Damaged But Not Broken (New Adult Rockers) (4 page)

“I need to think about it. It’s too
much for me to decide right now,” I finally say.

My dad nods. “Take your time. I’m
not going anywhere.”

I stand to leave, and my dad stands
too.

“And you could stay with me,” he
adds quickly, “If you wanted too.”

I give him a quizzical look. “You
said you lived somewhere small now. I’m not sure how well we would do living in
a small house together.”

My dad gives me a small grin. “Well
I got something small when I was struggling. But business has been real good
lately. I bought a new house last year. It has a nice guest wing.” He stops
talking, clearly embarrassed. “I bought it with you in mind. I hadn’t lost
hope.”

I nod, strangely touched.

“I’ll be in touch, Daddy.”

I don’t even notice that I’ve called
him Daddy until I’m halfway across the parking lot. I knew then that my mind
was made up.

THREE

Blake

The Fuck...

“Where the hell is Kenny?” I
mutter, tossing my phone down on the table.

“Is something wrong, sugar?”
Savannah asks, pressing her glossy pink lips together.

“I just can’t get a hold of Kenny.
I’ve been trying to reach him since yesterday.”

“Why are you calling him?” Savannah
asks, her voice dripping with distaste. She holds up her manicured red nails to
her face and inspects them.

“Because I need to ask him about a
gig next week.”

“What I mean is shouldn’t you have
other people making your calls for you?”

I roll my eyes, Savannah just
doesn’t get it sometimes.

“I’m not some huge star, Savannah.
I can make my own calls.”

“Well you should be a big star,”
she says pointedly. “And you certainly shouldn’t be calling Kenny Lawson
yourself to get information on your gigs.”

I run a hand through my hair and
get up from the kitchen table. I sit down on the couch and flip the TV on.

“You’re going to watch TV in the
middle of the day? It’s Saturday, let’s go out and do something.” Savannah
crosses the room, sashaying her hips in her tiny white shorts. “I don’t want to
sit in,” she pouts, settling herself in my lap.

“You only want to do something
because Abby cancelled on you. You had been planning on spending the whole day
shopping.” I point out.

And I had been planning on vegging
out in front of the TV and watching some baseball. But that was out of the
question when Savannah was home.

“Well, now I want to spend time
with my fiancé,” she purrs, looking up at me through those long eye lashes, grinding
against me and making sure I have a full view of her ample cleavage.

I groan, settling back on the
couch. Savannah slips her hand between my legs and grasps me in her hand.

“Let me make you feel good, sugar,”
she says, quickening her movements. It’s like Savannah knows when I start to
get annoyed with her and she quickly distracts me with sex.

I’m a guy and that's the funny
thing about blow jobs, they work every time. I forget all about Kenny and my
music and allow Savannah to take my mind elsewhere.

A few hours later, I’m dressed
again and back on the phone, this time with one of my band mates, Ryan.

“Hey, do you know where Kenny is?
I’ve been trying to reach him since yesterday.”

“Yeah, I think he said something
about going to Bristol.”

I nearly drop the phone.

“Bristol?” I repeat, not sure if I
heard correctly.

“Yeah, I thought that was what he
said. He was going to Bristol for a long weekend to sort some things out.”

I sink down in a chair and hope
that Savannah doesn’t walk in the room. There is only one reason that Kenny
Lawson would go to Bristol.

“Did he say anything else?” I
demand.

“No, man, why? What’s the big
deal?”

“No big deal,” I say quickly, “He’s
just usually good with returning phone calls.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure he’ll
call you back soon. I’m hoping he gets us on the road for a tour.”

“Yeah, I know, me too.”

I hang up with Ryan and I can’t
help but think about Paige.

Paige, my high school girlfriend,
who fled Nashville and never returned. I didn’t understand it at the time, and
I called Paige over and over again at her momma’s house and sent her dozens of
emails.

Then the details began coming out.
Two men were charged with rape, and Kenny Lawson began drinking even more
crazily. The trial crept up and I didn’t even know Paige had been in town until
it was over.

Local girl raped by two of her
father’s friends.
Read the headlines of the local papers.

I had never spoken to Paige again,
but I had pieced enough details together. It still made me sick when I thought
about what Paige must have gone through.

I know that Kenny has no
relationship with her now but his house is like a shrine to Paige, filled with
pictures of her from when she was a baby until she was fifteen. It's a little
creepy, as if Paige had died and stopped aging at fifteen.

That’s how I remember Paige – even
at fifteen she was sexy as hell. Long and leggy, running around that last
summer in her red bikini, her blonde hair wild and tousled, her tits getting
bigger by the day...

“Blake?” Savannah pulls me from my
thoughts. “I was just talking to my parents and they want to know if we’re set
on the country club? Should I tell them to book it for the reception?”

I blink at her, momentarily
confused.

“Umm, hello? Our wedding,” she
says, unable to hide her annoyance.

“Right, the country club. Sure, I
mean, if that’s what you want.” I sometimes forget that we are planning a
wedding.

“Of course that’s what I want. It’s
nearly impossible to book a reception there and everyone is going to be so
jealous.”

Right, everyone will be jealous.
Exactly what I care about. If I had it my way, Savannah and I would get married
right in our back yard and have a big cook out with burgers and some ice cold
beers.

I almost laugh out loud when I
think about what Savannah would do if I suggested such a plan. She'd throw
something for sure. Savannah was a thrower when she got angry. Multiple vases
and plates have fallen casualty to some of our arguments.

“You do remember that we are having
dinner with my parents at the club tonight. Right?”

Shit.

“Right. Yeah. Of course I did.”

Lie.

Savannah puts her hands on her hips
and stares at me. Clearly, she doesn’t believe me.

“Well, whatever. We need to leave
here in an hour.” She flounces off towards the bedroom and starts the hour-long
process of beautification. I’m not really sure why it takes so long; Savannah
is a gorgeous woman, but she somehow needs an hour or more to get ready to go
out.

Every time.

I wander through the house,
aimlessly picking up as I go about. Growing up in a wealthy family, Savannah
was always used to someone else cleaning up after her, a habit that she still
hasn’t managed to completely overcome. I pick up stray magazines, a few bottles
of nail polish, three cups, two plates, and those little foam things girls
stick between their toes when they paint their nails.

I put the plates in the dishwasher
and walk the rest of the crap back to our bedroom. I met Savannah just after I
had bought this house, roughly three years ago. She came waltzing into my life,
swaying her hips, her lips slick with gloss, tits pushed up, eye lashes
batting...She looked like hell on heels.

I was smitten.

I proposed six months ago, and
that’s when Savannah moved in. Subtly, Savannah began adding her own touches to
my bachelor pad.

Suddenly I had things called throw
pillows that were leopard print of all things. There were pink curtains in my
living room, a high heeled patterned shower curtain in my bathroom, and my
bedspread was varying shades of purple.

The most alarming change was my
bed, which had once housed two normal pillows. Now, I couldn’t lay down on the
bed without moving six or seven pillows out of the way, all of which are
strange, uncomfortable shapes with countless ruffles. What's worse is that I'm
not even allowed to actually use them as pillows.

I take a quick shower and dress in
a button down shirt and blazer; the country club has a dress code. I flip on
the TV and wait for Savannah. She finally emerges from the room, dressed in a
strapless purple dress and her signature high heels.

“Do you like my hair?” she demands.

I bite my lip before responding,
because I’m not sure what’s different. It’s still the same honey brown with
thick blonde streaks throughout it. It may be brushed slightly more than
normal?

“Oh yeah, it looks nice.”

“You don’t even notice,” she sulks,
crossing her arms.

I get up off the couch, turn off
the TV and walk over to my wife-to-be.

“Baby, you always look good.” I assure
her, giving her a quick peck on the lips.

Savannah pushes me away abruptly.
"Hey you're going to mess up my lipstick!" She scolds.

"Jesus babe, sorry! Let's just
get in the car and go then?"

Savannah doesn’t respond, she turns
toward the door and we walk out to the driveway in silence, I open the
passenger door for her and she slides into the car. She gives me an icy stare
and turns her attention to her god damn iPhone.

I sigh as I jump in the driver's
side and start the car. We make the twenty-minute drive to the country club, in
complete silence, and I reluctantly hand my car over to the valet. I don’t know
why, but something about valet bugs me. It’s so pretentious. I can park my own
car and walk 50 feet, damn it.

We walk into the club, and Savannah
takes my arm, plastering a big smile on her face. I guess her iciness has
melted away.

“Momma! Daddy!” she cries, hugging
her parents who are already seated at their usual table that overlooks the golf
course.

“Savvy, sweetheart,” her mother
Scarlet Devlin coos, hugging her tightly. “You look ravishing as always.”

“Aww, thank you Mother.”

“And I just love what you’ve done
to your hair sweetie.”

“Thank you, Mother,” she says,
giving me a pointed look.

I shrug. What can I say?

Her father, Jeffrey, reaches out to
shake my hand. “Good to see you again, son.”

“You too, sir.”

I don’t know why but I always feel
like I have to be formal with Savannah’s family. Even though Savannah was born
and raised in Nashville, our paths never crossed until a few years ago. While I
went to the local public schools and then skipped college to focus on my music,
Savannah attended the local all-girl preparatory schools, studying useless shit
like Latin and history of British literature.

Savannah's family came from old
money. She was used to having everything and getting whatever she wanted. She
was the only child and that was the way she liked it; she got all of her
parents’ attention.

“So, Mother,” Savannah begins
dramatically, sipping her sparkling water, “Blake and I have decided on the
country club for the reception!”

Scarlet smiles like the Cheshire
cat. “Of course you did,” she purrs, “Were you honestly ever considering any
place else?”

“I know, I know. There was never
really a choice to begin with,” Savannah agrees.

I’m tempted to chime in that yes we
did have a choice, but I know that wouldn’t go over well with the Devlins.

Savannah and her momma launch into
a conversation about colors, flowers and bridesmaid dresses and I find myself
zoning out. Jeffrey makes some small talk, asking about my music and plans for
the band’s tour.

I know the Devlin’s don’t think I’m
good enough for their daughter, but they’ve always been good at letting
Savannah have what she wants – me. Of course, I know that Jeffrey fully expects
me to give up my "pipe dream" of having a music career and come work
for him someday at his investment firm.

Fat chance.

I’m really hoping that the tour
Kenny has promised pans out. It would be a twenty-city tour, mid-size, and I
know he is looking for someone to open for us. This tour could either make us
or break us. Our band is just on the verge of making it big, but we need more
publicity. And since Savannah and I are planning a wedding in seven months, I
need this tour to come through
now.

“Right, sugar?” Savannah asks.

I blink at her.

“You think that a band is so much
better than a DJ.” She tells me.

Another long pause as I try to
recall any part of her conversation.

“For the wedding,” she says darkly,
busting me for not listening.

“Definitely." I affirm. "DJs
are no good, we need a band.”

“See?” Savannah says happily,
turning to her father, “We’ll just have to book a band. Blake
knows
these things,” she points out.

Mercifully, our food comes, entrees
that are always too small and leave me craving a Big Mac afterwards. We busy
ourselves with eating, and the conversation turns back towards my music again.

“Blake is supposed to get a tour
this summer,” Savannah says proudly. Savannah has always been proud of my
music, and I still remember what she was like in our early days of dating, the
way she came out to every gig and danced like crazy in the front row, making
eye contact with me to make sure I knew she was dancing for me and nobody else.

She was a sucker for a country boy
singing.

“I hope that won’t interfere with
the wedding,” Scarlet can’t help saying, picking at her greens salad.

Scarlet is every bit Savannah’s momma,
just an older, tighter-skinned, slightly more demure version. Scarlet has the
same lovely heart-shaped face with matching big brown eyes. Her hair is much
more frosted than Savannah’s, and her skin is pulled tightly around her eyes
and cheeks; though she swears she’s never had any work done.