Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself Book 1) (21 page)

Bingo slapped his shoulder with a hard palm, told him to break a leg, then turned and walked away to meet Bear, who was approaching their little group. Reaching out, Bingo clasped Bear’s upper arm in a tight grip, pulling him close. Benny couldn’t hear what words passed between the two men, but Bear’s look his direction was searching as he nodded sharply once. Bingo shook Bear, then pulled him close again for a moment; whatever he said this time caused a wave of grief to pass through the man. The sorrow a nearly physical thing you could watch move over his face, and he nodded again, more slowly.

Dropping his eyes immediately to the toes of his boots, Benny didn’t watch his friend finish walking his direction. Didn’t want to see whatever new look Bear wore like an ill-fitting skin. Simply tipped his head towards the stage, waiting. Waiting for Bear to deny him the opportunity to take those few steps up to the platform, waiting for this to be stripped away as a mistake. “Benny.” Bear’s voice was rough, hoarse with an emotion Benny couldn’t place, but didn’t dare look to see. “Son, look at me.” Benny let his head rock back and forth twice, trying to stall, still wanting to wait and find out what Bear intended for tonight.

“Son.” Benny lifted his head slightly, only until the headstock of Bear’s guitar came into focus. Seeing the wood, worn from years of constant playing in uncertain conditions. A used instrument, but still capable of bringing forth music beautiful enough to break your heart into pieces. Tatty and tired, but infused with a fierce strength through the artistry that created it, with durability enough to carry on for years more. Like Bear. Like Slate.
I hope like me
.

“I was wrong.”

Bear’s words caused Benny’s gaze to jerk up, eyes locking to his friend’s face, seeing sorrow and regret there, not the blame and disappointment he had expected. “Slate, man. He’s got the right of it. Came and talked to me last week. Told me what you’ve been doing. You and I, we know why you’re doing it, even if he doesn’t. But he knew other things. Asked me how in the hell I got to be the one to decide how many chances at redemption were enough. Asked me how did I know exactly when to pull the plug.” Bear reached out, wrapped an arm around Benny’s shoulders, tugged him to face the stage and pushed him up the steps. The hesitant sounds of his sneakers so different from the bold slaps of Bear’s leather boots. “I realized I don’t. Can’t. If people had given up on me…well, let’s just say I’m glad they didn’t.”

Benny’s mouth wasn’t working, but he thought,
That doesn’t make any sense, what would Bear have to forgive?

A shadow crossed the stage in front of Benny, and he looked up to see Mason putting a stool in front of a microphone, dragging it slightly to one side before he seemed happy with the placement. Bear was crowding behind Benny, forcing him forward one step at a time. Looking up, Mason stared at him, and Benny felt caught, pinned in place. As it had before, a weight began to gather on his chest, pushing hard against his lungs, keeping them from bringing in enough air, gluing his feet to the floor. Then one corner of Mason’s mouth tipped up, and he gestured towards the stool, saying in a low, gruff voice, “You’ve put the work in. Proud of you, son. This is your time, Benny. Your time to show us what you can be. Show us what you dream of, brother.”

Mason’s words hit him hard. If he was going to show anyone, he wanted his brother—

A slow clapping started near the front of the stage, and he turned to see Slate standing there with Ruby in the crook of one arm. She was grinning mischievously at Benny over the bands of muscles and ink surrounding her and he remembered her quiet faith in him, her adoption of him as a family she wanted…maybe even needed. A touch on his arm pulled his attention away, and he looked to see Chase standing there, shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Benny shifted to find Bear had taken a step back, flanking him on the other side.

Overwhelmed, he tipped his head down a moment, listening to the growing applause in the room, fear and relief warring for space in his chest. Throat tight, he swallowed hard, pulling in a breath that shuddered its way into his lungs, beating back the fear.
They’re here for me
.

Clearing his throat, he lifted his head to stare at Bear.
Go time
. In a barely audible whisper, he asked the familiar phrase, one they had used to start every practice session, back before he fucked it all up. “So, how do you see this going tonight?” He stayed fixed on Bear’s face, waiting for the response. Surprised when it came worded as it did.

“Your call, son.” Bear motioned to someone in the audience, and Benny saw Vic climbing the stairs, but he hadn’t seen a kit and wondered at the two guitars in his drummer’s hands. Benny was shocked to see Mitty walk onto the stage behind Vic, holding out his hand to take the five-string he preferred.

He came back from Michigan. For me. They’re all here for me
. With a grin, Benny said, “We’re gonna need a bigger stage, man.” Bear’s mouth stretched in a grin, then he strummed his guitar once, twice, urging Benny without words to get things moving. “Okay, let’s do a couple of OY songs we all know, then we’ll…wing it, yeah?” Twisting, he saw nods coming at him from every person on the stage so he moved to the stool, knowing it for the honor it was, placed there by the hands of the man his brother loved most in the world.
Just maybe, except me
, he thought, seeing Slate’s proud face watching him.
He loves me
.

Leaning forward, he put his mouth near the microphone and in what he desperately hoped was a low, steady voice, filled with the confidence of knowing he was finally—
God, finally
—surrounded by people who gave a shit about him, he asked the crowd, “Are you ready to hear some rock and roll?”

The answering whistles and shouts made him grin. Mouth to the microphone again, he said, “Sorry to disappoint, we only have folk songs on tap tonight.” Boos and hisses, good-natured catcalls sounded, and he grinned again, mouth still to the mic. “Bluegrass, I mean. We got bluegrass.”

Mason’s voice rang out in a loud and raucous shout. “Fuck
yeah
, love me some Kentucky down-home music.”
Crap, now I gotta remember what fucking bluegrass songs I know
.

“Well, that’s for later. Guess we’ll have to play some rock and roll after all. Y’all ready? Ready for some music right here and right now?” He settled himself on the stool with his heel propped on one rung, guitar balanced on his leg, other foot planted on the stage as he waited out the applause. “Here we go.” Without additional preamble, heel bumping against the stage floor, keeping time, he swung into the first song he could think of, “Born Into Trouble,” and as the men on stage with him found their places in the melody he looked straight at Slate, willing him to understand the meaning behind the lyrics were so different now. Promising himself he would tell his brother outright, make him understand.

Mouth working automatically, words flowing easily, singing a song he had performed so many times he had literally done it in his sleep, Benny’s heart skipped as he watched Mercedes make her way to the table he’d been trying to ignore, the woman seated there looking at him, watching him. Waiting for him to claim her. Lucia’s face swung to the side, her attention taken from the stage when Mercedes planted herself in the chair next to her.
Shit
.

Benny played onstage for nearly three hours without a break. There were moments where he spoke into the microphone, talking to the patrons around the bar, speaking to his friends and family. Mercedes kept him supplied with water, and along with the rest of the band, he found himself upending bottle after bottle, the lights taking a heavy toll on all the musicians. The other men had gradually collected stools and chairs, and they now sat in a rough half circle reminding Benny strongly of group, an intimate collection of people who shared a force in their lives that drove them to great lengths to feed their need. In this case, it was music and the joy they found while creating it.

After each run to the stage with an armful of bottled water, Mercedes retreated back to the table she seemed to be permanently sharing with Lucia. Moments after she replanted her ass in the seat, the two women leaned in close, having what looked like a lengthy heart-to-heart. Bonding over a sticky bar table listening to the oft-changing music led by a man who felt more broken bard than band front guy. But it was the role cast for him tonight, and he led his friends from song to song, even dredging up a bluegrassy tune Mason approved of, if his smile and bobbing head were any indications.

All night the music had held him together, and when he felt like he’d fall apart, Bear took over, nudging their playing to some of the songs he knew best, the angel playlist he’d shared with Benny. What Bear had first started out with. Playing and singing along with him was surreal, knowing the man had lost everything and then worked his ass off to find there was more to come. More in his future, waiting for him to be ready to claim it.
He never gave up
.

Benny’s eyes drifted back to Lucia, thinking about the claiming part of things. It wasn’t until this last trip to rehab that he’d spent much time talking about the things that happened with Benita. He’d opened up to Doc about all the shameful things he’d done at Benita’s urging, but if he were honest, and honesty was surely demanded when doing the kind of soul searching he’d been conducting, it hadn’t been hard to talk him into any of it. Doc argued strongly that all blame rested on Benita’s shoulders, but Benny knew differently.

At first, yes. Maybe. He’d been too young and vulnerable to reject anything she wanted, his need for acceptance so strong that even her brand of fucked-up felt good. But, even after the power in the relationship shifted, he scarcely refused her anything. Couldn’t find it in himself to turn down a blow job, or a wet dick and Benita liked it.
I liked it
. Collusion disguised as acquiescence.

Doc had explained how things had gotten tangled up in his head. Desire and drink. Booze and bustin’ his nut. Tied up together in a way that meant he didn’t have a good chance at ditching one without the other. Thank God, that was the one thing he seemed to have known instinctively, not been able to put a label on it before the doc talked him through, but knew in his gut. So, since arriving in Fort Wayne, all those months ago, he’d unconsciously abstained from sex.

He and Lucia had played around a little, and when the need reared up inside him, it scared the shit out of him. So even before going back to rehab this last time—
please God, let it be the last time
—he had kept things slow and low-key as much as he could, suffering her touches and teasing, giving her what he could. Knowing what she needed was more of the same. Tender caring, from someone who loved her.
Someone like me
.

“Hey, you in there?” Bear’s voice came from beside his ear and Benny jerked away, pulling his head around to find him standing close. “You’ve been staring at my Luce for a good ten minutes, strumming the same tune. We’re tired of playing that one, dude. Pick something and go with it.”

Nodding slowly, he let his hands rest on the strings, waiting as the others did the same, Vic using the moment to set his guitar aside and make his way off stage. Without giving himself time to think about what he was doing, Benny shifted his grip, readying for the first swing across the sound box.

Turning to look at Lucia, he found her eyes on him, and the steady, loving look took his breath away.
Even now, she cares
. A D-minor slipped to a C-major, then back again, and again, weaving through the sounds into the melody. Bringing Bear, then Chase in, setting their roles in the song, Mitty bleeding along the edge with them until they settled, then Benny swung off to the counter, holding and holding, then the bridge, holding a moment, then back around to the melody. They took one full tour through the music before he let himself lean into the microphone, every eye turned towards the stage as the spotlight focused on him.

“This is a song I wrote a few months ago. We’ve been working on it, polishing it up, waiting for the right time to let it shine. This feels good. Feels right. Full circle here tonight, playin’ in Marie’s with friends and family. I hope you like it.” He paused briefly, then, pulling all his courage together, said, “Luce,” his voice fell to a whisper as he finished, “this is for you, baby.” Bear’s indrawn breath was audible, but his hands never wavered on the strings as Luce’s lips parted, waiting. “I call it, ‘The Promise of Love.’” Then Benny, for the first time in his life, sang a song to a woman he loved. A woman he prayed knew every word had been written for her, meant for her, and she was meant for him

If you’d told me I’d see her once and be hooked,

I’d laugh at you.

If you’d told me her beauty would call to me in the night,

I’d laugh at you.

If you’d promised me a lifetime of beauty like hers,

I’d laugh at you.

Knowing nothing

Nothing is as sweet,

Nothing is as pure,

As the promise of love.

There’s a moment in time where your heart knows,

Mine beats for you.

Never making peace with the hollow left behind,

My heart weeps for you.

Finding you again grants my dream come true,

It’s always been you.

It’s you for me and me for you

Nothing is as sweet

Nothing is as pure

As a promise come true.

Be my promise, baby.

My promise of love.

True love come to me.

My promise come true.

Love me, like I love you.

Be my baby, be mine.

My baby.

Mine.
 

As the last notes trailed off into silence, the bar erupted in applause. Stomping boots, slapping hands, piercing fingers-in-the-mouth whistles—they gave him one of the loudest ovations he’d ever received. But most important was the woman who made her slow way towards the stage. Dark hair swinging around her shoulders, brown eyes only for him, he waited, and she came to him.
Mine
.