I Lied Pt 05

Author's Notes:

All characters in the story are 18 and older. This is a story about incest between a brother and a sister. If that's not what you are here for, I suggest you not read any further. Also, to understand what is going on, I recommend starting from chapter 1 if you just found this story.

I would also like to thank cbears52 for his help and getting this chapter back to me and 1moeannie for taking extra time out of her hectic schedule to provide valuable feedback and editing.

To all my readers, please finish this chapter before you jump to conclusions.

Happy reading!

BHW

Chapter 5

"What the fuck," I exclaimed, sitting up and seeing Susan lying next to me. "Why are you in my bed?" I demanded.

"I'm not in your bed. You're in mine," she smiled as if nothing were wrong.

"Oh fuck, Motherfucker," I continued to cuss myself, looking for my pants and shirt.

"Where are you going?" Susan asked, plainly alarmed.

"Fucking home. Why am I here? What the fuck happened? Where is my truck? Goddammit, where are my fucking pants?" I hissed, demanding answers.

"I drove us home in your truck, and your pants are on the dresser. What's the matter? Why are you acting this way?" Her voice began to crack.

Grabbing my pants off the dresser, I asked, "Where are my boxers?"

"Umm, you're wearing them," she said, pointing at my crotch.

"Oh. Where's my shirt?"

"I think it's on the floor," she said, sliding from the bed and helping me look for it.

"Did we have sex?" I asked, seeing her get out of bed still in her thong and a bra.

"What makes you think we didn't," she asked cautiously.

"I don't know, you're still wearing a bra and panties, and I'm still wearing my boxers," I pleaded with her in my mind to say no.

This wasn't a shitty dream. It was real, and I began to feel nauseous waiting for her reply, which only took a second.

"I'm on the pill, so you don't have to worry about me getting pregnant if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm so fucked," I cussed myself while throwing my shirt and pants on before demanding my keys so that I could leave.

"You fucking moron," I continued to cuss myself on the way home. "You're going to tell her the truth and pray she forgives you. How could you be so stupid?" I asked myself over and over.

I pulled into the driveway like a pit stop, jumped out, and ran into the house. I wasn't going to wait around for the right time or hope she didn't find out. I had to do this right now if I had any chance of working this out with Beth.

"Hey, Son, what's wrong?" My father asked as I ran in and began looking around, panicky.

"Where's Beth?" I asked, out of breath.

"She left just before lunch. Something about her and her boyfriend was breaking up, and she needed to get back home."

My heart sank instantly. 'How was she able to find out so fast without me telling her?' I asked myself.

"Have you talked to Beth?" Mom asked, walking into the living room.

"No, I'll call her right now," I said, heading toward my bedroom and pulling my phone from my back pocket.

"Hi, this is Beth, and I can't get to the phone right now. If you can, please leave your name and number. I'll call you back as quickly as I can. Thanks." The tone seemed to never end.

"Beth! Please, call me as soon as you get this. I love you," I hit the end button and stared aimlessly at the phone screen.

"What did you do, you fucking moron?" I screamed.

"Owen, is everything ok?" Mom asked from the other side of the door.

"Mom, please not right now," I yelled out.

"Ok, but if you need to talk, I'll be in the living room."

I sent multiple texts and left several voicemails before I finally broke down into tears. She was gone, and there was nothing I could do. It was her only rule, and I broke it. I struggled with reality and why I would ever do such a thing. I told myself that I didn't do it and there was no way I would, but I most likely did, and I was paying for it now.

*

My parents asked several times when I was moving or if I had talked to Beth. I told them no to both questions, and I didn't want to talk about it. Even though the whole thing was strange, they left me alone, and Mom would only come to my door to ask if I wanted to eat. It had been six weeks since she somehow managed to find out about my infidelity before I was able to get home. During that whole time, I called her every day, praying and hoping Beth would answer, but she still would not return my calls. I knew my fate had ended just as Brad's did, and she most certainly had blocked my number, but I still called. My heart was broken, but it was all my fault. I just wanted to let her know I was sorry, even though I knew I didn't deserve the opportunity to tell her that. I had become a recluse and stayed to myself. My friends called to see how I was doing and if I had left for Nashville yet, but I didn't return their calls or messages.

The following day, I packed my truck, kissed my mother goodbye, and shook my father's hand as he wished me luck. I couldn't stand to be home anymore, and everything reminded me of Beth. I hated myself every mile I drove for leaving her behind, something I promised never to do, but it seemed my promises meant nothing to her now.

During the last week I was home, I scoured the internet looking for places to stay, and by luck, I found an ad on a forum for musicians. It read, 'Ten dollars a night for the right musician who is looking for a place to crash and shower only.' I responded to the ad explaining my situation, and thirty minutes later, I received a reply offering me a place to stay.

It wasn't much to look at when I pulled up to the place, but it was somewhere to sleep inside with heat. It looked to be a hundred years old, and the dingy white paint was flaking off the siding. The grass in the front yard was all but gone, and black dirt was all that was left, other than the shitty cars, trucks, and vans. My truck would fit in perfectly, I thought as I shut it off.

I left my clothes in the front seat and grabbed my guitar. I made my way up the rotten wooden steps to the door and knocked.

"Come in," I heard from inside the house.

I grabbed the rusty doorknob, turned it, and let myself in. I hoped I wasn't about to be robbed or worse. As I opened the door, I scanned the tiny living area and felt relief. The inside had fared much better than the outside.

"What's up, guys? My name is Owen Walker. I talked to someone on the phone yesterday about staying here."

"Yeah, I remember you. I'm Charles, the one you spoke with on the phone. It's not much, but it's cool in the summer and warm in the winter," Charles spoke from his seated position.

"No worries, it's perfect for what I'm looking for," I said, stepping in and closing the noisy door behind me.

"Rent is due every Sunday, and if you can't pay, you must leave. We don't allow girls around here, nor do we throw any parties. Remember, this is a place to sleep, not live. Now come with me, and I'll show you where you sleep," Charles said bluntly.

I followed Charles down the hall and then into a small bedroom on the left. There were three sets of bunk beds in there with a few people already asleep on them.

"That's you right there," Charles whispered while pointing at the bottom bunk of the middle bunk beds.

"Thanks, man, I really appreciate it," I whispered back just before he left the room.

Sliding my guitar under the bed, I eased into it and fell fast asleep from the long and stressful day.

The next morning, when I awoke, the room was empty. I had fully expected the room to be still filled with sleeping musicians passed out from the previous night. It was the first morning since Beth left that I hadn't instantly reached for my phone to see if I had missed any calls.

"What's up, dude? I'm Matt. Did you just get in last night?"

"Not much. Yeah, a little after one, and I'm Owen."

"That's cool. Just ask if you have any questions or need to know where all the open mic nights are. We all started there at one time or another." Matt said.

"Cool, I wanted to check some out tonight. Where should I go first?" I asked, taking him up on his offer.

"I wouldn't wait until night time to go. Most sign-ups are at five-thirty, and there's usually a line. Start at The Works. It's a small place, and being your first time, if you bomb, not many people are there to see it," Matt said, smiling.

I had never been one to brag, but I didn't have time to start at the bottom. I only had a certain amount of money, and when that ran out, I would either have to go home or sleep outside. Going home wasn't going to happen, and since Beth wanted nothing else to do with me, my room in the city was no longer an option.

"I'm not bragging, but I was in a pretty successful band back home, and I know it's not much compared to the places around here, but I've sold out a few venues, and one of those held almost twenty-two hundred people."

"My bad, I thought you were a newbie. I'm not telling you what to do, but If you were that good and you made the club a good amount of money, I would call them and see if they have any pals over here that have a club you can play in. I'm not saying you're not good, but the talent around here is strong, and you will have to bust ass to make a name for yourself," Matt said dryly before forgetting I was there and putting all his focus back on the television.

"Thanks, dude," I said and just stood there thinking about what he said.

It was a good idea, and why I hadn't thought of that showed me just how green I was in the music business. Nevertheless, I walked back to the room I shared, grabbed my phone off the charger, and headed out the front door to make those calls.

"Hey, Mick, it's Owen."

"Being that you're calling me and not standing in front of me tells me you did not move here. Please tell me I'm correct?" Mick asked.

"That's right. I'm in Nashville." I said with enthusiasm.

"That's good news. How's it going so far?"

"Well, that's why I'm calling. I just arrived last night, and I'm kind of at a loss of what to do. Do you know anyone over here that would let me do a showcase in their bar?"

"You're telling me you went to Nashville without representation?" Mick chuckled.

"Yeah," I said, feeling like maybe I should've thought this out a little more.

"No worries, kid, I know just the guy. Is this a number you can be reached at?"

"Yes, I keep it with me everywhere I go," I said. He didn't need to know why I never left it out of earshot.

"If nobody calls you in the next ten minutes, call me back, and I mean ten minutes," Mick made sure I understood before he hung up the phone.

It didn't take five minutes before my phone started to ring.

"Hello."

"Is this Owen?" The man asked.

"Yes, this is he."

"Hi, I'm Clark Richards, with ALI managing. Mick asked me to call you and set up a time for us to meet. Do you have any free time to stop by and visit with me today?"

"I'm free all day. Tell me what time and the address, and I'll be there," I responded.

"How's two-thirty sound?"

"Perfect. If you text me the address, I will be there."

"I can do that. See you soon," Clark said before hanging up the phone.

The address he sent me was about a forty-minute drive from where I was currently, with traffic. I headed back into the house, grabbed my guitar, and headed toward my truck. The drive over wasn't anything to write home about, but that didn't bother me. I was in Nashville attempting to make it. I saw a few landmarks, and each one I passed made me think of Beth, as I wished she was here.

All the homes in the neighborhood were huge, and I received multiple stares as I drove past them. Clark's house was one of the bigger ones, and I instantly felt out of place pulling up to the gate of the massive home.

"Is there something I can help you with?" The voice asked me through the speaker.

"Yes, Sir. I'm here to see Clark Richards."

"What's your name?" The voice asked.

"My name is Owen Walker, and he's expecting me. Do I need to call him on his cell?" I asked, not wanting to cause any trouble, but knew the voice behind the speaker wasn't the same as the man I spoke to earlier.

"I'll be back with you in a second."

"Sorry, Sir, for the wait. If you will please follow the driveway up and make a right at the end, Mr. Richards will be waiting for you."

"Thanks for the help," I responded.

I waited until the gate fully opened before I put my truck in gear and crept my way up the ornate paved driveway until I saw Clark standing, waving, at the base of some stairs. After turning the truck off and applying the parking brake, I jumped out, grabbed a long piece of scrap cardboard from the bed of my truck, and quickly slid it underneath the oil pan. I was sure he didn't want my shit box leaking oil all over his beautifully maintained driveway.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Owen," Clark said, finally realizing what I was doing and heading toward me.

"It leaks oil pretty bad, Sir, and I would feel terrible if I ruined your property," I said, standing up to shake his hand.

"Let's go inside where it's warm. Follow me," he said after our firm handshake.

Even though he told me I didn't have to, I removed my boots before I continued following him to his home office. I did my best to keep my eyes forward and not gawk at his lovely home. It looked like a home in a magazine or something you saw on TV.

"So Mick tells me that I would be a damn fool not to snatch you up," Clark smiled as we walked into his office, and he sat in a chair on my side of the desk.

"I don't know about that," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Well, let me put it to you this way. He's only called me three times in the thirty years I've known him about a musician, and you make number three. The two previous guys have a combined thirty number one hits, so when he calls, I listen. So, Mr. Walker, what can I do for you that would allow me to represent you?"

"I know this is probably the worst thing to say, but I have no clue what to do or say. You could tell me anything, and I wouldn't have any way of knowing if it's a good deal or not. I also don't have any money to pay you, so there's my first problem. I guess I should start by asking how much money I need to get for you to represent me."

"Well, usually, most artists come to us when their current management can't get them any further. In your case, you're just starting out, so we will have to approach this a little differently. Let me tell you what we do before we get into all that. What we try to do here at ALI is offer everything our clients need. We do the managing, marketing, booking, and public relations. We are a one-stop shop, so to speak. When you start touring, we will have someone with you the entire time to make sure everything goes smoothly. All you have to do, Owen, is play your music; that's it."

"That sounds awesome, but again what does that cost? I know it can't be cheap, but at least I will know what I need to get."

"It does cost money, you're right, but we only get paid when you do. Our fee is twenty percent, but since Mick sent you, I'll do it for ten. How's that sound?"

"It sounds great, I think," I didn't have a clue, and my negotiation skills sucked.

"Call Mick and ask him. See if he thinks it's a good deal,"

I did just what he said and called Mick. "Hey, Mick, it's Owen. Can I ask you a quick question?"

"Sure," he said over the speaker.

"Is ten percent good? Clark..."

"Sign the paper, kid. That's cheap. I've known Clark thirty years, and he won't fuck you, I promise," Mick said, cutting me off.

"Thanks, Mick; I really appreciate your help."

"No worries, kid. Will you have Clark call me when you guys are finished?"

"Yes, I will," I said and hung up the phone.

"Sounds like we have a deal." I smiled, holding out my hand.

"I will draw up the contract tonight," Clark said after shaking my hand. "Mick also mentioned to me that you might be needing a place to stay."

"No, Sir, I have somewhere to stay."

"Good. What's your address so that I can put it on the contract."

"Umm," I paused. "I don't think I can use it. Can I get back to you on that?" I asked, sounding unsure.

"Come with me, Owen," he said, standing up and walking out of the room.

I followed him down the same hallway we first came down and back outside toward a large matching building that sat just off the right side of the driveway.

"I know how hard it is to ask for help at your age. That being said, please accept my invitation to stay here," he said after opening the door and walking into what I assumed was a guest house.

It was just as beautiful as his home and shared a lot of similarities. With just a quick glance around, I could tell it was bigger than my entire childhood home. 'Why share a house with eighteen other guys when I can stay here by myself,' I thought.

"You sure you don't mind?" After deciding that I should accept the help and not suffer if I didn't have to, I asked.

"I wouldn't want it any other way. You can stay as long as you want or need to."

"Thank you, Mr. Richards," I responded humbly.

"We eat around seven-fifteen, and I hope you'll join us. If not, there is food out here, and if there's something else you would rather have, please let me know, and I will have Natalie pick it up for you. If you don't have any questions for me, I will leave you to get comfortable and settled in." Upon saying that, Clark turned to walk back to his house.

"Just thank you again for helping me," I repeated.

"It's I who should be thanking you, Owen. I'll see you in a little bit for dinner," Clark smiled and walked out the door.

I smiled as I looked around at my temporary residence and wished Beth was here with me. Even though I knew she wouldn't answer my phone call, I called her anyway to share the news.

"Hi, Beth. It's Owen. I just wanted to let you know I now have representation. Clark Richards is his name, and he's also letting me stay in his guest house. I wish you could see this place; it's so beautiful. Anyway, I know you're probably busy, and I don't want to take up your time. As always, I love you, and I'm so very sorry I hurt you," I said and hung up the phone.

After dinner, I signed the contract that Clark had drawn up and fought back the tears. Beth and I had talked about the day when I signed my first contract. How we would celebrate and what she would do to me. Those thoughts won the battle this time, and I just smiled and said, "Thanks, Mr. Richards, I will do my best not to let you down."

"You'll do fine, Owen. Just keep being who you are, and you will be very successful," Clark smiled.

*

It would be three weeks before I called her again to leave another voicemail. "Hi, Beth. It's Owen; I wanted to tell you this weekend I'll be playing on the same ticket as Jason Aldean, Dierks Bentley, and Blake Shelton. I'm the first act, but it's still cool to have shared the same stage with them. The show is supposed to be broadcasted online, but I doubt they will show the opening acts. I hope you're doing good, and as always, I love you, and I'm very sorry I hurt you."

I still hurt most days, but it was getting easier for me to hide it. Clark had stopped asking me 'if I was ok, or if there was anything he could do for me.' I stayed busy writing songs in Clark's personal studio, and out of the five songs I wrote, two of them Clark suggested we should include them on my upcoming album.

I was set to go into the studio just after Labor Day and was told it would most likely take around six weeks from start to finish. But, with that being four months away, I rarely thought about it. It was Beth I thought about when I was left alone with my thoughts.

**

The next four months flew by, and I found myself standing in front of a recording microphone. The whole experience was mind-boggling to me. Just as the day I arrived, I felt nervous and scared. I felt comfortable on stage with a guitar in my hand, no matter how many people were watching. But now, with eight people just staring at me on the other side of the glass while I waited for the intro to finish playing, it frightened the hell out of me. I was terrified that I would screw up and let everyone down.