Page 8 of Echoes of a Muted Song

“Now that is one choice that I can get behind,” Mr. Sousa said. “Just be careful not to do anything that could be construed as blaming the victims or vilifying their family members in any way, no matter how many harsh words you might have for Mrs. Doolings. Remember that she’s a woman grieving the deaths of her daughter and son-in-law and has just been left with their children’sbest interests to look after.”

“Well then it’s a good thing she can’t sue me for shit, not even future royalties at this point, because I won’t have any coming in.”

“Yes, I had noticed that rather intriguing clause in your contract when they initially voiced their intent to file for damages. It’s rather clever, and fortunately for you, iron clad.”

“It better be, we paid enough in legal fees to ensure things were set up to protect the band as a collective,” I explained.

“Yes, well her lawyer was most displeased to learn that should you be found guilty, the very nature of the accusation means that you contributed to your own inability to continue to perform with the band and thus forfeit all future earnings.”

“Precisely,” I replied. “Not only does it protect my bandmates, but it keeps people like her from trying to double up. You don’t get to put me behind bars and try to weasel money out of me. It’s bullshit that the legal system lets people get away with that. They’ve got all kinds of crap about how you can’t be tried twice for the same crime. Well, if that’s really true, then you should not be able to pursue someone in both criminal and claims court, it isn’t fair. So we insured that we could never be taken advantage of that way, at least not through our music.”

“Well, you have managed to do that part well enough,” Mr. Sousa said. “Perhaps speaking withthe media will encourage the party in the green van to step forward, though I fully understand why you have been reluctant to do so before now.”

“Yeah, it’s a whole other damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation waiting to happen,” I explained. “And I’m not about to be blackmailed by someone wanting cash just to get them to do the right thing. People always wanna talk about morals, but they never wanna admit that what’s convenient and easy play as big a part in why people do the things they do as an honest desire to do the right thing. A part of me feels like whoever it is has just been waiting for me to wave some money around before coming forward, and it’s not happening. The only way I’d ever consider promising anyone anything is if the cops were willing to be there at the meeting and prosecute them for-for, what the hell is it when you get in the way of the truth coming out?”

“Obstruction.”

“Yeah. That. Because it’s fuckin’ bullshit that I should have to offer anyone anything to tell the truth.”

“I hear you,” Mr. Sousa said. “People love to take cracks at lawyers and call us sharks, but the average person is more devious than any lawyer I’ve ever known. Yours wouldn’t be the first case I’d seen where no one stepped forward to clear their conscience until someone offeredto pay them something. Then folks have the gall to wonder why countries enact stances against negotiating with terrorists. It’s because once you give in to one person, the whole world thinks they can take advantage of you. I will keep you apprised of anymore changes should something else crop up.”

“I’d prefer no more cropping, thank you very much.”

“You and me, both.”

He ended the call then, as I flopped face down on the bed and screamed into one pillow while beating my phone against another one. Yes, I probably looked like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum when Draven stepped back into the room, especially once I’d started kicking my feet and snarling every curse word I’d ever learned into that thick, furry, noise-canceling mass of memory foam. The touch of his hand on my shoulder was jarring as the whirling thoughts in my head froze in mid-air before crashing to the ground. I could hear him trying to speak, and while the words were impossible to make out, despite his straining, just hearing the low murmuring tones was enough to ground me and remind me that I wasn’t alone and really needed to pull it together before I ruined our vacation with my bullshit.

When he took his hand away, I nearly lost my shit again, only I knew what he was doing and waited for the words I both needed and loathed.

“Come on, Johnny, talk to me, what happened? Are the guys okay?”

Oh shit, I’d never even considered that would be the first place his mind would go, though after his pyro incident and Jagger getting electrocuted, I should have. Look at me, getting all wrapped up in my own bullshit and forgetting what he’d been through. Seeing me freaking the fuck out, what else was he supposed to think when everything had been fine and flirty when he’d seen me last?

“Y-yeah, they’re fine, everything’s good, just shit with my case is all and no, I do not want to talk about it or anything going on with it until after we’ve had all the fun we possibly can here in Palm Springs. It might be the last vacation I have for the foreseeable future and I’m not gonna let them ruin that for me the way they’re trying to ruin my life!”

“Breathe.”

The word was a growled whisper in my ear as his hot breath ghosted over my shoulder, raising goosebumps as he attempted to smooth out the mess I’d made of my hair. He said nothing more until he’d fixed it to his satisfaction and tugged me around to face him on the bed. When I opened my mouth to tell him that I was breathing, dammit, he smooshed my cheeks together until the only sounds that spilled from my lips were unintelligible. Then he smiled, kissed my nose, and gave a little tug on the shorthairs of my undercut. It was enough to get me to take the first full, deep breath I’d managed since I’d gotten Mr. Sousa on the phone. The room was wonderfully cold and a welcome contrast to the heat of the hot tub, which had started cooking me a little. That cool air filling my lungs helped me relax a bit further, while the second inhale brought a whiff of something delicious. My rumbling stomach chose that moment to give its loudest growl yet, and finally, I could smile again, even if it was forced.

I was Johnny Fuckin’ Amaral, goddammit. No matter what else happened, no matter what they did to me, I’d still be the man my aunt and uncle raised me to be. People refusing to believe me didn’t change the truth.

When he inclined his head in the direction of the table in the corner of the room, I scurried from the bed to grab a seat, waiting to see what he’d brought us, though I could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t happy about letting it drop. If only I could explain to him the gift he was giving me by honoring my wishes. Maybe one day I’d package my appreciation and present it as a song, so the whole world would know just how much he meant to me. How much he’d always mean, even if thousands of miles, and iron bars, were keeping us apart.

Chapter 6

(Draven)

“I am not going to stand beneath Marilyn’s skirt so you can take a picture of me looking at her panties!”

I’d made sure my text to speech device was on its loudest setting when I’d hit play, so I knew Johnny heard me, not that it made any difference to him or Jagger, who was on the other end of that phone call.

“You gotta do it,” Jagger said, the rest of my traitorous bandmates chiming in behind him. “For the website, we haven’t had anything new to put up since the neon church at Rocktoberfest.”

Growling, I started typing as fast as I could, while Jagger filled Johnny in on the haunted cave tour they’d been on earlier that afternoon.

“See, there you go right there, pictures,” I said.

“We forgot to take any,” Keegan remarked over Jagger’s shoulder, the hint of a blush creeping over his nose. “We were, uhhh,preoccupied.”

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