AFTER ALL OUR BROKEN PIECES: A SHORT STORY

KYLER

I've been walking for ten hours. Ten. Literally all night. Now I'm in a place called Spring Branch.

If Lennon were here, I'd tell her it could be a band name.

I'm in deep shit. With pretty much everyone I know, but especially with her.

And I don't care about Tom or the record, the tour, the guys, as much as I care about Lennon, so she's first on my list.

Next time I leave in a rage, I'm bringing my cell phone because this is bullshit.

10 hours walking with no cell phone bullshit.

At the first motel I see, I reach for my wallet and head inside to get a room and more importantly—a phone.

It's not the kind of place with options. For 86 bucks, the guy hands me a key. Room five.

Five.

Again, thanks for the reminder, Universe but can't you see I'm trying here.

The door is old and sticks so I'm forced to jiggle its handle while I fumble with the key. Eventually the lock clicks into place and the door opens. I almost trip over a snag in some vile carpet as I head to the phone and punch in Lennon's number.

She answers before the first ring even finishes. "Kyler!" Her voice is frantic. On the road to or the way back from tears. I cringe because I'm the asshole that put them there. Two times in a row. That's gotta be some kind of record. Is there a prick trophy? A prick championship? I'd reign supreme.

"Hi my girl."

"Kyler." She sniffles. I'm such a jerk.

"I feel like me apologizing to you is on trend or something, Lennon. So, may as well keep going. I'm sorry to make you worry. I didn't mean to. I just walked ten hours and my legs fucking hurt, my head is throbbing but all I could think about was how not taking my cell phone was stupid."

"It's okay. You're okay."

"Yeah, Davis. I'm good."

"What happened? Claire said you punched Tom."

"I did."

"God, Kyler, why?"

"I have a rule that I made clear before I even signed with the label."

"Which was?"

"I don't want anyone to ask me about the fire and how it started. Period. Ever. Told them if anyone ever asked me, I'd walk."

"Is that why you got in a fight?"

"Fight's a strong word, Lennon. I punched Tom."

"Kyler," she says. I sense a small hint of disappointment in her voice.

"Celebrity meltdown wasn't on my to-do list. It just happened."

Her voice is small and shaky. "This morning sucked. My Dad and Claire scared me so bad. The radio was saying your whereabouts was unknown."

"It is."

"Where are you?"

"Guessing you don't want me to say I'm in unknown."

"Not funny," she says.

"I didn't even think about grabbing my cell phone and I definitely should have. I just—," I pause. "I'm sorry. I'm in a place called Spring Hill."

"Texas?"

"Well I didn't walk to the next state, Davis. I mean I have some long legs but you're totally overshooting."

"When are you supposed to leave San Antonio?"

"Tonight."

"You should call them."

"No. I think I'll just chill in Springhill and resume cheesy poetry. Maybe I'll take up drinking whiskey and smoking cigars."

"Kyler, you can't do that. You signed a contract."

"Yeah, one which had zero mention of selling my soul to the machine. Fuck them."

"I thought this is what you wanted."

"Not entirely," I remind her. "It's what everyone else wanted. I sort of caved and when along for the ride. Living on the edge, Lennon. The only way to be. I thought, what's the worst that could happen? Well, it's this. This is the worst. I'm sick of being screamed at, groped, posed for pictures, and interviewed. I'm so sick of answering the same questions over and repeatedly. I feel like I'm living in a Petri dish."

"Can I be honest?" she asks.

"I wouldn't want you any other way."

"I think you need to get your head out of your ass."

"Not what I was expecting from you. Where's the sympathy?"

"Hiding out with your cell phone," she says.

"Good burn."

"Seriously Kyler. How many musicians only ever dream of exactly what's happening to you now?"

"A few."

"A lot more than that," she states.

As usual, she's right.

Doesn't mean I want to hear it, though.

"Don't care," I lie. "I need to shower, Lennon. Walking 30 miles is hard work. Then, I need sleep. Can you do me a favor?"

"Entirely dependent on what you're about to ask me for."

"Call Silas. Tell him to tell everyone I'm okay. I need a break. Don't tell him where I am."

"Fine," she says. "You're going to have to tell them where you are, Kyler. You're going to have to face the music sooner or later."

"Super punny, Davis. Bonus points for you."

"I love you," she says.

"Love you, too, Lennon. More than the Andromeda and Milky Way Galaxies combined."

"That's a lot," she says.

"Tell me about it."