The Problem With Heartache (9 page)

Four years, nine months ago …

I
STRUMMED
the notes, sang the words and gave the crowd all I had in the most I-don’t-give-a-fuck way I could. Because really, right now? I didn’t give a fuck. It was no longer just a smart business decision for me to act too-cool-for-school on stage without actually engaging in any scandal. Yes, that was right. After long talks with Tony, our label rep, about not getting into any media trouble, it became clear that while he didn’t want actual sandal, he also wasn’t a fan of us being the grown-up equivalent of a boy band, either. He wanted us to act bad-ass, without actually breaking the law. Easy, right?

Apparently not. My mind flashed back to the email I’d received earlier today, stating Tony wanted us to hire a stylist. Because we didn’t look rock ‘n’ roll enough.

“Thank you so mu …” I started, then paused, as screams of appreciation rang through the two-thousand-strong venue. It was packed, and the high-pitched squeals, the deep yells that rolled through the room right now … I gave a wide smile. It had only been three months since we’d signed professionally, and I could barely believe it.

“Thank you …” I started again, and once more fans drowned my voice out. A bra landed on stage, right in front of my feet. Ollie, the bass player, walked over, giving me a nudge with his elbow.

“Dude … you gonna get that?” He nodded his head toward the piece of lingerie and I smirked.

“If you want it …”

Ollie wasted no time in stepping forward, picking up the piece of lacy material and pressing it to his face, sniffing it then waving it above his head, all to more screams of enthusiasm. I shook my head. I guess we were that band now. The band people throw underwear at.

We all smiled and waved, and Xander threw his drumsticks out into the crowd as we walked off-stage. Or, Xander and I walked. Ollie kind of strutted. He was the only guy I knew who dug wearing leather pants. Hopefully when we hired a stylist, she would change that …

“Well done, boys.” Hamish, the sound guy, clapped me on the back as I walked past, and I nodded my appreciation. My shirt stuck to my arms, and right now I could think of nothing better than a cold shower, washed down with about eighty beers.

“So, after party?” Xander asked, a smile playing on his lips.

“Sounds good, man. Tony organised a meet-and-greet for a few fans at the Bowler’s Inn. You know it?” I asked. I didn’t know why I had to remind him of things like this, but I guessed it was just my place. It was my name that was underlined on the contract. And if I was honest, that contract was the only way I could afford to fund Dad’s treatment.

Speaking of …

“Great show.” Mom and Dad stood together, arms linked, beaming at me like I was the second-born Jesus. I walked over to them and smiled, letting Mom put her arm around me. God knew what Tony would say about the rock ‘n’ roll-ness of that.

“Thanks.” I nodded. “You guys heading now, or …?”

“Actually …” Darkness flashed across Mom’s face, and I didn’t miss it. Not for a second. “… we thought we’d see what you’re doing after.”

Her voice was so quiet I had to lean in to hear her, and as she swallowed, I saw her throat bob, saw the hold she had on Dad’s arm tighten.

Something was wrong.

Something was seriously fucking wrong.

“We have a fan thing. Can it wait till—”

“Oh, it can wait.” Mom’s eyebrows relaxed, and she loosened her hold. “We’ll tell you another time, we—”

Something about her readiness to push this subject off bothered me, and I interrupted. “Actually, let’s go to my hotel room now. We can chat there before I head out.”

It was as if Mom were a jack-in-the-box, and someone had tightened the coils again. “Fine,” she choked out. “Do you … want a lift?”

I shook my head. “I have Sam and Benny.”

Ten minutes later and the boys and I were in the car speeding toward the hotel, located a short three blocks from the club we just played. We pulled up at the back entrance, and after checking for camped-out fans, Benny escorted us to the service elevators that took us all the way up to our floor.

“You gonna help us shower, too?” Ollie snorted as Benny did a quick check of our rooms before we walked in. I couldn’t help but smile. It was a little ridiculous to think the label was going to all this trouble, just for us.

“All clear.” Benny, the nicest of the security guards we’d had to date, nodded and gestured that we could in fact enter our rooms.

“Thanks.” I gave him my appreciation and walked in.

I jumped in the shower and had just walked back into my room, towel hung around my hips when the door knocked and Benny bellowed, “Your parents are here, Mr Collins.”

“Send ’em in,” I called back.

The door opened and Mom and Dad walked in, Mom still with her arm linked in Dad’s. She guided him to a chair and sat him down, and then perched on the armrest next to him, smoothing down her soft pink skirt.

They both looked out the window, their eyes focused on the twinkling lights of New York City thirty-one floors below. We’d never done stuff like this when I was living with them. Hell, I doubted most middle-class families from the ’burbs did stuff like flying across the country for a gig, and staying in a five-star hotel. This was a new band thing, and it was one I loved.

I also loved that Dad could see a specialist while he was here. Dr Houswell was one of the best speech therapists in the country, and I was so proud I could get Dad treatment with him, even if it was a little sporadic. It was one request that management could usually find the funds for.

“So … what did you wanna talk about?”

Two heads spun to face me.

“W … well, we ha … ha …”

Mum placed her hand on Dad’s arm. “We have something important to tell you, dear.”

“Should I put some pants on?” I looked down to my towel and laughed.

No one else did. Two faces were blank masks.

I walked to the couch opposite them and sat down, leaning forward, my hands clasped over my knees. “Let’s talk.”

“We’ve … there’s something about our past that we haven’t told you. Something that you should know, especially now …” Mum swallowed.

“Now?” I sat back.

“Now that you’re becoming a public figure.” She pressed her lips until they were a thin line. My stomach lurched, and a sense of foreboding clawed at my insides. All my life, my parents had been honest with me. We were a close family, way closer than most of my friends were with their folks—probably because there are only three of us in the whole wide world. Mom’s parents passed away when I was three, and Dad’s died when he was a kid. Both of them were only children. Yep. Christmas was always cheap in the Collins family.

“Whatever it is, just tell me. You can tell me anything.” I shook my head. “I know my contract said no scandal, but shit, guys. You’re pretty clean-cut.”

Silence coated the room. Down below, a car horn honked. A siren wailed. More lights stopped and started, caught in the humdrum of big-city traffic.

“Your father and I … we met at a very early age,” Mom started.

“We fell in love,” Dad blurted out, and he looked up at her with
that look
again.

“We did.” Mom studied her hand, linked with Dad’s. “We met at fifteen, and we just … it was like the stories say. When you find the one, you know. You just know.”

“And you guys did.” I grinned. I’d heard this story before, and it had shaped my views on romance. My folks were the kind of parents who held hands at my school concerts, who made a big deal about going on date nights as soon as I was old enough to be left alone. The kind who would stay together forever. “The perfect romance.”

“We … there might have b … been some things we haven’t told you, s … son,” Dad stuttered. His hands worked circles over my mother’s stockinged knee, and my shoulders tensed. If he was getting worked up about it, this must be serious.

“We met when we were fifteen. It was at a church barbeque at your grandma’s friend’s house.” Mom’s blue eyes glassed over. “Your father was there, a friend of one of the other families, and I still remember to this day the moment I laid eyes on him.” She looked down at Dad and I saw their hands squeeze together. “His eyes met mine across the yard. I was playing tennis, and straight away he drew my attention. He was the handsomest boy I’d ever seen …”

She got a faraway expression on her face and I raised a corner of my lips in a grin. My phone beeped, but I didn’t check it. It was probably just the boys, hurrying me along.

“He mouthed the words ‘You’re beautiful’ to me, just as I served the ball … and hit him straight in the head with it.” At this both Mom and Dad giggled, and I managed a laugh. “I knocked your father out cold. He came to with me pressing a bag of frozen peas to his forehead …”

I shook my head and laughed, imagining my usually quite proper mother’s awkwardness. “But you hit it off, right? Then you dated, got married, and had me?”

At this, Mom paused. “Not exactly.” She swallowed. “We’ve always encouraged you to follow your own beliefs and dreams, do your own thing, right?”

“Yes,” I said slowly, angling my head to the side.

“And you know that I grew up in a very religious household, right?” This time I just nodded, and made a movement signal with my hands.
Get on with the story
. “Well, the first time we had sex was not actually on our wedding night.”

“Mom!” I frowned and leaned back. I did not need to hear about this.

“Lee, just hear me out. It was there, at that party, that day. The first time I met your father.”

My eyes widened. Now that was weird. My up-until-that-point virgin, religious mother lost it to my dad instead of waiting for marriage?

“Wow,” I muttered. “I mean, that’s fine, but I really thought you would have waited. With your upbringing, and all.”

From the way she bit her lip, I could tell this was no random sex confession. In my head, I was doing the math.
Is this the story I think it is?
That instead of being nineteen, I was actually twenty-four, and they’d lied to me about my birthdate to hide the truth from Mom’s zealously religious family?

“We didn’t. And much to our surprise, we fell pregnant.”

I nodded. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I guess I’d always been taller, a little broader in the chest than a heap of guys my age in school, but—

“We had a baby. A little boy.” I nodded. What a mind-fuck. “And then we put him up for adoption.”

What?

I stared at my parents, the same mother and father I’d always known, with fresh eyes. It was only a few minutes in that I registered my mom’s mouth was still moving. She was telling me more.

“My parents, they didn’t support me. Didn’t support us, and I couldn’t really blame them.” A single tear fell down her cheek, and I’d almost have thought it was poetic if it were anyone but her. Dad reached over and gave her a hug. His hand shook so badly, it was as if there were an earthquake inside his body. “They sent me away, and I had the baby … and then let it go.” A full-blown sob escaped her mouth, and I walked over and put my hand on her shoulder.

My folks were the kind you saw holding hands in the street. Sharing kisses in the snow. They were good people, the kind who went out of their way to help others, who always look out for their family.