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“And why would Chey do that? Take your head out of your ass, Celt. You struck and punched her, lost Chey the baby, so she fled. Think Zeus was joking with that rape threat? We both know he wasn’t. Zeus got into your brain and fucked with you. Should Zeus have tried to rape Chey, could you have stopped him?” Chance pointed out. Chance couldn’t allow Celt to twist this into something it wasn’t.
“You know I’d have fuckin’ stopped him!” Celt exclaimed.
“Would you have? You were beyond angry, pissed at the world, heartbroken and on coke. Great fuckin’ mix, brother. Chey would have been viciously violated, and not just by Zeus. I bet his other cunts would have joined in, and you’d have let them. And if you stood up for Chey, and tried to stop it, then they’d have beaten you into an early grave.”
“Bullshit, I didn’t do narcotics, Chance, and you know it. Still don’t recall doing them that night. I remember the booze but not the coke. Shit, I hate drugs; it don’t make sense me being on cocaine. Zeus wouldn’t have laid hands on Chey; I’d have died first Chance. There’s no way I’d have hurt Cheyenne. You gotta believe me, brother,” Celt begged his president. Chance wondered who he was trying to convince.
“Celt, we can’t deny that video or sound. But something ain’t right, could be Zeus got you drunk enough to force shit up ya nose. We don’t know, brother, but going after Chey isn’t the answer.” Chance tried to reason. Chance should have known better. Celt didn’t want to be reasoned with, which meant there was a storm brewing.
“Ain’t denying that crap, but Cheyenne never gave me an opportunity to prove I wanted a kid. Bitch stole fifteen years, and did you see Jesse? He fuckin’ hates me. Jesse loathes the ground I walk upon. Well, I’m gonna build something with Jesse, Chance and fuck Chey! I am to blame for what happened on that fuckin’ video, even though I don’t remember it. But I ain’t been guilty since then, and I won’t pay for a mistake. That cunt is gonna get with the story or find herself outside alone,” Celt fumed before rising to his feet. Ah, shit was only getting worse. Celt was full of hurt and anger. Chance rubbed his head wearily and wondered when the fuck had he become the sensible one? Which fucker had nominated Chance to be the voice of reason?
???
Celt sped away from Spearfish, riding like a bat out of hell, trying to outrun the memory of watching that video and the sound that accompanied it. As angry as Celt was, and he was fuckin’ fuming, Celt knew it was at himself. Ever since he had seen those horrific images, Celt had been reeling from the truth, which differed from what he’d assumed.
For years, Celt accepted Chey had wanted a music career more than him. Had desired fame and fortune over settling as an old lady. Celt was bitter that his love wasn’t enough for Chey. Celt’s heart had been bruised so easily; he’d protected it ever since. He screwed but never dated. No one would get their claws into his fragile heart. When Celt had been told The Wild Wind was returning, he’d not known how to react.
It was an accepted fact that The Wild Wind never toured their hometown, avoiding Spearfish and Rapid City at all costs. Chey wouldn’t set foot in this part of the state, and Celt had thought that was because she was too ashamed to face him. It was a harsh pill to swallow to understand Chey had been terrified of him and what he might do. Celt still couldn’t get his head around punching Chey and the way he’d acted. To claim it was totally out of character was an understatement. Celt hated men who raised their hands to beat a woman, and he’d not only punched Chey twice but hard enough for her to lose a baby.
Celt revved the bike and sped up. He needed to escape that fact but knew it would chase Celt no matter how far he rode until his dying day. Celt had struck Chey, he Drew Anders, had hit and wounded the girl he’d loved more than anything. Why? Celt required the answer. Why would he have harmed Chey so severely? Celt had never done narcotics, yet Zeus claimed he was out of his head on coke and booze.
That was a fact Celt struggled with, the drugs. How the hell had Zeus persuaded him to do cocaine? No, not even drunk, and Celt had been legless fairly regularly, never had he taken narcotics. Something serious was wrong, and Celt didn’t understand what. That unknown factor had pushed Celt over the edge with Chey and caused him to strike a woman he’d adored. Make that the only girl he’d ever loved. Celt pulled up at an overhang and stopped his bike. A sigh left his lips. Attempting to flee wasn’t solving anything, and Celt had never run before.
Chey should be angry but had no fuckin’ right to keep Jesse from him. Nor had Chey the right to turn Jesse against him. Celt had seen the outright disgust and hatred in Jesse’s eyes. It was an emotion no father wished to see levelled at him. Celt bet his bottom dollar the band had put in their two pennies' worth. He’d always wanted kids, but Celt wouldn’t take a risk on another woman, not after Shayla’s antics seven years ago. Celt, instead, resigned himself to doing without love and children. It hurt deeply that he’d a son that he had been denied access to seeing. Did Chey hate him that much?
Celt’s memories told a different story of that night. He clearly recalled Chey telling him they’d been offered a contract, and Celt was included. Celt remembered thinking that he’d hold Chey back if he didn’t set her free, but he wouldn’t leave with the band. He’d forced himself to let Chey go, to push her away because deep down, Celt knew Chey would have a career to end all careers. There would be no stopping Chey or The Wild Wind once they got their first song on the radio. But Celt had been damn hurt she put the fame before him, before their relationship.
The memory of Chey crying and telling him she was pregnant bit deep, and Celt faced it for the first time in years. Celt could view the truth in Cheyenne’s eyes, could hear the certainty in her voice. But Celt was so full of self-righteous rage he’d turned on Chey. Celt relived storming away from Chey and pushing her away, but once he hit the clubhouse, he remembered nothing once he’d taken a beer from Zeus. Celt definitely should recall something after that first drink. Still, everything was blank until the following day when he was informed Chey had lost his baby and fled.
At the end of the day, Celt decided he wanted Jesse. Surely he’d paid for his crimes over the years, even if he didn’t remember them. Chey would need to bend, let Celt meet Jesse. She’d never been unreasonable, and no sooner had the thought left Celt’s mind. He flinched. Chey was totally difficult where Jesse was concerned. He’d witnessed that in the lawyer’s office. Celt experienced a smidgen of reluctant respect. Chey had kept Jesse from the media and social networks. She’d protected Jesse against everything, including Celt. But now Celt knew about his boy and was coming for him. Chey just needed to get in line. Not a problem, despite the fact Chey had thrown a fancy lawyer at him. Celt had made Cheyenne love him once. He could do that again. Anything for Jesse.
???
The week whizzed past as we hid from media who’d found out about the attempted shooting on Jesse and me. The fan crowd was lessening, decreasing, although hardcore fans remained. But as the band stayed hidden, it was usually a waste of time. Ken was handling the press while managing the idiot Paul, who was constantly whining. Paul had been disciplined for his actions on sending tickets to Hellfire. He was on a last warning, which sat badly with the asshole. Friday finally rolled around, and we moved into the house with little fuss. Saint and Ken picked Kye up from the hospital, and he was far better than before he was admitted.
The court case was progressing against the doctor who’d over-prescribed Kye’s medication. Still, the frenzy around Kye’s cancer wasn’t calming. Papers were running multiple reports, and reporters were demanding details. It was the one aspect of being famous that brought us low. I honestly didn’t understand how, just because we were well-known, people believed they were allowed to know the ins and outs of our lives. Surely we were entitled to privacy? It completely befuddled and annoyed us that strangers thought they’d the right to dig. No one had the right to pry.
But now, we were safer behind electric walls. Anyone attempting to climb them was in for an enormous shock. Between security guards and the cameras, they wouldn’t get far. The house was furnished, and the studio had been organised. Other than the eight bedrooms, the residence boasted three studies, two drawing-rooms, a music room and a long conservatory at the rear. A swimming pool and two living rooms finished the ground floor. The studio was in the basement and supposedly soundproofed. The kitchen was fully equipped and stocked with everything we could wish for. Or whatever Johnno and Zyaire could. They were the cooks in the band. If left to the rest of us, everyone would starve.
I was delighted to be away from Spearfish itself and hidden from the prying eyes and nosey questions. Now guards could prowl the grounds aided by motion senses and laser beams. Dave had gone over the security several times before he was convinced it was the best of the best. Not even a mouse could sneak onto the property. As soon as we crossed the gate threshold, tension and stress fell from my shoulders. Now we’d have privacy without worrying about someone getting through surveillance.
Downstairs in the studio, I could hear Saint and Bridge arguing, which was funny because the room was soundproofed… if they shut the door. The truth was, we wrote our own songs. Some of us preferred to write the lyrics, others wrote the tunes. We’d yet to create a song we couldn’t find music for. Although the way Bridge and Saint were fighting, we might have just found our unicorn. I listened with one ear as I held a book in my hands.
Saint had written a ballad on which Bridge clearly wanted to use the lyrics to a jaunty tune. Zyaire rolled his eyes and jogged down the stairs to resolve the argument, which failed as usual. Both Saint and Bridge weren’t backing down, and it would take the rest of us wading in to vote. I giggled as Zyaire came marching back up with a glower on his face. Zyaire sent me a belligerent frown before hollering for Johnno and Kye.
“That’s a ballad,” I offered my suggestion and rose to my feet. “The meaning of those words will be lost with a rock beat. They need slow lingering notes, that’s my opinion.” Zyaire sighed as I escaped the room and headed to the gardens.
I loved flowers, and the landscaping had been done beautifully in the land surrounding the house. It was nice to wander at leisure and smell the different scents. A garden was something I missed loads. Jesse and I lived in an apartment in the same block as the others. Yeah, it was co-dependent, but we’d been together for most of our lives.
But today, I sensed something was off. I was restless, which didn’t bode well. I’d never felt unsettled; my life was busy and full without room for emptiness. Yet it was precisely that welling inside me, and I ruthlessly admitted where it was coming from. Seeing Celt again after so many years had disturbed me. I’d hated Celt for over a decade, believing that he’d deliberately punched and hurt me. But the look in Celt’s eyes when he’d watched the video… it had destroyed him.
If I didn’t know better, I’d guess Celt had no memory of those terrible events. But I couldn’t understand how. Celt must have some recollection, but his gaze had been blank until burning fury swept across it. Resignation hit as I realised I needed answers and wouldn’t settle until I had them. Turning on my heel, I headed inside to tell Dave where I was going. I refused to take anyone with me, but Mick ended up driving me to the Hellfire forecourt. With relief, I noted the crowds had disappeared from outside the motel. We’d used an average non-descript car in case anybody was watching the carpark, and I wore a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes.
Mick parked at the clubhouse, and I scrambled out before losing courage. Fifteen years since I last stood on this ground and memories were threatening to choke me. I didn’t hesitate and shoved open the clubhouse door and entered. It had changed little, I saw at my first glance. The second detected two women standing together, twins by the looks of them. Only one appeared like she was about to drop a baby. The woman’s mouth dropped open as eyes turned to me as I pulled off the cap and ran my fingers through my hair. I spotted Shotgun staring at me in shock.
“Where is he, Shotgun?” I asked. Shotgun raised an eyebrow as an answer. “Fine, be the asshole. Chatter, where is Celt before I walk? This is his chance to talk.” Chatter gazed at me, and I could see his brain churning over.
“Upstairs left-hand hallway at the far end,” Chatter finally replied. My gaze drifted past him, and I saw Big Al standing in front of the doorway that led to the upper bunks. Big Al held my eyes for a few moments, and something passed between us before Big Al moved away. I jogged up the stairs as one woman exclaimed,
