Title: Don’t Look Away: Chapter Twenty-seven, Vocal Opposition
Rating: R [language, alcohol, drugs]

Summary: Pete wakes up hungover in an unfamiliar location before running into someone from the past. Cady has to deal with her father in Paris. The band has a meeting, sans Keith, but not much is decided.





Waking with a head full of lead, Pete rolled over and quickly tumbled onto the plush carpet. He slowly pushed up and looked around, trying to determine where he was. While the shag carpet seemed familiar, nothing else did. He remembered meeting up with John and Keith at a pub. He remembered a lot of naked breasts, some of which rubbed against his face and chest. However, no more details fluttered into his muddled mind. Where was he?

Pushing up from the floor, he rubbed his face, trying to clear his hangover from his vision. The more he rubbed, the more he realized he was still... drunk.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his hands dropping from his face. “Hello?”

Pete's call received no response so he headed in search of some sign of where he was. Finding the bathroom first, he stepped inside, flipped up the toilet seat, dropped his pants, and released whatever beer was left in his bladder. He peed for what felt like forever, flushed, and washed his hands and face. The air of familiarity of the bathroom still did not provide any clues as to where he was. This was beginning to be ridiculous.

“Hello?” he stepped back into the hallway. “Anyone home?”

Still no response, Pete headed into the kitchen. Yanking open the icebox, he pulled out a bottle of orange juice and then rooted around for some kind of booze. As he mixed up something resembling a screwdriver, a blond woman stepped into the kitchen, wearing only a button-down shirt. Without saying a word, she slipped the glass out of his hand, kissed his mouth, and walked away. Swearing under his breath, Pete watched her walk away, his eyes snapping to the sliver of naked ass left uncovered by the shirt.

Turning back to the fridge, he repeated his actions. This time no one else appeared, enabling Pete to gulp his drink down. He set the glass down in the sink, his eyes glancing around for some missed clue to his location. He was certain the woman had not brought him to that flat. He did not feel the least bit familiar with her. It had to be someone else.

“Wot 're ya doin' in me kitchen?” a very familiar voice demanded.

Pete turned around, “Roger?”

“Nah, your mum,” the short singer responded, rolling his eyes and reaching for the fridge.

“What am I doing here?”

“I would loike ter kna that meself,” he responded, pulling the juice bottle out again.

“How did I get here?”

“The bloomin' pub called me. I 'ave nah idea why ya called me and not your bird.”

Pete sighed, “She's in France.”

“Why in'cha?”

He shrugged, “She wanted to go alone.”

“Uh huh,” he sipped his orange juice. “Your shoes 're by the door.”

Pete glanced towards the door, “Oh, thanks.”

Roger said nothing else, merely leaned against the counter. Understanding the unspoken directive, Pete nodded and headed towards his shoes. Shoving his feet in, he thanked his band mate for his help before heading out of the apartment. Making his way out to the sidewalk, Pete grimaced. Naturally the sun had to shine on a day where his head already pounded.

Certainly in no state to walk all the way back to his own apartment, but not seeing any other viable option, Pete slowly headed down the street. He kept turning over what few memories he had of the night, but still nothing made any sense. Without a doubt, it was all Keith and John's fault, but that did not make him feel any better.

The only thing that would make him feel better was country away. He needed his Cady back. He needed her back badly.

Turning the corner, Pete wished he could reach into his pockets and pull out a cigarette. But his pockets were completely empty, even without any pocket lint. His long walk home seemed longer with each step. At least he had been able to feed his buzz with the haphazard screwdriver before leaving Roger's flat.

Eyes glancing up from the sidewalk, his gaze passed over a pair of white boots. Stopping, he stifled a groan. Everything in the world seemed to be conspiring against him. He did not care what everyone else said: He was going to France. He was reuniting with Cady. Hell or high-water.

“Pete?”

His eyes snapped up to the voice, “Karen?”

She smiled, “Hello, Pete.”

“Hi,” he muttered.

“No Cady?”

He shook his head, hoping to hid his emotion in her question.

“Pity,” she responded, noticing the flash in his eyes. “Would you care to have tea with me?”

“I... thank you. However, my wallet is... missing.”

“My treat,” Karen smiled again, before quickly adding, “I insist.”

“I... alright,” he acquiesced.

Before long the former couple sat across from each other in a small tea room. Pete relaxed as the minutes passed, though felt slightly awkward at his unkempt appearance, lack of wallet, and missing memories. Karen continued to happily tell him stories, trying to set him at ease. When he finally laughed, she knew his thoughts finally found a happier focus.

“There you are, Pete,” she smiled.

“I... thank you,” he returned the smile. “I...”

“Of course you miss her,” Karen stated. “She's already become quite a force in your life. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Except with us,” Pete pointed out.

Her smile faded some, “Our breakup was already on the horizon when you began to tour and met Cady. I do not hold any ill will towards you or her.”

“You are a very classy lady, Karen.”

“So what are you going to do in regards to Cady?”

He sighed, “I really want to go to her in France.”

“But?” she brushed hair from her face before reaching for her teacup.

“I don't think she wants me to.”

Karen remained silent for a moment, considering his statement, “Why did she go to France?”

“To figure out who she is without my influence,” he answered.

“Then I do believe it would be in your best interest as well as hers if you did not recklessly chase after her.”

He sighed, “Why?”

“Well on the surface, I would say because that is what she has asked of you,” Karen stated before reaching for the tea pot to refill their cups. “But more deeply, so that you show her that you not only trust her, but you trust yourself.”

He sighed again, “How long do you have to wait?”

“As long as she needs you too, Pete. As long as she needs you to.”



Waking in the luxurious hotel bed, Cady stretched before rubbing her eyes. It took her a few long seconds to realize her phone was ringing and that had stirred her from dreams. Rolling on her side, her fingers reached for the phone, knocking it off the hook. Struggling to catch it before it hit the floor, Cady mumbled a groggy greeting.

“Good morning, Cadence. While you may be on vacation, I have a schedule to maintain. I expect you downstairs for breakfast in ten minutes.”

“But, Daddy–”

“Ten minutes.”

The line went dead before she could protest any more. Dropping the phone back onto its base, she groaned and forced herself out of bed. The rude awakening indicated the previous night's dinner had in fact not been a bad dream. Her father truly was in Paris, likely hoping to convince her to return to Philadelphia with him. Why he suddenly decided she needed to return home, she was uncertain. She had lived with Jimi and in New York City for over a year. Perhaps relocating to London was too much for him?

Pushing the thoughts aside, she stumbled towards the bathroom to wash her face and make herself somewhat presentable. Breakfast with her father was not going to be pleasant at all.

Making her way down to the restaurant barely in time, Cady located her smartly dressed father and slipped into the chair across from him. She smiled up at the server as he filled her coffee cup before hurrying away. As no menu rested on the table in front of her, she knew her father already ordered breakfast for her. It was completely unsurprising and yet also disappointing. She had hoped they were beyond that.

Folding his newspaper and setting it in an empty space on the table, his blue eyes looked across the table to her. Cady shifted slightly under his gaze, yet managed to maintain eye contact with the older man. No emotions flit across his face, but she expected nothing less. She knew her father better than that.

“I am concerned, Cadence,” he finally commented, reaching for his coffee.

“Why? Are your stocks down?” she replied casually, hoping for some reaction.

“You know very well why I am concerned,” he responded evenly.

“Not entirely.”

“In the past year and a half, you have dropped out of an art school that was not easy to get into, shacked up with that poor druggie, and have now moved across the ocean to live with another poor excuse of a–”

“Stop it right there,” she boldly interrupted, ignoring as plates of food were placed before them. “You don't even know Pete.”

“I know far more than you think, little girl,” he responded in a condescending voice.

Cady stared across the table at her father as he began to eat breakfast. His words should not have surprised her at all. She knew he kept tabs on her. It was part and parcel of his purse strings, which despite all her best efforts, she could not escape. Living on her trust fund, on her father's money, was something she now accepted, though would never like. In the very least it freed herself and Pete from the stress and worries about money, and that in itself was a good enough reason in her mind. But now he was checking into who she dated?

“I'm sorry,” she folded her napkin, placed it on the table, and stood. “But I am nearly nineteen years old. My life is none of your goddamned business and neither is Pete's.”

“Sit back down, Cady,” he stated.

“Go to hell,” she hissed.

“Sit back down, Cadence Emerson Kersey,” he commanded.

Obeying the tone in his voice despite her actual wishes, she plopped back down. Folding her arms across her chest, she glared at her father. He calmly continued to eat his breakfast, glancing at her only once and motioning that she should do the same. She refused.

“Cadence, eat your breakfast so we can talk about this calmly.”

“There is nothing to talk about. I'm with Pete. I love Pete. You're just going to have to deal with it.”

He set down his utensils, “You're breaking your mother's heart.”

“She doesn't have one.”

He smirked slightly, “Perhaps not.”

Cady blinked, surprised he agreed with her, “Excuse me?”

“We are not here to discuss your mother,” he quickly recovered. “We are here to discuss the nature of your relationship with Mr. Townshend.”

“I haven't met Mr. Townshend yet, but I'm sure when Pete chooses to introduce me to his family–”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. Stop twisting my words.”

“You're the lawyer here. Where do you think I learned it?”

Her father smirked again before his face was once more impassive, “If you think I will stand by idly and let him ruin your life like the last musician you dated, then you are mistaken.”

“Funny, I didn't see you sweep in to save me from Jimi and I was with him for over a year,” she pointed out.

“Eat your breakfast,” he pointed at the plate again.

Sighing, she shifted in the chair again and reached for her silverware, “You don't need to save me from Pete.”

“You have made poor choice after poor choice. Forgive me if I do not agree, Cadence.”

“Daddy, Pete is not a poor choice. He treats me better than anyone ever has.”

He stared at her silently.

“He's not!”

Richard remained silent.

“Dammit, Daddy, Pete is not a poor choice. He doesn't hit me. He doesn't yell at me. He doesn't control me. He just loves me,” she argued.

“Who hit you?”

Her eyes instantly dropped to the table and she shoveled a large bite of food into her mouth.

“Cadence, who hit you?” he repeated.

“Oh like you don't fucking know,” she hissed. “If you're really following me, inspecting everyone I'm with, you know damn well who I'm talking about.”

He set his utensils down and sighed deeply, “Cady... I did not know it was that bad. I tried to reach out to you, but I could not get anyone close to you, nor contact you. I will not allow that to happen again.”

“It won't. Pete's a good man. He would never hurt me,” she declared.

“Cady, the man is a penniless rock musician. He does not remotely have the ability to provide for you.”

“Daddy,” her eyes met his, “I don't need him to provide for me. You do that. What Pete gives me is beyond anything money can buy. Pete gives me love and understanding and companionship. Pete gives me everything I actually need.”

“Cady...”

“Look, Daddy, you don't have to like Pete. It's my life to do with what I please. I choose to be with Pete. You don't have to like that. You don't even have to support it. But I am asking you to accept that I can make this decision myself. I understand if you want to cut me off. We will make do without the trust fund money,” she declared. “I know Pete isn't a lawyer or a doctor or a business owner or whatever. But you and I both know I was never going to marry into money, that I was never going to be like everyone back in the Philadelphia country club circuit. I choose Pete and the life I'm building with him. Do with it what you will.”

He sighed again, but smiled slightly, “You do realize that I will have to vocally oppose this relationship.”

Her eyes brightened, “Are you saying... you approve?”

“Between you and me,” he leaned across the table and lowered his voice, “I hope you find happiness wherever it may be.”

Her lips curved into a slight smile, “Really?”

Richard leaned back, “But don't you think for a moment that I'm letting up on him. Youare far too precious for that.”



Striking a match, John ignored as Pete explained the demo playing. He knew the songwriter would change the song another half dozen times. Tossing the expired match in the nearest ashtray, he leaned back and inhaled his cigarette deeply, nodding whenever Pete glanced in his direction. To be completely honest, he was ready for the album to be done. Now that they had a concrete concept for the album, complete with radio jingles, he did not understand what the hold up was.

Oh, wait, he did. Pete had written another “opera,” which they were not attempting to cut down to size. Where the guitarist's sudden focus came from, John was uncertain. But someone had certainly lit fires under him. Perhaps Pete merely hoped to finish the album by the time Cady returned so he could make up all the missed shagging time.

“I 'ear ya, Pete. I just daan't understand the bloody song. I fin' it's... too much,” Roger commented.

Pete shook his head, “If I cut it down any more, it won't make any sense at all.”

“Mate, it's seven minutes now,” John pointed out.

“That's down from fifteen,” the songwriter added.

“I think that's the best it's going to get,” the bassist declared.

Roger threw up his arms, “Daan't listen ter me. Wot 're we garn ter do for the chuffin' cover?”

Pete looked to John who merely shrugged. His blue eyes went back to the singer and he shrugged as well.

“Nah wahn 'as any ideas?”

Both of the men shook their heads.

“And where is Keif? 'e was supposed ter be at this meetin' too.”

“I haven't seen him since last night,” John responded. “I thought he went with you.”

“No. Gist Pete,” the blond motioned to the seated guitarist.

“What did happen last night?” Pete asked.

John shrugged, “You got drunk, very drunk.”

“Why did I end up at Roger's?”

“Well since Cady is in France... you kept going on about how you wanted to make things better. So you rang Roger. He wasn't too happy when he came to collect you from the pub,” John ground out his cigarette. “I'm imagine you interrupted his shaggin'.”

Pete glanced to Roger, “This true?”

“The way I clock it: if I didn't pick ya up, ya would 'ave ended up in the gutter, or worse, jail.”

He sighed, “I was that bad?”

“I might not loike Cady, but I 'ope she gets home bloody soon.”

“Why don't you like Cady?”

“She 'as ya pussy whipped! She is garn ter break this band up!”

Pete instantly jumped up, his hands in fists. Before he could shout or take a swing at the singer, John stepped between the two men, pushing his best mate out of the room calmly. Pete muttered a handful of angry words, which John promptly ignored. Holding the guitarist against the wall, he waited for the instant anger to dissipate.

“Mate,” John warned, loosening his grip on Pete, “you gonna calm down or do I need to...?”

Shaking his head, he forced himself to relax some, “He doesn't even know Cady.”

“I know, mate.”

“He hasn't even tried.”

“I know, Pete.”

“She isn't going to break up the band. She supports the band.”

“I know.”

Pete sighed and turned away from the door, “I bloody miss her, John.”

“Well it seems like we're done here. We'll finish up the masters in a day or two. So how about I take you home and you ring her?” John offered. “Then we can go get a pint and see if we can locate Keith.”

His blue eyes went to his best friend, “You don't think that Keith has gotten himself into trouble, do you?”

“Of course he has. He's Keith. That's what he does,” John smirked, patting Pete's shoulder.

“I had tea with Karen today,” he stated softly after they said their goodbyes and headed to the parking lot.

“Oh?”

Pete nodded, “I ran into her after leaving Roger's and... it was nice. It wasn't awkward at all. She... made a lot of sense.”

“Karen's a good broad,” John commented. “I'm glad the two of you are being adult about all of this.”

“I think she understands that we were already falling apart before I met Cady and that... Cady is something special.”

“That she is. Do you think she'll be home soon?”

“I don't know,” Pete sighed again. “I really don't know. I mean, I'm glad that she's taking this time to find herself or whatever. It has just made it difficult to finish this album – at least to me. I wrote with such ease during the tour with her around. And now...”

“Luckily,” John paused to dig his car keys out, “the album is mostly done at this point anyways. Not much writing left.”

“True... true...” he walked around the car and slipped into the passenger seat.

Listening to the radio as the bassist drove, Pete's thoughts drifted off in a whirlwind. He certainly felt better about him and Cady after his conversation with Karen earlier that day. But the brief acidic remarks from Roger that evening did not help things at all. He did not want his girlfriend to come between him and his band mates, though if it came down to it, he would choose Cady. Roger was replaceable; Cady was not.

He truly hoped that whatever she searched for in France, she discovered soon. Missing her the way he did was torture. It was not even leading to music, like he thought it might have.

Rather than going out with John to find Keith, Pete thanked him for the ride and excused himself. He put on a jazz record, lit up a joint, and managed to pull together enough food for a sandwich and some crisps. Settling down in the living room a few minutes later, his blue eyes focused on the phone across the room, willing it to ring. He did not want to seem desperate in calling Cady. It was only then he realized he couldnot call her. She had yet to tell him where she was staying in Paris, likely to keep him from rushing to be with her. He would have to wait for her to ring him.

Propping his feet up on the coffee table, he inhaled the joint deeply, letting the acrid pot curl around his lungs. He hoped that a soft high would distract him enough to wait out her call. He was sure it would come. Just as he was certain the sky was blue – as blue as Cady's eyes.