Letting Go (Rock Romance #6) (10 page)

“Madison, take notes, you can write this too, I can cook and I am very good.” Again that sexy smile pursed on his lips.

Before me was a breakfast feast. There were berry filled pancakes, sliced fruit, fresh squeezed orange juice and turkey sausage links and of course coffee made just like he had ordered for me at the coffee shop and it was in a large to go cup that read 2nd Street Coffee Café. I bet he had tons of these to go cups, he said he was a regular there.

As we sat at breakfast Rand was still writing something in his journal.

“Rand, this tastes delicious, thank you.”

“Madison you seem so easy to please.”

“I am a simple person, but I want to know about you, can I ask you a question?”

“Ask away Madison.”

“Well this is a lovely home” I began and “well did you always live here? Was it your parents’? How did you and the band meet? Who inspired your music?”

Rand began, “Hey slow down, you said a question” he paused, “and that’s several questions. But, yes, this is my home; built the year after our band got our big break. I figured since my mother, Angela had passed away from cancer right before then and she left me money I would do something good. I had the recording studio built for our rehearsals. It honored her as I continued with my passion for music.”

I looked at him and smiled tenderly and then wrote some notes. He continued to answer my numerous questions. “My inspiration was my grandfather Archer, he taught me music from as far back. He was great but he left this world before my mother.” Rand continued, “If I ever have a son he will be called Archer after my grandfather.” And there was a smile on Rand’s face like a child at an amusement park for the first time. I held his look of pure love that he displayed as he mentioned his mom and grandfather, it was so endearing and then doing what I do best, I blurted out, “What about your father is he proud of you?”

“Well,” Rand replied in a serious tone, “not someone I want to discuss, to me he is Paul and right now dead to me. He never really acted like a father. When my mom got ill, he couldn’t handle it, he left. He hated I played music. Hated I was the singer in a band. He hated that Ashley was my biggest cheerleader. I’m young, I stayed out late, I drank and he told me I lacked responsibility and purpose. He told me to get a real job in the business world, but not be a singer in a band.”

I looked at him as he answered and mouthed silently that I was sorry. I was sorry to hear about his mother passing and his dad’s desertion. I saw his eyes swell but not break, perhaps this was his love lost.

I wanted to change the subject and said, “Rand, I have lost too, most recently, my husband, Thomas. We were married ten years. He just one day up and left me, for someone at his office. The one good memory that I have from my wedding was the flowers. They were my favorite – delicate crème roses with dark pink edging. I don’t want to bore you but Thomas had become my life and world for a long time. As for my family life, it’s only me. I was an only child. It was lonely. I guess that is why I love Jillian so.”

I never stopped. Once I got started, I kept right on going. “And, to make my life crazier, my mother, Grace left my father, John and I for my father’s younger brother Jake. She and my uncle moved off to Galveston, Texas. I haven’t heard from her since.”

Rand responded, “Wow your mom leaving with your uncle that’s hard.”

“It was, and I found myself swamped with the memories of her abandoning us, of how it felt and how I knew that I’d never truly understand relationships again.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I do, she is my mother, but I never knew how to reach out to her. Since I was still with my father, I didn’t want to add to his sorrow of her departure. The only saving grace, per se, for my father during that awful time was that he didn’t need to raise me as I was already a teenager.”

“So tell me about your father.”

“Well, he was a police officer; he was a little tough on me since I was his only child. He recently retired but back during his days on the beat, he was strong like a Robocop. Everyone looked up to him. His fellow officers called him Mick, but everyone else called him Mr. McCormick out of respect. He was a very strong man but her leaving us really broke him I lived it and witnessed it.”

“I miss my mother and uncle being part of my life. My mother was a true romantic and very creative so I think I have her to thank for my writing traits. But the romance part I no longer have. I hope I am not boring you with my story?”

Rand looked happy that I was sharing stories with him, “Madison not at all, I like when you talk to me, you’re very…interesting.”

I decided to continue and told him how I met Thomas after which I took a deep breath and then let out.

“My father adores him, and when we divorced my father blamed it on me. He told me that I didn’t try hard enough to love and stay with Thomas. I haven’t had the chance to repair this relationship with my father, if there is any to fix. Even now my father and Thomas talk and get together, that hurts me.”

“I’m sure he adores you, what’s not to like.” Rand took my hand into his and began to stoke his thumb over my knuckles. “Maybe in time you and your father will reconnect.” Rand could see me pushing through this with pained eyes so he changed the family topic rant of mine to geography. I was immediately grateful for his attempt to distract me and got lost in Rand’s story as he kept hold of my hand with his soothing light touch.

He began to tell me that he always lived in the city and loved the vibe. He also explained how his music career all began by singing at the 2nd Street Coffee Café. Later, he ran into some other musicians and it was Isaac that shouted one drunken night for them to form a band. They all agreed to pursue this venture and their dreams of making their music together. It allowed them to combine their individual musical talents. They all fell into it quite nicely and the band in turn took off from local venues to now statewide venues. They decided together to name themselves
Rolling Isaac’s
as Isaac always rolled into the practice sessions late. They didn’t have a demanding schedule since they tried to stay grounded in normal life, but they did have a manager to oversee their schedules and travel and bookings.

Rand told me about his Uncle Maxwell, who had been hired to be the band’s manager. He was Rand’s mother’s brother who took a special interest in Rand after his mother died and his father left. Maxwell was very good at the finances and the other business aspects of music. Rand’s Uncle Maxwell had never had any children and never married. He had built himself a nice bank account from working in the music industry early and no one to share with, except his nephew Rand. Maxwell took care of all the schedules and arrangements from the band’s equipment, to venue. He kept all the big things that went into a performance with the band low key. Maxwell took care of his guys and wanted them to focus on the music. Maxwell let them do what they did well; create their tunes while he ran around behind the scenes.

Rand continued to tell me that he had been named after his uncle and always felt a strong bond with him. His uncle always encouraged Rand to write his own songs. He was very proud and never disappointed in the career path Rand chose. He believed Rand had such talent and his music was a true art form.

The knowledge of his losses pained me since I too knew that feeling of loss. Rand then started on an upbeat note to change the tempo of our conversation. “This book is going to be great! You’re a good luck charm to our band when you write about us. Plus this time I’m looking forward to hanging with you.” I got up to help him with the dishes and he said, “Madison, leave it, go crash in the sunroom. I know you only slept a few hours.” I wasn’t about to disagree. I turned to head to the other room, as we were standing very close, he brought up his hand to the side of my cheek and touched me gently. Just as he did while I lay pretending to sleep last night. I gushed inside, I could not wait to share this with Jillian, but then I stopped. If he could not love then what was this? Just to make me feel good like he had with kissing those girls last night and many other nights in the past? I was confused and so I walked out into the stunning, bright sunroom.

The décor was masculine but eclectic. Several music themed items were in there and the rays of sunshine warmed the room as I curled up in the taupe colored leather loveseat looking outdoors and taking in the property from this view. My eyelids got heavy and I drifted.

My phone sounded and I jumped up. It was Jillian heading to my house already. Rand was lying at the other edge of the loveseat with me, leaving only about eight inches of separation between us and he was writing in his journal.

“Can I bother you? I need to get home Jillian is coming to take me to get my car. I left it parked on 5th Street yesterday.”

“No bother Madison, I can take you all the way to your car.”

“No, Jillian is heading to my house anyway and she lives in the city so it’s not out of her way.”

“Oh, that’s right you have a story to tell her, she wants to hear all about us.” He started to laugh.

“Oh, I guess you heard our conversation.” I was blushing.

I diverted that topic and said. “I just bought a new white Audi. I just didn’t want to leave it in the city too long.”

“Hey don’t worry I’ll get you back and I’ll meet Jillian.” He laughed and then said, “If I don’t get you to her soon your phone will never stop ringing.”

Jillian was already in my driveway when we arrived. Just like so many others, she knew who Max Rand was, but she’s never met him. When he jumped out and came to open my door, her eyes got large. And then, when he took my computer and belongings into his arm, she smiled brightly. When he walked up to my door and met with her, he took her hand lightly and introduced himself, and she melted. He had that way with all the girls and lately the grown women as well.

“Rand thank you so much for the ride and the writing opportunity. I will talk to you later to go over your travel schedule.” I gave him a quick hug and started to move away.

He pulled me close and said, “Madison, we leave in the morning. It’s going to be a packed schedule, first Florida, and then we come back to Philly for a few weeks. Then we have Atlanta, Texas and back here to Philly to regroup.” He then moved one hand to touch the side of my face as his lips lingered on my cheek what seemed a very long moment. I nervously pulled my face away, and then Rand said, “I spoke with my Uncle Maxwell and all arrangements are done. We will be by around ten tomorrow morning, so you better get packing!”

He pulled me in for a hug and smiled to Jillian who was standing behind me. When he released me, I was still leaning toward him even after he had left and driven off.

Jillian whispered, voice quivering “Holy Shit!”

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Volume One

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The End.

June 26th 2014

Survivor.

Sur-vive verb \sər-ˈvīv\

: To remain alive: to continue to live

: To continue to exist

: To remain alive after the death of (someone)

That's what they all tell me I am. Eight different psychologists, four police officers, two doctors and my mother are all convinced that I now belong in the category of a survivor. Although I strongly believe the definition is sorely lacking, it’s more of a stereotype for people who were lucky enough to live through unfortunate events or circumstances. The word survivor doesn't seem sufficient. It's too simple, also insipid. Sometimes, there are words that just feel right on your tongue, they describe something monumental without even trying. I roll my eyes at every single person who has sat down with me believing that they would pick my brain and know all the answers. That they could diagnose me with some easily labeled condition, they could fix me with a few pills that I could swallow every day by mouth. There is no fixing me.

Just because I'm alive should by no means make me the definition of survivor. I'm breathing. My body is pumping blood; all of my limbs can move with functionality and limber. Sure, I'm alive after everything that has happened in the last year. However, it does not in any way mean that I survived. My body may be intact. No appendages are missing not that it wasn't threatened, but my mind is shattered. One year-ago today I was college bound and lost in a bliss of naiveté. I believed myself to be as strong as steel, I could carry the weight of the world on my shoulders without an issue. I lived in a world of make believe, where there were only kindness and caring, where every single dream, I ever had would come true.

That’s what I remember about the shadow of myself, of who I used to be. The guileless princess who was oblivious to the ways of the world. Now, I’m a shell of my former self. Lost and broken, not only because of the events that occurred, but also because of him. If he hadn't set the plan in motion to steal me from my home, to follow another's orders, I would be alive. My mind is a sea full of turbulent waves. My thoughts are undetermined currents moving nowhere fast, and only memories that I can bring to the forefront of my mind are the ones I would wholeheartedly like to forget first.

Abducted.

Ab-duct verb \ab-ˈdəkt, əb-; 2 also ˈab-ˌ\

: To seize and take away (as a person) by force

: To draw or spread away (as a limb or the fingers) from a position near or parallel to the median axis of the body or from the axis of a limb

That’s what I was one-year abducted, kidnapped, captured, snatched, or stolen, any way you look at it. That’s what I was. Fifteen days, ten hours and thirty seven minutes is how long I have been free. Free from his hold. No longer being threatened or held against my will. Not that I have fully convinced myself yet, that in the end, he was ever holding me without a choice.
Had I asked would he have let me go?
A question that I’ve asked myself at least once an hour since I made it home.

At some point along the way during my abduction I stopped fighting. Maybe it was because I lost hope that I would ever escape their clutch. The flame on the torch of hope I carried went out. Eventually, I just gave in; to every single demand. I caved because at some point I became wanted, and I was needed by someone other than my mother. I felt like I finally found a reason for just being. I’m still unsure of how everything ended up happening the way it did.

Was this what he had planned for? Did he know that this would happen? Did he know that in the end, I would break? That not having him would leave me empty inside, that I wouldn't be able to sleep without his body lying next to mine? Did he know that I would mourn the loss of him?

All questions that I would never have a chance at getting the answer to. Questions I'm not sure I deserve to be answered.

My mother has been towing me around to different doctors’ offices. Saying that they can repair me, that I can be healed. What she doesn't know, what I won’t ever tell her is that I can’t be mended. There is no recovery for me. I’m undeserving of a cure. I’m not the same person I was when she last saw me. A lot of shit can happen to a person in a year, horrible shit, things that I will never repeat to another soul.

I was Aura.

No longer do I have an identity, I a nameless murder.

I died one year year-ago.