68. Epilogue One

Epilogue One

Toby

T he Resurrection World Tour is in full swing, and for the first time in half a year, the band is finally playing near our hometown again for three solid nights before we jet off to another continent.

Even with breaks in between and my woman at my side, it's been hard.

Venues stocking their green rooms with alcohol, stadium owners offering me drinks, fans throwing their open cans on stage during the show …

I've done it, but it's been a real bitch not to slip.

Some days are good, great even. Others make it hard to climb out of whatever hotel bed I fell asleep in.

With her, I manage.

She's my lantern in the shadowy night, the glow at the end of the tunnel.

My sea of a thousand black X's.

Anna has been a fucking rock when I needed it, and in the moments when her expertise, her love, hasn't been able to scrape the surface, the doc from rehab has willingly stepped in.

With the offer of a fat paycheck and the chance to tour the world with a rock band she's apparently fond of, Doc signed up to be As Above's on-staff shrink.

I probably should disclose her name, but to be honest, calling her doc just makes it more fun for me because it's begun to piss the woman off.

Not to mention the ragtag gaggle of fucks I call brothers and their undying support.

Snickering, I hike up the collar of my leather jacket—the one with the torn pocket that's been sewn back into place—and turn my face out of the chilled wind as I walk.

The path is winding and long, as has been my entire journey, but the sun is shining and my guitar is nestled in the gig bag strapped to my shoulder.

Looking out beyond the plumes of fog my exhales make, I feel the pit of my stomach twist up further with each echo of my boots amongst the salted pavement.

The rolling hills inside this place break up the stones along the way, the perimeter held back by lines of trees for just enough privacy that a fence isn't necessary, and for some reason, that sits better with me.

Fences hold things in.

And this is one of those places that shouldn't be contained.

I clear the lump in my throat and force myself forward, into the emotion instead of away from it, and finally crest the final hill to my destination.

It's the highest point of the acreage, and its view has my breath hitching in my vibrating chest. All greenery capped in undisturbed snow, with the mountains in the distance as the backdrop.

It's perfect.

Sniffling against the cold, I come to a stop a few feet short with numb fingers and a crawling restlessness rifling its way through my gut.

"Shit."

The urge to turn away and run back to the parking lot, to the car where I left Anna to chill with Lugh, and call this a job well done is stronger than I'd like to admit.

My hardened gaze wanders over the sight in front of me and I grit my teeth when I finally allow the carvings to register.

Keith Jeffers .

My eyes burn.

Loving father.

The center of my chest explodes with an ache so deep, it steals the rest of my breath.

Gone too young.

A sound of pure anguish escapes my throat, echoing off the trees surrounding me, and my knees decide I need to be closer to his grave. To examine the letters embedded in the stone. To feel the snow melting beneath my grasping palms.

"Pops."

Head dropping loose between my shoulders, I suck in a shaking breath and shoulder the cascading tears away from my face.

"I swore I wasn't gonna do this when I saw you." My voice is thick and wet as the words expel past my lips and I've never been so glad to be all alone up here. "I just … need a sec, alright? Gotta catch my breath. That was a hell of a hike to find you."

I chuckle, but it's lacking the humor.

"We both know that's an excuse," I admit aloud to the granite toting my father's name and lifespan. "Just like I know that you know I've never fucking been here."

I wince at the curse I know my pops would have thrown an eyebrow up about, but shake my head.

"Cursing is the least of your worries with me, Pops."

The snicker that escapes me is shaky, but cathartic enough that I plop on my ass in the snow at my dad's buried feet.

"You already knew that, though. Didn't you?" I spin the gig bag around so that it's settled in my lap instead of digging into my back. "I had to have her restored." I clear my throat and pat the canvas housing the guitar. "I wasn't … I haven't treated it the best over the years, Pops." I shake my head to dispel the mist forming in my eyes and unzip the bag. "She looks good though. And look," I add as I pull the instrument out and lean the headstock closer to my dad's grave, " KJ . Right there, so I know you're always with me."

I sniff, run a hand beneath my nose, and wrap my body around the guitar. Absently, I pluck at the strings, tweaking the tuning pegs without much thought about them, and hum.

For a moment, I lose myself in the familiar melody, my eyes sliding closed, and a calm washes over me.

"I'm sorry," I mutter to the sky. "For not visiting sooner. There's so much we need to catch up on."

A twinge of guilt tries to worm its way into my chest and snuff out the good I feel, but I shake it off and bring my gaze back to the letters marking my dad's place.

"But even as I say that, it doesn't feel right. It feels like you already know about the band—me and the guys made it, Pops." I smile. "Like you know all about the shit I got up to in the process." My smile falters. "The mistakes I made. The addiction I collected along the way …" Sitting at his feet no longer feels like the right answer, so I inch up until I've got my back leaning against his headstone. "How I went to rehab and got some help with shrinking this head of mine." I pick the melody I was playing back up. "Meeting Anna along the way … You already knew all that."

The wind picks up, rustling the branches and blowing some of the loose snow around in a swirl. It sends a chill across my already cold skin.

"Because you were always there, weren't you?" The snow flurries settle and a silence falls over the hills once again. "Making sure I didn't die on the bathroom floor somewhere. That someone always found me when I needed it."

I smile, thinking of her. My Anna.

The one that found me when I needed her most.

"You'd love her, Pops. I know you would."

A bouncing head of red hair makes its way closer.

"She's the devil, I swear." I chuckle. "That woman could make a drill sergeant quake in his boots."

Anna comes to a stop some feet away, just far enough that I can see her brilliant eyes lift and a small smile to play at her plump lips, but I know that she can't hear me.

"Do me a favor, Pops." I pause, letting the moment settle over me and turn my head toward his gravestone. "If you feel like you gotta hover around and keep anyone else from drowning in their own puke …" I bite the inside of my cheek and trail my gaze back up to clash with Anna's. "Find her sister for me. Keep her moving like you did me. Just … keep her alive and we'll figure out the rest."

Drawing in a breath, I stuff the instrument back in its case with frozen fingers and push to my feet.

"We're here for a few days, then off to what feels like another planet sometimes." I trace the letters of my dad's name. "But I promise I'll be back. I gotta take care of shit and I know you'll have my back no matter what."

My fingers brush the stone, its surface somehow warmer than the chill of the air, and though it surprises me, I let it absorb into the callouses adorning my skin.

"Just like you always have, Pops."

Sniffling, I turn away from the stone and head in the direction of my future waiting for me.

It feels like both a goodbye with an ache that I know will never go away and a greeting to what comes next.

And with a lightness I didn't feel before I showed up here, I wrap an arm around my forever girl and let her smile touch the deepest recesses of my no-longer-black heart.

"Hey, Mama."