Garrett
Present
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Age 26
“YOU CAN’T GO BACK THERE!” Our driver, and sometimes security guard, Mick’s voice booms from the front of the tour bus. The fog begins to lift as the naked body next to me shifts. “Garrett?” she asks quietly. I open my eyes and try to identify where the soft voice came from. A mess of blonde hair is draped over my chest.
Shit.
I hate when they spend the night. Her warm hand moves slowly up my thigh and I quickly push that regret aside. She could be of use one more time…
The voices in the hallway echo as my head remains glued to the pillow. Footsteps quicken, and I hear another voice coming from the front of the bus.
Heath.
“Hey, can I help you with something?” he asks the nameless stranger who seems to still be barreling toward the back of the bus. It’s a rare event anyone can get past him. He’s six foot five and easily fills the cramped hallway of the tour bus. It’s also a rare event that anyone wants to get past him, especially girls. He’s the new lead singer of Epic Fail and is also the newest obsession for the endless groupies. He’s also my biggest competition for those groupies. Dick.
I never thought I’d say or think this, but I miss Alex. He would step aside and push the girls my way. There was never any competition with Alex for the girls. His heart only ever belonged to one person. And that one person is the reason why Alex is no longer on the road with us. Well, her and the family that they’ve built together.
I groan as loud banging echoes throughout the small cabin. I groan louder as the nameless blonde wraps her hand around my—
The door flies open as a gasping Heath is pushed into the room, and another blonde falls through the door. The light blinds me, causing me to momentarily forget about the soft hand that’s vigorously pumping my shaft. Another blonde. Jackpot!
I stretch my arms over my head, feeling victorious for what’s about to happen. Take that, Heath.
Cool air breezes over me as the pumping suddenly stops. The girl in bed with me scrambles to cover herself, partially tearing the covers from me. She’s hidden under the blanket now, turned away from me, and my erection deflates. I watch Heath struggle to grab the other flailing form in the room. “Mick, I could use your help back here!” he bellows. Wimp.
“Get your fucking hands off of me,” the intruder slurs and stumbles away from him. Her glazed eyes catch mine, and she squints trying to focus on me. She looks crazy. She is crazy. But, she also looks familiar. How do I know her?
She’s unsteady, swaying in place, and I immediately notice how dirty she is. And not the kind of dirty that I like. She’s filthy. Her clothes are torn in strange places, and there is a coating of dirt and grime on her arms, causing her intricate tattoos to seem veiled and blurred. Her fingernails are misshapen and dirt is caked underneath them. I remain fixated on her atrocious appearance and immediately get itchy just looking at her.
Mick’s hulking frame fills the small doorway, causing me to divert my eyes to him. “Venue security has already been called,” he says calmly as he pushes past Heath and lifts the drunken blonde off of her wobbly feet. How did she get past them both? She can barely stand, but her arms are windmilling through the air, trying to make contact with anything. A flask and baggie filled with what seems to be drug paraphernalia flies from her open backpack.
“Calm down,” Mick says as he grabs both of her wrists with his left hand, making it look easy.
“Dude.” I chuckle, mocking Heath’s attempts to stop her. “Way to get this under control.”
Heath ignores my jab and turns to leave the room. “You got this now?” he asks Mick, who lifts his chin to acknowledge that he does indeed ‘got this.’ He continues to maintain his control over the crazy drunk chick.
“Garrett, you need to come with me,” Drunk Girl slurs. Blondie whimpers from beneath the sheets.
“Go with you? Where?” I ask, almost mocking her. I glance toward the heap of blonde hair poking out from the covers. I’m not going anywhere. I have unfinished business here.
“I’m Sadie…” A piece of paper falls from one of her clasped hands, and I watch it fall to the floor. Suddenly, her eyes roll back into her head and her body starts convulsing. She’s limp in Mick’s arms.
“Fuck,” Mick exhales and then calls out, “Heath, get me my phone. Now.” He grabs her chin, holding her head up as drool falls from her mouth. She gags as foam begins to drip from her lips, and I wonder what the hell this girl is on.
Sadie?
“What the hell?” I ask, sitting up in bed as Blondie rolls over, tucking the covers around her body. She gasps and turns to hide her face against my chest. Drama.
Heath emerges from the doorway and hands Mick a cell phone. He stares helplessly at the convulsing heap of a girl as Mick hits his speed dial. “It’s Mick. I need medical on Epic Three. Overdose.” He disconnects the call and slides his phone into his back pocket without dropping the girl. Sadie?
“What did she say her name was?” I ask Mick, even though I know I heard her correctly.
Ignoring me, he rolls his eyes as he continues to support her head. She gags and coughs up foam, like a rabid dog. “Can you get her out of here?” As the words leave my mouth, I realize I sound like a douche, but she’s frothing all over the place.
Heath looks at me with his typical disgust and bends down to help support her.
Mick’s phone rings from his back pocket, and somehow he swipes it quickly without dropping the girl on the floor. “Yeah,” he says abruptly. “No, not Two, we’re on Three.” He hangs up abruptly. This is the first time we’ve had three buses on tour. Heath and I share Epic Three, Tristan and Dax share Epic One, and Epic Two is for our crew. We don’t have a name for the rig that carries all of our gear.
Within minutes, the cabin is swarming with paramedics and security officers, and I hear sirens in the distance, quickly approaching. They work on the girl, and as quickly as they enter the bus, they’re gone with their new patient. Heath, Mick and I stare in awkward silence as sobs come from underneath the blanket next to me. Mick rolls his eyes once again and grabs her skimpy clothes from the floor. He extracts her from the bed, expertly keeping her naked body shielded while leaving me partially covered with the remaining blanket. Her matted hair falls to the side, and her face is swollen and streaked with tears and black makeup. “Is she dead?” she asks.
“No, honey, she’s not dead,” Mick says as he ushers her into the hallway. “You can get dressed in the bathroom,” he instructs.
“But…” She looks at me longingly, and she’s suddenly not as attractive to me as she was last night.
Mick shakes his head, silently telling her this is the end of the road for this tryst. He closes the door before either of them can judge me for being the complete tool that I already know I am.
Heath leans against the closed door, scowling at me as the girl’s sobs can be heard through the wall while she’s getting dressed.
“What?” I ask as I attempt to discreetly pull my boxer briefs on.
“Are you serious?” he asks. “Do you really need me to tell you ‘what’?”
I toss the covers off of me, get out of bed and grab my jeans from the floor. I ignore his judgment and finish getting dressed.
“Garrett, do you even see what just happened here?”
“Of course I do,” I snap.
“You let your latest conquest leave here in tears, but not before another one stormed in and practically died from a drug overdose in front of us. Get your fucking shit together.”
“Oh, and you’re so fucking innocent. Stop acting like this crazy shit doesn’t happen with you too.” My response is weak and sophomoric. I’m an asshole.
Yet I still feel the need to defend myself in this ridiculous situation.
“And by the way, the girl who OD’d isn’t a conquest. I don’t think I even know her.”
“You don’t think?” he yells. “Seriously, dude, there is something very wrong with you.”
“Whatever,” I respond defensively. But there is something very wrong with me.
He bends down near the bed and picks up the paper that slipped from the girl’s hand. I watch as he scans it, wondering why he’s staring at it so intently.
“Who’s Sadie?” he asks.
“I have no fucking clue.”
“Well, this piece of paper says that you absolutely do know her.” An amused, yet disgusted grin spreads across his face. He reads the paper again and nods his head.
“Congratulations, Garrett. It’s a boy!” He tosses the paper my way, and I watch it float slowly to the floor.
I’m confused and scared and I can’t move.
Sadie?
Who the fuck is Sa—
“Well, Daddy, now do you remember who your baby mama is?” Heath no longer looks amused, and his voice now sounds angry, accusing.
“What the fuck are you saying?” My voice cracks and I sink onto the bed. A vague memory, an image of Sadie, enters my head, and I now realize who she is. Baby?
“Do you know her?” Heath asks, confused.
“I don’t know—” More memories flood into my head, and I remember a wild night a while ago when Sadie and a friend followed me back to the bus. I remember wanting to bang the both of them, but the only one who was interested in me was Sadie. Her friend was too busy snorting coke and popping pills. Sadie and I spent a few hours in this exact room while the other girl got so high, she passed out snoring in the lounge area. The friend was a hot mess and Sadie was just… hot… I think.
Baby?
He bends down to pick up the piece of paper from the floor. “Stop,” I say as he’s about to pick it up. “Just get rid of it.”
“What?” he says.
“Leave it. I’m sure it isn’t real.” I don’t even know why I’m saying this. I’m not even sure what it is or why there’s a baby involved.
He ignores me and pushes the paper into my hands. “Looks real to me, ass. And it has your name right here.” He slams his index finger into the paper and my eyes try to focus on what he’s pointing at.
“It says right here that you’re a father.”
I’m looking at what appears to be a birth certificate.
Name: Kai David Armstrong-Moore
Date of Birth: August 10, 2014
Mother: Sadie Leilani Moore
Father: Garrett David Armstrong
“Bullshit,” I snap and push the paper along with his jabbing finger away. I suddenly feel clammy, and I’m sweating profusely. “This is just a fucking piece of paper. It means nothing, and I barely remember this girl.”
But I do remember. I remember a lot. Looking around the room, I remember fucking Sadie on almost any clear surface for hours. I was drunk and she was wildly stoned. It was like she was on speed or something crazier. She was an animal and I loved it.
Heath’s revulsion is tangible as he tries to remain calm. “Man, stop being a fucking prick for one second and think. Did you fuck her?”
I stumble to the bed and sit down. “I’m sure I did, Heath. She’s a bimbo groupie. You know there’s a decent likelihood that I did.” I know I did. Many times.
“So think about it. This could really be your kid.” He raises his eyebrows, and for a moment I see a twinge of worry in his eyes, as if he’s trying to imagine himself in my shoes right now. “She must know you pretty well if she has your full name.” His tone becomes accusing again.
“You can get my damn name off of Wikipedia, you fuck.”
“Whatever, G. You need to address this now before it gets out of control. The baby was born a few weeks ago, and this birth certificate looks legit to me.”
“I have no intention of doing a single thing.” Except puking. My stomach churns and sweat starts dripping from my brow.
“You don’t look too good.” He grabs a bottle of water from the table near the door and tosses it onto the bed in front of me. My fingers are tingling as I reach for the cool bottle.
There’s a loud knock at the door, and Mick doesn’t wait for either of us to answer before he comes in. “This situation is not good.” He folds his arms across his chest and walks closer to the bed. “That girl OD’d. She’s dead.”
“Holy shit,” Heath says immediately.
“What?” I ask, my mouth suddenly dry.
“She coded as soon as they put her in the ambulance. One of the paramedics just called to tell me that she was D.O.A.” Mick shakes his head then looks back to me. “You okay?” he asks.
“No, I’m not.” I don’t want to tell him about the birth certificate she had dropped on the floor before she passed out.
His eyes sweep the room quickly. “The police are asking us to clear the bus while they collect her belongings.” He nods toward the flask and the other items that fell from her bag. “Grab what you need. I booked a suite for you at the Marriott for the rest of the day.”
Heath picks up the birth certificate, folds it and shoves it into his back pocket. Why would he do that?
I try to ignore his act and address Mick. “I’m going home. Can you get me a ride back to my house?” I have a home just west of Philadelphia that I rarely spend any time at. My housekeeper, Peggy, is there more than I am.
He nods and leaves the room.
I grab a tee shirt from the floor and put it on, walking past Heath. I pat my back pocket to make sure my phone and wallet are still there and walk off the bus barefoot, steamy August air filling my lungs. I begin sweating immediately, and my shirt is already stuck to my back. A dozen or so police officers are waiting to board the bus, and I slide into the back of the black car parked in front it. Before the door closes, Heath is in the car with me.
“I’m not going to the hotel,” I remind him, annoyed.
“I know,” he says.
“I don’t remember inviting you to my house.”
“You didn’t,” he responds.
He looks out the window as we pull away from the concert venue. There is yellow tape spanning a large area around the bus, and people are gathering with their phones extended in the air, taking pictures of everything unfolding in front of them. There are girls screaming, and a few touch the window as we drive slowly through the crowd.
Heath takes out his phone and his thumbs fly over his keyboard. “I’m letting Dax and Tristan know what happened and where we’re going.”
“Do you expect me to have a fucking party back at my house?” I lash out at him and he huffs.
“I’m letting them know that we’re okay, asshole. Their bus is on the other side of the lot, and I’m sure they would want to know that it wasn’t one of us taken away in that ambulance.”
“Fine. But my house isn’t open for everyone. You’re not even invited.”
I slouch down in the seat and close my eyes. I want to burn the image of that birth certificate from my brain, but it’s all I see.
Kai David Armstrong-Moore
Fuck.