2.0 The Chronicles of Us - Shame & Blame

Chapter eighteen

•★ Tex ★•

"Good luck today, Son. Don't forget to smile every once in a while. It could bright a person's day."

I can'tbelieve what a Hallmark card my dad has become. Like a real old person, he adds one of those horrendous personalized stickers. I'm not in a bad mood, though, so I shoot a considerate text back. "Thanks, Dad. I'll send you some pics later."

My old man and I have been keeping an open line of communication ever since my surprise visit two weeks back. I ended up staying a few days more so Stacy could come by too. We had a weird as fuck family dinner. It was nice, though. We watched a Spaghetti Western, listened to some rock classics, played a game of Scrabble ... and visited Mom's grave.

I cried a decade worth of tears. This time, my dad did comfort his sad son. Stacy hugged me too. It turned into a real fucking sob-fest. I suppose, it was a healing experience.

Stacy played the roll of annoying little sister extremely well, unfortunately. She kept bugging me about Ellie.

Why did you two break up?

Were there commitment issues?

Lack of communication?

Did you fail to deliver?

For women it's important to spend a good amount time down—

That was the moment I bid my goodbyes and went back to L.A. Like hell I was gonna sit there and listen to my little sister's sex-tips. That's wrong on too many levels. Besides, I don't need them. Deliverance was never an issue.

That wasn't the only reason, though. I didn't want them to know about the overdose. Not yet, anyway. I'll tell them someday but for now, I like to keep things in lighter spirits. No talk about death and broken hearts.

"We're here," Roy says, driving the car through the security gates.

I blink away my moment of thought and focus on my surroundings. Today, we're shooting a music video. Since it was short notice and the song is called 'Flying High', the creative department's best idea was to perform the song at a private airport. Well, it's basically one landing strip in the middle of the dusty desert.

When Roy parks the car in front of the hangar, Axel shoulder-shoves me. "Pretty exciting, huh?"

I shrug. "Yeah, sure."

I'm trying not to be a Debbie Downer, but I've got some reservations about this day. I mean, I didn't come to L.A. to become a damn actor. I can't follow instructions or smile on demand. That's just not who I am.

Ah fuck, I'm gonna yell at people for sure.

Roy leads us through the hanger to a makeshift dressing room and then turns around with a sly grin. "I have a surprise."

Shit.

It better not be something lame or emotional. Roy pulls away a white sheet that's draped over a shoulder-high rack. Fortunately, it's neither of those. Unfortunately, it's much, much worse.

Immediately, I yell, "Jesus Christ! I'm not wearing that."

On coat hanger hang three identical pilot uniforms. The buttons are skull-shaped and the fabric is black with white trimming. It's all very Blink 182 meets My Chemical Romance. I'm not sure if that's us.

"For once, Tex, just follow suit." He holds up one of the outfits to underline his dumber than dumb quip.

Motherfucker.