Chapter 38: Rock Stars Have Control Issues

Author's Note: I made a minor error a couple of chapter's back, when I referred to the white Sixmob member as "Nate." When he first introduced, his name was actually Preston. I've corrected in the previous chapter, and he is referred to as Preston in this chapter.

Sorry, no song. I don't know why. Maybe because I'm listening to the wrong genre for this mood....

Trace, about eight hours ago

I look up at Bodie's new house, touched by the light of a nearly full moon and two well-placed shrubbery spotlights, and feel an overwhelming sense of wrongness. Bodie has been living here with Marley two months, and I've been in Atlanta supervising the band house renovation at least half that time.

I haven't been here once.

It ain't right.

Because me and Bodie?

We ain't right.

We haven't been, since he bailed on the final dates last summer. Supposedly to coax Arabella to join him in rehab, but instead, he went to Thailand and developed a taste for smack.

Look, I know I have control issues. But wondering if one of my closest friends is dead from an overdose in a third world country is beyond a minor irritation for me.

How many nights did I lie awake last fall, with Kat asleep in my arms, trying to prepare for the call you can't ever be ready for?

The one that starts, "Is this Trace Gallant? Mr. Gallant, there's been an accident. You were listed as the emergency contact for..."

All fall, I kept a brave face for the guys, and especially Mac, telling them not to worry about Bodie, but all the while, I was expecting that call and praying like hell it wouldn't come.

And when Bodie came back, I was damn glad, but I wasn't relieved.

I was fucking pissed at him. Still sorta am.

The truth us, except for Leed, we've all been distant from Bodie since he's been home. We've been calling it space, like he needs it, but maybe we are the ones that have needed it.

That needs to stop. He and Marley were almost shot tonight, and he needs to know how that felt for me. For the band.

He needs to know we care. A fuck ton.

I look over at my best friend. Adam and I are the designated intervention crew. Leed and Ash have a flight to catch in a matter of hours, Mac and Tam needed to get back to the babies at the hotel, and Kat was a little freaked after the gunfire and getting caught up in the subsequent run in the club, so I sent her back to the bandhouse under Ben's care.

Adam points to a light switching off in one upper room and another lighting suddenly.

"Well, someone is still awake."

I pull out my phone and text Bodie.

Hey. We're walking up onto your porch, man. Let us in.

The door opens less than a minute later.

"Marley's asleep, let's keep it down," he says quietly, standing aside.

Adam and I say the things we're supposed to say and Bodie offers us the assurances that he and Marley are fine, but when we try to ask him questions about the actual shooting, he's tight-lipped.

Something is not right. Shit, I get he's tense, how could he not be? But the guy tapping nervously on the counter is not the guy I've known for five years. His guard is up and it's beyond the rock star shield.

His energy?

It's full-on thug right now.

We sit at the kitchen bar, playing with caps from bottles of waters none of us want to drink.

Bodie gets another text, and abruptly walks to the back door. He argues in forced whispers with who ever is there. Adam and I exchange a concerned glance. We rise as one to back Bodie up at the same time he shuts the door abruptly, and turns from us.

Neither Adam nor I miss the handgun Bodie is tucking in the back of his pants.

He doesn't explain. He walks back into the kitchen, arms crossed and says flatly, "Thanks for coming by. We're okay, but I'm fucking wrecked. You guys should get going, don't you think?"

"Is that gun loaded?" Adam asks mildly.

"Of course. What the fuck good is an unloaded weapon?" Bodie snaps.

"Bodes, I get the need to feel safe," Adam says slowly. "But do you really want a loaded gun in the house? With the kid?"

Bodie laughs. "That's ironic." But he doesn't explain.

"Bodie. C'mon, man," I say. "You're strung way too tight right now."

"And you wanna play counselor, Trace? Think you've learned enough from Marley to flip the table on me?" he says bitterly.

"That's not what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to be a friend, man. Cause we are. We always have been. Since you been back, things are strained, and we just want you to know—"

"Things are strained? Dude, I am strained. To the max. You have no idea what I'm dealin' with," Bodie interjects.

"I know it must be a fucking head trip, battling sobriety and having an instant family all at once. I know this random violence tonight was scary as fuck for you. I know you care about Marley, and I can't imagine if that had been Kat. But don't let it trigger all your frustration, man. Marley is safe. You are safe. It's all good."

Bodie gives the marble countertop a pissed off grin as he traces a waterstain. "You think Marley and Darius and my sobriety have me stressed? Jesus, Trace. Sobriety is a no-brainer with them as motivation. It ain't that."

"What is it, man?"

Bodie plants both hands flat on the counter. He looks first at Adam, then at me. "That drive-by? It wasn't random. It was Sixmob."

"You mean...your old gang?" Adam asks hesitantly.

"Yeah. And Marley's ex? The man that thinks he's Darius' father? The man that just got out of prison six months ago and has been breathing down her neck about his parental rights ever since? He's the leader of that gang."

My mouth goes dry as I contemplate the implications. Jesus Fuck.

I do what I always do. I start to pace and work the problem.

"Alright," I say, "First thing you do is move the hell out of here. You take Marley and Darius to LA. And we'll get extra security—"

"We have security, it didn't make a damn tonight. And I can't take Darius from the only family he's ever known."

"Like fuck you can't. He'll adapt."

Bodie shakes his head. "He won't understand why he has to adapt. And Marley...she doesn't want to tell him the truth right now."

I shake my head. "Well that's a dumbshit move. Take it from a pissed off dude that always felt like there was an undercurrent in his house he didn't understand. The kid has a right to know who his father is."

Bodie looks pissed but his voice remains calm. "Do you not think I want to tell him? This isn't about keeping secrets from my son. This is about protecting him."

"Do you not think that's the same justification my parents made to lie to me my whole life, and the reason I don't really fucking trust either of them?"

"I don't have to justify myself to you, man."

The words shoot out of my mouth before I can stop them. "You're wrong about that shit. This is my band. My family. Now people I care about are getting shot at."

Bodie is around the bar like a shot, shoving me. I'm so shocked, there's no resistance in me and I hit the wall. Pictures rattle from the source.

"You're wrong about that shit. Marley is my family. The mother of my son. I don't just care about her. I love her. So get off your fucking high horse, because we both know there is nothing you wouldn't do to keep Kat safe. No matter what the cost."

Bodie's words are making sense, but the way he's gripping my shirt? Not so fucking much.

Before I even decide, I'm pushing back and then we are in a pissing match of escalating shoves, neither one of us willing to throw a punch, but neither willing to back down, either.

Adam gets between us without hesitation, but suddenly there's a fourth body in the mix. A guy who came in through the garage door. He muscles Bodie back to the counter, but Adam and I are already lunging toward him to get him off Bodie.

The dude pulls a gun.

"Whoa," Adam raises his arms, stepping slightly in front of me, like he thinks I am so in my feels I might do something stupid.

Christ, I'm easily provoked, but I ain't gotta death wish.

I take a deep breath and try to ease my menacing posture."Be cool, man."

This guy in dress slacks holds the gun sideways like a banger and flexes on us. "Back up off me, motherfuckers."

"Jesus, TJ." Bodie grunts in frustration and swats at the dude's gun, wrestling it casually out of his hand, causing Adam to jump and me to nearly piss my pants.

He slams the gun down on the counter and glares at TJ.

"Enough of this sitting the fence bullshit. Where you stand, Dawg? With me? Or with the motherfucker who tried to kill Marley tonight?"

"I stand with you, because you stand for Darius and Marley. Daemon's out of his fucking mind. But what the hell am I supposed to think about all this?" TJ says defensively, jabbing a finger at  me and Adam. "You send Preston over as a witness to tell me Dae tried to have Marley capped and you need back-up, then your boys try to jump me? My mind goes to retaliation, Dawg."

"We didn't try to jump you, we were trying to protect Bodie. We didn't know who the hell you were."

"So your immediate thought was that the black dude you don't know, the one trying to bust up your fight, is obviously a menace?" he questions.

"Look, we don't have time for this bullshit," Bodie growls. "They aren't racist, they are just territorial as fuck. Just like us."

I glare at TJ, he glares at me. Bodie is pacing during the time it takes for TJ and I to dissolve our hostile posture.

When we do, Bodie pulls out a notebook from the drawer, scribbling furiously while he mutters. "TJ and I have some business to take care of. Not sure how it's gonna go down. "

"You need to stay here. We need to think this shit through," Adam says mildly. "Put this situation in front of Riley. Probably the police."

TJ and Bodie laugh as one. The fact that they think the idea of involving the police is ridiculous disturbs me on several levels. But it also recalls my guilt over Ashlynn. I gave a false report to the police about what happened to her to protect Ross. So how can I be a hypocrite now?

"Bodie, let's call Varrick Von," I suggest. "I know Matt doesn't feel him, but he handled the Thailand situation pretty fucking effectively."

"I know what I'm doing, Trace."

Bodie continues writing. He scrawls his signature. I'm assuming he's writing a note to Marley, until he slides it over to TJ, who signs it automatically.

Bodie holds out the piece of paper, shaking it at me and Adam.

"One of you sign it. It needs two witnesses."

I look down at the piece of paper, where Bodie has written Last Will and Testament at the top, followed by instructions to divide his estate into thirds between his mother, Marley, and a trust for Darius.

"No fucking way, man." I hold my hands up. "I am not helping you tidy up your shit before a suicide mission."

He rolls his eyes at me and looks at Adam.

"It's not a suicide mission." He tags TJ in the chest. "Ain't no way Daemon will light me up if TJ is standing in front of me. I'm just going to talk to him, that's all. This," he shakes the paper. "is just a precaution for the slim odds that this situation might somehow go sideways. If for some reason, I don't come back...you take this to Riley and tell him this has to be probated in California, because a handwritten will is not legal in Georgia."

I shake my head. Adam sighs and twitches his fingers for the paper. I tag him hard in the chest. "No fucking way."

Adam grimaces as he bends over the counter and carefully writes a legible signature. "He's going, and you know we aren't talking him out of it. It's our job to have his back, protect his family."

Bodie claps it out with Adam. "It's gonna be fine. But if it's not," he pulls Adam in hard, hugging him. "You take care of them."

"You just make sure you come back, take care of 'em yourself." Adam's voice is gruff with fear and emotion.

I'm so fucking pissed. I'm trying to walk this shit off, but I can't. How can he fucking do this to us?

I feel like my body is being ripped in two. I want go with him, have his back. But I can't do that.

I can't get involved in gang shit. It's not about the band, the label, the image.

I know how this shit works. I lived in Atlanta my whole life, too. You fuck with a gang, they hurt your family. Kat, Ashlynn, their parents, my mom, hell even Ross. They are all in Atlanta far too much for me to think about risking their safety.

I won't cross the line into this world, not even for Bodie or Marley. But they don't have to be in it either, and that's what pissing me off.

I toe the ground, my hands gripping the counter so I don't grab Bodie by the collar again.

"You fucking swore to me, Bodie. Years ago. You swore you would never bring this shit home to us."

"I wasn't working with all the information," he shrugs, like he doesn't even give a damn. "Didn't know about Darius. Didn't know Marley was still tied to Daemon. This situation can't continue. I have to deal with it."

"Don't fucking do this, Bodie. It could blow back on all of us," I plead. "Think about this."

"I am thinking. I am thinking about everybody I love—Soundcrush included. But I am also thinking I am uniquely positioned to destroy that motherfucker," Bodie says calmly.

"What does that mean?"

Bodie's mouth tightens with secrets as he ties up his dreads and shoves on a ball cap. He heads to the door.

"Goddammit, Bodie!" I yell at him.

He turns to face me. "Do you trust me?"

The truth is, I'm honestly not sure. I'm not sure I trust anyone or anything I can't control, except Kat.

"Trust you? I need you to be honest, man. Are you walking out the door with the intent of murdering someone?"

Bodie looks almost sick, then he masters himself into the scowl I can only imagine was his resting thug face.

"You need me to be honest," Bodie repeats. He walks slowly back to face me. He looks at Adam. "Honesty, is what you expect from me? Both of you?"

Beside me, I feel Adam tense, but I don't understand why. "Of fucking course I expect honesty. We're brothers."

"We're brothers. And my brothers are always honest with me, right?"

"Bodie—"

"No, Adam. Cut the shit, both of you. What do you know about Arabella that I don't? I know she's getting dropped from label, but the press doesn't know that. Why are they treating her like a leper?"

Fuck. He sees it in my face.

My flinch of guilty disgust. I hate a being a fucking hypocrite.

"Look, man...we were trying to protect you. Trying to find out how to help her, too. We never meant for it to go down, like it did."

"What.The.Fuck.Trace."

I grit my teeth. I can barely look Bodie in the eye. "When Leed took that meeting at the label, Slade was fucking pissed about the canceled tour and Bell's album not being produced in time for summer release. He had heard about all our late tour bickering, about all the drugs, maybe something about us covering up Bell's accidental overdose. He had an axe to grind. With a mind to use it on your neck. Leed...did what Leed does. Charmed him. Made him see that Arabella is the problem—"

"Arabella has a problem," Bodie retorts.

"She is a problem, man," Adam says. "She's a hot mess and she's not good in our mix. Look, I feel bad for her too—I don't why she's so fucked up—"

"You're goddamn right, Adam! You don't fucking know shit about Arabella's problems!" Bodie yells. "You don't fucking know her like I do! What she's been through—" Bodie bites his knuckle, holding back fury.

"Whatever she's been through, it's not your burden," I assure him. "You gotta cut her loose, man. For so many reasons. Because she's bad for you. Because you have enough real shit to deal with. Because she's gonna drag your career down with hers."

He pounds on the bar as he leans toward me in rage. "Are you fucking kidding me right now, Trace? You think I give a fuck about press relations at this moment? The woman I love was almost murdered tonight. That's all I care about!"

"That's not true, man," Adam says mildly. "You care about Arabella, I know you do. And if you care about her, you should take Trace's advice and cut her loose. Whatever is going down with your old gang, what if tonight doesn't end it? What if being associated with you puts Arabella in actual danger, instead of just—" he stops, and looks to me.

Bodie tags Adam in the shoulder again. "Don't look at him. Look at me and tell me the fucking truth."

"Slade had her blacklisted," Adam says quietly. "Industry blacklisted."

Bodie squints skeptically. "Bullshit. That's just some scare tactic."

"It's fucking shitty, but Riley says it's real. A point of no return. An old-school, gentleman's agreement in Hollywood, so to speak. When a mogul puts the word out that an artist is an irredeemable liability—a financial sinkhole—the whole industry cuts their losses at the same time. Her Uncle was told, and he's keeping the situation from her, while he separates his own interests."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. Her own blood has turned on her!?!?"

"It's not like that," Adam defends. "Randall wants her to get stable before she's hit with this."

"There is no point at which Arabella is going to be able to take this news and be okay," Bodie says quietly. "Since she was twelve years old, her family has made her think her worth is tied to her celebrity. Motherfucker!" he yells, and flips a barstool over, then picks another up and hurls it across the room.

He puts his hands on his head, and paces. Then he takes his gun out, checks the clip, loads one in the chamber, puts the safety back on.

To my unease, the act of checking his weapon has calmed him. He gives TJ a silent nod, and the other man collects his gun from the counter and moves into the garage. Bodie follows.

"Bodie, don't walk out like this!" I cry in alarm. "What are you gonna do, just fucking—"

"I'm gonna do what I have to do, one problem at a time," he says. "And you do what you have to do, Trace."

He walks out. I throw some fucks and some pillows around the room. Adam leans on the bar, texting. Riley, I suppose. Maybe Mac but I doubt he would wake her.

Eventually, I stop storming and I put back the pillows and right the bar stools, sitting down. I put my head in my hands.

"What the fuck are we gonna do? Just sit here? I can't fucking do that." I rise. "We gotta—I don't know—go after him."

"Cause we can make it so much better—two white guys rolling up on a heated internal gang confrontation at their...club house?"

I sneer at Adam. "Did you really just say club house?"

"Trap, stash house, whatthefuckever," he growls back as he rises and looks in the freezer, then under the sink. "We're not doing that. There's no way that helps. Naw. Here's what we need to do: control the shit we can," Adam says calmly. "Handle the press, and the police, and explain shit to Marley, when she wakes up. Maybe Bodie will be back by then."

I nod, getting behind Adam's agenda.

It's crazy really, how fatherhood has caused Adam to step up. He was always the laid-back one, willing to follow someone else's lead. Now he's the man with the plan.

I smile slightly in respect as he examines the pantry contents, with a grim expression. "Goddamn," he says dryly. "There's not a drop of liquor anywhere."

"Of course not. Marley runs her job like a...well, like a boss," I chuckle.

"Admirable, but  also shitty for us, because that means we have to do all that damage control sober," he complains.

"Awwww, fuck," I commiserate. I pull a cigarette and a joint from my pack. "Smoke? Or...smoke?" I suggest.

"Hell fucking no," he grouses. "I promised Mac I'd quit. Both. At least until she's not breastfeeding anymore, and shit like that becomes a theoretical option for her again."

He makes a gutteral sound in the back of his throat, then grabs a bag of cheese puffs, tearing into it as he returns to the bar.

I laugh as I paw into the bag. "The kid's gonna be sad you ate his snacks," I say between mouthfuls of orange processed heaven.

"Yeah, let's hope that's all he has to be sad about."

We munch until Adam gets a return call from Riley. We put him on speakerphone and he listens to our update without interruption. I know Riley well enough by now to understand that the long silence that follows involves him cleaning his glasses, which really is just an exercise in him subduing the kind of worries and emotions Adam and I have already exercised with curses, throwing shit, and eating our feelings.

Finally, Riley clears his throat and says, "We've got to go to work on this. Before Slade hears a narrative that's not ours. Things at the label do not need to get any worse for Soundcrush."

I nod as if he can see me. "We know. Tell us who to call and what to say."