For the Love of a Lush (Lush No. 2) (29 page)

"She did not," Colin mumbles with a pout.

"And young Colin starts stammering around like a middle schooler with a girl he’s got a crush on. Turns out, Colin and Marsha already knew each other."

"No shit?" I’m completely intrigued now. "How the hell is that possible?"

"We went to high school together back in Oklahoma," Colin tells us.

"Did you know she lived here?" Joss asks.

"Hell no," Colin bites out.

I’m getting the impression that they more than just “knew” each other in high school.

"So before you came to Portland senior year? Isn’t she older than us?" I ask.

"Yeah, just a year. I was a junior and she was a senior. It’s no big deal, man, and it’s definitely not the reason I want to do the tour. I just thought it’d be cool to get out there on the road again. Some days I miss it, you know?"

We all understand what he’s saying, and before long, we’ve started playing "remember when." For a group of guys who’ve spent the majority of their lives together, it’s a game that can go on for a long time.

After an hour, Mike and I have to admit that it’s time to go to work. Joss is heading to the airport to go home to Mel, and Colin is going to move his stuff over to the boarding house since it looks like he’s staying for the time being. He’ll take the other bedroom in the basement. Poor Mrs. S. will rue the day she let any of the Lush crew rent her rooms.

Mike and Colin hop in Mike’s truck to head back to the ranch, and I walk with Joss to his rental car.

"So I guess the next time I see you might be when you’re getting hitched, huh?" I ask as I scuff at the pavement with the toe of my boot. This is awkwardness supreme. It’s still hard to be alone with Joss, but at the same time, I’m cut up that he’s leaving.

"I meant it when I said I’d like to come out this summer, catch one of your shows. The wedding’s not until September, so let’s get together before then?"

I nod. "Okay. That sounds good."

Joss stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks around for a moment. "There’re a couple of other things before I go."

"Okay…" I’m immediately on alert.

"The wedding. Well, if I were a chick and had been planning my wedding for years, I’d have planned it with you as best man. But I don’t want to put you on the spot with a request like that, and something we haven’t had a chance to get to is that I’ve been back in touch with my dad."

I’m shocked. Joss’s dad had left even before I met Joss. He almost never talked about him and barely remembered him. I know the dude showed up when we were on tour last summer in Denver, but Joss said that he’d sent him on his way. Figured he was only after money or something.

"No shit? Your old man? Is that a good idea?" I can’t help it. I still care about him. I don’t want to see him get used by some dick who only ever donated DNA to him.

"Yeah. It’s all been good. Really good. He’s never once asked me for money, and I stayed with him in Denver for a few months this winter before I went back to Portland to see Mel. We’ve worked on some shit. I’ve worked on some shit. He’s a good guy. He’s been there for me now—even if he wasn’t when I was a kid. I think he’s a better friend than he is a father."

I nod, indicating that I see what he’s saying.

"He’s going to be my best man, and he’s really excited about it. But you’re the best man in my heart, Walsh. You always will be, and I’d be honored if you and Colin would be groomsmen. And I’m hoping Mike will play all of our music. I don’t think I could trust anyone else but him to do it."

I feel something inside me break free, come loose. Something that feels like it’s been tethering me for months, not securing me, but holding me back. Keeping me down. I feel that release, and for just a moment, I relish it, realizing how much weight I’m under day in and day out.

I smile at him, feeling like a dumb-ass girl because I’m so mushy inside. "I’d like that. I’d really like that. Even if I do have to wear a fucking suit."

His face lights up. "That’s great. Goddamn, Mel is going to be so fucking happy. Thanks, dude. You just made my whole summer."

"Tell Mel no pink bow ties and crap. In fact, I think I should demand veto power over the groomsmen clothes. I want that as a rider in my contract."

He laughs. "All right. I’ll relay your stipulations to the other party."

"And the second thing?" I ask. "You said there were a
couple
of other things."

He scratches his head and looks uncomfortable. "Yeah, maybe I should just forget about the second thing. I’m probably not the dude to talk about it with you, all things considered."

I know immediately what it must be about. "Tammy," I say flatly.

"No, really. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—"

"But you did already, so just go for it. What have you got to lose?"

He looks at me with that serious mature-Joss look that he gets. It still reminds me of the little boy on the playground all those years ago.

"You," he says quietly. "I’ve got you to lose—again."

I swallow, emotion taking a stranglehold on my vocal chords for a moment. "It’s okay, man. Really. Somehow I don’t think that’s on the agenda."

He takes a deep breath and charges on in. "Mel told me about Tam deciding it’s really over. That she intends to make the break permanent."

I sigh and lean back against his rental car, my hands in my front pockets, that feeling of nausea coming over me again.

"I just…" He scratches his head more, visibly searching for the right words. "I know you love each other. And I know you’re right for each other. The same way I know Mel and I are. Life screws with us, and circumstances pull on us, and the road can be really fucking rocky, but I know love when I see it. She’s yours, Walsh, and you’re hers. Always have been, since day one. Just…think long and hard before you let her make this choice. Go after her. Fight for her. Fight for yourself, ‘cause I’m not sure you’re Walsh without Tammy."

"Jesus, you sound like a fucking Hallmark commercial, man."

"Yeah, I know." He grins then. "I better hit the road before I say something that makes me a girl in your eyes forever. But I’ll be in touch. About the show this summer, yeah?"

"Yeah. It sounds like a plan. Thanks. For the pep talk. And the wedding invite. It means a lot."

We shake hands, and then he’s on his way. I stand in the parking lot of the diner and watch his taillights disappear into the distance.

T
EN DAYS
after Joss leaves, I come home from work to find a special delivery waiting for me at Mrs. Stallworth’s. I pull it from the plain brown envelope and see letterhead from the offices of Lush’s attorneys. I read through the document that places investments and cash equaling seventeen million dollars into my name. Once I dig through the legalese, I discover that the seventeen million was originally fifteen million, but when Tammy got the cash, she put it in the markets and increased it by a couple of million over the last eight months. That’s my girl.

The package also contains a quitclaim deed to the Portland mansion, and it makes my stomach churn. I don’t want that fucking house. I want her to have it. Why the hell she can’t just keep it is beyond me. How often do you get offered a free house for Christ’s sake? The irritation causes that aching spot in the center of my chest to throb, and I briefly wonder if that nagging pain will be there for the rest of my life.

I throw the papers down on my dresser and go have a session on my drums to try to dispel the anger. I’m banging away like a man possessed when Colin comes in. He doesn’t say a word, just picks up his bass, plugs in, and starts thrumming along with me. Before we know it, we’ve been at it for nearly two hours and we’re both covered in sweat but smiling too.

I grab a couple of bottles of water out of the mini fridge Mrs. S. put down here and toss one to Colin.

"You going to tell me what got you hitting the skins so hard?" he asks as he chugs half the bottle in one go.

"You going to tell me why you quit getting high?" I answer, finally broaching the subject no one’s had the guts to touch.

"Don’t beat around the bush, dude," he answers tersely.

"Hey, this is your alcoholic friend asking why you don’t smoke weed every day anymore. It’s sort of a subject I’m well-versed in."

He sighs and takes the last swallow of water before he launches the bottle at the trash can across the room. "I just woke up one day and I couldn’t."

"Couldn’t what?"

"Couldn’t get high."

"What do you mean you couldn’t?"

"Just what I said. I woke up, reached for my pipe, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There wasn’t any big epiphany. I hadn’t been thinking about quitting. Nothing. I just couldn’t force myself to light up, and it’s been that way every day since then. I can’t do it. I don’t know why. I figure the universe will show me why eventually, and until then, I just won’t be getting high."

"Well, your lungs thank you, anyway. I have to say that’s a pretty strange story though. Freud would have had a field day with that one."

"No shit," he grouses.

"You know how lucky you are?" I ask. "I mean, I go to meetings almost daily, talk to my sponsor, write in a journal, practice my drums, and work like a fucking dog all day six days a week and I still want to drink. All the fucking time, man. You know what I’d give to just wake up one day and have that go away?"

"Probably the same thing you’d give to wake up one morning and not want Tammy anymore?"

"Fuck you, Colin." I snap.

"No, fuck you, dude," he shoots back. I’m wondering where the hell this came from. "You want to dig around in my crap, but no one’s allowed to look at yours?"

"It’s not the same thing," I mumble.

Colin snorts and just sits there looking at me.

Until I break.

"Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Why you’re not back in Portland fixing things?"

"There’s nothing to fix. She got sick of my crap and left. I don’t blame her. I’m sick of my crap too."

"And that’s it?"

"Yeah, man. That’s it. She’s done, and I let her go."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?"

"Why’d you let her go, asshole? I know you love her, and I know you’d rather be with her than anywhere else, so why’d you stand by and watch her walk?"

I pick at the label on my water bottle. Colin has the ability to reduce things to their most basic form. It’s a simple question, but I don’t have an answer.

"I don’t know."

"You need to figure that out, Walsh. Before it’s too late," he says softly.

"Yeah, I think you’re right."

Tammy

I
T’S BEEN
two weeks since I left Texas. My days have been filled with packing and planning, my nights with longing and yearning, and my mornings… Well, my mornings have been spent vomiting in the master bathroom of the enormous house Walsh gave me. Today is day eleven of losing what little breakfast I’ve tried to eat. It’s time to admit that I might have a serious problem on my hands.

I finally finish the dry heaving that’s left after the remains of the breakfast and stand up. I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a tangled mess, I have circles under my eyes, and my skin is a little green. It’s not a good look I’ve got going on, but it pretty much sums up my state of being at the moment. However, I’m still a woman of action, so I brush my teeth, splash some water on my face, and shuffle to the bedroom to get dressed. I keep moving, one foot in front of the other. I keep doing, one task after the other. I keep ahead of all of it because that’s who I am, Tammy DiLorenzo, and with or without Walsh Clark, that’s who I’m going to stay. But I was right. He’s inside of me—just like DNA.

Forty-five minutes later, I’m back home with the test. A little plastic stick that will confirm what I already know deep in my heart. I pee on that chunk of plastic and wait. Ten minutes and three sticks later, I slide down the wall of the bathroom and sit on the cold tile floor. Head in my hands, I finally break down and just sob. My stomach is roiling, my heart hurts like it’s been beaten on with a bat, and now my eyes are swollen and burning. And I thought 2013 was a bad year.