Voice (28 page)

“I’ve got some things I need to deal with this morning. Johnny. Can we pick this up later?”

“What did you do, Danny? Danny, what did you do?” Johnny seemed incapable of thinking anything else. The hall had contracted to a tight bubble around him and Danny, and he felt off-balance and dizzy.

“I think you can figure that out without my help,” Danny said, trailing off toward the end and looking down at the floor.

That small gesture of deference helped Johnny regain his equilibrium. The thing in his head smelled blood and started up its ungodly howling again. “Why? Why did you have to do it
now
? Danny, if you fucked this up for me—if you fucked this up for
us
, I . . . I . . . Jesus
Christ
,
Danny!”

“I didn’t fuck anything up for
you
, John.”

“Yeah? What about the tour?” Johnny knew as soon as he said it that he shouldn’t have. Danny gave him a solemn look.

“Oh, you’re worried about the tour. I thought you might have been here trying to look out for my well-being.”

Johnny squirmed, lost for a reply, but the voice whispered the words. He merely repeated them. “Your marriage is your business, but the band affects me, too. How could you be so selfish?” That sounded like as ripe a load of bullshit as Johnny had ever heard, even to his own ears—but it hit home. He could tell.

“The tour will be fine,” Danny said softly. “I want that as much as you do.”

I doubt that,
Johnny thought, but this time he said nothing. Somewhere, he was wondering whether Danny might not really need him, might need a little support, but his headache and the whispering thing and his own terror at the possibility of losing the opportunity to tour with Crashyard buried it. Danny was the big brother—he’d be fine.

“Promise?” Johnny said, hating himself as the word escaped.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. “I’m gonna go, uh, take a shower.”

“Okay.”

***

It was on the way back to Dallas that the guilt finally caught up with Danny.

Gina’s car was in the driveway when Danny pulled in. He’d actually been in Dallas for a few hours, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go home right away. He’d driven in circles on I-635 until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

By the time he got home, he had a pretty good idea of what he needed to say, and he was looking forward to it like a root canal sans
anesthetic.

He had a tight feeling in his chest and throat as he opened the front door.

She was on the couch, a stack of paper on her lap as always. That made it a little easier.

Danny walked around to the other end of the couch and sat. “Gina, we need to talk.” He had it worked out. He would begin by talking about the tour and the things he wanted out of life—the things she didn’t approve of and wouldn’t understand. He didn’t see any reason to lay this at Case’s feet, and Gina deserved a complete explanation. It wasn’t nearly as simple as sex. Of course, he’d have to admit sleeping with Case eventually—his body was covered in evidence—but that would come later, after Gina understood the larger framework.

She looked up from her paperwork, an expression of grim knowledge on her face. “You fucked her.”

The air rushed out of Danny’s lungs. His whole orderly plan went out the window, and he stared stupidly at Gina. “What?”

“That’s what you were going to say, right? It’s all over your face, Daniel.” Her lips were thin, and he could see her jaw working, tears glistening in her eyes.

Tears came to his own eyes in response.
You did this, Danny. Nice fucking work.
“It’s not about that, Gina.”

“You didn’t?”

He made a pained expression. “Would you listen to me?”

One tear slipped free and rolled down her cheek. “Tell me you didn’t fuck her.”

Danny looked at his hands, then forced himself to look Gina in the eye. He owed her that much. “I can’t do that,” he said.

She laughed, a bitter, jagged laugh from deep in her throat. More tears slid down her face. “I knew I was being stupid. All that crap about not making you choose between me and your music—just stupid.” She laughed again, and the sound cut Danny’s heart like a fistful of broken glass. “You’re a child, Danny, always thinking you can have everything, always thinking you can make everyone happy. I should have known better than to trust you that far.”

“I can explain,” Danny said, though even he wasn’t sure what possible explanation he could provide.  

“Get out.”

“Gina, I—”

“I don’t care. You don’t get to talk this out. I know you, Daniel—you’re just looking for some absolution. You’re not going to get it here. Just pack your things and get out.”

He swallowed, trying to dispel the lump in his throat. Of course it wouldn’t go. Gina’s face was a heartrending mask of pain and fury, and suddenly he wished he could take it all back, undo everything, make a different set of decisions.
Like what?
a cynical voice asked him. He shook his head, numb and unknowing.

“I love you,” he said. Maybe it was a plea, maybe it was what she said—one last attempt to get her to absolve him.

Scorn twisted her features. “You’re pathetic, Danny. Just go.”

He didn’t bother to pack anything. His socks and underwear seemed supremely unimportant just now.

He looked back one time before he closed the door. Gina’s face was buried in her hands, and her shoulders shook with heavy sobs.

The image would stay with him for the rest of his life.

“That’s it,” Case said as she put down her phone. “Erin says the tour’s confirmed.”

“It’s really gonna happen,” Danny said, wonder in his voice. He lay, propped up on his elbows, on Case’s bed—a mattress on the floor, actually, one of the few things she had in common with Johnny, he thought. It had been a futon until a few days ago, when they’d broken the frame during a particularly energetic session.

“Yeah.” She smiled. To Danny, she looked like a kid contemplating summer vacation and all the joys it would entail. It was an odd expression on her usually cynical face. He liked it.

“You ready for it?” he asked.

She took her time replying. “I think so.” Another surprise. He’d expected a “fuck yeah” or something of the kind. Something more definite.

“Me, too.” Danny turned, looking for his pants. He pulled them on quickly, then searched for his shirt for a futile moment before remembering that it had come off just inside the front door and was still there. “I’m gonna take off,” he said. “Dinner tonight?”

She didn’t answer for a long time. He finally looked back over his shoulder to see if she’d heard him.

“You don’t have to go,” she whispered, barely audible. “I mean, you can stay. If you want.”

He thought about it. She hadn’t made the invitation lightly, he knew—he could hear the strain in her voice. Turning back to her, he took her hand. He tried to choose his words very carefully. “This is not a great time. I mean, I spend a lot of time lately just trying to sort things out in my head—moping, basically—and I’m not going to be very good company much of the time.”

Her eyes hardened briefly, but then she nodded. “If you’re trying to say you need some time alone, I get that.”

“Is your offer still going to be good in a few days?”

“Unless you piss me off, yeah.”

He leaned over and kissed her. “Thank you. Dinner tonight?”

“Yeah.”

***

Erin’s butt had barely hit the chair at lunch when she leaned forward, an inquisitive gleam in her eye. “So,” she said. “You and Danny.”

Defiance was in Case’s eyes as she nodded. “Yeah.”
You got a problem with that?

“Are you okay?”

Case blinked. That was not the kind of question she’d expected. “You mean, like, am I out of my fucking mind?”

“No, I mean, like, are you okay?” Erin said. “Really okay? The kinder, gentler Case—is she all right with this?”

“You mean the one who was trying not to be such a stone-cold bitch.”

Erin smiled patiently. One of her more aggravating traits was that it was impossible to get a rise out of her when you were feeling combative, Case thought. Case waited, but it didn’t look like Erin was going to give up any time soon. The waiter passed their table on the way to somewhere else, denying her even that brief reprieve.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I mean, I’m not flogging myself for it or anything—he had a choice, too, you know?
Has
a choice.”

Erin nodded.

“And I think this has been brewing for a while.” She was certain of it, in fact. Danny had wanted to explain some of his reasons, and after some initial reluctance, she’d let him. A lot of it seemed to boil down to simply needing someone to share his thoughts with—so much so that she’d felt vaguely ashamed for not knowing her own reasons so well. Sure, there was chemistry, and she felt that she had other, deeper, reasons; but she hadn’t looked very hard for them. Introspection was not her strong suit. “So, you know. The situation sucks, but I haven’t been wallowing in self-loathing between fucking marathons.”

“Charming,” Erin said.

“So, yeah. I’m okay.”

Erin frowned, raising one eyebrow skeptically. “You don’t
seem
okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Not worried about being Rebound Girl?”

There it was, dammit. Case winced. She liked Danny—a lot. A lot more than she had anyone in a long, long time, and even though their situation was far from ideal, it was the picture of health compared with the shit she typically got herself into when she liked somebody a lot. The whole thing felt precarious. Inviting Danny to stay with her this morning had taken effort on par with tearing out her own liver, but it was as close as she could come right now to telling him that this—that
he—
mattered to her, and she had still felt horribly exposed.

“You really care about him,” Erin said.

“What are you, Dr. Phil? Would you quit that? I mean, seriously?”

“All right,” Erin said. “I’ll lay off. But I’m here if you need to spill your guts.”

“Thanks.”

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Around them, the chatter of the restaurant continued unabated.

“So,” Erin said in a low voice, “how is it?”

Case laughed. “Unbelievable. My neighbors are so pissed. We’ll be lucky if we don’t put each other in the hospital.”

“Ha. I’ve sparred with you. He’ll be lucky if
you
don’t put
him
in the hospital—you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe so.”

“And now, on to business.”

And, God, there was so much business. Case looked at the list of things they had to take care of to get ready for the tour with mounting dismay. They’d been invited on the tour, so the booking and road crew were taken care of, but that was about it. They needed to arrange for their own transportation, their own food, their own lodging. Crashyard’s record label would put Ragman’s name on a few things, but for the most part they had to do their own promotion, too. Erin had a whole plan for that, as usual, but it involved sending out a ton of promotional material, including copies of their CD, to various radio stations and record stores.

“We don’t have a CD,” Case pointed out.

“You’ve got seven weeks to come up with one. It would be ridiculous to go on a tour this size without a CD to sell. And speaking of selling stuff, we’re going to need to talk about merchandising.”

Case groaned, and Erin jumped back into the list. There was a never-ending tide of details that needed to be attended to, and each one had a price tag attached.

“How much is all this going to cost?” Case asked, after Erin had at least ticked off all the major items.

“Depending on how much the recording costs, if we assume you sell your cars and buy a van, and you sleep in the van so you don’t have to pay for rooms most of the time, and we assume cheap food—I’m guessing about eleven thousand dollars.”

There suddenly seemed to be no oxygen in the room.

“Congratulations, rock star.”

“Sorry, sorry. Sorry, guys.” The song stumbled to a halt, and Danny looked down sheepishly. “I got a little preoccupied. Let’s hit it one more time. I’ll get it this time. Really.”

Case took her headphones off. “Give it a rest,” she said.

The recording engineer apparently had the same thought. “Hey, how about you guys take five?” he said, his voice small and distant through the headphone speakers.

“Or fifteen,” Case said. God, she hated the studio. Not this particular studio—it seemed decent enough, and the engineer was cool—but the general aura of all recording studios. Stuck in a sterile room, the sound coming out of obnoxious and uncomfortable headphones with a cable that always seemed to get in the way, and no
vibe.
The scrutiny was the worst, though.
Trying to play rock and roll in a room like this was like getting a pelvic exam in front of an audience.