White Trash Damaged

I began laying out a calm, levelheaded way to approach Tucker.

All feelings of contentment left as I approached the bus. I could see Tucker pacing back and forth in front of the door. When he spotted me he began to walk toward me and it was obvious he was not happy.

“I have been searching everywhere for you. I was worried sick. I thought . . .” Tucker cut off his own thoughts as the muscles in his jaw ticked under his skin.

“It’s a little too late to be worried about me,” I spat back angrily, my hands on my hips. So much for keeping a level head and talking this out like adults.

“I missed a concert! Do you have any idea how pissed everyone is at me right now?”

I took a step forward, staring him dead in the eye.

“Do you have any idea how pissed I am at you right now?” I spat.

“You’re mad at me?” He had the nerve to look offended, and I wanted to scream. He really had no clue how badly he had hurt me. “This is my career, Cass. You told me not to give up on it, and now you’re doing your best to destroy it.”

I took a step back. It felt like I had been physically punched in the gut. His words ripped through me. I was Tucker’s biggest supporter.

“What about me, Tucker? What about my dreams?” I had finally found something I was good at and I loved to do, and it got swept under the giant rug that was Tucker’s fame. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I needed to have my own identity.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Writing that poem . . . that song . . . was the one thing I had done for me since I joined you on tour. It was mine. I had created something I was incredibly proud of, and you took credit for it like it meant nothing at all.” I knew I was overreacting, but I felt like I was slipping away. I couldn’t stand in the shadows of his career anymore. I was getting lost in the dark.

“Cass, our fans don’t want to know that I have a girlfriend. They don’t want to know that I am singing songs that I didn’t write myself.”

“Well, someone has been spending too much time with Donna.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Don’t do that. You know that this band is important to me.”

“I used to be important to you, too. What happened to that?” I asked as I took off around him, walking as fast as I could to the bus door. I yanked it open, unable to look at him as the tears threatened to spill over. I felt like a jerk. I didn’t want him to agonize over choosing between me and his band. I wanted the choice to be obvious. I wanted him to stand up for me. I didn’t want to be his dirty little secret.

15

I SLEPT LIKE HELL all night tossing and turning. Tucker never came to bed, and I knew everyone was mad at him and blamed me for it. This tour—our rhythm, our lack of privacy, this whole situation—it was killing us, and we needed a drastic change or it would destroy our relationship for good.

It didn’t take long to decide it was time to visit my father. It would give Tucker and me the breathing room we needed to think about what we wanted out of life and what we needed from each other.

I grabbed my cell phone and sent him a text. I want to visit my father.

I waited for nearly ten minutes for his response, and it was killing me not knowing where he was. I found a flight that leaves tomorrow.

I didn’t know what I wanted him to say, but that wasn’t it. He was happy to send me away and he wasn’t going to put up a fight. As tears swam in my eyes, I grabbed my small duffel bag and began to shove some clothes inside.

“Trying to sleep,” Eric called from his bunk.

“Sorry,” I said sadly, my voice cracking.

He pushed back the curtain to his bunk and groaned as he sat up.

“Where the hell are you going?” he asked, pointing to my bag.

“To see my father.”

“You coming back?”

I stopped shoving clothes in my bag and took a deep breath.

“I don’t think I’m wanted around here anymore.”

Eric jumped down from the bunk and put his hand on my shoulder, turning me around to face him.

“You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

I couldn’t respond. The words stuck behind the lump that had formed in my throat. Eric looked uncomfortable as he scratched the back of his head.

“Tucker would quit this band in a heartbeat if you asked him to.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I said defensively.

“I know you wouldn’t. You care too much about him to ask him something like that. This isn’t easy for you; we all know that. It only proves how much you both love each other. You think he would throw it all away over some bullshit fight?”

I shook my head. For once, Eric was the voice of reason.

“He fell asleep on Filth’s bus. They have a free bunk. He just needed some time to think. I told him it was stupid, but he was sure you didn’t want him here.”

“It’s his bus.”

“But you’re his girl, and that is more important to him than all of this.”

“Thank you . . . for saying that.” I was grateful for his kindness, but I wished I believed his words.

“It’s what friends do. Now stop your blubbering.”

I laughed and sank back on the bed feeling the pressure leave my chest.

THE BAND was out the door early to rehearse and discuss the music video they would be shooting next week.

Tucker came back around six in the evening and barely spoke a word to me, but I could see he wasn’t mad. He was concerned about me leaving. Tucker had reservations from the beginning about me reconnecting with my father. He didn’t trust a man who would leave behind everyone he was supposed to love.

“What time is my flight?” I asked as I picked up my sub sandwich and took a bite.

“Nine in the morning.” He took a sip of his soda but didn’t look up at me.

“Three days?”

He nodded as he shoved a handful of chips in his mouth.

“Can you please talk to me? We can’t work through this if we don’t talk. I hate you being mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, Cass.” His eyes met mine. “I’m scared you are going to get hurt or taken advantage of by one of the few people who you love. Not that he deserves it.” The muscles in his jaw ticked.

“People change. Look at me. I’m a completely different person now.”

“No, you’re not, Cass. You are the same sweet and loving girl I fell in love with. Your circumstances changed, not who you are.”

“You don’t think he is any different?”

“I hope he is, for your sake.”

We spent the rest of the evening in Tucker’s bunk, wrapped in each other’s arms as we stared up at the pictures taped overhead. There was still so much that needed to be said, but we were both exhausted, physically and emotionally.

“What’s that one from?” I asked, pointing to a picture of him surrounded by a bunch of children ranging in age from toddlers to late teens.

“That’s when we played a free gig for the West Lake Children’s Home. All of those kids were abused, abandoned, or neglected. Every single one of them had a smile on their faces that day. We raised a few thousand dollars for them.”

“That’s amazing. I would have loved to have been there.”