Lazarus

Staying away from Drea the past few weeks has proven to be a problematic task, given that she’s living at my family’s estate. It’s difficult to only be her friend, but I have no other option in the matter. Part of Peter’s deal is that the girls in the group are off-limits. I don’t blame him for making the stipulation, considering what happened the last time I got involved with a young singer I was tasked with cultivating.

Not a day goes by when my mind doesn’t drift back to Jenna and how her death ultimately is on my hands. Back then, Peter and I were inseparable. We both did our best to take care of Jenna. He was in love with her, too, which is why she could never choose between us. Peter’s never forgiven me for getting Jenna into the drug scene, and had I known that partying would lead to a freak OD from some bad drugs, I would’ve stopped it all before it ever began.

I understand the whole “not fucking around with the girls” thing, but I’m a different man. Peter doesn’t believe that, though, and he doesn’t want a repeat situation where I drag another girl down the wrong path with me. So Drea and I can’t happen. It won’t matter to Peter that I’m clean and that I see a doctor for my recovery. He’ll never see me as more than a drug addict who fed the woman he loved drugs that killed her.

If it wasn’t for my father still owning Rawlings Records, I doubt Peter would have even granted me permission to step foot in the building.

I shake my head and refocus my attention back onto my father.

I lower Pop into his lift chair that’s positioned directly in front of his gigantic flat screen. I work quickly, hooking the ventilator hose back up to his trach. Relief floods me as I witness his chest rise and fall with the help of his mechanical breathing machine. I arrange his hands and feet, and then I wrap his neck pillow around him to set his head in just the right position.

“You good, Pop?” I ask as my eyes scan over him.

Taking care of my father is a full-time job since his disease has deteriorated his muscles to the point of him being completely dependent. The past couple of years, I’ve learned how to do a lot of medical shit in order to take care of him. This disease has taken everything away from Pop, even his voice.

Pop has a little movement left in his left foot, which allows him to activate a switch to control his DynaVox speech device. On top of the device being able to speak for him in a robotic voice, it changes television channels, controls the lights in the room, plays music, and lets him use his computer. This one device accounts for all the control he has over things in his life. Everything else, he counts on Robert and me for.

“Y,” the voice says through the speakers, alerting me to our code for yes so that he doesn’t have to spell out the entire word.

I sit down next to him as he begins typing something out, and I wait to see what he has to say. It takes a while, and the one thing I’ve learned is, it requires patience when communicating with someone who isn’t verbal anymore. His brain is fully alert. It’s like my father is trapped in his own body. The entire situation breaks my heart, and it’s hard to see the powerful man I knew all my life be so dependent like he is now.

After a few minutes, the sentence becomes clear, and he presses the speak button. “Do you think the group is ready?”

I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I do. The four I narrowed it down to have some real talent. Cam, Laurie, Mickey, and I have really put them through the wringer this past week. If tonight goes as I envision, people are going to fall in love with them.”

“Lead?” he asks.

“Drea,” I confirm. “Her voice … it’s special, Pop. She’s really got something, and out of all the ladies, she’s the most talented.”

“What does Peter say?”

I grimace. “He hasn’t heard them sing yet. He’s coming to the showcase tonight.”

“Tell him to see me.”

I nod, knowing that he wants Peter’s opinion since he isn’t as close to the project and will be more subjective.

While my father is still the owner of Rawlings Records, Peter is the acting CEO—a job Pop didn’t feel I was up to when he got sick, given my abuse issues. I don’t begrudge Pop for that. A little over two years ago, when he initially started having problems, he made his decision on who would take over the company, and I was in no shape to oversee anything. I couldn’t even be responsible for myself, let alone a multimillion-dollar company. Peter was a logical choice—a longtime family friend whom my father knew well and trusted.

“You sing?”

My eyes flit over to Pop, and I shake my head. “No.”

It’s gotten easier for me to read the emotion in my father’s eyes since I’ve really started paying close attention. There’s sadness in them when I tell him I’m not singing. I haven’t done that in a while. I haven’t felt that passion in the pit of my gut in a long time—not since Mom passed away. Emotionally, pouring my heart into a song right now is too taxing, which is why I’ve stuck to producing other artists.

“I miss your voice,” Pop says.

I give him a small smile.

He and my mother were my biggest fans and cheerleaders. I’ve been around this business long enough to see the damage caused to young entertainers who don’t have supportive parents, and in that regard, I’ve been blessed. He and Mom loved to hear me sing. It makes him sad that I’ve stopped.

Mom always told me I was the best thing that ever happened to her and Pop. Bringing me home was the greatest day of her life. Growing up, I always thought I was lucky because these people chose me. I wasn’t an accident in their life because they’d sought me out and adopted me from a young teenage girl who had no clue who my father was. I can only imagine what my life would’ve been like had I not had my parents.

A quick rap on the door draws my attention.

Robert enters the room. “Does he need anything else?”

Pop draws his bottom lip down a bit, his way of saying no.

“I think he’s good.” I turn my attention back to Pop. I stand and then lean over and kiss him on the top of his head. “Night, Pop. I’ll tell you all about the show tomorrow. Cam’s taking his camera, so he can cut a video and get it up on the internet to start some buzz. When that’s done, I’ll show you it, too.”

“Luck,” the voice says for him.

“Thanks. God knows I’ll need it, throwing these newbies on the stage without much prep.” I turn to Robert. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be downtown for a few hours, but I don’t plan on sticking around to celebrate.”

I’m glad I don’t have to elaborate any more than that. Robert has been around for a couple of years and is well aware of my struggle with addiction. It’s something Pop felt he needed to be aware of since he would be living here with us. In reality, it was so that he could help keep an eye on things for my old man.

“Good luck tonight, Lazarus—not that I think you’ll need it. You’ve got some talented ladies, so I’m sure all will go well,” Robert says.

I give him a nod before I turn to head out the door. I hope he’s right. Tonight will be a great indicator of what this group needs to work on. Live performances bring stress, and cracks in the group will make themselves evident.