Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“I pay people an enormous amount of money to take care of her,” I say.
“Mom! How could you say that? You know Christie’s illness has nothing to do with Rhys.”
Gia looks at me, her eyes filled with tears, and there it is. Pity. I can take anything but having my girl look at me like that. My head is heavy, as if my neck can barely hold it up. Look how he takes care of his own mother…
“Rhys?” I walk past Gia, who tries to grab my arm. I need to get away or I will say something we all will regret.
“Rhys, I’m coming with you.” She lets go to get her purse. I turn to tell her to stay but her pain makes me stare, as fat tears spill down her cheeks. I catch one and take in her beautiful face.
Pain and tears.
Why do you make all the girls cry?
“I need some air.” She nods but digs her nails into my arm as I try to leave.
“You’re okay, right?” She’s borderline hysterical as her mom stands there and drinks.
“I’m fine. You stay and work this out with your mom. I have things I need to do.” I hadn’t planned this, but we can’t escape who we are.
“Not without me.” She shakes her head, panic in her eyes. “You need me,” she croaks.
“Let him go, Gia.” Janet’s voice makes me grit my teeth.
His own mother.
“I need to be alone, Gia.” I remove her hand. This time she doesn’t try to grab me again as I throw the door open.
She screams at her mother. I tune it out, letting it be my background music, angry and alive.
The sun is going down. Reaching into my pocket for a cigarette, I notice our black SUV and the driver sitting a couple of houses down. He waves. I light up and inhale.
Music fills my head; the tempo is set as verses write themselves.
Why do you make all the girls cry?
Nuke’s drums will take over, angry and powerful.
Ammo will make his guitar scream.
I bring out my phone and start to type as I sit on my grandfather’s porch. Like magic, the words appear:
Drops on the tile. Tears of red. Not good enough, that’s all she said.
All she said.
Take that muscle from my chest. You had it in your hand. In the year of the snake, you pounded it like dough.
Drops on the tile. Tears of red. Not good enough, that’s all she said.
My fingers can barely keep up.
An hour, maybe a minute, has gone by as I let myself purge. I reach for my cigarette, but it’s burned out along with the sun.
A car drives by, its headlights making me stand. It’s Christmas and I’m coming to see her, with nothing but a pack of cigarettes and my phone. I take a breath and knock on the door.
RHYS
Past – Twenty-seven years old
Burbank, California
I roll my neck and it cracks as I wait. The camera that hangs in the top right corner blinks red as the door opens. A woman in blue scrubs looks confused, her mouth hanging open.
“Mr. Granger, I… no one told me you were coming.” Her hand goes to her hair, which is pulled up into a knot on top of her head. It seems to be all the rage with women lately.
“I’m sorry. It was spur of the moment.” She nods, then steps aside as I walk in. My eyes scan the room. The large flatscreen I bought her is on the wall. The house is almost unrecognizable.
Jesus, it really has been years since I’ve been back here.
“Call me Granger.” I’m not sure I even said that out loud as my eyes sweep the large room.
It’s spotless. The walls are painted a pale green, almost celery color. Black-and-white photos of me and my old band, the Dicks, hang on the walls. On a separate wall hangs my first platinum record: TSM.
I vaguely remember having one of Rafe’s assistants deliver it to my mom for her birthday. Or maybe it was Mother’s Day. The hardwood floors are new. That was one of the first things I insisted on when she refused to move. I agreed but had the carpet removed and added a new kitchen, along with the two bathrooms. I would have done more, but apparently the more I changed, the more it upset and caused anxiety for my mom.
I stopped the construction after she disappeared for four days. They finally found her in Las Vegas, in some sty of a hotel, fucked up on heroin and cocaine.
“I’m Lisa.” She smiles, looking at me like I walk on water.
“She in her room?” I don’t know why I ask. I know the answer, can feel her depression, her fucking agonizing mental pain from here. And just like that, I have to grab the back of a chair as I hear my grandfather’s voice.