No Holding Back (31 page)

Joe
’s words returned full circle from their argument and now, he only wished he would have realized it sooner. But the pain of their last parting cut into Wade so much, he felt like he was left without a soul. Looking back on it, he couldn’t believe he stood idly by and did nothing as her father took her away.

“Oh God,
” he said. “What have I done?”

An icy chill gripped Wade as
soon as he recalled Chris’ fear of her father, and what would happen if he ever found her – that Chris’ passion for her drums would be short-lived if was shipped off to boot camp. When another sick feeling slammed into his gut, he brought out his cell phone and hit the speed dial. But the droning ring yielded nothing but voicemail.

Defeated,
Wade closed it and pressed it against his forehead. For all he knew, he was too late and he had a suspicion that her father would never allow her to have her phone again. All that was left was for Wade, was to crawl into a hole and die. That is, until he heard Mike talking to him.

“Hey,”
came his agent’s quiet voice. And when Wade turned to meet his studying stare, he hoped he would find patience and understanding, but he got more than that.

“Take these.”

Mike threw a jingling mass of metal at him. After Wade caught it, he looked down at them and saw that they were Mike’s keys - keys to his agent’s prized Jaguar. The same car that Mike was fiercely protective of.

Now
, physically, emotionally, and mentally spent, Wade struggled to come to terms with what Mike wanted Wade to do with them. But out of nowhere, a dry, cracked, yet altogether familiar voice broke through the silence.

“Well, wuttaya standin
’ around for, ya jackass?”

Everyone
’s attention snapped to the front - to Pete in his worn leather biker gear. It had been so long since anyone had heard his voice, Wade almost didn’t recognize it.

“I think he
’s tellin’ ya t’go ‘n get ‘er!”

Pete
’s gruff voiced finished strong and Wade laughed at the simplicity of it.

Mike laughed, nodding at Pete in the process.
“What
he
said.”

Wade shook his head.
“Guys, for all I know…she could be gone already.”

He almost wished he hadn
’t said those dreadful words. If his gut did anymore dive-bombing, he’d get sick.

“
Only one way to find out,” Mike said.

But Wade
couldn’t get his feet to move. He couldn’t fathom the possibility of laying eyes on Chris again, let alone coming up with some sort of apology that would suffice for the way he acted.

Mike cleared his throat on purpose, snapping Wade out of another bout of depression.

“Hey! Romeo!” he barked. “You better move your ass…unless you really
want
me to change my mind about letting you ride my baby. The bus’ll take too long and attract the media. You’re better off on your own,” Mike explained with a short, reassuring smile. “We’ll be here. Just make sure you come back with her…or not at all.”

Wade laughed at his agent
’s irony, but when he laid eyes on his brother, he turned dead-serious in an instant.

“Oswald Griffin,”
came Wade’s low growl. Os looked back up at his younger brother and inadvertently swallowed more of his own blood. He knew the only time Wade had ever used his full name was only when he was in really deep shit.

“You said you looked up everything?”

“Uh-huh," he nodded nervously.

Wade cr
ouched down next to his brother.

“
The address, Os.
Give
it to me.”

Os licked his tender lip and
stared up into the maniacal expression of his brother. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath - hoping his memory wouldn’t fail him.

In minutes, with tires squealing and engine roaring, Wade peeled out of the parking lot leaving behind Heretic’s bus and a tidal wave of dust and gravel. On any other day, Wade would have relished in the opportunity of driving his agent’s 1968 Jag. As he pulled onto the interstate, his hands ran over the black leather interior of the red beauty and the devil inside him grinned each time he heard the V-10 cylinder kick into action. When Wade brought the stick to its last and highest gear, his foot became a permanent part of the gas pedal.

H
e thanked Mike under his breath for the radar detector that kept him off the grid from highway troopers. But his anxiety at being caught by the law paled in comparison to how he envisioned his visit to Chris’ front door. He battled fatigue with every mile that brought him closer to Michigan. But the only thing he fought more was his own carelessness for letting her go so easily. He hoped and prayed that not only would she be there when he arrived, but that she would forgive him for his cruel treatment of her.

Hour after ruthless hour, Wade feverishly checked the GPS on his phone to make sure he was going in the right direction. He knew he had a long trip from Nebraska to Michigan, seventeen hours to be exact, and Wade cringed each time he saw the clock on the dashboard tick by. He never stopped trying to call Chris but each time he heard it ring to voicemail, the knot in his stomach b
ecame a little bigger. The occasional rest stop for fuel and Red Bull became Wade’s only respite from his fleeting thoughts.

What if he was too late? What if he made it in time? What would she say? What would he do if her father brought out a gun, shot him
, and buried him? Wade shook his head and jerked himself out of these intense emotions as well as another spurt of oncoming sleep.

Finally, he passed through Iowa.

What am I gonna do? What the hell do I even say to her?

Illinois.

Jesus…what I am gonna say to her father? What if he doesn’t even let me see her?

Indiana.

I have to try…even if she doesn’t want to see me…I have to try…

Michigan.

Chris…please forgive me…

After a long, grueling ride across hundreds of miles and fifteen hours later, Wade
’s heart skipped a beat as the dusty Jag pulled into Clarksville, Michigan. He was here. He had made it. This was Chris’ hometown.

As Wade drove down past a library, town hall, school
, and a small restaurant, he remarked at how well groomed the whole town was. Thanks to his own lackluster appearance, he received many odd stares as he drove down the main drag of Clarksville.

“You gotta be kidding me,
” he said to himself.

He rubbed his forehead and sighed at the irony of it all: quite possibly the world
’s greatest drummer was born in a town that resembled something from a Disney movie. It was a gorgeous, sunny day complete with kids playing in the park, elderly couples holding hands as they walked and here and there, and others who walked their dogs along the sidewalk. But when he turned down another road, he marveled at the subdivision before him.

“Je
sus,” Wade commented, driving past row after endless row of fancy two-story homes.

To Wade, they resembled cookie-cutter homes; each nearly the same as the last with the exception of one or two minor details. As he neared the end of his long journey, Wade fought the temptation to go past the speed limit. But to come so far only to get hammered by local police caused Wade to take extra caution.

As he drove by each home, he couldn’t help but notice that not a single yard looked unkempt or untidy. A few homeowners were busy mowing lawns or watering flowers while children chased each other in their yards. Wade began to doubt if Os gave him the right address but when the GPS spoke again, it nearly startled Wade from his stupor.

“You have reached your destination…on left.”

As if the knot in his stomach couldn’t have gotten any bigger, he instantly felt dwarfed by what was possibly the biggest home on the block.

Two stories high, the pristine white siding appeared to not have a speck of dirt anywhere on it, and every single blade of grass was cut with eerie perfection. As he pulled the Jag to a stop in front of the mailbox, Wade saw
‘609 Sawyer Street’ and ‘Rebman’ on the side of it.

Wade
’s heart sunk as he closed his eyes and he took a deep breath before he turned off the car. But then, he felt as though he left his courage somewhere back on the interstate.

As butterflies with razor sharp wings clipped the inside of his stomach, he couldn
’t remember the last time he felt so nervous - certainly not at any concert of his. But something told him, that this time, he’d have to pull off the performance of a lifetime.

When he forced himself to open
the car door, he stepped outside and heard a few wind chimes play their delicate song although it did little to calm his nerves. He looked carefully from window to window, wondering which one belonged to Chris and when he didn’t spot a vehicle in the driveway, he began to grow alarmed. When the thought of coming face to face with Chris’ father became very real, Wade felt like throwing up - and so he did.

He hunched over
by the side of Mike’s Jag and regurgitated what was left of his road snacks. He used one hand to steady himself before his stomach finally convulsed its last. Wade stood there for a moment longer, collecting his thoughts before he caught a glimpse of himself in the car window.

“Shit!” Wade hissed at his unkempt appearance.

He tried to smooth down his wrinkled jeans and t-shirt but fifteen hours would wreak havoc on anyone, but when he spotted five o’clock shadow, his stomach turned yet again. Still, he made the best of a bad situation and even tried to pat down his wild hair.

Wade turned and faced the house again and breathed deeply a few more times before he took his first step toward
s the ornately laid brick path. But as he tried focusing on the task at hand, a sudden snipping noise to his left caught his attention.

Wade stopped and looked at an elderly gentleman who was busy trimming his hedges. He stopped mid-cut and looked at Wade with suspicion but who could blame him? Wade certainly felt the odd one out in a town like this.

“Hey - uh…can you tell me if anyone’s home or not?” Wade asked, gesturing to the Rebman residence.

But the elderly senior didn
’t so much as bat an eye and wrinkled his already wrinkled face as trying to determine if Wade was a threat. Of course it wasn’t the first time that Wade was treated differently because of the way he looked and dressed. But after a few seconds of awkward silence, he waved at the man and continued walking to the front door.

“Thanks for your help,”
he said in an underlying sarcastic tone.

To Wade
, he had more important things to worry about than a suspicious senior citizen, like an escape route in case Chris’ father brought out a shotgun.

Wade
’s gut did another nose dive as he approached the bright red door. He fought off another urge to vomit into the bushes and did his best to collect himself before what would be his only opportunity at seeing Chris. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans and ran his hands through his hair again for good measure.

He felt stuck to the
‘Welcome’ mat and eyed the doorbell with fear, but before he could talk himself out of it, his arm seemed to act on its own accord, moving closer it. To Wade, it was like watching a car wreck in the making. He took another deep breath as his finger pushed the small, round button and he listened as the doorbell sounded his doom.

Wade stopped and heard the echoing
bell as it rang throughout the home. At first he heard nothing, and his heart began to sink. After a few more moments of silence, he dropped his head and sighed, knowing that he was too late.

But out of nowhere, a few footsteps
stirred from within and grew louder as it approached the door; Wade heard a soft click of a lock and just like that, it opened.

Time seemed to slow considerably as Wade soon stood face to face with a tall, lean man with combed white hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. But knowing the meaning of Chris
’ fear of her father, he instead became drawn into his heartless gray eyes and his expression was one of irritability and anger.

Wade felt no less intimidated as his stern image shadowed his own in the doorway
. Chris’ father sneered at him with menacing authority and with looks that could stop traffic.

“You look lost, son. There something I can help you with?”

His deep tone thundered through a terrified Wade and it was some time before he made any success with a response.

“Y-Yeah…I-I uhm…”
Wade inadvertently took an audible gulp of air. “I’m here to see, Chris? You see…I’m Wade. Wade Griffin?”

But the
Colonel appeared unabashed by the punk kid before him and raised one of his bushy eyebrows.

“Is that name supposed to mean anything to me?”

Nervous beyond all reckoning, Wade struggled to collect himself.

“Chris! Er…Christine! She was a part of my band for over a year, sir. Please…can
I see her? I-I have to talk t-.”

But before Wade would finish, the
Colonel was upon him in an instant, nose to nose. Wade tried to remain steadfast and not give an inch, but every second in the act was torture to him, when all he wanted to do turn and run.

“The
hell
on God’s green earth do you think you can just waltz right up to my door and see my daughter?! I’m good friends with the Sherriff here in town. M
aybe
I should to give him a call and have him toss your sorry ass up on kidnapping charges!”

“Sir, please
! Colonel Remban, please wait!”

Wade paused
, hoping that his respect towards a military officer would hold up and to his surprise, the Colonel seemed to stop mid-pounce.

“Sir…I only need a moment of your time. Please. I-I drove through three states just so I could speak with you. I only ask that you hear me out.  If you don
’t like what I have to say…call the cops. I’ll go quietly…sir.”

When Wade finished, his heart pumped overtime with fear and adrenaline as
her father continued to eye him up and down. The Colonel squinted his dark eyes and then much to his surprise, he slowly backed out of Wade’s personal space and held the door open for him.

Wade tried to hide his relief and kept his eyes respectfully averted as the
Colonel led him across the threshold and into the Rebman residence.

“Thanks, Walter,”
said the Colonel, calling out to the elderly gentleman trimming his hedges.

Wade turned and saw the wrinkled face of the senior citizen squint even further at Wade before the
Colonel closed the door and walked past him.

“This way.”

Wade followed him obediently through the kitchen and several other rooms and just like the town of Clarksville, Wade couldn’t find a single item out of place in the house. He refused to believe that at a certain point in her life, Chris chose being homeless over living in luxury. Every piece of furniture, every inch of tile, down to the picture frames hanging on the wall seemed devoid of any dust - not even a speck. Wade felt so out of place, dirty even - and he wondered if he would contaminate such a sterile environment. But something else also caught Wade’s attention as the Colonel led him past one room after another: the pictures.

Wade noticed that whatever few pictures there were, they were only of a young Christine and her father. He couldn
’t find her mother in any of them. He tried to recall what Chris said about her, but only that she died when she was very young - and even
she
didn’t know the finer details.

“Sit,” came the
Colonel’s voice, making Wade jump in surprise.

He motioned to a cushioned seat along with a few other matching pieces of furniture, a coffee table
, and a fancy brick fireplace. But he hardly had time to marvel at such luxurious furnishings. As he sat down, he remarked that yet again, there were no pictures of Chris’ mother anywhere.

“Ahem!”

Wade jumped again as Chris’ father cleared his throat a little too harshly in order to get his attention. However, the Colonel was the first to speak.

“We leave for the airport in less than two hours,” he
said, sinking back comfortably into his chair. “You have less than five minutes to impress the hell outta me, son.”

On one hand, Wade breathed a sigh of relief, but on the other, he couldn
’t help but notice the irony of the ultimatum - the same one he gave his daughter just over a year ago.

T
he Colonel gestured impatiently. “Well?”

Wade seemed to snap to the position of attention while sitting in his seat. He rubbed his hands together nervously, but despite what he wanted to get out, he had trouble coming up with the words. After all, he really didn
’t think would get this far.