CHAPTER 42
CARY
How could she just leave like that? They were trying to have a baby, for god’s sake. Until this morning, he thought she was pregnant. He’d pictured their future—nursery plans, baby names, the life they were about to build together. And then, with a few devastating words, it was gone.
Hell, he broke down the second their call ended and cried for an hour. Maybe he should have told her how much this was wrecking him, but he didn’t want to make it harder on her. He didn’t want to pile guilt on top of whatever she felt.
Yes, he wanted her to leave Vancouver.
But not like this.
Not without him.
Cary picked up his phone and called Vegas. “I need you to do something for me,” he said, pouring a glass of whiskey over ice. Penfolds Grange was no match for his pain.
“Sure, what?” Vegas asked.
“Cancel my shows for the next few weeks.”
“But—”
“I don’t care how much it costs. I’ll pay for everything. Send Yestown wherever they want. And have Tommy reschedule my shows, please.”
“Fucking Tommy,” Vegas said. “Are you okay, man?”
“No.” He stood in the kitchen with heavy feet. “I mean, physically, yes.”
“Does Sebastien know about this?” Vegas’s voice was softer now. “He’s going to have questions. What do I say when he asks?”
“Just say I’ve got family issues.” He gulped a mouthful of whiskey and shook his head. “It’s the truth, Vegas.”
After all, he considered Tyler part of his family—the closest person to him in the world.
“Are your parents okay?” Vegas asked.
“Yes.” The ice cracked in his drink. “It’s personal. I can’t get into it.”
“Okay, man. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Vegas.”
CHAPTER 43
TYLER
When Tyler arrived home that night she was in rough shape. For the first time in a long time she wished she could talk to her mother or sit by her grave. But since she couldn’t do that she played “Landslide” on repeat. She closed her eyes and imagined Stevie’s voice was her mother’s and cried like a baby.
A little while later, she went downstairs to get her moving boxes from the storage locker. Over the past decade she’d moved so many times that she’d kept them because looking for boxes was the worst part about changing locations.
To get out of her head she blared Led Zeppelin on shuffle. She liked the surprise of the algorithm, and it played songs that she’d forgotten about.
She stayed up most of the night, taping boxes together and writing labels on the sides, not the top. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. She organized the kitchen into piles of keep, gross, and donate. The kitchen always took longer than planned.
How many mugs does one person need?
Tyler’s phone vibrated before her alarm. It was Kim on FaceTime—calling instead of texting like a normal human being.
“What’s wrong?” she answered, not bothering to get up.
