I wanted to laugh until I cried because I was feeling pretty damn miserable. Yes, I’d grown up backstage, hanging out with musicians. I went to awards shows and movie sets and had homemade pizza night with some pretty famous faces. But the thing I craved most had no monetary or status-enhancing value. I wanted what she had—a man who’d sit in the back of the plane for my comfort. Some might say I’d thrown him away in Elliott, but it wasn’t true. Elliott wasn’t the one. I’d had the one, and he was gone.
It was in that moment I realized what I had to do to bring back my muse. I had to finally face the devastation Rory had dealt to my young heart. Only then could I write my songs from the place inside me where the darkness dwelt.
“Pretty interesting,” I agreed.
* * *
After collectingmy luggage and giving the anniversary couple the number for Angel Line Tours, Jess’s “Map of the Stars” bus tour so they could drive by my family’s house to take pictures, I ordered an Uber bound for Quinn, whom I’d tracked to a nearby rehearsal studio. It was actually perfect. I could watch the band practice and get a feel for their post-tragedy style. So much had happened since the shooting that I felt like I’d lost track of Sketch Monsters. Had their vibe on stage changed? Should I be writing more emotional songs, or did they prefer to stay closer to their heavy rock roots? I’d need to know all this so I could tailor my crappy songs to their energy.
Grace,I scolded myself,we talked about this.
Besides, I’d promised Quinn that he’d be my first stop once I got home. I assumed he wanted the lowdown on the breakup, as did everyone else in the family, judging by the number of calls I’d sent straight to voicemail. The texts were worse. Hundreds of them, most left unanswered. I just didn’t have anything to say, and I certainly wasn’t going to defend my decision. I did not love by committee.
It was easy talking my way past security at the studio. All it took was my ID, some strategic Jake talk, and a family Christmas photo that I already had cued up on my phone after my hours-long chitchat with Claudia while her husband John sat in the back.
The door to Studio Four was propped open, and I could hear my brother’s voice as I approached, rolling my suitcase behind me. Laughter erupted, and I smiled. Quinn was holding court, just like old times. He sounded stronger now, more in control. Hearing him made me excited for the tour. I couldn’t wait to reconnect with him after so many months of him sticking close to his girl. Jess would be joining the tour with her school-age son during summer break, but until then, Quinn was all mine.
Knocking on the open door to announce myself, I ducked into the studio with the smile still on my face. “Hey, guys!”
Silence. And lots and lots of the whites of eyeballs. I looked around at all the sweaty bodies and surprised faces. Quinn shot to his feet.
“Grace. Um… hey,” he stuttered. “What… uh… what are you doing here? Why didn’t you call first? Let me know you were coming?”
“Nice to see you too,” I replied, confused by the less-than-enthusiastic welcome as I glanced around the studio and waved my greetings to all the Monsters. Matty the bassist. Mike the guitarist. Rory the drummer. My head snapped back, doing a comedic double take.Rory the drummer?It was then my brain caught up. Rory the fucking drummer!
The room was so quiet I could hear Quinn’s traitorous heartbeat. I blinked, trying to make sense of it all. Rory was here. And he looked like his old scorching hot self again—hair cut to shoulder length, his face clean-shaven, captivating eyes staring back at me.
Rotating my head toward Quinn, I shot daggers his way. He didn’t say a word, just stood there looking as terrified as a bushy-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. What the hell was going on? Slowly, I turned my scalpel glare to Rory. His eyes wide, he sat there on his stool, sticks suspended over the skins almost like he’d been frozen in time.
And then it hit me: all the guilty faces. Quinn had hired his old band mate. My old boyfriend. The destroyer of my teenaged heart. But that wasn’t even the worst part. He’d lied to me. Oh god, the betrayal. I was going to pass out. Right here. Straightaway. How could he do this to me?
Rory suddenly defrosted and stood up, rounding the drum kit. “Grace.”
Quinn, the bushy-tailed backstabber, walked toward me too.
Both approached cautiously, and so they should. I felt positively murderous at the moment. Not interested in a reunion, I slipped out of the door and swung my suitcase into its opening, knocking both boys over like bowling pins as I dashed down the hall, out of the studio, and into the streets of Los Angeles where I got lost in a crowd of people.
* * *
Once the sun went down,I made my trek across the powdery sand to my refuge for the night, the beach house Jake owned. I could have just crashed at a hotel, but I was looking for emotional comfort tonight, and this place held special significance to me. It was here I’d crafted my first sand castles. Here where I’d learned to swim with the sharks. And here where a young, naive Grace had built a rickety bridge with a boy who was barely hanging on. It was that bridge I was counting on now.Come on, Jake, don’t let me down.
The closer I got to my oasis, the heavier my steps became. Nothing was as it should be. There was no spring in my step, no joy from being in my happy place along the coastline. I was irrationally angry and not sure why. It wasn’t even Rory I was mad at. He was the mistress in this pairing; Quinn was the cheater. The only McKallister text messages I hadn’t left unopened. He’d had his chance to tell me then. I would’ve listened. I might even have encouraged the pairing, because, despite everything, all I’d ever wanted was the best for both of them.
But there had been no communication. No one had said a word. Not Quinn. Not Jess. Not anyone in my family. And I had a feeling they all knew and had chosen Quinn’s well-being over mine.He suffered.He’s lucky to be alive.Well, guess what? So was I. Did everyone forget I’d been in that arena too? Like Kyle before me, my suffering had been overshadowed by someone else’s greater suffering and then been canceled out completely. And like the “greater good” kind of girl I was, I’d just let it go.
My family took my stability for granted. They saw me only as the sturdy rock that others came to rest upon. I listened. I loved. And when the time was right, I wiped the tears and dispensed the hugs. Even after the shooting, when my own life was rocked to the core, I’d been there for others. For Quinn. For Jess. For my mom and dad. Yet, no one fretted overmywell-being. Sure, they asked how I was doing, but they didn’t look past my wilted smile and my faked reassurances. Did no one understand that even the most precious of stones would come apart if enough pressure was applied? That was what had happened. Cruel, unbinding pressure, and today, I’d finally shattered.
Spotting the house up ahead, I trudged forward, noting how different it looked from the shoreline instead of from the exclusive enclave’s front security gates. Normally, I would get a code from Jake, and none of this sneaking around would be necessary, but contacting him meant the whole family would know where I was, and I had no interest in seeing any one of them tonight.
I shone my phone’s flashlight onto the underbelly of the deck, and it illuminated the long pillars that dropped from the building above into the sand to create the pier-like setting under which I now stood. I headed for the stairs, though I knew I’d never get to the top because of the state-of-the-art security gate up there. With no key and no code, the only way into this fortress was through a long-ago promise, and if Jake had forgotten, I’d be spending the night sleeping in the sand.
With my foot on the bottom rung, I began counting the steps.Eight up.That was what he’d said to me all those years ago:Eight stairs up, under the small awning. Following his long-ago directions, I stopped on the seventh rung and reached my hand under number eight.Please, Jake.Please remember.But there was nothing there. My heart sank. I felt stupid to have believed it in the first place. We’d been kids. He’d been destroyed. Keeping past promises to his five-year-old sister couldn’t have been high on Jake’s priority list when he’d bought the place years later as a famous musician.
I checked again, just to be sure, ducking my head and shining my light under the eighth stair. Nothing. He’d forgotten. Dejected, I laid my head down on the step, rewinding the events of the day as I fought off frustrated tears. Stretching out my tired body, I slipped my hands under the ninth step above my head. I shot straight up. There was something under there.Eight up.I palmed my forehead. I’d been looking under the eighth step, not above. Math had never been my strong suit. Shining my light, I dipped my head lower to look under the step, and I spotted a tiny, oblong canister tucked into a wedge in the concrete. Pulling it free of its hiding spot, the first thing I saw was my name etched onto the aluminum canister.
Jake had left me the key.
* * *
