Mending Heartstings Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chater Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Acknowledgements

  Published by Felicia Lynn Copyright © 2014 Felicia Lynn

  First Edition: 2014

  Cover Art and Photography By: Marisa Shor of Cover me, Darling

  Editing by; Pamela Snyder

  Formatting by: Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is no authorized, associated with, or sponsored by trademark owners.

  This book is to those that are hard to love and for those the love in spite of the challenges.

  2 years, 2 days Ago

  Jon

  “Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? I’ve had enough of this shit, your shit!” Garret is yelling when he marches onto the tour bus. “I can’t have a babysitter come hunt your ass down before every sound check and every damn show!” He’s pissed because I was zoned out, writing some of the best lyrics I’ve ever written, and missed the start of sound check, but I made it. No big deal. Actually he’ll be thanking me when he hears the songs later.

  “Garrett, chill out man. I was writing and lost track of time.” I say as I stand from the couch and head to the liquor cabinet for my bottle of Jack. I take the bottle and bring it to my lips but I can’t lift it high enough to take a swig. He’s got a grasp on the bottle…

  “Fucking enough, Jon.” Garrett is saying, but the anger has dissipated. I see concern and sympathy behind his eyes instead. “Just fucking enough. This can’t go on. You can’t keep doing this and me sit aside watching you kill yourself…. No more, man… It’s time for you to get help.”

  Who the hell is this guy kidding? I’m fine. I’ve told him that a thousand times. We just finished an amazing show and I did my damn job well. I’m really fine. I just like to have a little fun… but I could definitely quit if I wanted to. I just don’t want to.

  “Man, I’m fine. Quit worrying and quit looking at me like your puppy just died. You need to go get laid, McKenna. That’s what you need. I keep trying to tell you.” I say trying to make light of this heavy shit he’s put on the table.

  I start to stand and head to the bathroom. My buzz is quickly waning and I need to fix this shit fast. But as soon as I stand, he’s on my heels.

  “No, you don’t. Sit your ass down. You’re not going in there to get more fucked up. It’s not happening.” He says, as he blocks my entrance to the tiny little hall. Drew and Eric walk onto the bus at this time and look between Garrett and I with curious eyes. So I sit back down in an attempt to abide my time, until he shuts the hell up.

  Garrett and I have been friends for 8 years. We both got to Nashville about the same time, and we were cooking breakfast in a crappy little diner part time when we weren’t looking high and low for nighttime playing gigs. We teamed up and it was worthwhile.

  “Everything okay?” Eric asks. Garrett doesn’t reply and holds his right hand up dismissing them without looking at them, his eyes are staring daggers at me at this point. I know there’s no way in hell, I’m getting out of here without a fight.

  I stand to leave the bus… but Garrett stands first in front of me pushing me back down in the seat. “Fuck!” I yell, as I slam back into the seat. Too weak to fight him right now, I fold my head in my hands and wait, but I’m getting restless just sitting still while this buzz is wearing off.

  We sit in silence this way for what seems like an hour, but in reality it’s probably been less than five minutes.

  I don’t know what I can say to him for him to let me go… but his eyes are burning a hole into my head. This man has some will power.

  “Get your shit together Jon. You’re going to rehab. Like right now.” He finally says. I don’t look at him, but I already know there’s no way that’s happening.

  “Fuck off, McKenna. I don’t need rehab. I need you to get the hell off my back so we can finish this damn tour, and I can go home for some relaxation.” I say as I stand. Then looking him in the eyes… “I need to take a piss. Can I please go to the fucking bathroom now, pops? What the fuck do you care anyways? I’m not your family. I’m not your damn brother. Just mind your own business.” I say with sarcasm and resentment filling every ounce of my voice.

  I get up and walk to the bathroom and close the tiny little door locking it behind me, stupidly excited that he let me pass this time. I open the pill bottle tucked in my toiletry bag that has all my supplies. I take my credit card out of my wallet, carefully poring a little onto the hard plastic surface, and completing my routine to get nice straight lines before snorting it all, and then repeating.

  I felt defeated not being able to fight Garrett off before, but I immediately feel better now that I’ve had a bit of a pick me up. I’m not ready to be brow beaten by him again. This conversation is over. I just cannot wait for this tour to end so I can go back to Nashville without that fucker looking over my shoulder every five seconds.

  I walk out of the bathroom to find all three guys sitting at the table looking at the bathroom door and waiting for me. I go to the cabinet, grabbing my bottle of Jack Daniels, and this time not making the mistake of sitting, I walk out the door saying over my shoulder, “I’m not dealing with all y’all’s shit!”

  With a slam of the door, I feel free for all of the five seconds it takes to get the top off the bottle to quench my thirst with the amber goodness that literally feels like heaven as it burns down my throat.

  I’m so engrossed in my bottle, and the warm breeze that I don’t hear him coming until he’s directly in front of me as I’m sitting on the ground in front of the stage trucks. “ Get your ass up, right now, and get on that fucking bus before I knock your damn head into next week! Do. You. Understand. Me. Now? Not my family… then who the fuck is? You’re my brother, you idiot. You’re fucking worth it. Now you need to choose to fucking LIVE this life you’ve been blessed with!” He says with his finger in my shoulder. But instead of responding, I just take my bottle, and lift it to my lips to drown out the sound of his voice. I get in only one good swig before the bottle sh
atters into a million pieces at my side. I feel the weight of Garrett on me, shaking me and screaming at me, to stop fucking up. It takes four of our security team to drag him off of me. Four, grown ass, huge, scary, security detail… and they’re struggling. I’ve never in my life seen him act this way.

  I get up on my own climbing the stairs to the bus, and go straight to the bathroom to wash the glass from my hands. Then I climb into my bunk and close the curtain. I know we’ll be rolling soon, and I can’t wait for the hum of the roads to lull me to sleep so that I can forget what’s happening with Garrett. I can’t take this stress. We have two more tour stops and I’m done. I’m done with him. I’m done with the touring. I’m done with it all.

  I wake expecting to feel the bus moving, and it to be dark and quiet. But, the bus is parked even though it’s dark out. Lights are on in the main quarters of the bus. Music is playing softly, but no one is talking. I peek outside the curtain to see what’s going on, and Garrett is sitting on a chair bent over, with his elbows on his knees, just staring at my bunk’s curtain.

  Garrett is the headlining musician of the tour, and me… I’m just his lead guitarist and best friend. He’s got it all… and he damn sure doesn’t need me here screwing it up. When he signed that recording deal 7 years ago he made it clear I was part of the team. The fact that I’m still here after everything that’s happened this year is a damn miracle, as much as I’d like to pretend that’s not the case, I know it is. County Music Artist Of The Year, and you’d never know it when he’s not on the stage. He’s humble and an all around good guy.

  He looks at me with pity and concern when I open the curtain. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and it’s clear he hasn’t slept. He looks like he’s been through hell or maybe he’s there now. I don’t even know what to say at this point. So I just put my head back on my pillow. I can’t keep fighting him, and I can’t keep telling myself this isn’t a problem. He’s right and… I don’t know what to say to him at this point except, “Alright. I’ll go.” It’s the only thing I know he wants to hear so that’s exactly what I say.

  He gives a quick nod of his head and runs his hands across his face. He’s not smiling but he’s relieved. “Good. Pack your bags. We’re at the airport and the plane and pilots are waiting.” He says as he gets up and presses send on the phone.

  “He’s on his way. Tell them to be ready.” He says to someone on the other end of the phone.

  “Wait. Who were you just talking to and where exactly am I going? We’re at the airport… now? Wait… How? Where is everyone else?” I ask, peppering him with questions. I’m so damn confused, and it’s not because I’m sober.

  “We can talk about anything you want, when your ass is on that plane. But right now, I’m not answering your questions. I’m gonna help you pack before you change your mind. Now move your ass.” He says.

  Jon

  I hate this day. I’m not really sure why we have to celebrate. My friends and their families shouldn’t have to rejoice the day that I reclaimed my life. I shouldn’t have lost it to begin with. I’m trying not to be an ass, but I keep telling them that this shouldn’t be a big deal to them. However, my pleas and requests have fallen on deaf ears.

  “Jon, you’ve come a very long way in the past 24 months. It’s taken a lot of commitment to get this far. I want you to know we’re proud of you and happy that you’ve chosen a different life than the one you were living.” Garrett says looking at me, and then to the group of friends and family that are surrounding us. He’s holding a chip that looks a lot like a poker chip, only this one is gold, and if I know Garrett, it’s solid gold. I know he wants this to be special for me, for all of us, really. The gold chip was definitely something he needed to do. It certainly wasn’t something I needed to remember the importance of this date.

  “This chip symbolizes your strength and continued commitment. On behalf of myself, and everyone one else who loves you, I want to say thank you. Thank you for choosing to live this life, here, being present with us. We love you so much, man.”

  I’m not really sure what to say at this point, but I have to say something. The band and their families have sacrificed so much to make me well. This is torture having to sit here listening to them sing my praises. If I hadn’t been such a screw up, we would just be having a normal BBQ, and the girls wouldn’t be sitting here all teary eyed. Garrett and the rest of the guys wouldn’t have to take time away from their family and friends to be here for me… for this. I was perfectly content with my cheap plastic poker chip from an AA meeting, but not this high maintenance bunch that I call family.

  “Thank you guys, for all your support. I know I was a challenge for a while, but it means everything that you stuck it out with me. Especially without killing me. Thanks,” I say lifting my bottle of water to cheer my friends. They are the reason I’m here today, well… Garrett is probably the only reason I’m here, where I am today. Not that his threats alone to get my shit together, or else were what drove me to get clean; but it helped, and eventually I just couldn’t fight it anymore. I was tired and desperate to be a productive member of society. “To you all. It feels great to be healthy finally.” I say struggling to deal with this attention on me.

  Garrett had my back when I couldn’t take care of myself. Not only did he not fire my ass when I was being a complete failure and had the potential to screw his tour and the band royally, but he paused… he stopped everything to help get me well. I questioned his loyalty, and he repeatedly told me I was worth it, and then dragged my ass to the best rehab facility in the country to make me better. No one has ever thought I was worth it and made sacrifices to prove it, just Garrett.

  It all went down at the end of the tour luckily, but even if it wasn’t, he still would have made me stay the full 90 days. Garrett’s ultimatum made me drop to my knees, and was definitely substantial in my decision to get well. I was the average social drinker and recreational drug user since I was 17 years old, and then being out on the road touring… it just got out of hand. And before I knew it, popping pills wasn’t enough.

  So that’s when Garrett and I had our little come to Jesus meeting, and I found myself on a one-way flight to California escorted by Garrett and the security team. I was pissed, but he wasn’t intimidated by my mood. He got me there, and left the staff at the facility to work their magic and make me see the light.

  Shockingly enough… It worked or so I thought. I saw the error of my ways quickly and wanted out of the rehab facility. Thinking I was definitely well enough to get back to my life, but that’s when Garrett showed up at the facility to tell me I wasn’t welcome back into the band until I’d put in my full time, and three counselors and three therapists told him I was well enough to rejoin road life.

  The band mattered to me, they were all I had, and I needed to be a part of the band more than anything else. That’s when I figured out that he wasn’t letting me go without a fight, but I’d have to fight too. So I did, and 2 years later, here we are and I feel great. One day at a time.

  Everyone is singing their congratulations and a few minutes later, we’re transitioning into our normal weekend, family BBQ that we are accustomed to. I’m chatting with the guys when I sense her presence before I see her. All the hair on my arms is standing to attention. Whitney is a girl that could easily be my drug. She’s unreal, unbelievable, and so unattainable.

  This will probably be weird, but I’m not really sure why that it is. I don’t even understand what happened. We spent some time together and the feelings she gave me were better than any high I’d experienced; but since she left that night, it’s been weird. She’s aloof and evasive. She wouldn’t return my calls, texts or anything else. I don’t know what happened since everything seemed better than perfection when we were together. She’s an incredible person and obviously, she’s probably far too good for a guy like me.

  I turn around to confirm what every nerve ending in my entire body already knows, and there she is, the dark h
aired, hazel-eyed girl who could send my world into a tailspin. I watch as she hugs Alexis and reaches for baby Mason. Her smile radiates through me, and I want to run over to her and scoop her into my arms.

  She picks up the little man cradling him into her arms, and he snuggles comfortably into place. I never thought I’d be jealous of that little guy but… shit, I kinda am.

  I catch her eyes from across the backyard and I see the awkward smile and nod. So I respond in kind. Doing everything in my power to drag my eyeballs to some other place. It’s taking every ounce of effort I have to focus on anything, except Whitney.

  I’m sitting with Eric, my band-mate trying to focus on the story he’s telling me about his time in Nashville catching up with some friends, and doing some writing. He wants me to listen to some of his new stuff.

  “Yeah, dude. I’m in. Let’s meet up tomorrow at McKenna’s studio.” I say nonchalantly. Hoping that he’ll catch the clue that I’m not really interested in talking right now. Actually, I am interested, but with Whit in the room there is no way to focus my attention on anything other than her existence, here, in my presence.

  I sneak a look in her direction and quickly notice she too is stealing glances. SCORE. I look directly at her, waiting for her eyes to meet mine again, deciding I won’t hide. This girl is getting all the attention she wants from me. I’m holding nothing back from her.

  When our eyes finally meet again, I smile and wink. Her cheeks pinken up immediately, and she attempts to look away only to look back to me two seconds later.

  It’s ON. She can play hard to get if she wants, but I’m definitely up for the chase. If that’s the way she wants to do this.

  I get up from the chair that has occupied my ass since the little ceremony ended, which thankfully she wasn’t here to witness. I know Garrett intentionally kept it to just the band and immediate family, because they are the ones that lived my personal hell.