Broken Forever Read online

  “How’s this for a news scoop… I’m sixteen, asshole. Sixteen and pregnant.” I watch the blood drain from Rich’s face. “I think your cash cow just had all its milk drained.”

  “You don’t know who you are messing with, little girl.”

  “I’m not scared of you,” I reply with no hesitation.

  “I’m the one person you should be scared of. I can make you disappear and not bat an eye about it.” His tone is now more menacing.

  I admit, his words and the wildness in his eyes have me nervous. Rich is an asshole, and he doesn’t care about anyone who doesn’t fill his bank account with cash.

  He gets up from the stool he is sitting on to tower over me. I refuse to let him see me intimidated. I square my shoulders, trying to muster up all the courage I have.

  “You are a heartless piece of shit, Rich Branson!”

  “Oh sweetheart, don’t push me. Do you think you are the first one to try to take my main star for a ride?”

  I refuse to look away from him, even as scary as he may be. When he sees I won’t back down, he backs up a tad bit. His eyes are still locked with mine.

  “Here’s twenty grand. Do what you need to with it. Don’t care if you get rid of the brat or what. Just take it and get the fuck out of Tommy’s life. He doesn’t want you or the little bastard,” he says flippantly. Almost like this is his go-to phrase and dollar amount.

  “Fine,” I reply, which causes Rich to turn back to the breakfast bar and pull his checkbook out of his briefcase.

  Who needs the asshole rock god? Not us, I think as I rub my belly.

  Five

  Tommy

  “Wait, what the fuck do you mean, she’s sixteen? No fucking way! Not with the way that girl fucked me!”

  “Did you miss the pregnant aspect? Pregnant and sixteen,” Rich sneers at me.

  “She told me she was twenty. She lied. How is that my fault?” I ask, sounding logical to myself.

  “Tommy, you’re still missing the other part of this issue. The pregnant part,” Rich reminds me.

  “I don’t give a shit about that. I’m not father material.”

  “Well, nonetheless, I paid her twenty grand to make her go away.”

  “What? Why the fuck would you give her a dime? She fucking tried to trap me.”

  The compassion I once felt for the chick is dissipating as I stand here listening to him. I genuinely cared about Lydia; I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. I was letting her get too close, and I had to end it. It was a dick move to send Rich in to fix it, but that is what he does—fix my problems.

  “Do you think this is the first cunt I’ve had to pay to get them to leave?” Rich asks, and I almost spit out the mouthful of bourbon I just took.

  “The fuck! How many times have you had to pay someone?” I roar at him.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s what keeps you from being trashed more in the tabloids than you already are. It’s one of the costs of doing business.” He shrugs like it’s nothing to him. Of course, it’s not. He’s spending my fucking money. “Considering she could have gone to the tabloids and revealed her age, causing you to possibly get arrested and be labeled a sexual predator for the rest of your life… Oh, and your career would be over. Not to mention jail time, dumbass. It’s a small price to pay, the way I see it.”

  As usual, Rich is right. Damn. All of a sudden, I feel disgusted with myself. But at the same time, I am more disgusted with Lydia. Any remaining tender feelings I might have felt for her just went up in smoke.

  Did she set me up from the beginning with her shy, kindhearted nature? Was all of this a lie, a scheme to get my money? Fuck, did she set it up for me to save her?

  “I need a drink.”

  “Tommy, it’s handled. She isn’t coming back, and she isn’t going to the tabloids. I need you to be a little more careful in the future. Check identification. You like them young—I get it. This could have ended a hell of a lot worse than it did. Do you see that?”

  “Yes, Rich. I get it. Let’s go get drunk.”

  The next several months are a blur to me. I fall right back into staying drunk and high with a different doll wrapped around me every night.

  The few times I am sober, I find myself thinking about Lydia and wondering if she is all right. She lied to me, but I was a dick too. She was just sixteen, alone in this world. She lost her parents, the only people she had in her life who could guide her into knowing what is right and wrong.

  Like I lost my Maddie, the only person who could ever make me understand when I was fucking up.

  I just can’t bring myself to let anyone touch that same place in my heart that Maddie did. It doesn’t exist anymore. When I start feeling something, that place aches even more for the girl and life I lost when Maddie died. With Lydia, that ache was becoming a pulse that was raging inside my head, and I. Just. Needed. It. To. Stop. Which meant I couldn’t keep her.

  I find it easier to hold on to the anger over her lying to me. A decent man would have gone after her and helped her through the pregnancy.

  As I’m downing the last of the bourbon in my glass, Rich walks into my living room.

  “Damn, dude, do you just show up whenever you feel like? What happened to calling people to tell them you’re coming over?” I snap at him. He can be annoying as fuck. He always manages to show up when I want to be alone.

  “This was served on you today,” he replies, throwing an envelope at me.

  I open the manila envelope and pull out its contents, eyeing each piece one by one. Lydia is suing me for paternity and child support. My blood begins to boil, and any remnant of the bourbon buzz I had is just about gone.

  Layla Dawn Daniels. My daughter.

  A daughter I will never meet. A daughter I will never know.

  But I push that away to concentrate on the documents in my hand, letting the anger take over.

  “I thought you said you got rid of her!” I yell as I stand up from the chair I was sitting in to get in his face.

  “Don’t turn the blame on me, Tommy. I paid her twenty grand, and she went away,” he retorts.

  “And now she’s back, asshole.”

  “We’ll handle it.”

  “No, you’ll handle it,” I snarl. “I don’t want anything to do with this kid. I don’t want to be strapped to Lydia. Fix it, Mr. Problem Solver.”

  “It’s going to cost you a shit-ton of money.”

  “Whatever it takes to make sure she’s gone for good. Make sure you get an NDA this time that means she can’t ever come back to me. Now get the fuck out of my house!”

  Rich turns to leave, and I walk over to pour myself another bourbon.

  Six

  Tommy

  Another tour is about to get underway. This time, Rich has asked me to mentor my opening act, Demon’s Wings.

  He found them in some podunk town in Ohio. That’s what Rich does, though, searches the small towns to find his newest cash cow.

  My driver pulls up in front of Rich’s office. I have to meet these fuckers today. I’m not really sure how he thinks I can mentor them. Teach them how to drink until their bodies give out on them? Teach them how to fuck all the groupies that will be hanging around? I don’t have much else to offer these young guys.

  Knowing Rich, he’s probably hoping that by my mentoring them, it will slow me down for a while. A temporary distraction.

  Since Lydia gave birth to Layla a few years ago, I have been hitting the bottle a little harder to numb the pain I feel. That pain is what drives me, though. Drives me to be the asshole I have grown accustomed to being. Behaving like an asshole keeps my feelings away.

  Honestly, I mastered it a long time ago.

  I told Rich I didn’t want any further updates on Lydia and Layla. I carry Layla’s birth picture in my wallet and look at it from time to time. Mostly to remind myself what kind of person I am.

  Walking into Rich’s office, I see four guys sitting around talking among themselves. They
don’t look to be older than twenty-two, around the same age I was when Rich signed me.

  “There he is,” Rich exclaims as I shut the door behind me. “This is the one and only Tommy Kirkman. He’s going to show you guys the ropes of this business.”

  I walk straight over to the bar off to the side of Rich’s desk and pour myself a bourbon. “Hey.” I turn around and greet them.

  “It’s a great honor to meet you.” The big bald one approaches me with his hand outstretched.

  We spend about an hour or so making small talk. Our tour starts in less than a week. These guys have a confidence about them, but I can tell they each have their own demons surrounding them.

  Jesse excuses himself to take a phone call. He’s gone about five minutes, and then he returns and hands the phone to Shane. This goes on for about thirty minutes, each one taking his turn at talking to whomever was on the line.

  I do notice Nik has the shortest conversation. When he returns to Rich’s office, he has a look of defeat on his face, unlike the other guys, who looked energized after their turn. Energized, but still with an air of sadness, like they are missing whomever they were speaking to.

  “I’m having a party at my house tonight.” I notice Drake’s eyes light up right away. “Rich, where do you have these guys staying when they’re not on the road? I hope it’s better than that condo you put me in.” I glare over at him. “Y’all will stay with me at my house when we’re not on the road.”

  It’s not like my house isn’t big enough. Besides, I can mentor them better when they’re under my roof. By the looks on all their faces after that call, they’re missing someone. I’ll help them put that ache to rest.

  One thing about performing, sometimes heartache helps, but most times, it’s a distraction.

  By nine that night, the party is in full swing. I introduce the guys to some of the other rock stars and chicks. Before I know it, Shane has three chicks wrapped around him.

  Attaboy, kid. Forget whatever chick put that haunt in your eyes.

  Once you’ve met the devil, there’s no way he’ll let you leave. I know that better than anyone. My demons serenade me like an ancient melody. I see a lot of myself in Drake. He loves his whiskey.

  I pass by him on the couch, where he has his bottle of Jack in one hand and a chick’s ass in the other. These guys are going to be fine. They’re nothing like I was when I got out here. They may have a demon chasing them, but they aren’t letting that monster stop them. That’s good. Easier to mentor them.

  I glance around the room and see Nik and Jesse laughing with a few chicks. I feel confident; my work here is done for the night, and I start scoping out the chick, or chicks, who will warm my bed tonight.

  We’ve been on tour for a few weeks when I finally decide to get to the bottom of this mystery caller the guys talk to several times a day. I don’t know why I let my curiosity get the better of me, but I’ve taken a liking to them. And their haunted eyes after each call have me wondering.

  “So, who is she?” I ask as we are sitting around in my dressing room.

  All of their heads snap up to look at me.

  “Her name is Emmie.” Jesse’s eyes light up when he says her name. “We’ve adopted her, so to speak. Her mom is a crackhead and mistreats her.”

  “We were able to protect her before we left Ohio,” Shane chimes in.

  “What happens when the crackhead dies?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “We haven’t thought that far ahead,” Drake responds, sipping on his bottle of Jack. “Fuck, Jesse. What happens to Emmie if something happens to her mom?”

  “Listen, boys.” I stand to pour another bourbon. “I’ll put you in touch with my attorneys. Crackheads like money to keep their habit going. So, you offer this bitch a huge sum—I’ll cover it if you need me to—get her to sign papers that say one of you is Emmie’s brother.”

  “You’d do that for us?” Nik asks.

  “I like y’all. You’re actually the first people I consider my friends.” I take a swig of my drink. “So, yeah, I’d do that for you.”

  “Thanks, Tom.” I can definitely see the relief I just put on Jesse’s face. On all of their faces, but Jesse seems to be the one who is the most attached to this little Emmie.

  “I mean, I hope the poor girl doesn’t ever have to find her mom dead, but it is definitely a possibility.”

  Seven

  Tommy

  Performing in front of a sold-out stadium still gives me a rush. Demon’s Wings primed the crowd with their younger vibe. The adrenaline, nonetheless, is beyond euphoric. Then add the post-show bourbon and some herbal essence, and the high has me stumbling back to my tour bus to sleep off another great night.

  I’m sleeping alone tonight; we’re pulling out to head to our next stop in a few hours. I’ll be dead to the world until we reach it sometime later in the afternoon.

  As I stumble onto my bus, I see the silhouette of a female standing in the living area. When she hears me, she turns to face me.

  My eyes look back at me. Oh shit. I’m too fucking wired for this.

  “Why are you here?” I snap at her.

  “I’m your daughter.”

  My daughter is here. My sixteen-year-old daughter. She is gorgeous. My heart constricts with that feeling I refuse to experience, making my words come out harsh.

  “So, what do you want?” I snarl.

  “I… My mom threw me out. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “That’s your problem.” I move around the bus until I find a half-empty bottle of whiskey. I pull off the top, taking a drink straight from the bottle. “That settlement I gave your slut mother was to make you go away. I signed over all my rights, and she got her money.”

  “But…” I can tell she is trying to keep herself strong. “…I’ll sell my story to the papers. I’m sure all your fans would love to read about your bastard in the gossip pages. And wouldn’t the world like hearing how you got a sixteen-year-old pregnant?”

  Fuck, my daughter is feisty.

  But I’m not father material. I would hurt this girl far more than I could help her. Although part of me wants to clutch her and hold her tight. What the fuck, Lydia? How do you kick out your sixteen-year-old daughter?

  “There’s where you’re wrong, honey. Not about me fucking your mom… But I didn’t know she was sixteen. She told me she was twenty.” I pause to choose my next words, mustering up all the anger and hurt I can.

  I can either use that pain and make my daughter hate me for her own good, or I can resist and grab her up in my arms, take her home with me, and destroy her life. More than she already thinks it is.

  I choose the anger.

  “I’m not responsible for you. I paid your mom an obscene amount of money to make sure both of y’all stayed out of my life. So, get the idea that I’m responsible for you out of that delusional head of yours.” I see the hurt in her eyes the moment the words roll off my lips.

  I’m sorry, doll baby. I’m so, so sorry. But this is for your own good.

  I can tell she is trying hard not to break. So am I.

  With her head hanging in defeat, she angrily pushes past me and walks off my bus.

  I continue to down the whiskey in the bottle I’m still holding. It’s not my go-to bourbon; it must be left over from when Drake and I were drinking together the other night.

  I wake the next afternoon with a killer headache. Damn Jack Daniel’s. This is why I stick to bourbon. But finding Layla standing on my bus was a shock, to say the least.

  Remembering the look on her defeated face, I pull out the only picture I have of her. I still carry it in my wallet.

  I walk into the venue for tonight’s concert to find Rich in my dressing room.

  “Hey, man,” he greets me. “You look rough.”

  “Layla was waiting for me on my bus last night.”

  “As in your daughter? That Layla?”

  “As in Layla, the child Lydia had,” I retort, still trying to di
stance myself as much as possible from my little girl.

  “What did she want?”

  “For me to take her in. Lydia kicked her out.” I shrug.

  “So, where is she?”

  “I sent her packing. I’m not taking her in. She’s not my problem.”

  “And I thought I was a coldhearted fucker.” He laughs. I glare at him, showing him I am not at all amused by his version of a joke.

  “Find her. Offer her five grand in exchange for signing an NDA that says she can never speak about me to anyone or come near me again.”

  “I’ll call the lawyer and get it done.”

  “While you’re at it, find out why Lydia kicked her out.”

  “Seems to me you’re regretting some decisions you’ve made.”

  “I don’t regret shit,” I spit out the lie. “I just want to make sure Lydia isn’t the next one to show up. Maybe she sent Layla to me with that sob story of kicking her out.”

  A few weeks go by before Rich calls to give me an update.

  “Layla is shacked up with some tattoo artist. Robert took the check to her, and she signed the NDA.”

  “And what about Lydia?”

  “The PI found her. She’s not living like someone who was paid a million dollars, though. And she has another child, another girl, around eight or nine years old.”

  “Drugs?” Not sure why I even care, other than I don’t want Lydia showing up on my doorstep.

  “Drugs, guys… Rumor has it the younger brat belongs to Cole Steel.”

  “Cole?” I thought he was smarter than that, I think to myself. He has a wife and a son. Or at least he did. Was the new kid the reason for his divorce? I don’t keep up with his shit, but now I’m curious.

  “Who knows, man. But that’s the rumor.”

  “Thanks.” I hang up the phone.

  I don’t give Lydia or Layla any more thought. I’m home for a month or two, and I can’t wait to stir up some shit with my new best friends.