Shoving my project folder aside, I open up the search engine on my computer, type in No Tomorrow band, and within seconds my screen is filled with links to various web sites and articles, with the band’s official web site the first result. I click on it and tap my finger impatiently on my mouse.
The page finally loads a large photo of the band standing in an alley, with Blue front and center looking hotter than an orgy on the desert, shirtless with a scuffed-up black leather jacket doing nothing to cover his inked-up six-pack abs.
Swallowing hard, I scan the text beneath the photo: Evan “Blue” Von Bleu, lead vocals and guitar; Reece Blackstone, backup vocals and lead guitar; Alex Oakley, Drums; Koler Simms, bass.
Evan Von Bleu.
I finally have the name of the father of my child and the man I love. How fitting that he has an exotic, sexy name. Somehow I knew there was no way in hell his name was going to end up being Evan Smith. Scrolling down further, I read.
No Tomorrow emerged from the grunge rock scene in early 2002 with their debut album, Things I Never Said. The group’s mix of dark and sensual lyrics coupled with Blue’s distinctive raspy tone and effortless ability to hit a remarkable range of notes made them an instant hit. Singer/songwriter Von Bleu’s sad and incredibly haunting vocals suck you right into his soul. The band often plays several acoustic songs during their live shows, which truly showcase Von Bleu’s musical and vocal talents.
I read on about a current world tour, top hits, and critic reviews. When I click to the photos page, a deep pain hits my chest and radiates through my stomach. The photographs of Blue on stage, singing in front of thousands of people, tear me up just as much as the ones of him sitting alone on a tour bus, a cigarette dangling from his lips, notebook in his lap, with a faraway look in his eye.
I know that look so well.
My beloved, tortured Blue isn’t homeless anymore. He’s a popular rock star, with a web site and fans and articles written about his musical talents. It’s clear from all this information he’s wanted, loved, and respected by fans and peers.
But still alone. I see that.
Leaning back in my chair, I stare at his picture opened full screen on my monitor. His hair is blowing across his face, but I know behind it his eyes are royal blue and filled with wanderlust. I ache to reach out and touch him, feel the solidness of his body beneath my fingers, breathe in his scent, have his fingers grasping my flesh and his whisper against my ear.
An overwhelming longing for him washes over me, drowning me in memories of our time together, and dredging up the heartache that came with it. Seeing him again, even in photographic form, has torn apart the cracks in my heart, and my emotions are seeping out. My head throbs trying to process all this unexpected news, and nausea is roiling my empty stomach.
My focus has been hijacked, and it’s impossible for me to function this way. Trembling, I gather up my paperwork and shove it back in its folder, turn my computer off, and grab my jacket and purse.
Dave appears at the other end of the hall as I’m locking my office door. “You’re going to lunch? Are the layouts done?”
Flustered, I shake my head and avoid eye contact. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I have to go home.”
“Now? I told you we need—”
“I’m sorry, but I need to go. Have Sue take care of it, or it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Walking away from him, I know I just put a fault line in the foundation of stability and normalcy I’ve tried so hard to build in my life, but I’m powerless.
I drive to the mall, walk past the cinnamon bun place without stopping to get one—which is a first for me—and go straight to the music store. Fifteen minutes later I’m back in my car with the No Tomorrow CD.
“You’re home early.” Josh sits up on the couch, uprooting Archie and Acorn who were both using him as a bed. “You okay?”
Clutching the CD that I just spent two hours listening to while driving around aimlessly, I burst into tears. I recognized all the songs that Blue used to play in the park and in the shed. Back then he only actually sang three of them, but now they all have accompanying lyrics, and I swear he put our entire relationship into poetic words of heartache, love, and loss. Or maybe I’m flattering myself. Maybe some of those songs are about other women in his life, but my heart is telling me they’re all about me, and us. I know our story, and these songs are dripping the blood of our relationship.
Josh shoots up off the couch and takes the CD, my bag, and my keys out of my hands.
“What’s going on?” His hazel eyes search mine. “Were you in an accident?”
“No,” I sob. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine, Piper. You’re having some kind of freak-out.” He glances down at the CD and then looks back at me with skepticism. “Since when do you listen to grunge alternative rock?”
I kick off my shoes and fall into the big comfy recliner by the window. “I don’t,” I reply. “That’s his band. That’s him on the cover, the one with the longest hair.”
“Him who?”
“Lyric’s father,” I say softly.
His eyes widen and he brings the CD closer to his face to examine the front and back. “The homeless guy?”
One night about a year ago when I was feeling particularly overwhelmed and frustrated with my feelings for Blue, I broke down and told Josh the entire story. He immediately turned it into a drinking game and we took a shot every time I said ‘homeless’ and ‘but I really love him.’ We were both trashed by the end of the night.
“Yes, apparently he’s the lead singer.”
“Holy fuck.” He turns the CD over again. “You’re telling me Evan Von Bleu, singer and crazy fucking mad talented guitar god, is your baby daddy?”
I roll my eyes and rub my hand across my pounding forehead. “Please don’t say it like that.”
A grin spreads across his face. “I’ve heard their music, they play it at the gym. He’s got a voice like fucking smoky velvet. He’s hot too. I’d be tempted, homeless or not.”
“Josh, please!” I rip the CD out of his hands. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m trying to make you laugh. This is pretty messed up. It’s kind of kickass, too. Lyric’s dad isn’t homeless, he’s famous.”
That tweaks up my anxiety even more, because I hadn’t even thought of that part yet. My daughter’s father has the potential of being a celebrity, and if he’s in her life someday, that’s going to affect her.
“He’s not really well known, is he?” I ask. Up until today I hadn’t ever heard of his band, and I listen to the radio at work a lot. They could be a one-hit wonder sort of band and just fall off the face of the earth in a year.
“Piper, you’re holding a CD with his face on it. They’re getting tons of airplay. You can’t go near a music magazine without reading about his insane vocals and his crazy riffs.”
Damn. How did I not know all this? How did Blue get to this place in life without me realizing it long before today? And why, why, why hasn’t he come back for me?
“Josh, do you think it’s possible that it was all a lie? Do you think maybe he wasn’t really homeless, and maybe he never really loved me? What if it was just some….” My voice cracks and I struggle to find the right words. “Some kind of experiment to get song material? Maybe I was only a muse to him.”
His face softens. “Piper, come on. I seriously doubt it. That’s an awful lot of work just for creative research. The dude slept in a shed. And you’re a sweet girl. I don’t think someone could do something like that to you unless they were a supreme asshole with zero conscience.”
“But he left the dog...why would he leave Acorn with me?”
He shrugs. “Who knows? Probably because he knew he was too messed up to take care of him anymore. Or he assumed having him would comfort you. Do I think the dog was part of some big act? No. Stop thinking like this, Piper. This isn’t like you.”
How many times have I heard those words in the past few years? If this isn’t like me, what was I like? What am I like?