Was there? What wasn’t wrong in Killy’s life? Tex. Tex wasn’t wrong. So far, he’d managed for weeks not to tell his story, to keep the conversation about music, the locals… sex.
“Just been thinking a lot. About the past, my mother, my brother, the band.” They never strayed far from his mind.
“Listen, if you need to talk, you know I’m here, right?” Huge brown eyes begged for Killy’s trust.
Oh, fuck, didn’t that just open the floodgates.
The truth bubbled up inside like molten lava building to erupt. Elliot and the rest of band needed their stories told. “Mama put off the inevitable overdose until I turned eighteen. Elliot lacked a few weeks of hitting twenty-one. Young and dumb. I think either one of us alone mighta gotten eaten alive, but we had each other, and kinda did okay.” More than okay to hear some people tell it, but those folks got their news from the Internet, the glorified story of two young rockers done good. They didn’t see the bad side: how anyone who’d ever spoken to Mama for half a second came to squabble over what they could get. “Her record label and manager fought for her estate, such as it was, slapping down an injunction against us performing her songs.” Hell, just because she’d taken full credit didn’t mean her last six albums weren’t a family effort.
“So you wrote more.” Tex rolled, placing his head on Killy’s shoulder.
Yeah, that much appeared in Killian’s and Elliot’s public biographies, spin-doctored to say they couldn’t bear to perform the old songs without her. Through her estate, they’d won the rights to her songs eventually. Maybe they’d have played them again sometime. Maybe not. Now he’d never know.
Since her manager and record label still stood to gain, those songs were over and done. He’d never touch them. “Her band, down to a bunch of fellow druggies by then, weren’t worth keeping on. We formed our own.” Him and Elliot against the world, thinking the universe owed them success after such a crappy beginning.
“Things were going well until we had the misfortune to meet up with Rob Cassen.” If he wasn’t already dead, Killy would gladly send him straight to Hell.
“Your drummer, formerly with Cleaver.”
Killy snorted. “I wish they’d have kept his sorry ass too. To make a long story short, he tried to take over.” His gut churned.
“We don’t need your brother. We can strike out on our own, just me and you,”the asshole had told Elliot.
Thank God Elliot hadn’t listened; not that saying no helped him much in the long run. Only, when Killy found out the guy’s plans and tried to toss Rob out of the band, Elliot and his too-big heart talked Killy into giving the fucker another chance. Biggest damned mistake of Killy’s life.
“I wasn’t having none of it. I’d have fired his ass after a month, but Elliot insisted he stay on. Turns out the bastard sweet-talked his way into my brother’s bed. Elliot was too much like Mama, trusting the wrong people and getting used for his trouble.”
What had Elliot’s unknown father been like? A scholarly type who caved regularly to bullies, giving poor Elliot a double-dose of gullible? Mama simply called him “right place, right time.” Both a blessing and a curse, Killian’s father, “an alcoholic one-night stand who managed to last nearly a year,” took bull-headed son-of-a-bitch to new heights, a trait most said bred as true as Killy’s sky-blue eyes. But at least Papa Amos pretended to be a father, even letting Elliot tag along on visitations, though he never quite grasped basic parenting concepts like six-years-olds shouldn’t have coffee with breakfast.
“I started seeing things—bruises, cuts.” Killian cast an anxious glance to Tex, watching for a reaction.
Tex kept his poker face firmly in place and gave nothing away.
What the fuck had gotten into him?Killy couldn’t seem to shut up. “Me and Elliot, we’d been through a lot, and always, always stayed best buds. All of a sudden he stopped talking to me, started coming late to practice, and something had to give.”
“No, I don’t want to talk about it. Nothing’s wrong! Would you get off my damned back?” Elliot wrapping his arms around himself didn’t quite hide the bruises, and a cowboy hat pulled low didn’t disguise the anguish in his eyes.
Fuck, if only Killy hadn’t given up and stalked off. If only he’d insisted a little more the first time he’d seen the abuse.
Tex quietly listening while stroking the back of Killian’s free hand with his thumb.
Killy watched the thumb stroking over his skin, so calming for so small a gesture. “It took some doing, but I convinced him to get rid of Rob. They broke up after nearly five years, but we kept the asshole on ’til we could hire another drummer. Our last night in Asheville, North Carolina piled on the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
“What happened?”
It took a moment for the words to come. “By then Elliot was a beaten man. He didn’t smile like he used to. He played music, but no longer from the heart. And he quit talking about the future.” Killy shook his head. “Elliot, with so many dreams and plans. He’d stopped living long before he died.” And Killy hadn’t saved him either time.
Now Killy lay on a riverbank with a guy he barely knew, spilling his guts—the closest he’d come to a full confession in his life. “Rob showed up too strung-out to play, ranting and raving about Elliot leaving him for Ace, our keyboard player. Pure, unadulterated bullshit.” Poor Ace. He’d been a good friend, and sure the hell didn’t deserve to die so young. “We wound up canceling the concert. I laid into the bastard, told him to get his no-account ass out of my sight, and threatened to kill him if he ever spoke to my brother again—and I meant it.”
Several moments passed before Tex broke the silence. “Since they found his body on the bus, I reckon he crossed your path again.”
Killy swallowed hard and nodded. This part he’d never told another soul, letting everyone believe there’d been an accident and that he didn’t remember a damned thing. Weren’t enough drugs in the world to make him forget, Lord knew he’d tried. “We were cruising along through the mountains, snow coming down hard, when the driver spotted a man standing in the road trying to flag us down. Ace and Elliot were neck deep in a poker game in the back of the bus, and I sat up front, talking to the driver. He slammed on the brakes and opened the door, and lo and behold, Rob hopped on, looking all pitiful, asking if we’d give him a lift to Nashville. The others felt sorry for the motherfucker and let him on.”
If only they’d just kept going, leaving Rob standing in the snow, or better yet, run over his sorry ass.
“I kept an eye out, but he didn’t so much as look at Elliot. I musta dozed off, ’cause I woke up to the bus driver slamming on the brakes and Rob screaming.” Killy closed his eyes, opening them again to avoid the images forming behind his lids, burned there for all eternity. “Rob had Elliot by the throat, slamming his head against the wall. Ace was slumped over in his seat, blood pouring from his nose.”
Tears leaked from Killy’s eyes. He wiped them away with a swipe of his hand. Always before he’d hidden them; this time they fell freely. “I tried to protect him, I really tried…” He trailed off into sobs. Elliot. Sweet, soft-hearted Elliot.
