Bullet(66)

He smiled back. I looked over at Zane. “And you too, Zane.”

Zane rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but the article didn’t gush about me like it did Mr. Guitar Man. I know. I get it. Guy who plays bass is the low man on the metal totem pole.” He chuckled. “At least it doesn’t affect how much * I get.”

I snarled at him. “Yeah. God forbid.”

Brad looked at us both. “Let’s get the f*ck out of here and let the guys know. This is just one of many things that will help us get recognized. No time to rest on our laurels, ladies.”

And that’s why Fully Automatic would never die—because Brad kept it alive. Every move was calculated, and not only did he have us working steadily, he was constantly pushing us to add to our repertoire, to try new things, to learn something different.

And we’d survived our first review. That felt pretty good.

* * *

One day late spring, Ethan was in a worse mood than usual. He’d been suffering from one of his bouts of depression, where he’d be glum and quiet most of the day. He’d also sleep a lot, but that’s when he’d indulge more in the illicit substances too. I was never sure what triggered those spells, but they seemed to be coming more and more often, and I didn’t know how to handle them.

He got up that afternoon, and it was a day I wasn’t working. After playing around on Brad’s computer a bit, he got dressed and announced that he was going out. I was convinced he was going on a drug run. I didn’t know how to stop his self-destructive behavior, but I thought maybe I could play his conscience. “Want some company?”

He scowled. “No. Not really.”

I wrapped my arm around his. I was trying to be playful, but it wasn’t working. “Come on, Ethan. I’m your girl, remember? Why wouldn’t you want to bring me along?” It was time to call him on his behaviors. If his drug and women habit were nothing for me to worry about, then he could bring me along.

“I don’t want you to come.”

I just stared at him. It hurt at first…a lot. But then I grew angry. Not only did he have no problem doing things that were damaging to our relationship, but he was mean about it too. I don’t know if it was the look on my face or the fact that I just backed away without a word, but he relented. He sighed and grabbed my hand before I got completely out of reach. “Okay, okay. You can come. But you’re not gonna like it. And keep your f*cking mouth shut.”

I wasn’t going to say a word…not now, at any rate. But he couldn’t stop me later. So I quit talking, right that second, and just followed him to his truck. We drove for a long time. I wasn’t sure exactly which city we were in, because one just blended into another in the Denver Metro area. I’d seen that already in the short time we lived there. Aurora and Lakewood might have been their own cities, but if you weren’t paying attention to the signage, you’d have no idea you’d crossed a border. All I knew is we’d gotten off the interstate a while back and were in an area I’d never been in before. Well, maybe in the dark driving to a new concert venue, I might have. I wasn’t always paying attention when we were getting ready to play, but I usually caught most of it. Riding shotgun had afforded me a better view of the city than the other guys.

We parked in front of a bar, and I just knew Ethan was going to conduct a drug transaction. He threw his cigarette butt on the ground and joined me on the other side of the truck on the sidewalk. I was shocked when he laced my hand in his and led me not into the bar, but toward a door beside the bar. He had a piece of paper in his hand, and he glanced down at it. Satisfied, he pulled on the door and let me pass through first.

It led to a tall staircase. Next to the door was a series of mailboxes, and that’s when I realized there were apartments above. Of course. A drug deal wouldn’t take place in a bar. Once again, my naïveté was showing.

And I couldn’t believe he was going to go through with it with me right there. Unbelievable.

Well, I thought, at least I’d know some of what he was taking.

As I’d promised, I didn’t say a word. I just held on tightly to his hand and followed him up the long flight of stairs. When we got up the stairs, I let my eyes adjust. The hallway was dark—or was it dingy? It was probably both. But it was so dark in there, it was hard to tell.

It was quiet. As we walked down the hallway, I could feel boards give under the threadbare carpeting. That carpet had once been a rich mix of beiges and burgundies, but today it was stained and thin and only my imagination helped me see its former beauty.

We stopped near the end of the hall, and Ethan looked at the number for several seconds as though trying to make sure he was at the right room. Then he lifted his hand and, with deliberation, made it into a fist…a fist so tight, his knuckles turned white. I wanted to ask him why we were here, why he was tormenting himself. Maybe he was finally agonizing over his addiction and wanted help.

That was a conversation for another time. For now, I was trying not to regret my promise to be quiet.

At last, a man answered the door. He had brown hair, although it was thinning a little, and he was probably about twenty pounds overweight. He wasn’t bad looking, though, even though he was quite a bit older than we were. He examined Ethan and then glanced at me. His eyes were cold. He looked back at my boyfriend. “You Ethan?”

Ethan just nodded, his jaw clamped closed, his eyes glinting. The man stood back, inviting us in. We stopped just inside the doorway, and as the man closed the door, Ethan asked, “Burt?”

The man acknowledged his question with a nod, and then realization washed over me, why this man had seemed familiar. This man was Ethan’s dad. And then I understood why Ethan was angry.

We stood in a tight doorway that led two ways—one to a living area and the other to a kitchen. The man led us into the kitchen and asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”

Ethan shook his head. I thought it would be polite for Ethan to introduce me, but I wasn’t going to worry too much about it. He was struggling with a lot at the moment.

I tried not to look around the kitchen, tried to keep my judgments to myself. This was a guy who knew how to not accumulate a lot of clutter, but it was evident that he wasn’t much into cleaning. It looked clean enough, but it felt…sticky and dusty. Maybe it was just my perception, but I didn’t feel comfortable there. Burt looked at me. “Would you like something?” I shook my head. Nope…I didn’t want to be rude, but I imagined there would be a thin film of grease on any glass he handed me. “Please, sit down.” He waved us at the table. Ethan seemed reluctant but he did and I followed suit. Once Burt sat down, he asked, “How’s your mother?”

I hadn’t expected Ethan’s reaction. “You f*cking bastard. You don’t give any kind of a shit. Not one. Why are you even asking?”

His father was calm. “Why are you here?”

Ethan processed it as though he hadn’t fully considered it. He blinked twice and then said, “You’re lucky I don’t kill you.”

His father stayed cool and folded his hands together on the top of the table. “We all have our crosses to bear, Ethan. You don’t know me. Oh, I’m sure you think you do, because everything you’ve ever known about me you’ve condensed and warped and carried around as a little ball of hate for most of your pathetic life.” Ethan’s eyelids lowered. Yes, his father had it right. Ethan was full of hate for this man. “But you don’t know me. You remember a few ugly scenes from your childhood before I left. And those, to you, equate to knowing who I am. You probably don’t remember me playing in the backyard with you, rolling the ball. You probably don’t remember when we went out for ice cream after you got your shots one day or the time I took you to a Rockies game.” His quiet stare penetrated Ethan, and they were quiet for a few seconds. But then he said, “Do you?”

Ethan’s voice was low. “Obviously, your killer nature made a deeper impression on me.”

“Yeah, and your mom’s a perfect angel.”

Ethan stood up and acted like he was going to grab Burt around the collar, but his father stood too, so quickly that his chair tipped over. He was up for the challenge, and even though the guy might have been overweight, he was still imposing and scary. And, if Ethan really did have horrible memories (I had no doubt, just based on what little he’d shared), he might have equated this man with pain. “Don’t you say shit about my mom.”

Burt’s voice was just as calm as it had been when he’d started. “Ethan, I will say just one thing. You had the perspective of a child. You couldn’t know everything, and I haven’t been able to defend myself. Frankly, I don’t want to. I can admit it. I was an *, and no matter what was going on, I had no right to touch your mother the way I did. Notice I have no women around here. I know myself. But that’s beside the point. Why are you here? What do you want? If you want your revenge, I suggest you get over it. Live your own goddamned life. Your mother has moved on and so have I. If you want some kind of relationship with me, we can try that too, but you’ll have to get over whatever shit you’re holding onto.”