Chapter 3
January 21, 2006
"Kevin?" Tim said when his brother answered the phone.
Kevin was immediately on the defensive. "Yeah, Tim. What is it?"
"How are you, Kev?" Tim asked quietly.
"I'm fine, Tim." Kevin sighed. Checking up on him again. "I'm on the wagon. Haven't touched a drop in two months. Okay?"
"That's fine, Kev." Tim paused. "We worry about you-you know?"
"Well, don't. I'm working, and I'm always fine while I'm working. You ought to know that by now." Please let's get to the point, he thought.
"Okay. I really called to talk to you about the arrangements we made." Tim hesitated. "For Jemma and Aaron?" He could almost feel the tension zapping across the phone line. "We found a housekeeper. She started yesterday. I need you to arrange for her salary and the household money to go into the bank account here."
Kevin could feel the knot forming at the back of his neck. He rolled his head on his shoulders to release the tension. It wasn't working. "Fax the information to Mac. He'll take care of it."
"Don't you want to handle this yourself?" Tim asked. "Why pay a lawyer to write checks for you?" There was silence at the other end of the line. "Kevin?"
"Tim-I've asked you, a dozen times at least, to drop this. I'm doing what I can. I can't do more." Kevin's voice dropped to a whisper. "I'll lose it completely if you keep pushing, Tim. I just can't handle it. Please understand. Just call Mac. Please." Tim heard a soft click as the connection was broken. He sighed and placed the call to Kevin's lawyer.
In the hotel room in London, Kevin sat staring at the cell phone in his hand. As his hand started to shake, he tossed the phone onto the bed. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. Instantly, images of Kristin flooded his senses. Laughing, teasing, sparkling eyes. Her crazy sense of humor. He could still feel the softness of her skin; remember the way her body responded to his when they had made love. The ache was real, physical pain. Almost three years. God, why couldn't he hurt less?
And now his mother, his beloved Ann, was gone. She had been there for him through every crisis in his life. His father's death. All of BSB's managerial woes. The panic when Jemma was born. And finally, Aaron's birth and Kristin's death. And now she was gone too. There was no one anymore to tell him that everything was going to be all right. No one to hold him and remind him of all the things that had seemed impossible to cope with as he was growing up, but that had turned out okay. No one to help him fight the ugly demons that swooped down on him in his dreams. No one to listen to his inner most hopes and fears and accept them as real, not something to be brushed aside and made light of.
He knew what Tim wanted-what they all wanted. But he couldn't do it. Every time he looked at Jemma, he saw Kristin. She was a carbon copy. Right down to mannerisms that she wasn't old enough to have learned when Kristy died. And Aaron. He didn't look especially like his mother-until you looked into his eyes. Kevin had gone once to the nursery window in the hospital, the day after Kristin had died. He had looked down into the little plastic bed and his son had stared up at him with her eyes. The pain was like a knife in his gut. He couldn't do it again.
So his mother had brought the baby home from the hospital and kept him. And Kevin had gone back out on the road and into the recording studio without a backward glance. His mother had seen to the baptism, choosing Tim and Tracy as his godparents, giving him the name Aaron Wayne. And over the succeeding months had tried to bring Kevin closer to his children. Unsuccessfully.
If he could put them out of his mind, he could function. But the minute anyone tried to draw him back into a family circle, he panicked and escaped. In the back of his mind, he knew that Jemma and Aaron were better off with his mother, who would love them, than with him. They were safe with her and he could distance himself from the tragedy of their little world. When he had to be near them, the only refuge he could find was to drown his emotions in a bottle. Did he hate Aaron? He didn't think so. He just couldn't be faced with the constant reminder of what it had cost to bring him into the world.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He was making mental lists again. Things he was thankful for-his career was humming along almost under its own power. Creatively, he couldn't ask for more. He was writing not only for BSB, but other artists as well. They were coming to him for material. His fledgling record label was attracting and signing a number of talented newcomers. And he had just received a personal review in the London Times that praised his vocal abilities, saying that his voice sounded fuller and richer than it ever had. Yes, everything was getting better with age as far as his career was concerned. Friends-it was a small circle, but they were devoted and genuinely cared about him. Sometimes that got irritating, but he knew enough to be thankful for them. His health-he was in great physical shape. Better than ten years ago. He pushed himself because when he was physically exhausted, he could sleep without nightmares. So, at age thirty-four he was still rock hard and capable of bench-pressing nearly twice his own weight. Not even the alcohol binges had made any difference.
He frowned. Things he wasn't thankful for-and right at the top of the list was his son. G-d, that's so wrong! I wanted him-until I found out what it was going to cost me. And then it was too late. Damn it, Kristy! Why? I needed you, and he took you away from me. And Mom, I know that you wanted me to love him and that he was supposed to be a comfort to me. But he's not! And now I've let you down again-there's a stranger taking care of your grandchildren. Mamma, please! Show me what I should do. I can't do this alone! As he reached for the bottle, there was a knock at the door.
Brian grinned up at him when he opened the door. "C'mon, Train. Can't keep the Duchess waiting!"
Kevin sighed. "I think I need to beg off of this one, Rok. I don't feel so good."
Brian looked at him closely. Half an hour ago he had been fine. He and Brian had come back to the hotel to change for their media event with Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York-Fergie. She wanted them to help her open a new wing of a children's hospital. Kevin had been up for it and eager. And he was changed, ready to go. What was going on? He looked around. The cell phone lying in the middle of the bed was his only clue.
"Who'd you talk to, Kev?" he asked quietly.
Kevin shot him a quick glance. No sense lying to him. Brian knew him better than anyone else. "Tim."
"Is everything all right at home?" Brian asked quickly. "Is Tracy okay?"
"Just great," Kevin sighed. "Tracy's fine. She and Tim hired a housekeeper and opened up the house again. He was just calling to let me know."
"Well, that's good," Brian said in a relieved tone of voice. "What's the housekeeper's name?"
"I don't know," Kevin whispered. "I didn't ask." He sat down again and stared at the floor. "But she's there now. She started work yesterday." He looked up at Brian. "I need to be alone, Bri. Please just tell Sarah that I'm sorry and that I've got a migraine or something. She'll understand. And it's not that far from the truth." Brian put a hand on Kevin's shoulder and squeezed. Kevin looked up with a small, bitter smile and covered the hand with his own. "Go," he said softly. "Just go."
"I'm going, Cuz," he said gently. "I'll check in with you later."
As the door closed behind Brian, Kevin reached again for the bottle.
Chapter 4
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