Our eyes finally meet and his are guarded but not angry.
“You’re not going to deck me, are you?” he asks glibly.
“No. Definitely not. But you’re welcome to take a swing if you want to even the score.”
He shakes his head. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t need to hit you. I think we need to talk but you should know me better than that.”
“I do. And I’m really sorry.”
“Come on.” He motions with his head and I follow him to the dressing room.
Great. Five against one.
It’s not a fight, I remind myself.
And it’s not.
“I thought it would be good if we talked all together,” Tommy says, “but if you’d like to start out with just us, that’s okay too.”
“No. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anything to hide. And I owe all of you an apology.” I pause. I’ve rehearsed what I want to say a hundred times but now the moment is here, I’m a bit tongue-tied. “I, uh, I can’t explain what came over me. It was like the pain and grief came back without warning—like you were somehow the villain even though that’s not true. Even if you did know who your dad killed, which I know now that you didn’t, you were just a kid. You had no control of your father’s actions and it was ridiculous for me to lose my temper like that.”
“That’s the only part I don’t understand,” Tommy says after a moment. “Like, couldn’t you just have asked me?”
“I thought I did,” I admit sheepishly. “When I asked if you knew your dad was a murderer, I guess I assumed you would have known who his victims were.”
“My mom moved us as far away from him and the situation as possible. She was no saint, but she didn’t want that to haunt me. And when I turned nineteen, I changed my name.” He pauses. “It never occurred to me to look up the victims. I don’t know why.”
“When we talked to Sasha,” Z interjects, “she said she knew but she figured there was no reason to open that can of worms. It served no purpose.”
“I really am sorry,” I say, holding out my hands. “I hope you can forgive me.”
“I forgave you within an hour of it happening,” he says, taking my hand and then pulling me in for a hug. “Come on, man, we’ve been through a lot together.”
That we have.
And my fucking eyes feel scratchy again.
“You have my word nothing like that will ever happen again,” I say gruffly.
“All good, my brother.”
My brother.
Fuck, but it’s been a long time since anyone’s called me that.
“Thank you.” I step back, hoping to get my emotions under control.
“We good now?” Kingston asks, a twinkle in his eyes. “Because we have a lot going on, and we need both our tour manager and our back-up vocalist back.”
“Your voice isn’t better?” I ask in alarm.
“I’m close to a hundred percent,” he says, “but I learned how much better it is when I sing fewer songs every night. Having you out there really helped me. And if I can slow down a little, for another week or two, I’ll be a hundred percent in no time.”
“Whatever you need.”
“Sasha says you want to do the solo act thing for the European leg,” Z says. “Is that true?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m not interested in starting over. If I can make some money doing a mini-reunion type thing, even though it’s just me, that works because I’m saving up for a ring.”
