No Tomorrow: An Angsty Love Story

“What are the chances we can have those new ad layouts by noon?”

I spin my chair around to face Dave, a thirty-something, average-looking account manager who’s leaning casually against the doorframe of my office, wearing a smile on his face like he didn’t just ask to completely derail my day.

“You know damn well I just got out of the Monday morning status meeting, Dave. You were there. That only gives me two hours to go through all these changes.” I gesture to the project folder on my desk that has about fifty red sticky flags poking out of it.

“Don’t kill the messenger. Production is pushing us to belt this out today. Do what you can.” He walks off before I can rattle off a list of reasons why this process shouldn’t be rushed.

“Dammit,” I swear under my breath, wheel my chair across my office to open the window for some fresh air, then scoot back to my desk to tackle this new deadline. I switch on my desk radio to my favorite station and dive into the layout change list.

As stressful as my job can be, I love everything about it. I’m never bored, and the time flies by—a massive difference from when I worked as a receptionist, which seems like forever ago. I sing along softly to the radio as I work, glancing at the clock every so often to gauge the likelihood of me finishing by noon. So far, things are going smoothly.

I’m leaning over one of the documents, trying to decipher someone’s incredibly scribbly handwriting, when a rock ballad playing on the radio rips my attention away. Dropping my pen, I snap my head up and raise the volume a little.

“Slayer of my heart,

Wish of my soul….”

Goosebumps spread over my arms, and my pulse beats rapidly in my veins as I stare at the tiny speaker in a state of disbelief.

I know those words. I know the sound of that guitar.

And I would know that voice—that unique, gravelly, sexy voice—anywhere.

Blue…

With my breath caught in my chest, I listen intently to the lyrics, and the voice, that captivated me so long ago, to the melody I still play on that tiny music box. Hot tears sting my eyes as the song nears the end, and I silently beg the DJ to come on and announce the band and song name.

“That was the new hit single ‘Slayer of My Heart’ by No Tomorrow that climbed to the top of the charts last week.”

Holy. Shit.

My entire body is shaking from shock, and my heart is thumping wildly in my chest. This is real. Like really, really, real. I’m not suffering from some kind of stressed-out Monday morning hallucination. I just heard Blue—my Blue—on the radio, singing and playing guitar. And not just any song, but a song he told me he wrote for me. About me. The DJ just called it a hit single, on the top of the charts.

The edges of my vision blur as I stare at the radio. This is surreal. Like a dream. My head feels like a balloon—empty and floating off into a place so far out of reality that I can’t reach it.

I press my fingers into my temples and close my eyes.

I take a deep breath.

A pop song comes on the radio next—a song that’s on my aerobics playlist.

It grounds me somewhat. Brings me back from the shock.

When—how—did all this happen?

“How’s that coming?” Dave pokes his head into my office and I quickly wave him away.

“Not now,” I say abruptly, turning away to hide my state of anxiety.

Jesus. This can’t be happening. I grab my water bottle and sip, taking deep breaths in between to try to calm the jitters quaking through me. Hundreds of questions fly through my mind like a whirlwind.

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?

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Maybe there’s nothing to think. You met a messed-up guy living a messed-up life, you did some messed-up things, he left in a messed-up way, you had a kid, and somehow he ended up where he is now and you’re living in this messed-up situation with me and everyone seems pretty happy.”

God. It sounds all sorts of crazy when it’s spelled out. “It’s all messed up,” I say.

“Is it? Or is everything the way it’s supposed to be right now?”

“I don’t know, Josh. I need some closure, I think. You don’t understand, he just left. I didn’t get to say goodbye, I didn’t get to ask why. One minute we were having the best night of our lives and the next he was gone. Then he leaves me a note years later that makes me even more confused. And now this! I find out he’s a damn rock star? I need to talk to him. I need answers. And he needs to know he has a daughter.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want? What if he wants to meet her? Do you want to bring this guy into Lyric’s life? Think of how confused she’ll be.”

His reservations are valid. Josh has been very protective of Lyric since we moved in and he took on the role Uncle Josh, and I love that he cares for her so much. He’s been an amazing male figure in her life—especially since my father still barely speaks to me—but I can’t keep Lyric a secret from her biological father if there’s a way I can get in touch with him. He has a right to know he has a child, and if he wants to be part of her life, that’s a bridge I’ll have to think about crossing.

“Blue might be a little strange and difficult, but he’s always been nice, and caring, in his own ways. I know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Lyric. I think he would love her.”

“Really? Like he loved you and his dog?”

I glare at him. “Don’t be a jerk. I think he was just really confused at the time.”

“Nobody understands being confused more than I do, but he handled it like a first-class douche. I don’t want you or Lyric getting hurt. I don’t care who the hell he is.”

“It doesn’t matter to me who or what he is now. I still love him. And I believe he loves me,” I say softly. “I saw the concert schedule on their website. They’re going to be playing in Boston in two months, and I think I have to find a way to see him while he’s there so we can talk.”

He shakes his head. “Being in love with this guy has had your head fucked up for years. I don’t think talking is going to do a damn thing or get you what you want. If I were you, I’d hire a lawyer, get a paternity test done for proof, and sue for child support. He’s obviously got some money now.”

Even after all this time, I know Blue would never question paternity. He would believe me with zero doubt. And besides, Lyric looks way too much like him for anyone to ever deny that she’s his.

“Josh, really? Money is the last thing I want from him. You know I’m not like that.”

He rubs the back of his neck in frustration. “All right,” he sighs. “This goes against my better judgment, but one of the photographers I’ve worked with does a ton of band photography. Let me get in touch with him and see if he’s got any connections to get you in front of this guy.”

I perk up with renewed hope. “You’d do that for me?”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”

I jump up and throw my arms around him. “Thank you. You’re the best.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He pulls away and rests his hands on my shoulders. “Your makeup is a mess. Why don’t you go take a bath and I’ll pick up Lyric. I have to run some errands anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem. I think you should regroup before Lyric gets home. You know she can tell when you’re upset about something.”

He’s right—Lyric is very empathetic for a child. She dials right into the emotions of people and animals around her and wants to make everyone feel better. It’s one of the many things I love so much about her.

The bath was supposed to relax me, but I sabotaged that by bringing the CD with me. I slid out the cover, which unfolded to show tiny printed lyrics and credits. On the last section of the foldout each of the band members included a short acknowledgement or dedication, and I read Blue’s last:

For Piper, keeper of my heart, you’ll always be my ladybug. Don’t give up baby, I took a walk, but I didn’t run away.