No Going Back (6 page)

I head to work bright and early. Work seriously blows these days. The customers piss me off and it takes every fiber of strength not to yell at these people to shove their phone up their ass and then call me back and tell me how it felt. I’ve been here for too damn long now to go and screw up the best job I’ve ever had. The world’s economy nowadays is a complete joke as is. I’d never be able to find another job with the pay I make and the benefits I receive. This is the one place I have learned to tame my tongue — to suck it up and sound fake as shit. The training has actually come in handy a few times recently. So for that, thank you lame ass customer service job.

The nice customers actually make my job worth it. The ones who truly appreciate your help, so very different from the ones who get pissed off and yell at you because they can’t afford their fucking car payment.
Hey dude! I could have told ya that you couldn’t afford an Escalade when you’re living off food stamps!

Dumbass.

There are seriously people like that in the world. They screw the system over repeatedly so they can keep up with their outer image. It’s like, ‘Hell yeah I’m trailer trash, but you can be damn sure my ride will be pimp’ — 20 inch rims included.
Rollin’ on dubs
. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not knocking people who live in trailers by any means. Hell, I grew up in one, but the car we drove around represented it. We had a normal family car. Not brand new and out of our price range, but an average, affordable car. It’s the people who’d rather pay more for a car than living arrangements that get me. Are you going to have your friends come over and hang out in your car since your home is shitty in comparison? I personally have never understood it. But I guess that can be the same way with how people present themselves to the world as well. On the outside I’m a shiny pair of twenty inch rims. But on the inside I’m nothing more than a rusty, scratched to shit, pair of factory wheels. I plan on changing that though.

My manager Megan stops by my station as I’m packing my things up. “So, I hear it’s a girl. Congratulations Mallory! I’m so happy for you.” She bends down to hug me.

“Thanks girl. I’m about to go buy my lil princess a whole new wardrobe as we speak. It’s much more fun to buy cute baby clothes than fat ass maternity looking ones.” I shudder at the thought that I’m about to have to put all my old clothes to the side for the rest of this pregnancy. They’re starting to get a bit snug.

“Oh girl please, you are anything but fat. Hell, I look more pregnant than you do. I’m surprised you even have a baby growing down there. I’m sure it’ll hit you all at once!”

I roll my eyes. “Geez thanks. Exactly what I wanted to hear. Well, I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

As I make my way out, I notice a sign posted on the elevator doors. Great, this can’t be good. Just as I expected it says
Closed due to Maintenance
. Good to know they do actually maintain the ancient deathtrap. The dreaded stairs it is. It takes me a couple go rounds before I finally find the door for the stairs. I’m not sure I’ve ever had to use them since working here the past two years. I really hope they maintain the elevators more than once every two years. I push open the heavy metal door that has one square window in it that I’m too short to reach. It doesn’t shut as quickly as a heavy metal door should, so I turn around to see if something stopped it. More like who kept the door from shutting right away. Surely I’m imagining this.

“You. What the fuck are you doing here?” I cannot control the hate that’s coursing through my veins. The kind of hate that you feel when your actions will most definitely be worth spending the rest of your life in prison for.

“You don’t look so happy to see me, Mallory.”

Chapter Eight

*SETH*

I actually rushed to the airport as soon as the truth that tiny picture held hit me full force. Derek had hopped in and rode with me. I guess he knew I’d need some sense talked into me and he’d be the man for the job. Jesika had informed him over the phone that Mallory’s flight had already taken off by the time we arrived. I instantly ran to the first travel agent I could find, fully intending to buy the next damn plane ticket back home. I was going to chase down the woman I loved. I had questions and she had the answers. Plus, with all the other bullshit that had just been revealed, I was desperately seeking an escape. But before I could book it out of Sin City, my sensible brother reminded me of my band mates that were counting on me. We had a chance to land a recording deal, and Derek was right; I couldn’t be the one responsible for ruining that for them or me — hell, this is my dream too. I agreed that I would stay here and finish out the next few weeks of this part of the tour and then go home and confront Mallory when we have a break for a few days.

I’m not a flower sending kind of man, but for some damn reason I feel that Mallory deserves some roses, and I’m going to be the one to send her some. I also want her to know that I plan on talking to her when I go back home. Whenever the hell that might really be. I had tried calling her later on that night after she had left, wanting to make sure she made it home. I knew she wouldn’t answer, but what I didn’t expect was some dude answering. It was quite interesting. I was instantly on high alert and defensive as if I had a reason to be. Turns out Todd was just the lucky new owner of Mallory’s old number. Good to know she now has a new one.

It’s now two days later and I’m finally able to fully absorb what all took place. I fucking hate daddy dearest, but I’ve also got this sour taste in my mouth where my mother is concerned. I think a much needed call is due and some fucking questions need to be answered.

It rings and rings until the voicemail picks up. Go fucking figure. She must already know about what took place the other day. I wouldn’t put it past the woman to avoid me like the damn plague. Normally I’d just hang up, but I think this time I’ll leave her a pleasant voicemail.

“Hey mom. I take it you’re already aware that I know who my daddy is now. It’s finally all out in the open. Heaven fucking forbid you ever tell me yourself. Guess you’re all about keeping important fucking secrets from people, huh? Well, here’s a not so important secret for you to hold on to; don’t fucking ever call me again! I have nothing else to say to you. Thanks a lot.”

I know that was no way to honor my mother, but how in the hell am I supposed to treat that woman with any sort of respect when my whole fucking life has been a lie? I respect her working her ass off to raise us, but dammit, she could have been at least honest with me. I throw my phone and watch it as it slams against the wall and quickly lands in broken pieces. I hate admitting that more than being pissed I’m fucking hurt. No one will ever know that though because I’m too proud to admit that shit. I can barely admit it to myself let alone others.

Not having fucking Allison around allows me to dive into my music even more. All the drama is also plenty fuel for tons of song ideas that are constantly playing themselves in my head. Our bassist, Connor, has really stepped up to being a part of the creative process. I also have Derek dropping some beats to the songs I’m coming up with. We send back what we come up with on each end digitally. It’s working out quite well, even though I’d rather have my brother here with me and to really be a part of this with me. But I get it; he’s the family man now. I think I could be the family man type…just a bit altered.

“Hey man, whatcha workin’ on?” Connor asks as he plops down beside me while we travel to our next destination.

“It’s a song idea that’s been playing in my head the last few nights. I can’t seem to fucking shake it, so I sent Derek the idea for it to see what he thought.” Usually how the process works around here is I’ll record the acoustic with lyrics and send it to Derek. He then comes up with his own beat to it and sends it back to me mixed with what I sent him so we can get the full effect, and then Connor starts in on his bass… and then Voila! We have a new song. It’s actually fucking cool that it even works, but I promised Derek he could still be a part of this journey in his own way, and this is the only way — for now.

“That sounds fucking bad ass man!” He gets up and walks to where his bass is sitting and comes back and tells me to start it back from the beginning. I also grab my guitar and see what we can come up with. We’re playing in Seattle tonight, which is fucking epic because so many iconic bands are from there. I can’t wait to explore before our show tonight and take it all in. That’s another thing I love about being on tour. It isn’t just playing music for me; it’s seeing places I wouldn’t get to see otherwise. I had never been out of Oklahoma until we went on our first tour. It’s awesome to experience it all, but it’s also important to have a place to call home. A place you know you can always go back to no matter what. It’s like your own personal safety net. I can’t wait to go back home. Only because I can’t wait to see Mallory. I have this crazy urge to feel her stomach. I want to experience the whole baby kicking thing. I’m almost turning into a fucking chick with how excited I’m actually getting about being a dad. I don’t tell anyone since I don’t really know what to expect once I do confront Mallory about it.

We have ten minutes until it’s show time. The venue we are playing tonight is balls-to-the-wall packed. The set up and atmosphere here reminds me of Cain’s Ballroom back home. The crowd fucking goes crazy as soon as we hit the stage.

“What the fuck is up Seattle?” I yell into the microphone. It only intensifies the screams, mainly from groupie chicks. “We’re The Rifters from Tulsa, Oklahoma and we hope you’re ready to rock your asses off.” And with that Wesley, the drummer we hired to go on tour with us, starts pounding on his bass drum, followed by Trent on his electric guitar. Connor blends in shortly after and I wait my turn knowing that for the next hour nothing matters. Being on stage is truly an out-of-body experience. One that I crave as if it were a drug. It’s my own personal drug and I’m highly addicted to the high it gives me.

After the show we hit the streets of downtown Seattle…having a destination to nowhere particular. Well, as long as there is alcohol then it’s up for consideration. We do have a few stragglers who volunteered on their own to accompany us for the night. I’m not all about having the bitches hanging all over me, so for the most part I push them on the other band mates. Now later, after I’ve been drinking — a lot, it will be a different story then. I’m usually more than okay for a distraction in the pussy department as long as I don’t have to be fully conscious. Meaning all emotions and thoughts are shut off and the only feeling I have is my dick. We’re good to go for action then…and only then.

Well, that’s how I would typically be. Before Allison came around, and if I wasn’t looking forward to running back to Mallory. I’m not sure where things stand with us, but if I want to attempt anything I’m not going fucking man whore around wishing it was her. That only happens after I know I can’t have her. If that’s what it ends up coming down to, then and only then, will I revert back to my womanizing ways…as if they would actually complain. It’s not like they aren’t out there manizing. That should really be a word. I don’t see what the difference is besides gender.

“Hey Wesley!” I yell.

“Yeah man, what’s up?” He turns around to face me, but walks backwards.

“Betsy over here is looking for some company.”

“It’s Becky,” the heifer squeals.

“Yeah, whatever sweet cheeks.” I wave her off. “Becky over here would like you to keep her company. What do you say?” I plead with him to relieve me from this chick who can’t fucking take the hint.

“Sure thing boss! I’d love to keep her company.” He stops and waits for us to catch up to where he is before putting his moves on the broad by wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “So, where you from sexy?” he asks her and she giggles. I roll my eyes at his lame ass Casanova skills. I hear her say Alabama before I tune her out completely.

Chapter Nine

*MALLORY*

I wake up feeling empty...and alone. There is no one in the hospital room when I'm finally able to open my eyes. I scan my surroundings trying to remember why I'm even here.

Nothing.

I can't remember shit. I can't shake the feeling of emptiness as I place my hand over my stomach. It feels wrong; it feels void as if a part of me is missing. I don't have to know the details of why I'm lying in this cold room with machines monitoring me to figure out the meaning behind this feeling I can't seem to shake. I guess that's what some might call a mothers intuition. Seriously doubt I qualify to be able to use that statement now. You kind of have to be a mother, right?

I can no longer hold back the tears from cascading down my face. Jesika wastes no time being right by my side as soon as she sees that I'm awake. She's hunches over the bed in an instant, pulling my head to her chest. Besides her joining me in my tear fest, she doesn't speak. She knows more than anyone that words only go so far, and they don't help you move on. Everyone deals with pain and loss in their own way; Jesika and I seem to handle it very similarly. We don't like to talk about it or dwell on it; we'd rather just hold it all in and let out the pain in privacy. Maybe we’re copping out by dealing with it that way. But as long as you're able to keep moving forward, that's all that should matter, right?

“What happened Jes? Why am I here? Well, besides the obvious,” I say as I look down towards my now hollow feeling womb.

“You don’t remember what happened?” she asks as she wipes the last stray tears from her face. “We were hoping you’d be able to tell us. No one knows. One of your coworkers found you at the bottom of the stairs and you were unconscious. They think you might have been pushed.” She shakes her head. “The doctor said with your concussion that it was very likely that you could have temporary memory loss.” I know she must have been scared being on the receiving end of that call. Jesika is the one person I consider family so she is my emergency contact. It’s not like my parents could give a rats shit about my well-being. As soon as I was of age it was as if they were silently chanting ‘
don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.’
I’ve always known where I was and wasn’t wanted.