Chapter 14
The venue's small. Perfect. Under the radar. A teaser of a performance that Marshall has arranged. A way to get David and Erica some practice in front of a live audience.
Shit, the Bridgestone Arena in one week—they need all the help they can get.
Dylan exits the SUV first, blocking the doorway with his body to make sure there's no press around.
"I can handle a little picture in the paper, Dylan." Brenda's silvery voice, whispering in his ear, has every muscle in Dylan's body tensing. Leaning into him, Brenda wraps an arm around his waist. Her breasts press up against his back. A long curtain of hair falls over his shoulder as she kisses his scruffy cheek.
Twisting around to meet her lips,"I know you can. I don't know if I can." Dylan sighs.
"You my personal bodyguard now?" Brenda teases. She's hanging in the doorway of the SUV. "I thought we have guys for that." She gestures at the barrage of personal protection lurking in the shadows that Dylan's hired.
"We do," Dylan grunts. What he isn't telling Brenda is that he doesn't trust her to anyone. That he isn't leaving her again. That he'll do everything in his power to protect her. Anyone gets within an inch of his wife, he'll drag them down to hell himself.
As she slips out of the SUV, Brenda's shirt rides up, exposing a flash of slender, pale stomach. God, she aims to kill him. Dylan has to stifle a groan at the way she looks.
Brenda's jeans fit her just right. The curve of her hip, pressed up against him, already has him hardening.
Tonight was a bad idea. A terrible idea. His wife's gonna drive him to distraction and then some. Marchette could be lurking around any corner. He has to be at the top of his game. With Brenda's presence and her looking good enough to eat, the reason he is here is already forgotten. Screw the gig, screw Erica and David. He'll take Brenda home and screw her.
Then, like she's read his mind, Brenda wraps an arm around his neck and brings him in for a sweet kiss. His fingertips skim the waistband of her jeans, dip down below, and Brenda lets out a needy gasp.
"Instruments ain't gonna unload themselves," Marshall barks impatiently from stage right.
"Yeah, yeah, we got it," David grunts from somewhere up ahead.
Dylan groans but doesn't pull away, instead pulling Brenda in closer.
"Mmm." She smiles against his cheek. "Better listen to your boss."
"C'mon Bren" Valerie says, popping down beside Dylan, her brunette hair swinging. "We got the best seats in the house."
Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Dylan cups Brenda's face, "You'll be okay?"
"I'll be fine, Dylan." She kisses him again. "Go help your sister set up, then come find me."
As he watches Brenda disappear, arm in arm with Valerie, the security team surrounding them in tight circles, Dylan's not sure if he'll be okay.
He came close to losing her the other day. The thought's like a brick in his stomach, settling, weighing him down.
Then Marshall puts a hand is on his shoulder. "Let's go, son."
Dylan, Erica, David, and Brandon follow behind Steve and Marshall as they head into the backstage dressing room. Buckets of beer on the table. Chipped paint. A couch that looks like it's seen better days.
Steve tosses the set list down.
"It's a sold-out show, guys, so do me proud." Marshall says with a smile, cigar hanging from his fingers.
"Like this is even about you?" Brandon grumbles as Marshall exits.
Dylan pulls his brother aside in the cramped dressing room. "What's going on with you?"
Brandon's had a pissy scowl on his face all night. "Usually I'm the one arguing with Marshall, I wasn't aware you even knew him that well."
The deep frown on Brandon's face smooths out. "Yeah, well, you had more important things to worry about, I just don't like him."
Dylan stares at Brandon, trying to read his mind.
Sensing Brandon grins. "You nervous?"
Dylan smiles back dropping it. "Why would I be nervous, it's not like I'm doing anything."
"I don't know…it's the first time Erica and David are playing your songs again."
Sure, he's nervous. Tonight marks the first time they've played live since Brenda went missing. There is also some personal stuff that was written that they will be singing tonight.
But there's also something else. An energy to the room. An excitement. About the band. About where they're going.
Without a doubt, this is the fire Dylan's been missing. It's burning. Watching his family play his songs. It's exciting.
Pacing around the room, David gives the wall his typical good-luck knock. The old drywall crumbles instantly, leaving behind a noticeable hole.
David backs away, hands out. "Man, what'd I do?"
But Steve's grinning. He likes it. They all do. This run-down shitty dressing room reminds them of when they started Rowdy honky-tonks. Street corners. Suitcases. This was why they started. Not the Bridgestone. Not the money. This. The music.
"Shit," Steve laughs. "If this doesn't feel like your starting out all over again, nothing does."
Brandon eyes find Erica's, they are already looking at him. He gives her a wink that has her blushing and smiling right back.
"You both are going to sing your asses off tonight, and they are going to love you." Steve puts his hand in the middle of the circle.
"Fuck yeah," Erica echoes, all hands joining in.
Dylan blows out a breath. "What you all have done for me . . . being there after Bren…it can never be repaid. You guys gave me the strength I needed to get back and there wouldn't have been songs to sing if it weren't for you. So thank you."
David nods his head for a long moment. Steve clears his throat. Erica's eyes tearing up. She wipes her eyes, she reaches out to shove Dylan away.
"Why're you doing this? You're an asshole." She wipes under her eyes quickly, hoping to god she doesn't have mascara running. Brandon's arm wraps sweetly around her shoulders as he pulls her against his side.
Laughing, Dylan swipes the set list from the table. As he scans it, something tugs at him. A feeling of change. Of moving forward, of second chances. It feels right. Tonight.
Crossing off the last song, Dylan holds the revised set list out to his sister and best friend. "Tonight, you play Bren's Song."
By nine p.m. the crowd is rowdy and ready and so is Brenda. She's seated right up front with Valerie at a cheap card table. The venue isn't what Brenda expected, with its nondescript location and puddles of beer on the floor, but she likes it. It feels familiar somehow.
"They love this stuff," Valerie offers, seeing Brenda studying the rickety old stage.
"Peanuts on the floor, bar fights." Valerie smirks. "Stages that look like they'll collapse any minute."
Brenda laughs. It's then that the lights dim and the curtains part. She notices Dylan take his seat beside her, her brother joins on the other side of Valerie.
When Erica and David take the stage, the audience cheers and whoops. Beers are raised high in the air, but a hush falls over the room as they launch into their first number. An energetic guitar-busting tune just begging the crowd to get up and dance.
When they're finished, Erica steps up to the mic. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am Erica McKay and this amazing hottie on vocals and the piano is David Silver, thank y'all for coming down to the Station Inn to see our performance tonight. It's an important night for us, seeing as how there are some very special people in the audience."
A shiver runs down Brenda's spine as Erica and David's eyes meet her and holds them steady, the connection between them laser-sharp and electric. Then, Erica's voice is shining out like spun silk as they launch into their second song.
Effortless the way they play. Better than she's ever seen them. Confident but not cocky. So natural, so magnetic, if she weren't sitting down, her knees would buckle.
"They're so good," Brenda whispers, leaning across the table to grip Valerie's hand.
Smiling, Valerie nods. She squeezes Brenda's hand back with a ferocious intensity that has Brenda feeling like she belongs. Really belongs. Like she can almost remember always doing this and never wanting to be anywhere else.
The lyrics cause goosebumps to spread over her arms and legs. Her eyes find Dylan's but he is already watching her. Erica and David singing about being brought back to life. Being saved. It's emotional. They don't speak, but she knows Dylan senses the emotion as he leans in kissing her temple, pulling her closer to his side where she remains for the rest of the show.
The evening passes in a blur of song. Erica and David's performance is high-energy and enthusiastic. Then some songs are dark and sad.
But for one night it's easy for Brenda to forget her worries, Marchette lurking in the shadows, her shitty memory. For one night it's just her and Dylan in that bar, and he's—Holy shit, he's singing to her.
Brenda snaps to attention as the familiar song hits her eardrums. Dylan's voice in her ear. "The life we live hasn't been perfect, but it's been perfect with you . . ."
She turns towards him, Dylan's staring at her like she's his spotlight. Like she's the only one they're playing for. Heat creeps up her cheeks, her breath held tight in her chest. It's her song, being sung in front of everyone. The crowd is hushed and reverential, almost as if they recognize who the song is for.
Eyes are on Brenda, some patrons elbowing each other in recognition, but she barely notices the attention. She only has eyes for Dylan.
When they finish, the crowd erupts. Hoots and hollers and hard boot stomps flood the room. Valerie cheers like a banshee, while beside her, Brandon sticks his fingers in her mouth and whistles sharp. Brenda and Dylan kiss…long, inappropriate and deliciously.
The applause goes long and loud into the night, and after the second encore, they finally call it quits.
As the house lights come on, Dylan extends his hand down to her. He pulls her up to her feet, pulling her into his strong arms.
"I'm so proud, those lyrics Dylan…just beautiful." she says, kissing him softly. He stares back at her, holding her so tight they could be one.
"Baby, having you back, it means more to me than you can ever imagine."
"They sang my song." Brenda slides a hand up to brace his chest. His heartbeat pumps beneath her palm. She's so full of pride she could burst.
"That's the song they should play. At the Bridgestone." His eyes widen, turn serious.
Then he shakes his head. "Brenda, using you for their big comeback, it doesn't feel right."
She stares at him, all her love and pride and hope dancing in the air between them. She wants to show him there's nothing to be afraid of anymore. Dylan—he is all her roads and then some. Protector. Lover. Friend. Husband. Together, they can get through anything.
Brenda stands on tiptoes to press a tender kiss to his lips. A kiss of promise. Of the future.
"I want them to. I'm yours, Dylan McKay. And I want the world to know it."
The afternoon heat beats down on Brenda as she steers Dylan's ranch truck back to the farmhouse. She rolls down the window, letting the cool breeze blow through her hair, and smiles.
Though her latest therapy appointment had gleaned nothing new, she's making progress. Each time she's gone, she's encouraged. She has stuff to work with here. Slight flickers of memory that can grow. And if they don't—her life may not be perfect, but it's hers.
A myriad of thoughts run through her mind. Erica and David's gig last night at the Station Inn. Afterwards, drinks on Broadway at the purple bar called Tootsie's. Making love to Dylan all night long.
Brenda feels like she could run a marathon. In fact, that's what she'll do. When she gets back to the house, she'll go for a run. She glances in her rear view mirror smiling she can't see security behind her. She chuckles thinking about the security team trying to keep up with her now and when she is running later. Brenda's so lost in her thoughts she doesn't realize she's come up on Hells Curve. Fast.
Too fast.
The truck goes into a skid. The screech of tires has Brenda death-gripping the wheel. Her eyes flash wide as she watches the ground come up in front of her. Quick, she eases off the accelerator. She jerks the wheel, pumps the brakes, and manages to steer the truck onto the shoulder of Hells Curve.
It sideswipes the guardrail, spinning around before jolting roughly to a stop. She sits in her seat, breathing heavily. Her hands still gripping the wheel, her knuckles bloodless.
Close.
It was too close.
Like last time.
Like…last…time…Brenda's mind blurs with memory. Her head feels so fuzzy she can barely move. But she can think. She's been here before. She knows this part because Dylan told her.
Still…Brenda glances over her shoulder at the center of the intersection. At the stop sign. Unbuckling her seat belt, she exits the car. On numb legs, like she's on some conveyor belt she can't get off of, Brenda drifts toward the center of the road, her body trembling, her face draining of blood. And then she's back in that night. The night of the accident. Her seat belt buckled, she flew fast around Hells Curve, this curve, only she had a stop sign, and she missed it. And there was a truck. It hit her head-on and flipped her car like it was a Hot Wheel. Then there was a hand held out, stretching, reaching for—for Brenda.
It was Steve. Brenda can remember his wide, frantic blue eyes peering into the wreckage. His hand outstretched, his mouth moving around the words I'll help you. And he did. He got her out of there and kept her still and warm while they waited for the ambulance.
Steve's words, Stay with me, a frantic keen on repeat. His hands were red, shaking, soaked in blood. Her blood. Her blood and her—Brenda gasps.
Her baby's.
Letting out an anguished cry, Brenda falls to her knees in the middle of the road. She clutches at her stomach and doubles over. Oh God, a baby. Dylan and her were expecting a baby.
Steve downshifts his corvette expecting the stop sign. What he sees when he turns the curve has him slamming his brakes.
Dylan's truck sits on the shoulder of the road. Smashed into the guardrail, the hood smoking. And—sitting in the middle of the gravel road is Brenda.
Brenda—in the same spot where she had her accident. Her head bowed, her hands listless in her lap. Dread overtakes Steve.
Damn it, no. Not again. His heart racing, he bolts out of the corvette, his hand going up to stop security that has finally caught up to her, he runs across the road to Brenda, dropping to his knees beside her.
"Bren" he says gently, not wanting to spook her but also really wanting to get her the hell out of the road. He tries to peer at her through her veil of dark hair. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"No." Her voice is numb.
"Then what are you doing?"
"Sitting in the road."
"Yeah, I can see that." He scans the road for cars. It's clear, for now. "C'mon. Let's get you up." But she doesn't budge. For a long moment, he lets her sit there.
He knows. Then, he finally asks, "You remember, don't you?"
She turns her face, her weary eyes, toward him. Her words come in stilted fragments.
"Last year . . . the car accident. I was pregnant, wasn't I?"
"Yes," he says quietly.
Dipping forward, she places a palm against the gravel and fans out her fingers. "I bled my baby out . . . here."
Steve winces, but he doesn't look away. "Yes."
Her hands flutter to her stomach. "I can't remember."
Her voice is the softest sadness he's ever heard. "I can't remember a baby."
His ears prick at the unmistakable sound of oncoming traffic.
"Brenda, please," Steve says urgently. He loops an arm through hers. "We gotta go."
Brenda blinks once, twice, then nods, letting Steve haul her to her feet. He follows her as she drifts back to the side of the road and climbs into the Corvette.
As he slips behind the wheel, Steve takes Brenda in.
The fragile creature he found on the beach is gone. In her place sits a strong woman, sits the Brenda he knows. Has always known.
Brenda looks over at Steve. "You helped me. You helped me twice. Then and now."
His throat tightens, unable to speak for a long moment. "I did."
She nods numbly, pain evident in her eyes. Then she turns away from him to stare out the window. "I want to talk to Dylan."
With a sigh, Steve puts the car in drive and heads toward the farmhouse.
Dylan reads over the lyrics for a new song and smiles. He can't believe that everything he thought he had lost is back. His writing. Himself. And his wife.
The door to his workshop cracks open. Brenda's small frame fills the doorway, followed by Steve. Dylan has to grin at the two of them together.
He's seen the way Brenda's bonded to Steve this last month, and he's glad for it.
"Hey, you two," Dylan calls out. "How was it today?"
"Brenda took a skid off the road." Steve holds up a hand when Dylan rockets out of his chair. "She's okay. She's just shook up."
"Baby—" Dylan's voice drops off as Brenda steps deeper into the workshop, into the low lamplight. The air escapes his lungs when he sees she's been crying.
Steve says something in a hushed voice to Brenda, then turns sympathetic eyes Dylan's way. "I'll get the car towed back to the ranch."
With a squeeze of Brenda's arm, Steve slips out the door.
Crossing the room quick, Dylan reaches her in two long strides. He palms her shoulders, and she raises her tear-streaked gaze. "Are you okay? What happened?"
He's stunned when Brenda steps away from him. "I lost control of the truck on Hells Curve," she says, and Dylan's stomach drops into his boots.
She lifts her chin. Her brow furrows. "That's where I had the accident the first time, isn't it?"
"Bren, listen—"
But she doesn't wait for him to explain. "I remembered," she says, continuing. "When I was spinning around on the road, it jarred something, opened a memory inside of me. I remembered that curve, and I remembered Steve…"
She takes a bracing breath. Her eyes lock on his. "And I remember being pregnant."
Her words zap all the air from Dylan's lungs.
"Jesus, Bren." He shakes his head. "I never wanted you to find out this way."
Desperate to touch her, he reaches out to take a slim wrist to pull her into him. But Brenda, her eyes enormous, steps out of Dylan's grasp.
"So it's true? I was pregnant? We were going to have a baby?"
The hollow in Dylan's stomach expands. "We were." Fuck, just the way she's looking at him—so hurt. Betrayed. And he has no excuse. He always knew she'd remember. Hell, he wanted her to remember. But not like this. Never like this.
"It was my fault," Brenda says in a heartbroken whisper. "The accident. I ran the stop sign." Her eyes fill. "I killed our baby."
"God, no." His voice, his face contorts. "Never. I never want you to think that. It was nothing you did, do you hear me?"
Brenda braces a hand against the workbench and turns her no-bullshit gaze to his face. "Then tell me what happened, Dylan. I can take it."
Smearing a hand down his face, Dylan lets out a ragged breath. "I'm not sure I can."
Tears track down her cheeks. "You said you'd help me remember. So help me. Please. Tell me the truth."
Her voice shatters on the last word. Truth. It's what she's wanted ever since she came back to him and he hasn't given that to her.
Dylan blows out a breath, unprepared to relieve one of the worst nights of his life. The night he got the call from Steve that his wife and unborn child were in the hospital, their condition critical. He had never run so many red lights.
"You were out, it was late, and you missed the stop sign. A guy in a pickup T-boned you. Flipped your car. He was okay, but you weren't. Steve got there and got you to the hospital in time. You were lucky, Brenda. You had internal bleeding and had a broken wrist, but you made it."
"But the baby didn't."
"No." His voice breaks. "You miscarried."
"What was it?" Dylan barely hears her question. "Dylan."
"A boy."
Brenda closes her eyes in agony. "It was a boy?" It takes all of his effort to nod. "How far along was I?"
"Four months. We were hiding it. No one knew but family."
"Did we have a name picked out?"
The word wrenches from Dylan's mouth. "Connor." Dylan's eyes close as the pain burns his chest, "Connor James McKay."
"Oh God." A sound like a dying gasp escapes Brenda's lips. She's crying now, in earnest. Hot, angry tears. "It's so sad. It's not fair. I can't even remember carrying our son."
Her hands, pressed against her flat stomach, rip something apart in Dylan.
He moves toward her and gathers Brenda in his arms. She resists briefly, then collapses against his chest.
Fighting back tears, Dylan says, "It's why we went to Pensacola. I couldn't face it. The grief. I was a goddamn coward and I tried to take it away from you instead of letting you deal with it. If I had just let you cope and grieve instead of trying to fix everything, you wouldn't have been in the accident, lost your memory."
Her small frame wracks against him. Dylan can feel her hot tears soaking the front of his shirt. Finally, Brenda pulls back to look at him. Her eyes blaze. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Her voice holds a slice of trembling anger. If she asked to slap the living shit out of him, he'd let her. "I would have wanted to know. Especially since everyone else knew but me."
Dylan takes a minute to steady his breathing, to find his voice. "I never wanted to keep the truth from you. I was waiting for the right time to tell you, but then it never was the right time. All I could think about was keeping you safe. Making sure you were okay. Because if anything had happened to you, I couldn't live with myself."
Her lips tremble. She shakes her head, frustration and pain etched across her face. "We lost a baby—you went through that alone. You shouldn't have hidden that from me. It was our memory to share. No matter how bad."
"You're right. You are." He meets her gaze. "I'm sorry, Bren. And I'm so fucking sorry I wasn't there today when you remembered."
Panic tears into him when Brenda leans away, breaking their connection. She drifts across the workshop. Her eyes downcast, she stares at the tattoo on her wrist.
Dylan takes a step toward her. "Brenda, there isn't anyone in this world more important to me than you. I love you so damn much."
She's quiet for so long Dylan wonders if she's even heard him. When she finally looks at him, Dylan's heart drops into his boots.
Her steady voice, filled with courage, says, "I love you, too, Dylan."
He doesn't wait. He moves toward her, needing her in his arms, her heartbeat against his. This time, Brenda doesn't push him away. Instead, she lets him enfold her into his embrace. He buries his face in her hair and inhales gratefully. It's all Dylan can do to keep it together as his arms are blessed by the body of his wife. Shit, he doesn't deserve her. She's given him grace, forgiveness to many times for him to even count.
That's Brenda. That's his wife. She died, and she still came back better than ever.
Brenda slides her small hands up his chest. Dylan nearly falls over at the way she's looking at him. Her eyes shine with tears, with love. Even now. Even after everything he's kept from her. Then Brenda tilts her head.
"Is there anything else I should know?"
Dylan stares down at her, numb. Sickened by his cowardice, his grief and his lies. But damn it, how is he suppose to tell her about Kelly? She barely believed him the first time—why would this time be any different? She doesn't even know who she is, their past, her on and off friendship. How does he tell her?
That fear, losing Brenda again, has him frozen. That fear gives him the will to lie. Again.
"No, baby. Nothing."
Brenda lets out a little sigh and curls into his chest. Dylan grips her tight and closes his eyes. It was his chance to tell her everything.
His one chance and he blew it.
Dylan finds Steve and Brandon in the basement studio. The two of them deep in conversation, they glance up guiltily when he enters. Steve raises his eyebrows, his expression concerned. "How'd she take it?"
"Like a warrior." Dylan lets out a bitter laugh. "Which is more than you can say about me." Dread curdles his stomach as he meets the concerned eyes of his best friends. He's a fucking coward and they know it.
"I didn't tell her about Kelly." Steve blows out a heavy breath.
Brandon rests his elbows on the knees of his jeans and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.
"Man, I am gonna kick your ass." Brandon's voice loud.
"What do you want me to say? I know." Dylan groans. "She didn't ask why she was in the crash and hell if it was the time to bring it up. I mean, how do I move from the death of our son to 'by the way, you thought I was cheating on you and nearly had your bags packed?"
He paces, dragging a hand through his hair. "I sure as shit don't know what to tell her because I don't even know what to tell myself. I can do everything but explain that goddamn picture, plus she doesn't even know who Kelly is. She doesn't know our past and how Kelly has been a constant reminder of that fucking summer and my betrayal. I don't even know where to begin." Dylan sighs, "I can't lose her." Dylan whispers in agony.
"Dylan," Steve warns softly. "I get it, but you ever think this is bound to piss her off? This is Brenda were talking about. She remembered on her own today, all this could come back to her at any time. Wouldn't it be better to tell her, at least about the picture and the recent before she has a flashback of it. You control the conversation here, who knows how it will come to her if she remembers."
"She didn't believe me the first time, why would she now?"
"She believed you." At that, Dylan's head snaps up. Brandon, his face tight, stares at Dylan.
He frowns. "What are you talking about?"
Steve looks at Dylan, then Brandon, whose eyes stay on Dylan. "You just told me, now I think it's time for you to tell him."
When seconds of silence pass, Dylan grits his teeth. "Look, you both have the same expressions that you, David and Erica had when I found you in that hospital. You know something. So talk."
Steve slowly nods. "We do. We do know something. But, Dylan, we tell you, you gotta keep your fucking cool."
Brandon's smirking. "Good luck. Its Brenda we're talking about here."
Steve groans but motions for Brandon to talk. It's about time too. Dylan's near ready to jump out of his skin.
The smile falls off Brandon's face as he looks Dylan square in the eyes and says, "There's something you should know about Marshall."
Sorry to stop this short. This chapter is one of the shortest with this story but it seemed a good place to stop. Next up Dylan confronts Marshall and finds out there is more to the story. Erica and David have their big Bridgestone performance, which will probably be most of the chapter. A guest appearance by someone from LA and Marshall gets his final revenge. Guesses are greatly appreciated! Hit review my loves, also I would like to get everyone's opinion on who older Erica could be. I want to make a video of this story but the actress that played little Erica is not a actress anymore from my knowledge and the teen one, isn't either. Who do you see Erica being now? Thanks for your patience and interest as always. You guys are the absolute best! Brenda and Dylan Forever!