I bend down to pick up my bag that fell on the ground when Brandon kissed me and finally hop in my car. I have another pity party before I start up and head home.
The drive home isn’t bad. We’re about thirty minutes outside of the city in a suburban neighborhood. Although calling it suburban, like we’re some modern family when these houses are easily over four-thousand-square-feet, is putting it lightly.
When I park in the driveway and get out, I look across the street at the Rawlins home. When we lost the Hayes family, we also lost the Rawlins family. I think Kamryn, my brother’s girlfriend at the time, felt guilty for not saving him. As a teenager who wasn’t privy to the ins and outs of their relationship, I went through phases of blaming her one day and understanding where she was coming from the next. Iwas in an exhaustive back-and-forth with myself, and I now put the blame on Liam.
My brother doing what he did set off a domino effect in everyone’s lives, changing their direction. I don’t know exactly what was going on in his life that week and those days leading up to the accident. But I do know that he was extremely distant. He broke family plans and disappeared completely from us. But the second I saw his truck on the news, everything added up.
Sometimes I wonder what our lives would look like if he were man enough to talk to someone instead of getting behind the wheel. Would he and Kamryn have gotten married? Would they still live here? Would my brother have eventually gotten drafted to the major league? These are all the things I wonder about.
Walking into the house, it’s quiet. Really, it’s been quiet for the last two years. With a sigh, I slip my keys on the hook that’s by the front door and walk down the short hallway that leads to the living room and kitchen.Empty. Although I know my parents have been here. I think they keep this house solely for me, because when Liam died, it’s like I stopped existing to my parents. I could never measure up to him, so it’s no surprise they were devastated when he passed. But, me? I’m still here.
I grab a quick bite to eat in the form of some Easy Mac before heading back down the hall and stopping at the front room that has the piano. I’ve barely touched it in two years, so it likely needs tuning. But in my depressive state, I’ve had this melody stuck in my head for the last few weeks that if I don’t sit down and play just to get it out, it’s going to drive me insane. I run up to my room to grab a tripod for my phone and camera and slip a Philly football sweatshirt over my head to hide the logo of the bar. Jogging back down thestairs, I set up my phone and digital camera so that the piano keys are the only things in view, and I light a couple of candles, placing them on the lid and bathing the room in a soft glow.
Getting situated on the bench and fiddling with the keys to loosen up my fingers, the melody that’s been taunting me comes back with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs, and I get lost in the movement and music for the next few hours. My fingers move over the keys like I never stopped playing. I flow through classical pieces, trending songs, and even try my hand at more original pieces. It’s no secret that the reason I’m finally playing after months of nothing has to do with what transpired a mere hour ago. Am I ready to acknowledge it?No. But I am happy that I’m able to lose myself in the music and play until the candles begin to burn out and night turns to early morning.
The sun shiningthrough my windows the next morning is an unwelcome visitor. After the candles burned out, I kept playing until the sky began to turn a soft lavender. At that point, I knew I needed sleep. I was playing to work myself out of a bad mood. But now that it’s the next day, my crappy mood is still present. Leaning over, I grab my phone off the nightstand, I flop back down on my pillows, and push my blonde hair out of my face.
I see a text from Hannah telling me to take the rest of the week off with no room for discussion. My brows furrow and I blink my eyes fast to stave off the tears. That job is my lifeline and she knows it. I think that’s why she lets me work so much. But she knows me better than my parents, so that’s likely why she’s forcing me to take this week off. Switchingto my social media apps, I open mine to see notifications from past videos making their round again. But instead of acknowledging them or the comments from people asking for more, I scroll through to see what my former friends are up to. I may have been a wallflower throughout school, but I had no shortage of friends. Or people I thought were friends. Now they’re just people I have fond memories with, as I stopped putting in the effort to maintain those friendships after the accident.
Wiping at my eyes, I quickly open up my Photos app to cut down the clip of me playing last night to something that’ll capture the attention of anyone who finds it. I’ll have to put the other footage on my computer to edit that. But this is me attempting to find the joy in things again. And piano had always been that thing for me. Finding the section of the piece I want, I edit it down to thirty seconds and reopen my social media app. Titling the captionfor those with sorrowful hearts, your secret is safe with me., I share the video and decide to get on with my day.
5
BRANDON
“If I have to hear the same song coming through your phone's speaker, I’m going to take it and stuff it down my pants.” Carter groans as he comes barreling into my office, and the sudden intrusion of sound has me fumbling with my phone and dropping it on my desk.
“Shit,” I say, trying to stop it from falling to the floor. “Don’t do that.”
Carter laughs and takes a seat in the chair in front of my desk. “So what’s been so interesting on your phone that you’ve been playing it on a loop all day?”
I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and scowl at him. “None of your business.”
“By the defensiveness oozing from you, it sounds like someone you shouldn’t be thinking about. But don’t worry, I’ll find out soon enough.”
“What did you need?” I sigh, asking my annoying best friend.
He’s used to my subject changes, so he shrugs and rolls with it. “Beta testing.”
“They’re in the performance stage, right?”
“Look at you on top of everything, even though you’ve been on your phone all day. But yes. We also need to start working on the marketing end. I am on board with this game and the idea you created, but it needs a heavy promotion to hit the demographic you want.”
I sit back in my seat and sigh. I’m bad with promotions, too. It’s why I put off moving forward with creating my own game for so long. I’ve seen the way people around the office lose their minds when they get to that stage in creation. Nothing makes video game creators freak out more than having to advertise to the public. We’re a small group by nature and not many people understand us. So having to go wide is terrifying.
“I’ll start brainstorming,” I tell him with another sigh.
“Why not use your brothers? They’re around the age group that we’re trying to reach.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not using my underage brothers in promotional material.”
Carter holds his hands in front of him in surrender. “Fair. Just thought I’d ask.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s a good idea, though. But no. I did let them know last week that they could test the game out, so that should be enough.”
We shoot the shit in my office for another thirty minutes before I’m heading into meetings for the rest of the day. By the time I get back to my office, the bullpen is cleared out, and outside, the city is beginning to light up from a day of recharge. It's my favorite part about working on the south side. Apart from the dead of winter, there is always some sort of activity going on in the business district. And as I look down at people pouring out of office buildings, some with home on their minds and others with happy hour on their minds, I think I’m going to do the same. Home orhappy hour, I haven’t decided. Since Angie has been at the forefront of my mind, I’ve said to hell with the perfectly curated schedule and finally let go of that tiny bit of control I latched onto.
I make sure I don’t have any pressing emails that can’t be handled tomorrow, before I toss my glasses on my desk, and swipe my phone and keys from where I tucked them into a drawer and into my pocket.
