“And you shall receive them.” I laughed, grabbing his jaw and kissing him.
“Just know it wasn’t done for altruistic reasons, Jess. I wanted you to be able to go on tour with me, at least when Noah doesn’t have school.”
Every word he spoke fell on eager ears. I wanted everything he was offering. “Your face,” I said. “It needs my kisses.”
I proceeded to shower him with them. “You just lifted the weight totally off my shoulders. Look! I can shrug again.”
“That a girl.” He wrapped his arm around my waist. “I think I’m going to be okay, Jess.”
I leaned into him. “I think so too.”
“I’m just not sure what I want to do about the band. I hate the thought of going on without Brandon, but I also hate the thought of starting over. Despite everything, I love that band.”
“You need to talk to Mike and Matty. They’re as lost as you are. They’ve been trying to reach out to you, but…”
“I know. They’re next on my list. I just needed to make things right for you first.”
“You’d never been wrong.”
His fingers folded into mine, and we kissed. It was soft and sweet, filled with the promise of a future that hadn’t been there only hours earlier.
Quinn stood and pulled me to my feet. “Come on. I need a fix.”
“A fix? What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.”
It didn’t take me long to figure out what type of fix Quinn was referring to when I saw Keith’s surf shop up ahead on the beach walk. The shells jingled as we entered and I was instantly struck by the relaxed feel of the place, matching perfectly with its owners.
“Quinn! Jess!” Keith bounded over to us, like a grown-up version of Noah. “You should’ve told me you were coming. I would have slipped into something a little more formal—like shoes.”
I glanced down at Keith’s bare feet. Clearly there wasn’t a ‘no shirts, no shoes, no service’ rule here.
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Sam said, skipping out from the back room in a long, flowing dress with a beautiful baby accessory strapped to her chest. She too was barefoot. Sam enveloped us in welcoming hugs. “What are you two doing here?”
“Came to do some research,” Quinn said, sliding his fingers over the soft, wispy hairs on his nephew’s head. “I’m thinking I want one of these soon. What do you say, Jess? You wanna make a baby with me?”
“I just might,” I teased back.
Keith glanced between the two of us. “There’s a cot in the back. Be our guest.”
35
Quinn: Fragile Dream
We’d been summoned. Matty, Mike, and I sat at the large oblong table occupied by the top tier at our label. These were the wallets. The deal makers. The ruthless dream killers. But today they were mere humans with their heads hung low.
“The decision is up to you,” one said.
Situations like this didn’t happen every day. There was no playbook, no right or wrong answer. We were just people trying to make the best of a horrible situation. At first glance, it would seem an easy decision. Retire Sketch Monsters. Brandon was dead. The rest of us were traumatized. But not so fast. Our first album, conveniently released a week after the shooting, went straight to the top of the charts and had not left. The album had even earned us two Grammy nods.
Was some of that success due to tragedy porn? Yes. Just like Jake before me, doors may have opened because of our backstory, but that didn’t mean they’d stay open. Our future was a decision away. If we wanted it, we could have it all. The money, the arena tours, the fame.
If we wanted it.
“What happens if we decide to dissolve?” Matty asked.
“Then we’ll amend the contract to a one-record deal instead of three. There will be no further albums and no legal ramifications. The only catch is, should you decide to ever use the Sketch Monsters name again, you’ll be required to fulfill the remaining two albums from the contract.”
