Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dragon

I like walking.

I always have. Helps me clear my head.

I need to find some work.

I don’t have much cash on me, as I gave most of it to that hooker last night. The rest is in a checking account that I access from a debit card. I also have a credit card, but it’s linked to my Snow Creek address, so that’s where the bill would go.

Jesse was lecturing me all about how I should just download a mobile banking app and pay all my bills online, but I don’t trust the tech companies with all that info. I mean, I’m sure they have it already, but they sure as hell are not going to get it from me. Plus, I feel like I’m a little more responsible with my money when I actually have to write a physical check every month to pay my bills.

I mostly deal in cash anyway. My last job—other than odd jobs and drumming for Dragonlock—was at a dispensary in Barrel Oaks.

Marijuana is legal in Colorado—has been for a while. But Donny Steel, Diana’s older brother and the city attorney for our small western slope town of Snow Creek, has made it his goal in life to keep the dispensaries out. Well, it’s not actually Donny. His mother, Jade Steel, was the city attorney for decades before she retired. I don’t think Donny cares one way or another, but keeping Snow Creek pot-free means something to his mother, so he hasn’t let any dispensaries in.

The city attorney of Barrel Oaks, however, had no qualms about selling weed. “Tax the hell out of it and funnel that money to our schools,” she famously declared when the state first passed the constitutional amendment to legalize.

Working at a dispensary meant that I was paid in cash. Because marijuana is still federally illegal, most banks won’t touch the businesses, so they operate on a solely cash basis. Sometimes I took my payment in some of their primo weed.

But those days are over. This time I’ve got to stay sober. And this time, I’m determined to stay away from all of it.

Other than that, I did odd jobs around town when people needed help. It was great because I was able to keep flexible hours. When you’re part of a struggling band, you have to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice to go play at some dive bar where you might catch a big break.

And that’s exactly what happened. Dragonlock got its big break at a little bar in a small Utah town. Two members of Emerald Phoenix just happened to be in the audience and heard us play.

We each received ten grand as a signing bonus. The most money I’ve ever seen at one time. It was that way for all of us in the band.

Jesse and Rory may have married into the Steel fortune, but at the time we got that gig, the two of them really needed the money. A fire destroyed their family’s vineyards, which was their livelihood. Most of their bonuses went to help out at home.

Most of mine went to pay for rehab, other than a couple grand I socked away into my savings for emergencies. What I couldn’t afford, Jesse and Brianna made up, and I’m determined to pay them back.

I’m determined to pay Diana back for all the rent as well for as long as I stay there.

But before I can do any of that, I’ve got to get some money coming in .

Not only do I need the cash, but I need something to do. What am I supposed to do while Diana is at work? Just lie around her penthouse and eat bonbons like a kept man?

The thought actually makes me smile a bit. Wouldn’t be such a bad life. Being Diana Steel’s boy toy.

But Diana Steel has no need or use for a boy toy. That kind of life would just make me hate myself anyway.

It took me a long time not to hate myself. Especially after my relapse. I’ve still got a long way to go, but I can at least tolerate myself these days. Barely, but it is what it is.

After an hour of walking, I’m on the edge of downtown. I’ve walked this way before, and I’ve spent time browsing the music store.

What the hell? I’ll go in and see if they need any drumming instructors.

I’ve had private students before, back home on the western slope—students whose parents didn’t think to ask what my education is.

Students whose parents have usually heard me play with Dragonlock and know I’m good.

But here in the store? They may want someone with a degree in music, like Jesse and Rory have.

I walk in anyway, instinctively heading straight for the displays of drum sets.

I have a pretty decent set of drums back home. I couldn’t take my own set for our tour in Europe. We used rentals. Not that it mattered since I only played one concert.

Fuck. I don’t want to go there right now. My therapist has told me time and again to leave the past in the past and focus on today.

If Jesse had kicked me out of the band, I wouldn’t have had a lot of complaints. He had every right to. But he didn’t. He was mad as a rabid dog for sure. But he got over it. He valued our friendship enough to give me another chance. Not to mention asking me to be his best man.

I swear to God, I will never let him down again.

Tim always says it has to be more about not letting myself down, not another person. Whatever.

My own self-worth was the least of Jesse’s problems when I pulled that stunt in Europe. So why should I give a rat’s ass about it now?

I sigh. I’ve got a long way to go.

Which is why this thing with Diana can’t happen. How can I expect another person to accept me when I can barely tolerate myself?

I stroll through the drums, admiring them, and then head toward the sheet music section. I can spend hours here. Sheet music is like crack to me.

Damn, bad reference.

A new guitar and percussion piece stands out—or rather, its title does.

Griffin Sanctuary.

And of course I can’t help myself. I pick it up and take a look.

Already, I can see it has a mythological vibe to it. It’s entirely instrumental, no vocals at all. Already I know that Dragonlock will never perform it, seeing as our main selling point is Jesse and Rory’s combined vocals. But I look through the piece anyway, mesmerized by its intricacies.

The opening riff from the drum sets the scene, driving an intensely even rhythm section that propels the listener forward as if they’re on the wings of the griffin. The drums then take center stage, commanding attention with earsplitting fills and funky grooves. Then the guitar riffs soar, weaving melodies over the pulsating rhythm section. Bass lines answer the guitar’s question with a thunderous rumble.

Wow. What a beginning. It’s like I’m reading the score to an epic film.

My heartbeat increases as I continue perusing the music. In the middle section, the instruments combine into a crescendo of raw energy and emotion, and then the drums unleash a barrage of rocking fills and driving rhythms, while the guitars wail and scream atonally.

But I almost drop the music to the floor when I reach the ending. Instead of finishing with a bang, the music slowly dies down until it fades into complete silence. As if the titular griffin has found its sanctuary—or maybe it’s been slain by some stronger beast and has limped off into a tragic yet noble death.

Just like my own Griffin, I don’t know what happens at the end. An invisible cord wraps around my heart.

God… Who wrote this? And why is it eerily reminiscent of the beast of burden inside me that I’ve tried to quell my entire life?

I turn back to the front page of the score. The composer’s name is Dennis Friedrich. No one I’ve ever heard of. But Dragonlock plays mostly original songs with the occasional cover. So even though I love looking at sheet music, I rarely buy any.

I certainly can’t spend any money today—I don’t have any—just because this piece of music stands out to me. I should put it down.

Forget about it.

But that would mean forgetting about Griffin, and though it pains me to remember, I can’t allow myself to ever let her go.

I freaked out today when Diana touched the tattoo on my thigh. I don’t think about it much. I just know it’s there. I need to have Griffin with me. But I can’t be able to see it, or I’ll dwell on all those years lost.

And then I think about the young hooker last night—the one who got me thrown in the slammer. I’m usually pretty tight with my money. But something in her eyes reminded me of my little sister, and I couldn’t help myself.

For a moment, my mind goes to the place I never wanted to go.

What if it was Griffin?

I shake the thought out of my head. No, that woman was way too young. Griffin would be twenty-seven by now. Older than Diana.

God…

That young girl… I’m not even sure she was eighteen.

Her skin was so tight and rosy and beautiful, and her blue eyes—nearly as blue as Griffin’s, even in the dim streetlights—should’ve been sparkling in her youth. Instead they were sunken and sad. Hard looking.

I wish I could’ve helped her.

But she no doubt took the money and gave it back to her pimp.

Then he probably sent her out to find more.

And any more she got that night wouldn’t have come as freely as mine did.

She’d have had to work for it.

I shake my head again to clear it of the unwanted images.

Griffin is gone. Most likely dead and buried.

All those years that I was away in the group homes, I thought maybe my parents would come and get me. Once Griffin disappeared, surely they’d realize they made a terrible mistake.

That I hadn’t been the one to harm Griffin in the first place.

Someone had an eye on her, and for some reason, whoever it was got interrupted that first night.

As much as I would love to see her again, I know she’s buried somewhere. Eternally five or six years old and at peace now.

Fuck it. I grab the sheet music and take it to the checkout counter.

“Is this all for you today?” a bright and cheery young woman says to me.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Then I take a deep breath. “Are you looking for any percussion instructors at the moment?”

She frowns. “I have to check with the owner, and he’s not in today. He takes Sundays off.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway.”

She grabs a pad of sticky notes from under the counter. “You want to leave your name and number? I’ll be happy to give it to him tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure.”

She hands me one of the sticky notes along with a pen. “Write your name and contact information on here. He’ll be in tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks.” I scribble my name and number down on the back of the card and hand it to her, looking at her name tag. “I appreciate it, Annalise. That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you.” She blushes. “Would you like a bag for your music?”

“Nope. I’ll just carry it. I hope to hear from the owner tomorrow.”

She bats her eyes. “I hope you hear from him, too. It would be nice to have you around here”—she looks down at the card—“Dragon.” Her eyes widen.

I nod. “That’s my name.”

She leans forward. “I have to say you’re the first Dragon I’ve ever met.”

“And probably the last,” I say. “Thanks for everything, Annalise.”

Annalise gives me a wide smile. She’s a cute little thing, can’t be any more than nineteen or twenty, with a body of soft curves and a round and friendly face that’s bordering on pretty.

I leave the music store, and… Now what? It’s not quite dinnertime, although I can always eat.

But I just spent fifteen bucks I don’t have on some sheet music I’ll probably never use. Just because it bears my sister’s name—the name I try not to think about but is always there.

Fuck it all.

I walk for another hour, breathing deeply, until I decide it’s time to return. Walking past the rehab center, I’m tempted to go in. Former residents are allowed to pop in at any time and talk to one of the counselors on duty.

Sometimes we can even get a free meal out of it if we come at the right time.

It’s too early for dinner, though.

I turn and head toward Diana’s building. I suppose I have to talk to her eventually.

I just hope I can find the right words.