Bullet(93)

As I tried to appreciate the beauty before me, my mind wandered back to Ethan. I realized I had not only grown tired of the emotional gauntlet that Ethan had put me through, I was tired of the city. Part of me would always love her, love that she never slept and she brought great minds together, would always love that there were endless things to do, see, be, and explore, would always love the diversity and culture. But she was cruel too. There was no rest in a city, no peace, no quiet…and no mountains. I couldn’t see the Rockies from Brad’s porch, and I missed them. I missed them terribly.

My heart wasn’t here anymore. I yearned to be somewhere quiet, somewhere by nature. Yes, that desire was diametrically opposed to everything I had been over the last few years, surrounded by electric guitars, espresso, fast food, and screaming sex. I still loved the music, but I needed a haven. I needed someplace to hide. I wanted a farm out in the middle of nowhere where I could just garden and chase Chris around a willow tree. I missed home.

I giggled to myself, just picturing that thought in my head, of chasing Chris around a tree in the middle of nowhere, and I almost wanted to share it with someone. And that made me think of Ethan, the man I used to share those silly thoughts with, but that wasn’t the person I wanted to share with today. Truthfully, I knew I probably needed some time alone, some time to heal by myself.

I heard the door open and turned my head. Brad walked out, wearing a t-shirt and holding Chris in his arms. My son said, “Mama,” as Brad sat in the chair next to me. Suddenly, my thoughts grew light again and I smiled.

“How’d you sleep?”

I shrugged. I kept expecting Chris to hold out his arms, wanting me to take him, but he didn’t. That wasn’t a bad thing, but it was an odd behavior for my son. “What about you?”

“Probably about the same.”

“Did I wake you up?” I’d probably shut the door louder than I’d meant.

“No. Chris did. He might be hungry.”

“Yeah, probably.” I touched my son’s nose with the tip of my finger. “My little pumpkin.”

He grinned and touched his nose. “Pukkin.”

I started laughing. My son could make the darkest day seem brighter, but seeing him there on Brad’s lap was even better. Brad smiled at me, and I wondered if he felt the same way. “I can put some coffee on, or would you rather grab some breakfast somewhere?”

“I just want coffee right now. I hate to bug you, but do you have some cereal or something Chris could eat?”

“Can he do scrambled eggs and toast?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let Uncle Brad make some breakfast too.”

Without thought, I touched his arm, and the words rushed out before I could stop them. “Brad…thanks for everything. You’ve always been my best friend. I can always turn to you. Always. And…I’m sorry I always get you involved in the middle of all my bullshit.”

He chuckled. “Jesus. You have no idea.” Wow. Okay…so maybe I was even worse than I thought, and my facial expression gave that idea away. He shook his head. “Come on…I’ll explain over breakfast.”

As we stood, I noted that the sun was fully up, even though I still couldn’t actually see it, but it had risen and was lighting the city. Once we were indoors, Chris reached for me. “Oh…he needs a diaper change. Be right back.” The poor kid was soaked.

So I went back to the bedroom and took a diaper out of the bag, and even though I spoke sweet words to Chris, I wondered what Brad had meant. Whew. I knew there had been times he’d been involved in shit between Ethan and me just by virtue of the fact that he was in the band and he was a friend to us both, and I could think of a couple of times when he’d been directly involved, but I didn’t think it had been constant. I guess I’d been wrong, and I wanted to hear what he had to say.

Brad was scrambling eggs in a skillet when I walked in, and I set Chris on the floor to play with the toy I’d fetched out of the diaper bag. I gave my son a bottle of juice and then asked Brad, “Want me to make coffee?”

“Sure.”

So I busied myself with making it, wondering what Brad had to say. He turned back from the eggs. “I don’t have a high chair for the little guy.”

I tried to think of how to take care of the problem. “Maybe a stack of books or something to sit on?” But having Chris up that high without being secure made me nervous.

“If you don’t care if he’s standing, he could just eat in the living room, and we could put his food on the coffee table.”

I grinned. “Have you seen the way he eats?”

He shrugged and pulled the skillet off the burner. “Fuck it. You only live once, right? I own a vacuum.”

“Your house. If you’re sure.”

“Little guy’s gotta eat.” He pulled a saucer out of the cupboard. “You want any?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He pulled out a plate. “Suit yourself.” He scraped the eggs onto the big plate and the little saucer he’d gotten for Chris and then put two triangles of toast on Chris’s. “A spoon for the little guy?”

“Yeah, but he’ll probably just use his hands.” Brad smiled and took care of the silverware just as the coffee was finishing up. I asked, “Sugar and cream?”

He nodded, letting me know I remembered, so I poured two cups and found the creamer in the fridge and sugar by the coffee pot. While Brad was taking the food in the living room, I got our coffee just right. He came back in the kitchen. “Want me to get the coffee or Chris?”

I smiled. “If you don’t mind getting Chris…”

“Come on, buddy,” he said, bending over and scooping him up. Brad had thought ahead and spread out a bath towel under where Chris would be eating. Chris stood, leaning against the coffee table, and just as I’d suspected, picked up a scoop of eggs with his little hand and shoved it in his mouth. Brad and I sat on the couch next to each other, and if it hadn’t been such a tense moment, I might have enjoyed how otherwise natural just hanging with Brad and my son felt.

Brad looked at the plate of food he’d made for himself and touched the fork, but he left it on the coffee table. “I don’t know why I made any for me. I’m not that hungry.” He looked at me. “Sure you don’t want any?”

I nodded and took a sip of my coffee. “I’m sure.” I wouldn’t have an appetite until I heard what Brad had to say. “So what were you going to say about being in the middle of my crap?”

He smiled and shook his head. “It’s not what you think.” The light was streaming in through the crack in the curtains, highlighting that there were no telltale signs in the universe of anything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. I could have almost believed that this moment was years earlier when we were young, optimistic, and carefree. He took a swig of coffee and set his cup down out of Chris’s reach. “I went to your place last night.”

I swallowed. It took me a few seconds to register what he’d said. “You what?”

He sighed. “Yeah, Val. You’re not the only one having Ethan problems. And…what he did to you yesterday. That’s it.” I narrowed my eyes but said nothing. “We’re supposed to be rehearsing three days a week, and we’re lucky if he comes to one. And when he bothers, he’s argumentative and asinine. Nick, Zane, and I have been considering kicking his ass out, even though he was a founding member.” He took a deep breath and looked at his hands. “He’s a wrecking ball. He doesn’t create; he destroys. He tells us our new material sucks, but he won’t do anything to help. And know what? He couldn’t, because it’s the most perfect stuff we’ve ever written. But he wasn’t involved in it, and that’s why he hates it.”

“That’s his fault for not being there.” Just like with me. He was never there anymore.

“Damn right. But he doesn’t see if that way, and until he does, he’ll never change.” He grabbed his coffee and tried to look at me but was struggling with it. “I was lying here on the couch last night, and I was pissed. Pissed about what he did to you, even though you haven’t told me exactly what happened. Pissed that he doesn’t give a shit about his friends, his band, his kid. Nothing. He’s so goddamned self-absorbed. When we were kids, you know, that was fine, but Ethan never grew out of it. I’d stood by and never said a word, but I’m done.

“So…I just told him he has a week to get his shit together or he’s out.”

I nodded. “That’s fair.”

“I don’t want you worrying about income, Val. You’re still writing most of our lyrics. You’re in the loop. We’ll take care of you.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“I know. But…” I held my breath. I was worried about what he was going to say next. “I also beat the shit out of him, Val.” He hung his head, resting his forehead on his fist. “I’m sorry. I just…am so angry.”