Chapter One
The Road to Hell is Definitely Paved
Nash
September, 2016
Not once, in the four years that Meltdown had been together, had I complained about going on the road. Not when we pulled Dale from the band. Not when my mom was first diagnosed with cancer. Not even when Grant had his stint in rehab. The band was both my outlet and my escape. My instrument gave me meaning, the music gave me a sense of purpose, and touring gave me a way to connect with the people who loved our music.
But then the shit hit the fan.
Luke was dead, Grant was in love, and my mom was dying. As in leaving me forever – dying. The cancer was back, and this time it was taking her down. All the money in the world couldn’t save her. My love wouldn’t save her. I was helpless, hopeless, awash in a sea with no grip. There was no cure for this endless pain. Not sex. Not music. Nothing.
One week after Mom got her diagnosis, our manager, Blane, called a meeting. He was worried about the negative press the band had received from Luke’s death, and thought it would be a good idea to plan what he called “A mini tour.” My immediate answer was no. I was needed at home. Sadly, I was out voted three-to-one. Both Grant and Chaz agreed with Blane. A mini tour would not only get us back in front of a crowd, but would also allow us to work out our prospective new keyboardist, Evan Walker. So Mom’s illness be damned, Meltdown was going back on the road. In the scheme of things three months wasn’t a long time. When your mother was dying, however, three months seemed like an eternity. The clock was ticking. Time suddenly mattered. Every second I was away was time missed with her. My one and only solace was the sexy, extremely aloof but very competent, Rowan Burns, my mother’s oncology nurse.
A little over eighteen months ago my mother was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. According to the doctors, the cancer had spread to her lymphatic system, but not her organs. The suggested treatment was surgery, followed by chemotherapy and radiation. Mom was the strongest person I’d ever known, but even I knew that this was going to kick her ass. I offered to take time off from the band, but she wouldn’t hear of it. After several heated arguments, she finally agreed to let me hire a private nurse. With Meltdown going on an extended tour, there was no way in hell I was leaving her in such a weakened state, so I made calls and put out feelers, which is how I landed Rowan. After undergoing a double mastectomy, removing fifteen lymph nodes, and months of intensive treatment, the day of reckoning had finally arrived. The cancer was in remission…at least that is what I thought.
The doctors were wrong.
How did this happen? I must have asked myself this question a million times. No one had answers. At least, not the answers I wanted to hear. The screening didn’t reach the liver or the colon. The cancer was aggressive. The machines can make mistakes. Yada. Yada. Bullshit. It all came down to one thing. Someone fucked up.
My phone buzzed in my pocket indicating it was time for me to go.
After one last run through to make sure I hadn’t left anything important behind, I hefted my duffel bag over my shoulder and made my way down the hall to Rowan’s room.
One of the first things Miss Burns did upon her arrival was to alter the living arrangements in the house. For convenience, Mom needed to be downstairs. I agreed with her reasoning for this. However, I assumed this meant that I would take Mom’s suite upstairs. I assumed wrong. Since I was on the road so much, Mom thought it would be better for Rowan to take the upstairs suite, while I was subjected to the much smaller guest room down the hall. Had I known how bad things were going to get, I wouldn’t have complained. If I hadn’t complained, Rowan wouldn’t have called me a spoiled little boy, and I wouldn’t have spent the past nine months trying to convince her otherwise. Now, it all seemed so trivial. As I stood outside her door, I thought about what to say. As usual, my mind blanked. For someone who wrote songs for a living, I sure had shit to say when it counted. Finally, I gave up and knocked.
“Coming,” I heard her call out. Rowan was originally from Ireland. Even though she’d lived in the U.S. for years now, she still had a slight lilt to her voice. It was fucking sexy-as-hell. The door swung open and there she stood, the woman I wanted but would never have. Not because I couldn’t, but because I wouldn’t let myself. Okay, maybe because I couldn’t. Either way, I wasn’t willing to try so what did it matter? Yes, fucked up was my middle name. She was wearing her daily uniform of scrub pants and a t-shirt. Today her pants had SpongeBob SquarePants chasing Squidward Tentacles across them. One of the many things I liked about Rowan was her sense of humor.
“Nice pants,” I pointed out.
“Is it time already?” she asked.
“It is, but I wanted to talk to you before I head out.”
She held open the door. “Do you want to come in?” The last thing I needed was to be alone in her bedroom with her.
“Naw, I’m good. Tell me I’m not making a huge mistake. I mean, I know she’s not going to get better, but tell me I have time.” I wasn’t sure what I was asking. I just needed her reassurance.
Compassionate, soulful eyes stared back at me, and I swallowed down the giant lump in my throat. “As of right now she is holding steady. I’m managing her pain. If anything happens, I will call, okay? I promise.” Who was I kidding? The only thing that would make me feel better was if I stayed. Rowan rubbed her hand up and down my arm. “She’s good, Nash. I promise.”
I stepped back, and her hand fell away. “I’ll check in with you daily. I can’t promise when, but…”
“Hey.” Her comforting tone pierced straight through my defenses, and I stepped forward and pulled her into my arms. I don’t know why I did it. Call it a weak moment, or even a momentary lapse of sanity. Whatever it was, I shouldn’t have done it. As we stood there body to body breathing each other in my traitorous cock started to rise. Right as he was about to give her a good, solid nudge, I took a step back and picked up my duffel.
“I’ll call you tonight.” Instead of properly waiting for a response, I turned and walked out the door.
Saying goodbye to Rowan sucked ass, but saying goodbye to my mother was excruciating. I found her downstairs in the recliner. She tried to put on a brave face, but I knew her like the back of my hand. We both were hurting.
“I shouldn’t go,” I said for the thousandth time.
“Oh, shut it. Those boys need you. Come over here and give me a hug.”
“You need me more.”
“I need you like a hole in the head,” she muttered.
“Seriously, Mom.” She let out a deep sigh.
“What I need is to know you’re living your life, Nash. If you were here, you’d just be moping around the house, staring at me, and waiting for me to die. Now, walk me through your schedule one more time.” After taking her through my tour schedule, I was officially running short on time.
“I have to go, Mom.”
“Give me a hug, son.” My eyes smarted as I wrapped my arms around her. As I held her fragile body next to mine, my conscience screamed, why are you fucking doing this? You shouldn’t be leaving.
“I don’t want to go,” I whispered.
“Rowan has it handled.”
“If you need anything,” I barely choked out.
“I promise I will call. I love you my baby boy. I always have and I always will. Now, go and make beautiful music.”
“Love you, Mom.” Before she could see my tears, I grabbed my bag and turned for the door. I stopped short when I saw Rowan standing in the doorway with tears in her eyes. We stood there staring at each other, our eyes saying everything our mouths never would. If only I was a different man, but I wasn’t. I was an emotionally stunted, fucked up commitment-phobe, and I was about to lose the one thing that anchored me to this world.
Life was a real bitch sometimes.