To be alone.
To work with my hands in silence.
Not to have my neighbors helping me with that.
“It’s set,” Hallie says with a wide grin, clapping her hands, ignoring my internal struggle. “The guys will come on Thursday to help with the deck. Then once it’s all done, we can have a welcome party out here!” I open my mouth to argue about the plan or the party, I don’t know, but I don’t get the opportunity, regardless.
“Does ten work?” Jesse asks. I blink.
“Probably should do nine, since we might need to go to multiple stores, depending on what they have in stock,” Madden says, tapping on his phone screen.
“Good call,” Jesse says, then turns back to me. “So we’ll be here at nine.”
“I—”
“In the meantime, we have to head out. Emma will be getting back from a sleepover soon, and I promised we’d make cupcakes for family dinner tomorrow,” Hallie says, stepping towards the side yard. Dazedly, I follow the crew, unsure of what’s happening or how I got myself into this mess.
“What kind?” Madden asks, slinging his arm around Hallie’s shoulders.
“Red velvet,” she says, and they start to make their way towards the two vehicles parked in my drive that don’t belong to me.
“My favorite. You really do love me, don’t you?” Madden says. Hallie pulls her head back to glare at him, her look a brutal thing that could maim if it were tangible.
“Who said you’re getting any?” Madden, clearly used to her killing glares and sharp attitude, rolls his eyes.
“You can’t bring treats to my mother’s house and not give me any, Hallie. I’m my mom’s favorite,” he says, and although I’venever met Mrs. King, even I know that’s not the truth. Jesse lets out a snort, confirming my assumption, and Wren looks at him, rolling her eyes, as we all follow Madden and Hallie.
“You’re delusional. Right now, I’m the favorite King, since I’m making an honest man out of your brother. Then it’s Emma, Wren, and Jesse. You’re at the bottom of the pyramid.”
“Oh, fuck off, I am totally above Jesse,” he argues, opening the passenger side door of the truck and watching Hallie slide in.
“Oh, so you reallyaredelusional,” she replies as Madden follows her inside. Jesse, Adam, and Wren watch this without a bit of surprise on their face before Jesse shakes his head and makes his way towards the driver’s side.
“Thursday,” he says, then slides into his car, Hallie and Madden still loudly bickering inside, and drives off.
“What just happened?” I mumble to myself, staring at the taillights of the truck leaving my property. A small laugh comes from my side, and then a hand lands on my shoulder, Adam standing next to me with a knowing smile.
“Welcome to Holly Ridge, my friend.”
Somehow, I don’t think my retreat here is going to be nearly as peaceful as I had hoped.
TWO
WILLA
“That’s it. I’m done. Washed up. My career is over.” I tear another sheet of paper from the notebook I have been doodling words and thoughts on, crumple it, and throw it at the wall. It circles the edge of the basket before falling to the ground. It feels like the perfect metaphor for how I feel right now: circling, spiraling, and ultimately creating a mess. I settle deep into the chair, tipping my head back, and groan at the ceiling before running a hand roughly over my face. If Jackie were here, she’d give me shit for it, telling me I’m going to get wrinkles, but what do wrinkles matter if my career is over and I’m never going to record another album?
Am I being dramatic? Maybe.
But I didn’t get this far by being sensible.
“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far,” Adam says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “You’re just…scattered.”
That’s the nice way to put the way I’m jumping from outlined track to outlined track, trying to cling on to some tiny bit of inspiration to get past this block and failing each and every time. I sigh, sitting up and frowning at him on the screen of my computer.
“I just…I don’t know what to write. Nothing feels right. It all feels stupid and superficial.” Creative block is a problem I’ve never run into before. Anytime I’ve ever been the slightest bit stuck, I’ve been able to pull inspiration from movies, art, or books to find the stories I wanted to tell in songs, even if they weren’t my own. Though I tell fans all of my songs are written from personal experience, from my own struggles and wins in my quest to find true love, my love life is purely nonexistent. “Everything I write sucks. I’m totally fucked. This is it, isn’t it? My career is over, and I’ve hit my peak, and I’m now destined for a life of C-list television theme songs.”
“It doesn’t suck,” Adam says in his calm tone. I glare at him, and the edge of his lips tips up. “It’s just very… sad?”
