Page 5 of Drum Me Away
My dad and I sat side by side, each drinking a beer, and he told me about the first woman he’d ever loved, which, by the way, wasn’t my mom.
I hadn’t ever heard this story before.
“I was so crazy about her,” he said, “I followed her around like a goddamn puppy. Borderline stalked her.” He’d chuckled and added, “To be honest, by today’s standards, I was stalking her.”
And then he shook his head. “She didn’t even acknowledge my existence. Didn’t know I was alive, let alone willing to walk to the ends of the earth for her. Absolutely shattered me when I figured it out.”
Still staring out over the glassy surface of the lake, clearly lost in a bygone moment in time, he murmured:
“If there’s one piece of advice I can give you, son, it’s not to let a woman destroy you like that. I almost lost myself, lost sight of who I really was, because I was trying so hard to be what I thought she wanted. Hell, if I hadn’t met your mom when I did, I don’t know what I would have done. I do know that I sure as hell wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have you and your sister. Wouldn’t get to sleep with the love of my life every night. I wouldn’t be happy.”
The memory faded, just like that gorgeous night had, and I watched while Gabe continued to try to coax Faith, and she continued to hold her ground, and I swear I could practically see my dad nodding knowingly. “It’s exactly the same,” his voice whispered in my head. “This thing you have for Faith.”
Shit. I didn’t want to lose myself, although, honestly, sometimes I felt like I already had. Rocking out on stage was supposed to be my greatest dream, yet this playacting bullshit going on with Faith was a thick smog smothering my dream, ruining it for me.
I needed to get out.
“Set it up,” I said, interrupting another of Gabe’s attempts to keep us together. I pointed at him, the now-empty airplane bottle of whiskey dangling from my fingers. “Find Dahlia. Tell her to meet us at the house. We’ll take it from here.”
I strode out, unconcerned that I was leaving Faith behind. We’d driven over separately anyway.
* * *
Six weeks ago, I’d been sitting at the island in the kitchen of the house Faith and I shared, nursing a cup of coffee and scrolling through my socials, when Faith walked into the room, all dewy eyed and her hair tussled, wearing a pale pink camisole and booty shorts with dark pink hearts on them. I’d had this vision of her striding over and climbing into my lap, and we made love right there, her splayed out on her back on the island while I grasped her hips and pumped into her, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
Yeah, I was a fucking romantic, so what of it?
Except I wasn’t allowed to be romantic because it didn’t fit my image. And Faith, as far as I’d ever been able to tell, didn’t have a romantic bone in her body.
She’d smiled and yawned and waved from across the room, then strode straight to the coffeepot—I was always up first, which meant she hadn’t made her own morning coffee in years.
Not since Angel found out she was pregnant with her and Matt’s first kid and they decided this monstrosity of a house in LA was too small for their growing family. They’d sold it to us—yeah,us, because Dahlia said our fans would eat up the idea of Faith and me moving in together—for a song so they could move to Malibu, and I didn’t blame them one bit.
Their house in Malibu wasn’t a whole lot bigger than this one, to be honest, but it was right on the ocean, and that was really what the move was about, in my opinion. I grew up on the shores of Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri—yes, the one featured in that series calledOzark. So yeah, I got it. Living on the water was cathartic, comforting. Relaxing.
That morning, six weeks ago, Faith had added creamer to her cup, lifted it in salute, and then she’d walked out of the room, not even speaking let alone touching me. Not that any of that was unexpected, but every single morning I hoped…
And that particular morning, something inside me had broken. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand the idea of waking up the next day, waiting for Faith to become someone she wasn’t.
I strode straight upstairs to my bedroom, packed my shit, and climbed into my Lexus LC convertible. I’d texted Gabe that I was going off-grid for a while but would be back before the kickoff of the tour. He’d texted back that I’d better have told Faith where I was going so she wouldn’t worry.
Yeah, right.
I took off.
And ended up back home, at the house on the lake in southern Missouri, in the middle of the Ozarks.
I spent my days fishing and boating, my evenings drumming in this local band that probably could break out of playing small, backwoods bars and the local fair if they’d only get rid of their lead singer. But he was the brother of the guitarist, who started the band, so that wasn’t happening. Sucked for my best friend, who was their bassist, because he was really freaking good, and he deserved so much more.
On the rare occasion I went out in public, I wore my hair in a man bun and kept a baseball cap on my head and sunglasses on my face, and no one other than my buddy, my parents, and my sister even knew who I was.
It was exactly what I needed.
Except six weeks apparently wasn’t long enough for me to have gotten over whatever the hell I felt for Faith. And while that break had been great, I was right back to where I started: dreading every single morning when she’d get up and walk into that kitchen andnottell me she felt for me what I felt for her.
“How did you survive?” I asked abruptly into the silence that hung over the living room like a freaking boulder, ready to crush us at any moment.
We were back at the house, waiting on Dahlia. Faith had changed into a ribbed tank and those booty shorts she favored. It was more of her style from back in our college days, when the rocker girl had been all on the inside. Back then, she’d looked more like a cheerleader than the backup singer in a rock band.
