Page 55 of Carver’s Craving

“Or you can take as long as you need.” Still with the kind smile.

I shook my head. “Nope—I want to get through this.” I stroked Tiffany’s head. “I was responsible for the setup of a stage for a rock concert. Something I’d done a hundred times before. Something I could do in my sleep. I knew every person on the crew, and I knew every piece of equipment.” I blinked. “Someone got up in the catwalk that day. Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. And I can blame security. Blame the other members of the crew who didn’t spot the person. But, in the end, the stage was my responsibility.”

“That’s a huge responsibility. You’d done it before, though.”

“Yep. And everything was going as planned. One of the bands was doing their sound check. They had a bit where they all stood on stage and then, out of nowhere, a light fell from the set and landed on the drummer.”

Justin’s eyes widened.

“Right. So you can imagine what happened. Pandemonium. I rushed to the stage along with our first aid person. My second in charge called an ambulance. I held the band—and everyone else—back while my first aid person tried—” I swallowed. “The drummer, Frank, had a pulse. The paramedics arrived fast. I mean, if felt like forever, but really, they were fast. They loaded him up and went to the hospital.

“I suspect you can guess Frank didn’t make it. He had a crushed skull. Nonresponsive. Just…nothing. His parents made the decision to withdraw life support and donate his organs. Like…right. So a bunch of people lived because he died.”

“A difficult decision for his parents.”

I nodded. “Yeah. But he’d been clear about that with them. I mean, the guy was, like, twenty-two. But he rode a motorcycle and had a very clear understanding of the risks. He just didn’t see that light coming.”

“Wow.”

“And the suspicion fell on me—carelessness at the very least. Negligence. My responsibility. I owned it.” I rubbed my face. “An investigative team from the police arrived, along with the work-safe people. They discovered the Cheeseborough clamp had been tampered with. And that someone had to have been up there.”

“Okay.” Justin held my gaze. “So not your fault.”

“On top of that, they found a guy dead in a car away from the stadium. Someone who’d been sending love letters to Frank. The police figured the obsession went too far. When the guy’s affections weren’t returned, that he did it.”

Justin arched an eyebrow. “You weren’t to blame.”

I shrugged. “Still my show. The show obviously got canceled.” I gazed out the window into the darkness. “I quit. I mean all of it. When the police told me I was no longer under investigation, I put my house up for sale and headed west. Along the way, I found a job listing for a construction crew in Mission City. I applied. I was also honest with Foster about my background. He verified my story with the police, and by the time I arrived in town, he had a job for me. I took the proceeds of the sale of my house in Toronto and bought a little cabin north of Mission City. Fit in with the work crew. Rescued two dogs. Set down roots. Started over.”

“That sounds positive. But were you starting over or hiding?”

“Until Saturday, I would’ve said starting over.”

“Oh? What changed?”

“Styx.” There. I’d said his name. The real reason why I was here today.

Justin arched an eyebrow. “Styx?”

“Not sticks as in branches…Styx as in a person. I mean, his real name is Steven—which is important to this story—but yeah, Styx.” I drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Styx is the lead singer and guitar player for Dyre Crossing. The band involved in the tragedy. I can’t say murder. That’s just…a step too far. And obviously it wasn’t an accident—the intentionality negates that. So yeah, I choose tragedy.”

“You can pick whichever word works for you…but it’s best if it is factually accurate. Glossing over the truth doesn’t help you work through it.”

I nodded. “Right. But where does this lead me?”

“Well, how about you start with how Styx changed things?”

“I haven’t given you the context.” I sat with that for a long moment. “Here’s where I’m going to share something I might never share with another human being.”

Justin’s compassionate expression didn’t change.

“Okay. So last Friday night I downloaded a hookup app.” I rubbed my forehead. “And I sort of still can’t believe I did that—but I did. Along with that, obviously was activating the thing and…searching.” I closed my eyes. “I should probably start by saying I haven’t had sex since before the tragedy. Since then? Very little interest. I mean, I’ve met objectively attractive men around here—several of them gay. Even if I didn’t have scruples about being with married men, though, I’ve felt…nothing. Just nothing. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I believe so. But before…?”

Another sigh. “I didn’t go around having a lot of sex, if that’s what you’re asking. I occasionally dated. Occasionally hooked up. I mean…I’m thirty-seven and definitely not a virgin.” I forced a laugh.

“It’s okay to not be a person who has sex a lot. Other ways to connect with people exist.”