Across the Miles (The Not So Bad Boys of Rock #1) (2 page)

“She was naturally hurt because we had been dating for a year, and she was older and had already graduated college. She was ready to plan out her life and mine had only just begun. I’m not a planner; I fly by the seat of my pants most of the time. I was far too young to consider fathering a child. I have a great father, so I know what it takes to make a good one, and I knew that I didn’t possess those qualities. I was very selfish, hell I still am today, aren’t most of us though? I told her that I loved her, but I didn’t see any of that in my near future. She freaked out and started hitting me, punching me in the arm and swinging at my head. I managed to avoid most of her blows, but each time she would swing again I would get madder and madder. I knew I should have stopped the car, just pulled over and talked with her rationally, but in the heat of that argument rational thinking went right out the window. I caught one of her wrists as she swung it through the air, and I held on tight, trying to talk her down. She screamed at me, telling me
that I was hurting her, and I shouted back ‘good’ and then she cried and said she hated me.” I ground the heel of my hand into my eyes, trying to wipe out the visual that wouldn’t stop playing on the back of my eyelids. “I called her a liar and told her to calm down. That only intensified her anger. She unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed the steering wheel, we fought some more, and during that struggle I crossed over the centerline. I tried to correct it, but I must have jerked too hard on the wheel because the car spun around, flipping two times. We were broadsided by an oncoming car that never had a chance to slow down; everything happened so fast. I remember seeing her, out of the corner of my eye, as her body went through the windshield. I tried to reach out and grab her, but my arm wouldn’t move, my shoulder had been dislocated.” I felt hot tears on my cheeks before I could stop them from falling. Never before had I allowed myself to give in to the grief, having fought so long to smother it.

“If only I had told her I wanted those same things…” I cried softly.

“Sebastian, telling her a lie would have only prolonged the inevitable. You can’t blame yourself just because you told her something she didn’t want to hear. You told her the truth. Did you love her?”

“I don’t know. I thought I did back then, but now, on this side of it, I’m not sure. I know that I cared for her, very deeply, but I was too young and immature to think about being in love or starting a family. But if I had only waited until we weren’t driving, if I had held off my honesty until we reached Sonoma, maybe she would be alive. She would be off somewhere living her dream with someone that deserved her. I didn’t deserve her.”

“Why do you say that?” Barry leaned forward, elbows
resting on his knees.

“I didn’t appreciate her. I didn’t value her needs, put her needs before my own. That’s what killed her, my selfishness.” I gave in, finally allowing the grief to wash over me. The tears that poured out felt almost as if they were cleansing me, ridding me of all the shame I had carried since that fateful night.

“I’m proud of you Sebastian, I know that wasn’t easy for you. I think that you need to learn to start putting others needs before your own. I’m not saying you should do that every time, just be aware that it’s okay to put someone else before yourself for a change.” Never before had that concept entered my mind, now that it was out there, served up as a form of healing, it felt like a lifeline. I wanted to grab hold of it and never let go.

I woke up this
morning with a renewed energy. I’m stronger, and healthier, and my mind is clearer than its ever been. My confidence has been restored. I’m able to talk about what happened, even though it hurts. I’m still lonely, and have a hole in my heart, but I’m healing.

Travis is picking me up this afternoon, and I’m filled with hope at the thought of seeing him again, it’s been far too long. Travis and I have always been close; he’s only three years older than me so growing up we shared everything. We used to run around the neighborhood and hang out in Dek’s garage playing music and dreaming what it would be like to start a real band. Even when he started dating Natalie, became a married man, and then a father, Travis always made time for me. Maybe that’s why it had hurt so much when he didn’t want to see me these past three months. I understood why, I truly did, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Watching me fall apart had been more than he and Natalie could stand. That final day, when Dek had shown up at my house to take me to
rehab, I recalled wondering why Travis hadn’t joined him. In my heart, I had known why, that memory was what helped me get through my stay at the ranch. I didn’t only want to get well for myself; I wanted to get my act together for the sake of my family. They loved me, and I never wanted to hurt them again.

I stuffed my belongings in my backpack, it didn’t take long, there wasn’t much to pack, but it was heavier leaving than it had been coming. My journals were packed carefully at the bottom of my bag. I had fought against the idea at first, but over time had given in, finding it to be very therapeutic, filling them cover to cover. There were three in all, and I planned to keep them with me until the day I died, serving as a constant reminder of the life that I never wanted to return to.

I had just zipped my pack when I sensed his presence. That’s the cool thing about being brothers, I didn’t have to see him, I felt him. I couldn’t hide the smile that spread evenly over my face. I welcomed it joyously; it had been a long time since it had taken up residence there. I hoped like hell that it wouldn’t leave anytime soon.

“Hey man,” Travis clapped a hand over my shoulder, “are you ready to go home?”

CHAPTER ONE

Brooke~

The heat in the kitchen was stifling, making every article of clothing cling to my skin. Flames licked up from the nine-burner cooktop and steam rose from large stock pots filled with boiling water. Shouting ensued all around me, but this kitchen was a well-oiled machine. There were six of us running this brigade, and we had been on our feet for over twelve hours preparing for this evening. We were hot and we were tired, but we were only half-way through one of the busiest nights this restaurant had seen this year. College graduation was upon us, and we had been booked solid for three nights straight. One hundred and fifty covers every two hours for three nights meant a lot of food and a lot of cash. Businesses all over the bustling city were profiting from this weekend’s influx of out of town visitors, and restaurants like ours were reaping the benefits.

I paused a moment, looking around the kitchen, and couldn’t hold back the smile, feeling my eyes start to well
up, this is what I had worked so hard for. I loved working in the kitchen; it came naturally to me. After my father left when I was just eleven, it had become my job to make dinner every night otherwise I never would have eaten. My mother never changed her demeanor, remaining cold and detached, so life as I had known it continued on as usual. The only difference had been that I had decided not to care anymore and learned to manage on my own. I worked hard and finished school a year early, graduating at seventeen, and enrolled in culinary school where I learned to master my craft and excelled in all courses. Food was something I was passionate about, and it treated me well. I graduated from the culinary arts program with top honors and was sought out by many local restaurants, it felt nice to be wanted; that was something I had never felt while growing up. This restaurant hired me on as their Sous Chef; a position offered only based on skills presented in the classroom and how well I had performed on their kitchen test when I applied for the job. Yes, food treated me well, and as I looked around the kitchen I knew that I was where I belonged. It had taken a lot of hard work and sacrifice, but I had finally found my happy place. This restaurant specialized in beef and seafood, serving only the finest and freshest cuts of each. All vegetables are locally grown, and the breads are baked in an artisan kitchen located four blocks over. We were known for quality food, excellent service, and our support of local businesses. The people in this town are all about supporting the local community and no restaurant in the area rose to that challenge quite like the Cork and Cleaver.

Tonight I was expediting, and as the next orders were placed in front of me, I set about plating them expertly. Sauces were spread onto the plates with just the right
amount of finesse. Steaks were checked for temperature accuracy based on customer preference. Plates had to be spot checked for cleanliness before finally reaching the hot plate, this was a process that took great precision and it was by far the most rewarding thing I had ever known.

“Service, please!” I announced, bringing about another flurry of activity as servers snapped to attention. Three hours later the kitchen was closed, burners shut off, everything cleared and put away; surfaces sparkled as if shiny and new and ready for another day of cooking. On my way out the door, after a very long day, I heard my name being called.

“Brooke?” It was Donnie, the Executive Chef. I turned and followed his voice, finding him sitting in his office. I poked my head in and smiled.

“What’s up?” He motioned for me to have a seat. I plopped down into the armchair, completely exhausted, and smiled again, waiting for him to speak.

“So, you’re off the next three days?” he stated knowingly. I nodded. “Are you nervous? Do you have any questions or concerns about the interview process?”

I had been working in this kitchen for five years, and in that time, had proven myself to be a competent chef and leader. Under Donnie’s guidance and care I had quickly become a highly sought after chef, and because of that, I received a call from an up and coming restaurant out in Los Angeles to interview for their Executive Chef position. A rare opportunity for someone of my young age. I was scheduled to leave tomorrow afternoon.

“I’m feeling pretty confident,” I started, “but what are the odds they’ll hire a twenty-four-year-old chef from Michigan? I mean, come on, this is L.A.; there’s no way I could even begin to blend in?”

“You’re looking at it all wrong Brooke. You don’t
need to blend in; you need to shine, which is something that you excel at my dear. From the moment you set foot in my kitchen, you have never ceased to amaze me. I know L.A., and I know the restaurant you’re interviewing at, the owner and I go way back. He wouldn’t have sought you out if he didn’t think you could cut it in his kitchen.” Donnie leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “You’ve got this kid. Now go make me proud.” He smiled warmly and stood to give me a hug. Donnie was ten years my senior, and he had taken me under his wing as a mentor and father-figure over the years, only wanting what was best for me. I had been an only child, so I welcomed the care and attention with open arms. He’s been a good friend and a great boss. I knew that if this interview didn’t work out that I always had a place in Donnie’s kitchen, it was a peace of mind that gave me great strength as I set about my latest adventure.

When I opened the
door, I found my best friend and roommate, Jade, curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine and her favorite feline companion, Marmalade, an orange tabby that had followed her home one day. She looked at her watch before rising up from her comfy position and pouring another glass of wine.

“Long day,” she declared, handing me the glass.

“Yeah,” I muttered, kicking off my shoes and flopping down on the opposite end of the sofa. “It was a good night, and the team was on top of their game, but I am glad to be home and off for the next three days.”

“Are you all packed?”

“Almost, I just need to throw in a few more items and I’ll be good. I won’t need much, I’m only there for two nights,” I took a sip of wine and leaned my head back, closing my eyes. “I’m dreading the flight.”

“I know. Just be sure to take your Dramamine. You’ll sleep most of the flight and be ready for some sightseeing. Hey, maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of a celebrity or two, be sure to take pictures,” Jade clapped her hands together, bouncing in her seat.

“What are you, five?” I laughed. “I promise to take lots of pictures if I see any famous people. Do you really think they just wander about the city? I’m pretty sure they would get bombarded by crazy fans. The most famous person I’ll see will be the owner of the restaurant where I’m interviewing.”

“Bummer,” she pouted. “But you should keep your phone charged just in case. What if you get there and meet someone and fall in love,” she batted her eyes playfully. Jade and I were both single, and had known each other for six years, meeting through mutual friends at school. We hit it off immediately and moved in together less than two months later. Neither of us were currently dating anyone, despite Jade getting asked out repeatedly by guys at work, we hadn’t met the men of our dreams.

“I highly doubt I’ll meet the man of my dreams and fall in love during a three-day visit,” I replied, rolling my eyes, making her laugh. “And if I do, I’ll be sure to call you right away.” I stood up and stretched before yawning loudly. “Well, I’m heading off to bed; I’ll finish packing in the morning. Are you still driving me to the airport?”

“Yep, see you bright and early sunshine.”

“Don’t stay up too late and set your alarm,” I called out, looking back to find her settling back in with Marmalade.

I hate flying. Being
trapped in tiny seats among hundreds of people is not my idea of fun but it is the fastest way to get to California from Michigan. Thankfully
I spent the extra money and booked a seat in first class. I never fly, so I figured that I might as well do it in style and comfort, well not exactly comfort, but it certainly looked better than the alternative sitting less than ten feet behind me. I settled in and was rewarded with a glass of champagne and a warm blanket. I snuck a peek back at the crowded rows behind me, noting that they had neither a beverage nor a red blanket, I guess that’s what two hundred bucks more buys you. The flight was nearly five hours long and scheduled to land at LAX at six o’clock. My interview was scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning, which meant I had plenty of time to explore the city and see if it was a place I could live.