If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 74 - 29.Aug.1966

"That's the end of the road, miss," the driver said, a vein in his forehead now popping. His brow was raised, and his tone was sharp. And I didn't know what to do to make the goddamn situation better.

"Would you mind slowing down a bit? I promise I'll see it this time." I wasn't sure how I could make such a promise, but I didn't have another option. Either my brain was going to remember, or I was going to be stuck in L.A. the rest of my bloody life. I folded my hands and tried to contain my growing impatience with the driver, with myself, and with my bloody head...a head that nearly two years after surgery—the one that was supposed to have fixed me—was still giving me issues.

The bloke grumbled nonsense in response and whipped the car around before pressing the accelerator. He tore down the road once again, not going any slower. But a mailbox that looked vaguely familiar came into view, and I yelled for the man to stop. He practically threw me out of the car, gathered the money I tossed in his direction, and drove off.

"Fuck you, you unhelpful, shite-driving rat bastard," I hollered after him, the car already gone by the time I shouted the words. But sometimes, it just felt better to curse at someone, even if they weren't around to hear it.

I stood at the bottom of the long driveway, hoping like hell I'd picked the right one, but I still wasn't sure. And if I was wrong, it would not only be ridiculously embarrassing to walk up to a stranger's home, but I'd also be stuck with no ride and forced to walk from house to house in search of the right one.

With my hands gripping my purse, I trudged up the driveway. A familiar house came into view, and my shoulders slumped forward. It was a bloody miracle...I'd somehow managed to pick the right driveway. Mal and Neil were packing the cars up with equipment, and I waved at them, my lip lodged between my teeth as they both nodded in my direction.

The moment I stepped through the front door, John was in front of me. He wore dark trousers, a dark-colored shirt, and a black corduroy jacket, which hung perfectly over his shoulders. Round sunglasses covered his eyes, and he gave me a once-over before his hands went in the air. He looked like he was trying to figure out what to shout at me.

It was all to be expected, but I wasn't in the mood. So I reached into my purse, shoved a box of chocolates I'd picked up for him against his chest, and walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. George, Paul, and Ringo sat at the counter, munching on some food, all of them except Paul wearing sunglasses as they waited for word that it was time to leave.

"So kind of you to grace us with yer presence," John said, following me into the kitchen.

I ignored his sarcasm as I grabbed a glass, filled it to the rim with water, and took a long drink.

When I didn't respond, he continued. "Where the fuck did you disappear to, Liv? We're about to leave, and you were meant to be back hours ago. Nearly sent Mal out to look for you."

"Good thing I'm back then," I mumbled, keeping my eyes set on the counter. "I've gotta change. I'll hurry."

"That's it?" John stepped in front of me, making it almost impossible not to look at him.

"That's it." I placed the empty glass in the sink and peeked up at Paul. His dark hazel eyes were on me as he messed with his hair. There was an odd vibe in the room, probably coming from a combination of the stressful concert the night before and the anticipation of the show that would conclude not only their American tour, but their touring life altogether.

"Somethin' happen?" Paul asked, his tone gentle rather than demanding. And thank goodness for Paul and the contrast he so often brought to John's mood swings.