Page 17 of After Care

“About ten minutes after you left, Masie went to check on you. She came back frantic that you weren’t in the room. Ivy got involved, wondering what to do. When Gage told her to chill out, you maybe wanted some alone time, she freaked out.” Tommy paused and peeked over at me. I’d been listening to him, but I refused to meet his eyes, keeping mine lowered to my toes digging in the sand. “I saw Gage talking to you at the bar.” He paused again, waiting. “Noticed the tension, too, when you both returned from it.”

I bit my lip. What could I say?

“Ivy asked Gage what he said to you. When he gets nervous, he swipes through his hair. She instantly knew something was up. She wouldn’t let it go until he told her that he asked you to back off. She went ballistic.”

I huffed. I didn’t see how any of this had anything to do with me. Shifting, Tommy fell to his side in the sand. One elbow perched him upright while his legs remained stretched forward and crossed at the ankles. He looked like a bathing suit model for older men. His fingers dug tunnels into the sand. He seemed to contemplate something as he watched his excavation, then looked out at the ocean before returning to furrow in the sand.

“Ivy’s been around music her whole life. God knows it’s a miracle she’s turned out as normal as she is. A bit innocent still, but not naïve.” For some reason, my heart beat faster in my chest, as if I had been the one searching for a missing person. “Her father, Bruce, was a bassist in a band. He was a drug addict, and after getting her mother pregnant, he killed himself. Overdose.”

That racing heart plummeted to my stomach, and I swallowed the instant lump in my throat.

“She mentioned you were her mother’s older brother,” I said softly, wishing for him to continue.

“I am.” He scooped up sand and let it sift through his fingers. “When her father died, the band needed a new bassist, so they asked me to join.” I sat up straighter, remembering that I sensed he played an instrument during our breakfast conversation.

“My sister was the lead singer of the band.” I didn’t understand where this history was going, so I remained quiet. “I’d been in a band myself. One that had all kinds of trouble and was falling to pieces before we got started. We merged with my sister’s guys and became Chrome Teardrops.”

My mouth fell open.

“It was a time when female lead rock bands were on the rise and rapidly hitting the charts.”

Was he kidding me? Chrome Teardrops was one of the best bands of my twenties, and the female lead singer was gorgeous. Every girl wanted to be her, dress like her. I wanted to be her.

“Kit Carrigan is your sister?” I gazed down at him.

“So, you do know a bit of music history,” he scoffed, the laughter not filling his throat like I knew it could.

“Just that I idolized her. Her voice was amazing. I copied all her song lyrics in a notebook. ‘Broken Wings’ is one of my favorite songs ever.” I sounded like a teenage groupie, which was exactly how I felt about finding out one of my idols was his sister. Then another thought came to me.

“Didn’t she die?” Before I gave it a sympathetic pass in my brain, the words tumbled out of my mouth. “Oh my God,” I muttered, my hand covering said mouth in shame.

“She did,” he replied, looking out at the water and throwing a handful of sand away from him. “Breast cancer. Eight years ago.” I felt sick. The pieces were slowly coming into place. Kit Carrigan had one of those public deaths where she became a strong advocate of mammograms and self-examination. She died too young and still in the prime of her career.

“Ivy was only twenty. She needed Kit. They were two peas in a pod, but Ivy was in college. Kit was adamant that Ivy would be something other than a rock stars’ child. When she got sick, Ivy was lost. She became a parent when she was still a child, in more ways than one. I became her guardian, but she didn’t need me. She’s strong-willed. Thankfully, she finished college, but never used her degree.” He sighed, returning to rake the sand with his fingers.

“I know what Gage said to you. He admitted it to Ivy in their rather publicly displayed argument.” He shook his head, obviously upset with whatever had happened. “The tabloids will have a field day.” He sighed. “I actually disagree with Gage. I think you being around Ivy is good for her, but I don’t want her having any false hopes either. I think Ivy’s smart enough to know no one can replace her mother. However, it never hurts to have female role models.” He took a deep breath after those words. “She’s surrounded by a lot of men and poor examples of women, always throwing themselves at the band for cheap thrills. Ivy knows some women will use her to get to the band. She’s smart enough to not play along with those shenanigans.”

Silence swirled between us for a moment as my mind processed all that I’d learned. Kit was Ivy’s mother. Ivy didn’t have a father. Kit Carrigan was Tommy Carrigan’s sister. Tommy had been in a band.

“Is this what you think happened? That I was talking to Ivy to get to the boys or you?” My voice rose, and I shifted to face him. “I didn’t even know who the boys were. I still don’t even know who you are,” I added incredulously.

“I’m just me,” he said, sounding somewhat defeated as he didn’t meet my glare. “Just Tommy.” His eyes remained on the sea, and I sighed.

“Yeah, well, who is Tommy?” I asked, because I was learning he was hiding things from me. He didn’t answer me, and I shifted back to face the ocean, my ankles crossed and my arms braced me upright. My heart hammered in both anger and empathy. His story was sad, but his accusations unwarranted.

“With everything I just told you, I should have made you sign a NDA—nondisclosure agreement.”

I gasped. “What?”

“You wouldn’t believe how much that story would sell for.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s despicable.” I hissed, wanting to collect my things and run away from him once again. Instead, I scooped up a handful of sand and threw it weakly away from me in my disgust at another accusation and the thought of such behavior—money at the expense of someone’s personal history.

“Wait. You don’t think—” A raised hand stopped me but my voice was filled with disbelief.

“You may not know me, but I’m getting a sense of you,” his gruff voice responded. “I don’t take you for someone who would do that.” He paused. “I don’t want to believe you would do such a thing.”

“You don’t want to believe?” I choked, irritation fully filling my throat.