Holt

Tap tap tap.

The drumming of a woodpecker right outside the window wakes me for the third morning in a row. Without opening my eyes, I let the other sounds of the forest filter in, hoping it’ll fill the hollow space carved into my chest. It doesn’t.

No amount of bird songs, sunshine, or fresh country air can soothe the pain and guilt I’ve felt since the second I saw that expression on Kinley’s face. The agony and betrayal she quickly masked with anger. My suffering seems like nothing compared to hers because I deserve every miserable moment without her.

The first few days after she found out, I tried to get in touch with her, until Clark warned me he’d have a restraining order slapped on me and go right to the media with everything he knows if I don’t leave her alone.

She hates me.

And as much as that rips me apart, there’s nothing I can do about it.

I’m finally free of my contract and my first move was to inform Marcus’s label, Plygant Records, that I wouldn’t be writing for them anymore. I’m done with Jilted and I’m done with my brother. All I want is to get away from all the chaos, and now that Marcus has resumed his place, I have the opportunity. The RV I bought is small enough to drive comfortably and fits into most campsites, but still has the amenities I want.

I should be on a trip with Kinley right now. Instead, I’m waking up alone again in a national forest, smelling the wet trees that remind me of our night in the gazebo when the thunderstorm raged around us.

Dad was right. I should’ve told her. In the very beginning, I should’ve told her.

My stomach growls. It’s no wonder since I’ve put little into it except coffee and alcohol lately. My appetite has been non-existent, but I don’t want to turn into a skeleton, so I make a bowl of instant oatmeal and a cup of coffee. I manage to eat it, along with a banana before I hear my phone beep.

I don’t have great reception out here, but an occasional text or voicemail makes it through. The sight of Sully’s name instantly pisses me off. I told him I didn’t want to hear from him again, that whatever stories they’re telling, I want no part of it.

Curiosity wins out, and I play the message.

“I fucking told you so, Holt. I hope your little fling was worth it.”

That’s it. That’s all he says. Something huge must’ve happened, and against my better judgement, I check the entertainment news site SLY, that was constantly up my ass. As I suspected, I don’t have to look far. Plastered on their front page is the glaring headline.

My heart rate increases as I read the article. I don’t know who told them, but they didn’t spare any details. They know about Marcus’s stay in rehab, that I was posing as him at the hotel, and that it was me who announced I was no longer with Alicia, not Marcus.

Alicia.

She’s my first bet on who did this. There’s no way it was Kinley, and I’m not going to let Sully pin it on her.

I’m a bit surprised they’ve connected as many dots as they have, especially when I read the last paragraph.

The artists listed are all correct. At least they’ve done their homework. I step outside and walk around until I have a steady signal, then call Sully.

“I take it you saw the news?” he says, forgoing a hello.

“I did. And it wasn’t Kinley.” Heat travels up my neck as I try to control my anger at the sound of his bitter laugh.

“Of course, it wasn’t.”

“There were plenty of other people who knew. The security guys from Foxhaven, people from the rehab, people who work for the label. It wasn’t the best kept secret. But I’d bet every dollar I have that it was Alicia who told.”

He’s quiet for a moment before asking. “Why her?”

Is he dense? “I announced to the whole world we weren’t together. You said it yourself. We made her look stupid.”

Sighing, he says, “Maybe. All we can do is damage control now. When are you coming back?”

It’s my turn to laugh. “I’m not. We’ve been through this, Sully. I’m done.”

“This is your brother’s career at stake!” he snaps.

“And I have a life of my own to live that doesn’t involve him or you. I don’t know how to make it any clearer. Leave me out of whatever shit you’re doing. And stay away from Kinley. Just because I didn’t go public with this doesn’t mean I won’t drag more secrets out of the closet if you fuck with her.”

“We still own the rights to your music.”

“To my past stuff, yes. My future work is mine, and it won’t be sung by my brother.”

His voice drops to a hiss. “I don’t think you know who you’re fucking with. I can blacklist you in this industry and no one will touch a word you write.”

I’m sure my laughter only infuriates him more, but I can’t help it. “Go for it. I don’t give half a fuck. I’m done.”

Before he can say anything else, I hang up the phone.

What I told him is true. I have enough money that I’d never need to work again, and I can create my songs without selling them, but I also know there are multiple artists after me to write for them now.

At the moment though, there’s no room in my head for anything but Kinley and the way I screwed up her life. I may be able to keep Sully and the label from threatening her, but the media is going to stalk her hard now. There’s nothing I can say or do to prevent it.

Regret settles over me as I picture her smiling face, and I head back inside the RV. I sling my guitar over my back, tuck my notebook and pen in my pocket and hike down to the spot where I’ve been spending most of my time.

A rocky cliff overlooks an expansive forest, displaying the splendor of the treetops just beginning to change color. A rock formation worn smooth from those who came before me to admire this beauty serves as a perfect bench, and I take a seat, placing my notebook beside me.

Kinley should be here, seeing this with me, breathing in the scented air and giving me that smile that makes me want to do anything for her. Since I destroyed any chance of that, I conjure her in the only way I can, through my music.

I woke with the lyrics in my head.

The music to accompany the lyrics arranges itself in my head, and time slips away from me as I play it, over and over, perfecting it. Music has always had the ability to tear me apart and stitch me back together. It’s therapy. It’s an armor I’ve worn so long I didn’t realize it could be pierced.

This isn’t a song I’ll sell. No one else will likely hear it, but that doesn’t matter. Sometimes you write for yourself, to sort out your emotions, keep your demons at bay, or just soothe the wounds scraped across your heart.

The tune still plays in my mind after I set the guitar aside and watch the day fade around me. There are decisions I should be making. My future is a blank sheet I can fill with whatever notes will bring me happiness, but right now, I can’t make myself care.

A tickle on my arm draws my attention to a firefly crawling toward my wrist. It’s late in the year for them, but the heat and humidity must throw them off their natural schedule because they’re beginning to illuminate all around me. Another reminder of Kinley.

I dump the remaining water from my plastic jug, dump in a chunk of earth and grass, and spend the next twenty minutes catching fireflies. It’s ridiculous. I’m a grown man in the middle of the forest, chasing bugs. None of it will bring back my bug.

It’s full dark when I grab all my stuff and head back to the RV. The feeling of a few warning drops on my shoulders tells me I won’t be having a fire tonight. The clouds roll in, and rain beats down steadily by the time I step inside the camper. It’s as if the universe heard my plea and decided to oblige.

After a quick dinner of canned stew, I stretch out on the bed. A few hits from a joint relaxes me, but I can’t fall asleep. The regret is too thick. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur to the empty air.

Usually, I’d put a playlist on, but tonight nature takes its place. Time seems to stretch while I lie there, the only light the glow of the fireflies, the sound of rain beating on the roof. My last thought before I fall asleep is how much Kinley would’ve loved this night.

Every day after that is pretty much the same. Over three weeks I’ve been here alone, writing and playing where only the trees and wildlife can hear. I’m at loose ends, not sure what I want to do now, but one thing is clear. I can walk away from Jilted, but not from music.

The weather has turned, and the days are almost as chilly as the nights, so my intention is to go somewhere warm. Maybe a few weeks in Hawaii would be good. I should know better by now.

I make plans, and the universe laughs.

I’ve just packed up the RV when the phone rings. It’s Sully, so I ignore it, but a few seconds later, it rings again. This time it’s Dad’s face that pops up on my screen. I’ve kept in touch with him, but not as much as I should have since Marc is staying with him. After what Marc did to Kinley, I’m not sure I can be around him without beating him unconscious.

“Hey Dad,” I say, answering the call.

“Holt, where are you?” It’s not Dad, but Sully.

“Why the fuck are you calling from my father’s phone?”

“So you’d pick up. There’s been an accident, Holt. Marcus and Grayson are both in the hospital. You need to get here.”

Cold fear radiates out from my spine, running across my skin. “What happened?”

“It was a car accident. They hit a tree. Marcus is unconscious, and they aren’t sure of the extent of his injuries yet, but it doesn’t look good. Your father has multiple broken bones and a concussion. That’s all I know so far. They’re at Nashville General.”

Fuck. “I’m on my way. It’ll take me a day or so.”

“I’ll call you if anything changes.”

The last two days I’ve been on autopilot, just trying to keep myself under control while I arranged a place to store the RV, then flew back to Nashville. Sully called to let me know they had to drill a hole in Marc’s skull to release some accumulated blood, and that they’re concerned his right leg may be beyond saving.

None of it really seems to sink in until I’m standing in the hall outside Dad’s hospital room. Sully rushes up to me. “Thank fuck. They need a family member to make decisions and they’ve been waiting on you.”

“Has Marcus woke up?”

Sully’s expression is grim. “No, he’s up in the ICU, but Grayson is awake. He’s pretty doped up, but he’s been asking for you.”

Nodding, I step inside the room as a monitor starts beeping. “Damn thing never shuts up,” Dad grumbles to no one in particular, until he sees me standing in front of him. My chest aches at the sight of him. His left arm is coated in plaster and he looks like he’s been ten rounds with a UFC champ. I’ve never seen so many bruises.

“Dad,” I say softly, my voice cracking.

He winces as he turns his head toward me, but a small smile emerges on his face. “Holt, you’re here.”

“I came as fast as I could.” His eyes flutter a bit before falling closed again.

A nurse rushes in and presses some buttons to stop the beeping which apparently had something to do with the IV. “How is he doing?” I ask her.

It takes her a moment to realize who I am, and she does a double take before responding. “He’s stable, but we’re keeping him sedated. Otherwise, he tries to get up. Dr. Yeager is treating him, and he’s making rounds now. He should be in momentarily to talk to you.”

“Thank you.”

I take a seat beside the bed, and my attention is pulled to the TV droning on in the background. It was left on a twenty-four hour news channel and the glaring headline takes up a quarter of the screen.

Rage rushes through me, and I don’t bother to watch to see what other bullshit they’re spouting. Instead, I step into the hall where Sully is just hanging up his phone.

“Have you seen what the media is saying?”

Sighing, he nods. “I just arranged a press release to rebut it.”

“Was Marc driving? Was he drunk? Is that what happened?” In my rush to get to them, I hadn’t asked for the details of the accident.

“Marcus was driving, but he wasn’t drunk. As for drugs, they took blood, and as far as I know they don’t have the test results back yet.”

My emotions churn, and I step back to lean against the wall. After all we’ve been through, and everything Dad has done for him, if Marc was drugged up and driving…if he did this, I’ll never forgive him.

A doctor approaches and nods to me. “Mr. Singleton, I’m Dr. Yeager.”

“Please just tell me if my father is going to be okay.”

He gestures to the room, and I follow him in. He picks up Dad’s chart. “His ulna and radius are both broken, and he has a moderate concussion. He’s lucky the airbag went off or he’d be in a lot worse shape. I expect him to make a full recovery, but it’ll take time. We were waiting for family to show up before decreasing his sedation because he won’t cooperate.”

His explanation provides a little relief. He’s going to make it. “He’s probably trying to get to Marcus,” I sigh.

“Yes, that’s exactly the issue. We also didn’t want to talk to him about the condition of his son until he had some support nearby.”

My head jerks up. Even after everything he’s done, Marcus is my brother, and it didn’t occur to me he wouldn’t survive. He always stomps through shit and comes out smelling like flowers.

“Is Marcus going to die?” I ask, bluntly.

Dr. Yeager’s expression softens. “I can’t give you odds at this time. We’re still evaluating him. What we do know is that he hit his head on the wheel which caused a bleed on his brain. We’ve put in a shunt to drain the blood, but most patients regain consciousness quickly after that procedure, and Mr. Singleton hasn’t. It may be that he had drugs in his system, given his history, or his body may just need more time to recover from the trauma. For now, he’s critical but stable in the ICU. We have the top neurologist in the country flying in to evaluate him, so we’ll know more soon.”

“I’d like to know if you find drugs in his system,” I tell him.

“I’ll keep you informed. My main concern now is his leg. It’s mangled, and our surgeons believe it may be beyond repair. You may need to make a difficult decision, Mr. Singleton. If we need to amputate, we’ll need your permission as his next of kin.”

My stomach tips and nausea washes over me. “When will you know?”

“We’ll have the scans done again this afternoon. I should be able to let you know our recommendation after that.”

Dad moves around a bit before settling again, his chest rising and falling steadily. “Don’t tell him about Marcus. I’ll handle it. He doesn’t need to worry while he’s in such bad shape.”

“I agree,” Dr. Yeager says.

He stays to talk to me for a few more minutes, assuring me of the security steps they’ve put into place to keep the paparazzi and crazed public at bay. He gives me his private cell number and lets me know the ICU is expecting me.

After he leaves, I debate whether or not to go check on Marcus. I know he’s unconscious and right now all I want to do is hate him, but I’ve never been good at that. And there’s still a part of me that hopes this is all just an accident. A deer could’ve ran in front of them, or they hit a slick spot and slid off the road. I can’t blame Marcus before I know whether he was high.

And whether he’s going to survive.

Reluctantly, I make my way up to the ICU, telling myself the whole time that I don’t care. There’s a good chance he was trashed and almost killed our father, and I can add that to a hundred things he’s done that he expects me to overlook, not the least of which is trying to take advantage of Kinley.

It doesn’t matter. I can’t make myself hate him enough for me not to care, especially when I step into the room. He’s my exact duplicate, but I can’t even recognize him. His head is shaved bald and a tube extends from a bandage on his scalp, draining blood and god knows what else into a plastic bag. His face is so swollen, I don’t think he could open his eyes if he did wake. His leg is suspended above the bed, wrapped in a white covering. The leg he may not get to keep, and I’m the one who has to make the decision to take it from him.

I walk to the head of his bed and stare down at him. “Marcus, what the fuck have you done?” I murmur. He doesn’t move, even when I put my hand on his.

A nurse enters and smiles at me. “Would you like me to bring you a chair, so you can sit with him a bit?”

“Can he hear me?”

“He’s unconscious, but who knows what gets through? He may at least feel that someone is near.”

“Okay, thank you.”

I take a seat beside him and say the first thing that comes into my mind. “Remember when we were seventeen and you jumped off the roof trying to recreate something from the stunt show on TV? You broke your leg, and Dad was so mad at us because I videotaped it, and we couldn’t stop laughing at the sound you made when you hit the ground.” A small smile finds its way through my turmoil. “That oof sound. We were still laughing when they put the cast on. Dad threatened to lock us both in the attic and called us dipshits.”

That day is as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday. “Leave it to you to break the same damn leg again, Marc.”

It hurts to think back to those days. Marcus and I struggled a little in the beginning. It wasn’t easy for either of us to find out we had a twin as teenagers. I don’t know whether it was nature or what, but it didn’t take long for us to feel that connection, like something we didn’t know we lost was suddenly returned.

We did everything together. Parties, girls, sneaking out late at night. I kept him out of trouble, and he taught me how to throw caution to the wind and enjoy things without worrying over consequences. All those memories are invading now.

Why? Why do things turn out the way they do? Change is a part of life, but it seems like as soon as you think you have things figured out, that you can relax and be happy in the choices you’ve made, here comes life to shove you back down again. To make you doubt everything, especially yourself. To remind you that your path isn’t always cut by you, and the detours you’re forced down can be beautiful or crippling.

I don’t want to believe in fate or destiny. Because they’re both heinous bitches.

“I’ll be back, Marc,” I promise, though I know I’ve just been talking to myself. Dad is going to wake up and need me, so until Marc regains consciousness as well, it makes more sense to stay with Dad.

The last twenty-four hours have been the most exhausting of my life. Dad drifts in and out, becoming more aware each time, so he knows I’m here, and I know he’s lucid and improving. I’ve told him the bare minimum about Marcus, but since he knows I’m here to take care of Marcus as well, he’s stopped trying to get up and go to him.

I don’t know how I’m going to handle all this. Dad is going to need help for quite a while, and I can’t imagine the rehabilitation and struggles in Marc’s future. How am I going to be there for both of them, especially when I can’t stand to look at Marcus right now?

He was high.

The drug test came back positive for some opiate called Fentanyl. From what the doctors have told me, it’s extremely strong and fast acting. Dad swears he wasn’t acting high and he didn’t see him take anything, but apparently, there are a multitude of ways to ingest Fentanyl. It probably wasn’t hard for him to sneak a dose, then try to drive them home like nothing was amiss.

Dad has just been given his evening meds, and I’m considering getting a hotel room for the night instead of riding that awful cot again, when there’s a tiny knock at the door. Before I can respond, she peeks around the corner and my mouth forgets how to form words.

Kinley.

Kinley stands in the doorway, staring at me. Until she speaks, I think maybe my tired, hurt mind conjured an image of the person I’d like to see most.

“Holt? I-I saw the news and wanted to check on you. I’m sorry about Marcus. How is your dad doing?”

My tongue is still locked to the roof of my mouth, and I’m horrified to find a lump invading my throat, choking off so much I want to say to her. Instead, I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her. I have no right and I know it. I lied and hurt her, but right now, all I can think of is being in the comfort of her arms, and she doesn’t begrudge me. She squeezes me back, and tears I’ve fought for days leak onto her shoulder.

When I get a hold of myself, embarrassment seeps in, but is overwhelmed by the relief of having her here. I step back and wipe my eyes. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I’ve been up for two days.”

Worry creases her face, and she gestures to one of the chairs while she sits in the other. “Dad’s going to be okay, but Marcus…he isn’t waking up and they may have to amputate his leg.”

Her eyes widen. “Marcus is alive? The news has been saying—”

“When do they get anything right?”

“Yeah, but Christ.”

“I know.” That’s why she came. She thought I just lost my brother.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks.

“Marc was trashed on opiates and drove himself into a tree with Dad in the passenger seat.” The words send rage streaking through me again, and I do my best to control it.

“I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t help, but I’m sorry.”

“Having you here helps, Kinley. I’ve missed you. I’m so fucking sorry and—”

She grabs my hand. “Stop. I don’t want to talk about any of that. I’m not here to get back together. I’m here because I care about you and I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

She’s a better person than I could ever hope to be. Struggling to find the words to tell her that, to tell her what it means to me that she’s here, I finally sigh. “Thank you.”

“You must be Kinley. No wonder Holt’s all broody. You’re a pretty one,” a strained, throaty voice interrupts. It’s the most Dad has said since he woke.

Kinley smiles, gets to her feet, and approaches his bed. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Singleton, despite the circumstances.”

“Grayson,” he says. “I’d get up, but…” Kinley giggles and shakes her head. Dad turns to me. “How is Marc doing?”

“He’s okay. They’ve got him on another floor.”

Kinley picks up the water pitcher, pours a glass, adds a straw and holds it for him to drink. When he’s finished, he shifts his gaze to me. “If he’s gone, I need to know, Holt. I’m not going to do anything stupid. The nurse told me I was fighting them before, but I don’t even remember that.”

The drugs probably did have a lot to do with it. I sit on the edge of his bed. “He’s alive, and they think he’ll make it, but he’s not in great shape. His medical directive lists me as the person to make decisions for him. Did you know that?”

“I’m not surprised. You’re the most level headed of us.”

My voice cracks when I confess, “They want to amputate his leg, Dad. They’re doing another set of scans, but I’m so afraid I’m going to have to make that call.”

“Fuck.” He reaches for the device beside him and raises the bed until he’s upright. He’s silent for a few moments, and I’ve never heard such despair in his voice when he speaks again. “Does he know?”

“No, he hasn’t been conscious yet. That’s why the decision will be up to me.”

“Do whatever it takes to save him. You’re both still so young. Your whole lives are ahead of you. He can go on without a leg. A lot of people do.” A tear escapes the corner of his eye and Kinley approaches the other side of the bed and takes his hand. He gives her a small smile before hitting the button on his morphine drip.

“I’ll take care of him, Dad,” I promise.

“I know. You always do,” he replies, his eyes drifting shut.

His words damn near make me cry again, and I never cry. This isn’t how I wanted Kinley to see me. I’m a fucking mess. I really do need to get some sleep.

“Mr. Singleton.” Dr. Yeager steps into the room, glances at Dad, then nods for me to follow him into the hall.

Fear tries to nail me in place. I know this is the moment when I may have to make a decision to change Marcus’s life forever. A soft hand finds its way into mine and Kinley asks, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Please,” I murmur, and we follow him out the door.

He leads us through a few turns to his office and shuts the door behind him. My ass has barely met the chair when he comes out with it. “We need to amputate Mr. Singleton’s leg and it’s best we don’t wait. An infection is brewing and if it spreads, his body may not be able to survive it.”

Silence grips the room for a few moments while his words take hold. “Holt? Do you understand what he’s saying?” Kinley asks softly.

“He loses the leg, or he dies.” My voice is flat and robotic.

“Yes, it really isn’t a question anymore. I need your permission to save his life.”

Blood rushes in my ears. “Can you? Save him?”

“Yes. I’m not going to lie to you, Mr. Singleton. He’s got a long road ahead of him. It’s possible he’ll have neurological issues along with the adjustment to a prosthetic. But he’s young and relatively healthy. I’m confident he can make a nearly full recovery.”

There’s really no decision to be made, but the words still tear me apart. “Okay, take his leg.”

“When will the surgery be performed?” Kinley asks.

“We’ll schedule it for nine tomorrow morning.”

“And he’s stable in the meantime?”

“Yes.”

She gets to her feet and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to take him to get some rest.”

Dr. Yeager nods. “I think that’s a good idea. We’ll call if anything changes.”

It’s hard to hear with the beating of my heart in my ears, and my hands shake from two days of nothing but coffee in my stomach. I let Kinley take my hand and lead me out of the hospital.

Cool air hits my face, refreshing me and making me a bit more alert. Enough to hear the screams and questions from the crowd gathered around the entrance. Security holds them back, but as we make our way past them, I notice a group of girls that can’t be more than fifteen, tears streaking their faces.

It’s not just paparazzi. Marcus has so many fans who love him and it’s not right that they think he’s dead. “Hang on,” I tell Kinley.

Stepping up on the edge of a stone planter, I raise my hands and the noise dies down, other than the questions being thrown rapid fire by the reporters. “I’m not answering questions, but I have an announcement if you’ll shut the fuck up.” Sully is going to want my head, but not an ounce of me gives a shit.

Finally, the cacophony dies down.

“I’m Marcus’s brother. He is severely injured and will have a long, difficult recovery, but he is alive, and he will recover. Please, give us the space to deal with this tragedy.”

A gasp rings out from the crowd at the news, followed by a cheer. As soon as I step back down, the questions start being thrown again, but I ignore them and take Kinley’s hand. “Can you get us to the car?” I ask a nearby security guard.

A few minutes later, we’re on the road in Kinley’s car. I lay my head back and let her take over because I have very little left in me.