daughter Ellie is happy enough to pull Rose around in a sled. We figured it might be nice to let them get out and enjoy the snow a bit before it all melts away. This is the one thing I hate about that apartment, not having a place for Rose to get outside and run off some steam.

  When I tell my sister Becca about Leah’s good news, she cackles with laughter. “She really is a piece of work, isn’t she?”

  “And she’s someone else’s piece of work to deal with now.”

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “Nah. I’ve met the guy. He seems fine, and Rose likes him. It could be worse.”

  “No, I mean that Leah’s moving on.”

  Now I’m the one laughing. “It really doesn’t.”

  “This is good. It means you’re ready to move on too, and I have the perfect girl for you, Gabe. I work with her, and-”

  “Nu uh.”

  “Oh, come on. I think you two would really hit it off.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Why not? She’s really sweet, and I was telling her all about you.”

  “I’m seeing someone… sort of.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to snatch them back. Now that Becca has a whiff of something, she won’t give up until I share details.

  “Who is she?”

  “It’s still early on. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You’re not even going to give me a name?”

  I shake my head.

  “Oh, come on. What’s she like?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I reiterate firmly.

  “Is there something wrong with her?”

  Besides the fact that she’s a recovering drug addict with previous mental health issues who locks herself away in a giant, reinforced fortress up in the mountains, no not really. I know how this will look from the outside, but I know Trin. That’s not really who she is. The Trin Sinclair the rest of the world sees isn’t the real her. “There’s nothing wrong, I’d just rather keep it to myself for the time being.”

  Becca tilts her head to the side and scrutinizes my face. “It’s not a man is it?”

  “What?” I ask with a loud, disbelieving laugh.

  “You’re just being so secretive. You usually tell me things.”

  “Leah might’ve been a nightmare, but she wasn’t bad enough to turn me off women.”

  “Is this new girl married?”

  “No, jesus. I can’t believe you would even think that.” I run a hand across my jaw. I really should’ve never breathed a word. This interrogation might last all afternoon until I divulge the truth. “It’s Trin.”

  “Who?”

  “You know, Trin. Trinity. You remember her.”

  Becca’s eyes get wide and wider. She laughs so hard I’m afraid she’s going to tumble out of her patio chair. “Are you actually trying to get disowned by our parents?” she asks after she finally recovers from her fit of the giggles.

  “I don’t care what they think.”

  “That’s good, because they’re gonna think you’ve lost your mind. Gabe, she’s a wreck.”

  “No she’s not. She’s not really like that anymore. You can’t believe all that stuff you read anyways.”

  “And the music she makes is nasty. Lilly had one of her CDs and I made her throw it away.”

  “Well, it’s not really kids music, is it?”

  “Still… geez.”

  “I’d appreciate if you keep this to yourself. It’s early days, you know?”

  “You did used to follow her around like a little lost puppy dog.”

  I snort under my breath. “No, I didn’t.”

  “You did a bit.”

  “Maybe a bit,” I admit.

  “You better be careful, Gabe. She’s got a reputation.”

  “So what? Leah didn’t have any sort of reputation and look how that turned out.”

  “You’ve got a point there. I’m just saying, maybe don’t rush into anything.”

  “I’m not,” I say quickly, but it sounds like a lie even to my own ears. There’s rushing, and there’s falling. I already feel like I’m plummeting.

  Chapter 21

  Trin

  “I am so glad to see you back in town finally,” Brent says. “We missed you around here.” He comes over to give me a big hug. “You got any new songs for me yet?”

  “That’s actually what I came here to talk to you about.”

  Brent waves his arm out for me to come sit down. His office is just like I remember it, potted greenery in the corners, a big important looking desk in front of a huge, leather swivel chair. There are two couches, and a glass coffee table topped with candles and bowls of decorative rocks. The walls are covered in album covers of various artists he’s worked with over the years, most in the country genre. That’s Brent’s speciality, and that’s how I got my start.

  The first album in that three record deal featured Conner and me together, under the group name The Redmond Collective, of which Conner was a founding member. I was just an addition way after the fact.

  It did… okay. Not great. It missed the mark, is how Brent put it. Something was a bit off with the chemistry between Conner and I, namely there was no chemistry. Conner thought I was an annoying brat, which I was. I thought he was an overbearing nag, which he is. Our voices didn’t mesh well. Perhaps they were able to smooth over that disharmony to some degree in the studio, but live we were like oil and water. We didn’t mix.

  It’s was Brent’s idea to shake things up and go in a brand new direction for our next endeavour. It was a new direction for him too. Mainstream pop isn’t his forte, but he was willing to roll the dice, take a chance, and I suppose it all worked out. Sinful made all of us a lot of money, enough that Conner didn’t mind being relegated to the keyboard.

  Sinful was Brent’s first big hit too. He’d been in this business for decades with moderate success, but that album propelled him to a whole new level. I guess that’s why he has the cover blown up huge on one wall.

  It’s so cheesy. I resemble a blonde haired Elvira in a long red dress, the neckline plunging halfway to my belly button, a slit up one side nearly reaching my hip. My mouth is gaped seductively, and those signature red horns poke out from my scalp. The L in Sinful swoops below the rest of the word in a curved line that ends in an arrow. The Sin in Sinclair is in bright, blood red, the rest of the letters in black.

  There is a framed homage to Imperfect as well, but it is much smaller, and displayed in a far less prominent place. I’m wearing even less clothes for that cover. In fact, I’m we
aring none at all, but it’s tasteful, artistic, that’s what I was going for at least. It’s me, curled up and hugging my knees, my head tucked against my chest. Cast in black and white, with the shadows arranged so all the important bits are covered. Despite the nudity, it’s not lurid, but I am naked. Exposed.

  I should’ve listened to Brent. Of all my regrets, I think putting that out into the world is my biggest, right behind walking away from Gabe. I showed too much. I made myself too vulnerable. When Imperfect crashed and burned, so did I.

  I learned my lesson the hard way, and I refuse to make that mistake again. I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to. All those songs on Imperfect came from a broken place full of anguish and bitter resentment over the choices I made. Now that Gabe is back in my life, I don’t feel any of that.

  Brent collapses on the adjacent couch, and props up an ankle on his opposite knee. “I really think it’s time we bring in another songwriter, Trin. Some fresh blood. Someone new you can bounce ideas off of.”

  “Nolan’s not the problem. That is the problem,” I say, pointing to the cover of Sinful adorning the opposite wall. “I don’t want to do another Sinful.”

  “Sinsual is going to be a whole new beast.”

  “But it’s not. You want to do the same shit as before.”

  “Why fix what isn’t broken? Sinful worked. It worked like a charm.”

  “It didn’t work for me.”

  “Doll, you know I loved Imperfect. I loved it, but we both know-”

  “I don’t want to do that again either. Instead of Sinsual, I think we should go with Sinsation. I can live with that, but I want to tone it down, ya know? I can still do upbeat, but less… skankiness. More clothes, and less suggestive dancing.”

  “Is it the weight? You’ll lose that again in no time.”

  “It’s not about that. I just don’t want to shake my tits on stage anymore. I can’t do that shit sober.”

  “Trin, plenty of performers take a little something before hitting the stage to calm their nerves. If you’re having a problem with anxiety-”

  “I don’t have anxiety,” I say firmly. Xanax, Valium, I used to eat that stuff like candy, and not for my nerves. Getting in front of a crowd doesn’t phase me. I actually love that rush of adrenaline. It’s as addictive as anything I’ve ever taken. “I have a problem with using my body to sell records. It makes me feel like a whore.”

  Brent sighs heavily. “Trin, sex sells. You know that.”

  “But I’m not selling sex. I’m selling music.”

  “Obviously you have the final say, but I’m strongly advising you to take my original advice.”

  “There’s got to be some middle ground. I can do upbeat. I can do songs people can dance to. I can do all that, but I just want to do it… better. Love sells too, doesn’t it. We can do more love songs, and less of that.” I say pointing out the cover to Sinful again. “This is the way I have to do it, because I’m not taking a pill to get through these performances again. I’m not. I’m done with that.”

  Brent jiggles his foot and runs a palm down his fleshy chin. He lets out a long, tired breath. “I was hoping you’d have some good news for me today. I could really use some good news right now.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Kane’s early releases aren’t testing well at all. Something about it isn’t working.”

  Now that I’ve made it clear that this next album will likely be my last, Brent is probably putting all his faith in Kane to be his next big, heavy hitter. “That sucks. What are they saying?”

  “He’s not country enough. He has the voice for it, and the look. I don’t understand where he’s missing the mark.”

  I roll my eyes and huff. “Country fans want true love, not banging a different girl every week. It’s the same reason I could never cross back over to that genre. It’s his reputation.”

  Brent intertwined his fingers and rests his hands on his belly. “I suppose you’re right. I’ve been trying to improve his image, but maybe it’s too little, too late.”

  “Well, what are you going to do with him?” Even though Kane is an ass, I don’t have any real animosity towards him anymore, and I’d hate to see him lose this deal before it’s even begun.

  “I don’t know yet.” He pauses to shake his head. “We’ve already wasted all that money on recording time. The album’s halfway finished.”

  “He didn’t seem very interested in wearing a cowboy hat.”

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  “I think you should let Kane do what he wants, and I think you should chillax and let me do things my own way too. Let the music speak for itself. None of us are going to starve if things don’t pan out.” Toning down my music is still a risk, one which I hope doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass. Part of me loves performing, but none of me wants to be stuck on that bus for nine months again.

  “What happened to your fire?” Brent asks. “You used to be so ambitious. Aren’t you hungry for more, Trin?”

  I’m hungry, but not for more fame or money. I’m starving for some real food, and I don’t feel anything but uncomfortably warm in his overheated office, but I know that’s not the fire he’s talking about either. Truthfully, I don’t have a good answer for Brent, not one that I think he will understand.

  Brent has always seemed very asexual to me in a way I can’t quite describe. I’ve never once gotten a creepy vibe from him, even when he was suggesting more tits, more ass, lick your finger like your licking an ice cream cone, or something else, ha ha ha. He didn’t say that shit to me because he’s a perv, he said it because he’s right. Sex sells. If Brent gets a hardon for anything nowadays, it’s money. I know for a fact he’s loaded, but I guess he wants more. Sometimes speaking with him is like trying to communicate with someone in a foreign language.

  “I’m ambitious for a real life,” I say. “For something normal.”

  “Sorry, doll. But that ship sailed for you a few years ago.” He gives me a small, crooked grin. “Might as well make due with whatcha got.”

  Maybe run-of-the-mill normal is off the table, but real isn’t, at least I hope not.

  “So are you gonna be in town for a bit?” Brent asks.

  “Just tonight. I want to get home.” Charity and I arrived last night, but it was too late to arrange a meeting with Brent, and it was also New Year’s Day.

  “This used to be your home,” he reminds me.

  Back when I stayed fucked up for long stretches, I didn’t like to hangout around my real home, because my family called me out on my shit all the time. “After that creepy letter from the person wanting to eat my eyeballs, I’d rather stick to Trenton. No one can get to me in that place. It’s safe.”

  “We can fix up your place here just as safe, Trin. I can make some calls and get someone out there-”

  “Nah. I need to get down to business writing something for Sinsation.”

  “Sinsual just has a better ring to it, dontcha think?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “There’s no changing your mind once it’s made up, is there?”

  “Not this time.”

  “I really wish you’d stay. We don’t see each other enough anymore. I could have that Nolan guy flown in when-”

  “He’s got kids and a job. He won’t want to travel back and forth.”

  The corners of his mouth tick up ever so slightly. “You’re as stubborn as a mule, has anyone ever told you that?”

  “I’ve heard it a time or two.”

  When I get back to my place, Charity is still out roaming the surrounding woods. My home outside of Nashville is a much more manageable size, but still far too large for just me. It has a lot of acreage, and is situated far away from prying eyes. I like it, but I feel vulnerable there, like a sitting duck. If something were to happen who knows how long it would take the police to arrive.

  Is this me being paranoid, or is it justified? Since my bought of exhaustion, I always wonder shit like that
now.

  I really have had people try to rush me, say weird things to me, grab me. One woman splashed me with holy water. Either it wasn’t really holy, or I’m not tainted enough to feel the burn. There was one old guy, we nicknamed him red hat guy for the simple reason he always wore a red ball cap, that would show up at the meet and greets before shows all over the place. He followed me from city to city, and he asked me to sign weird stuff. Pictures of my face photoshopped onto bodies of animals, once a nude woman with ginormous breasts. Sometimes it was a photo of him and me together.

  I kind of laughed about it at the time, but I wasn’t laughing when those signed photos got sent back to me via fan mail covered in a dried, crusty something. Red hat guy is the reason Mia wears gloves when she opens that stuff for me now. It’s her opinion, and mine too, that he jerked off on those pieces of memorabilia and sent them back my way. Security won’t let him anywhere near me before shows now.

  But ever since my stay in the loony bin, I wonder quite often, am I too paranoid? Is it actually paranoia when you have legitimate reasons to be concerned? It’s not something I could ever get a good answer for, even from those trained professionals who listened to me whine about my present and my past for eight whole weeks.

  Some of this is surely justified, but when Charity returns from her walk with a few scavenged souvenirs from the woods, and darkness begins to descend, I get more antsy than normal. Last night I was too wore out from that six and a half hour drive to give it much thought. Tonight is a different story.

  Charity builds a fire and plays with the new bones she’s found. Once she’s grown bored of that, she strums on the guitar. I would turn on the TV to distract myself, but she hates it. She complains that there is a weird hum in the background no matter which TV it is, what the volume is set at. She has the same problem with overhead fluorescent lighting. That’s why she didn’t come with me today to see Brent. The lights in that place make too much noise according to her.

  I love Charity, but she drives me bonkers sometimes, especially when she starts scratching her nails up and down the strings of the guitar. The sounds of lights annoy her, but that long and repeated scraaaatch doesn’t?