Damaged But Not Broken (New Adult Rockers) (5 page)

She’s toned and thin for being a
woman in her late fifties, though she doesn’t dress quite as provocatively as
Savannah. To be completely honest, if I weren't engaged to her daughter and she
was just a stranger I met at a bar, I'd probably give it to her.

Dinner comes to an end and I shake
Jeffrey’s hand, kiss Scarlet on the cheek and wrap my arm around Savannah’s
waist as we leave.

“Thanks for coming,” she says.

“I guess you’re no longer mad that
I didn’t notice your hair?”

“Oh no, I’m still pissed. I just
didn’t feel like being angry anymore.”

“Alright, good to know.”

The valet brings our car around and
I drive us back home. I make a mental note to try Kenny again in the morning.

~~~

“Hey Blake.”

I'm glad to finally hear Kenny
Lawson’s voice over the phone the following morning. Kenny’s voice is rich and
rugged with weariness about it; the voice of a man who has seen a whole lot of
shit in life, but still manages to convey confidence.

“Kenny! Damn! I’ve been trying to
reach you all weekend.” I say excitedly.

“I see that now. Sorry," he
sounds sincere, "I had some personal matters I had to take care of this
weekend.”

Personal matters. I can’t help
thinking about Paige.

“Okay, well, I hope everything is
alright.” I don’t want to come out and ask directly, but I’m curious.

There’s a long pause and I hear
Kenny clear his throat.

“Everything’s fine,” he says
gruffly, “what can I help you with?”

The subject change doesn’t go
unnoticed.

“Well, I needed to ask you about
the gig we have Tuesday night. You originally told us that we needed a four-song
set list, but I talked to the owner of the club and he told me he wants seven.
I know that changes our pay.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Kenny says
sounding unusually distracted. “Hang on.”

I hear some shuffling and then a
door close.

“Alright, I’m in my home office,
but I’m not sure if I have those papers here. I can get Becky to call the club
later when I get a chance and sort it out.”

Becky is Kenny’s assistant, and a
damn hard worker.

“Alright." I say. "We
just have to know how much to prepare.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll handle it
later.”

There’s some more shuffling on the
other end.

“Look, Blake, I’ve kinda got my
hands full here right now. Can I get in touch with you later? I know we need to
talk about the tour, too.”

“Yeah, Kenny, that’s fine. I’ll be
around later man.”

“Great. I think the tour is a
definite go, and I’m making some headway on finding you an opening act, too.”

“Sweet!”

I hear a door open and close on the
other end and there’s more shuffling. Then, clear as day I hear a female voice
call out “Dad.”

My heart stops.

The voice is older, silkier, but I
swear it’s the same voice.

Kenny quickly talks over the sound,
raising his voice more than necessary.

“Alright, it was great talking to
you! I’ll be in touch.”

The line goes dead.

Someone called Kenny
dad
.

Kenny only has one child, one daughter.

I sink down on the couch, burying
my head in my hands. It’s almost too much for me to take in. Is it possible
that Paige is back in Nashville? How could that even happen? After Paige moved
back to Bristol, I tried so many times to contact her, tried so hard to get
answers.

She had only responded to me once,
just before we both graduated from high school. I’ll never forget the email:

I’m sorry Blake. Everything
hurts too much. I can’t ever come back to Nashville. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

-Paige

Sorry, sorry, sorry.

She
was sorry.

She had gone through horrors I
couldn’t even imagine, and there she was, apologizing to
me.

I need to get a fucking grip. It
was thirteen years ago. We were both adults now, and here I am about to get
married. For all I know, Paige was married. Maybe she even had kids.

And before I can even push the
thought away, I feel the pain cut through me like a knife.

I need to get over these crazy
thoughts. Whether or not Paige was back, shouldn’t concern me. We were nothing
but high school sweethearts. Barely even, she left before junior year.

I have Savannah now and that's all
that matters. And even if Paige is in Nashville, I can’t imagine she'll be
staying here long. Maybe she and Kenny have finally reconciled and she was just
down for a short visit.

I force myself up from the couch
and busy myself with trying to fix one of our kitchen cabinets. I’m can't stop
thinking of Paige, so I curse out loud and head back to my studio to work on
some music.

I sing a song that I wrote about
Savannah, strumming at my guitar as the lyrics roll off my tongue from memory.
I sing about her long legs and rich brown hair and the way she makes me feel in
the hot summer.

But it’s Paige’s legs, and her
blonde
hair that I’m picturing, and the way I felt when I was fifteen, crazy in love. 
The way I felt in the hot summer when Paige and I were just kids.

FOUR

Paige

Second Chances

I pad into the kitchen and flip on
the fancy coffee machine. I wait for the blue light to tell me it's ready and
then pop one of the tiny cups into the top. I roll my eyes, it’s so typical of
my dad to have this brand new Keurig machine - he doesn't even drink coffee.

I’ve been in Nashville for two
weeks and I’m slowly starting to adjust to being back in town.

Though, I may have some issues once
I actually leave the house. I’ve stayed on my dad’s grounds since the moment
I’ve arrived.

I know it’s not exactly the
healthiest choice, but it’s the best I can do right now. I still can’t believe
that I’ve actually come to Nashville and agreed to live with my father. While I
do want to repair my relationship with my dad, I know that I still need to come
to terms with the anger and resentment I feel for him. The emotions are so much
stronger and confusing when I’m actually in my dad’s presence.

The good thing is that my dad
wasn’t lying when he said I could have my own wing; I literally have my own
side of the house. My dad has done extremely well for himself and this gorgeous
house is a direct reflection of that.

His house is situated like a
horseshoe, on one end there's literally a separate house with its own kitchen,
two bedrooms, two bathrooms, an office and a living room. I can technically
stay in my part of the house and never see my dad – which is both good and bad.

My dad has an amazing backyard,
with a lavish patio; cabana, pool and hot tub nestled inside the horseshoe. My
wing of the house opens up directly to the patio, and in just a few steps I can
be in a super plush lounge chair relaxing poolside.

I’ve promised my dad that I would
work on my music while he goes into the office and I mostly have. But sometimes
I just need a break from the reality of being back in Nashville. That’s when I
head out to the pool, lay in the sun and float around with an ice cold Coke.
It’s not very productive, but it clears my mind.

My dad wants me to play a few local
bars and I know he’s starting to get worried that I haven’t left the house yet.
Part of my fear is that I don’t want people to know that I’m back. I don’t want
to have to see my old friends.

People in this town know what
happened to me; it was splashed all over the papers. While I imagine no one
would be crass enough to bring it up, I still don’t want to risk the
possibility that my attacks could come up in conversation.

I head back to the office, which
I’ve converted into my music room. I sit in my pajamas, facing the pool and
start working on a new song I started this week. Of course I lose track of
time, and my growling stomach makes me check the clock. It’s after eleven.

I take a quick shower, slip into my
bathing suit and make my way into my kitchen. I throw together a quick
sandwich, grab a Coke and head out to the pool. After I eat my lunch, I float
around in the water, gazing up at the brilliant blue sky.

All I can think about is Blake.

I’ve always thought about Blake
over the years, wondering what he's doing, what he looks like now, even if he's
still in Nashville or if he's moved on. I’ve also worked hard to
not
think about him, what could we possibly have in common anymore? We aren't
fifteen anymore.

But being here in Nashville, during
the summer – it’s like Blake is everywhere. Sometimes I feel as if I’ve never really
grown up.

~~~

My poor dad is trying, and I’m
working hard to try too. I know that I’m going to have to give in and play my
music somewhere public. And after all, I didn’t come to Nashville to stay holed
up in my dad’s lovely house, floating away in the pool all day. Though, I have
to admit that my skin has turned a warm golden shade that I haven’t seen in
years.

I feel fear knot tightly in my stomach,
and I worry that my lunch might come back up. I need to tell my father tonight
that I’m ready to play my music somewhere. It’s like a band-aid – I need to
just rip it off. I can’t expect to have a music career if I don’t leave the
house.

I roll off the float and do a few
laps in the pool; just enough to loosen up my limbs and clear my head. I feel
so good afterwards that I make a mental note to swim laps more often. I feel
calmer already.

I spend the rest of the afternoon
working on some music, and I decide to cook my father dinner. My dad told me I
can have free reign of the house but I haven't explored his side much yet. I
wander over to the main wing to get started on dinner.

The rest of the house is just as
beautiful as my part, if not nicer. My dad’s kitchen is massive with every
state-of-the-art appliance you can imagine. Though, I’m sure he never uses any
of these things himself.

I rifle around his fridge for some
items, and find the right ingredients for spaghetti with meat sauce and a Cesar
salad. He only has jarred tomato sauce, but it’s a good brand, and I find some
fresh herbs and some diced tomatoes that I can add. I hum to myself as I heat
the ground beef and boil the water for the spaghetti.

I’m not sure who stocks my dad’s
fridge, but they do a pretty good job, and there’s plenty of fresh lettuce,
tomatoes, carrots and cucumbers for our salad. I even manage to find a jar of
nice olives in the back of the pantry.

I should have predicted my dad’s
shock when he arrives home. The genuine joy on his face when he sees me working
in the kitchen makes me want to weep. Even after everything that's happened,
this man is still my father and I know that he loves me. And I’m proud that he's
been sober for three years.

“Mmm, smells delicious,” he says,
grinning at me.

“Thanks. I figured I owed you a
home cooked meal after letting me crash here.”

“Sweetie, you are always welcome
here. This house is as much your house as it is mine,” he pauses, overcome with
emotion. “I told you when you were a little girl that you always had a home
with me in Nashville.”

I’m touched. I turn away so I don’t
get teary, and busy myself with adding the ground beef to the sauce.

“Do I have time to take a quick
shower and change?” he asks, setting his keys down on the counter.

“Absolutely. I need about twenty
more minutes.”

“Perfect.”

He disappears down the hall, and I
set the kitchen table for two people. My dad’s new choice of beverage is
Fresca, which I find funny, but I take out a fancy glass, crack open a Fresca
and fill the glass.

My dad walks back into the kitchen
just as I’m setting the salad on the table.

“Wow. It looks and smells
delicious.” He says, with a smile.

“Thanks,” I say shyly.

We each fill a plate with spaghetti
and meat sauce, and save our salads for afterwards.

“This is delicious,” he raves,
digging in.

I have to admit, it does taste
pretty good. And Momma said I couldn’t cook.

I clear my throat after I finish
about half of my plate.

“So, I was thinking that it’s time
for me to leave the house. I think I’m ready to play somewhere.”

My dad puts his fork down and dabs
at his mouth. “Are you sure, Paige? You can have as much time as you need. I
can only imagine how difficult all this change must be for you.”

His concern touches me. “It is
difficult,” I admit. “I’m still trying to come to terms with you being back in
my life, and the fact that I’m in Nashville. But hiding out here isn’t going to
help me overcome my issues or get my career started. I need to jump in you
know?”

My dad takes a deep breath. “Well,
if you’re ready, I can get you a gig playing this Friday night.”

Wow. It was already Tuesday.

My face must look shocked because
my dad quickly jumps in.

“Too soon?”

“No, no,” I say, “It’s just – wow,
that’s really fast. You must have some serious connections.”

“It’s my job,” he says modestly,
shrugging. He picks up his fork and takes a big mouthful of pasta, chewing it
thoughtfully. “You know,” he says, “and this is just an idea, but you may want
to get out on the scene a little bit before you get out there and sing. It
might be nice for you to check out a few of the music bars ahead of time.”

The thought makes my stomach turn,
but I know that my dad is right. I really should go out and get a feel of the
Nashville music scene this week before I suddenly step out on stage.

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re
probably right.”

“I could go with you,” he offers.

“Okay. Let’s make a couple stops
tonight. Before I freak out and try to back out of it.”