by Dylan Newton
His youngest brother was silent for so long, Drake squinted at the phone to see if he’d hung up.
But then he spoke, his normal, jovial tone subdued.
“What do you think I’m going to say? You’re my big brother. Always there for us, supporting us financially and otherwise. I’m not the smartest Matthews brother—I’m a grease monkey. I understand gears and engines, and how to fix things. Maybe even make old things useful again. I could never do what you do—write things from your imagination that are so good, people would rather read your books than live their own lives. Whether you’re creating horror or romance, you’re going to take a minute to celebrate with those who love you and love your writing, because what you do is impressive. And I’m so damned proud of you, bro. I’m just so damned proud…”
Ryker’s voice choked off, and Drake found himself blinking back unexpected moisture from his own eyes. After taking a deep breath, he answered.
“Okay. You’re right. I’ll go. I’ll be there.” Drake peered at his reflection in the mirror. His unshaven face and the bags under his eyes made him look haggard, like a pathetic caricature of a man who had given up on happiness.
“One more thing,” Ryker said, his voice steady again. “About Kate. I’ve seen her. Twice. She’s been working her ass off over at the old house. She hasn’t said anything to me except ‘hi’ and ‘see you later,’ and although she’s always got a smile pasted on her face, underneath that she looks…pretty broken up. I don’t know what went down with the two of you, but I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?” Drake asked, when it became clear Ryker wasn’t going to offer it on his own.
“Love is probably the only thing on this planet worth fighting for. Worth losing everything for. You’re a fool if you let pride stand in your way.”
Last night’s rerun episode from The Munsters came back to Drake, and its lack of resolution. All Herman Munster had to do was to tell Lily his feelings—that’s all that was required to resolve the conflict. Easy-peasy, and the author in him recognized that it was a scene that could be told in less than four pages. Was it as simple in real life? Was the answer dropping his other plans, and his pride, and telling the woman he’d fallen for what was in his heart?
One last task he’d scheduled for his trip to the city registered in his brain, reigniting a spark in the bloodshot eyes staring back at him from the mirror.
“I hear you,” he told Ryker. “I’ve got one errand to run before I leave the city, but don’t worry. I’ll get John to fire up the chopper, and I’ll be there tonight.”
Ryker had to borrow Drake’s truck from the airport parking lot to help his mother with the cupcake delivery and display setup, so it was Zander who picked Drake up at the airport.
“You look good, all things considered” was Zander’s greeting when Drake hopped in the Prius. He’d worn the same suit he’d brought for his publicity interviews, with a fresh shirt and the black paisley tie Kate had picked out what seemed like a lifetime ago. His brother nodded to the Gatorade and protein bar nestled in the car’s cup holder. “Brought you the ultimate recovery drink, and some sustenance. Nobody wants to see the Knight of Nightmares yak because he overindulged in self-pity. Bottoms up.”
Drake snorted, but uncapped the drink, guzzling down half the contents before unwrapping the snack.
“Thanks, man.” He chewed, and reached over to crack the window open, letting the cool October air blow on his face as they exited the airport, turning on the hilly country road back into town. He took off his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose as he mentally tried to ready himself. “I feel like I’m gearing up to run the Crucible.”
His brother, of course, immediately got the reference to the ultimate challenge at the end of Marine boot camp.
“You’re my brother. I’m always there for you, giving you what you need even when you don’t know you need it.” Zander flipped on his turn signal. “Just like Sasha.”
Drake paused, mid-chew.
“What?” He worked the words around the protein bar.
Zander gave him a “duh” expression. “You really didn’t think some rando fan put a shih tzu puppy, already house-trained and complete with shot records, bag of food, and crate, in your front yard, did you?”
Drake swallowed, gobsmacked.
“But—the scrawled name on the front. I thought it was some kid’s dog.”
Zander rolled his eyes. “I wrote it with my left hand. We all knew how low you were when you moved back from California and that train wreck of a book from your ex came out. Ryker did his thing to boost your ego, gifting you a bitching ride. My gift was more of soul-boosting fur ball. I thought you’d guessed a long time ago.”
Drake was silent, letting the truth soak into his skin.
“Thanks, Zan. I don’t even know what to say.”
They rode the rest of the way in companionable silence, Drake wondering how he was going to apologize to Kate.
When they got into the village, the car slowed to a crawl to avoid the hundreds of kids in costume zipping around Main Street, trick-or-treating at the local businesses.
“Damn!” Drake slapped his forehead. “I forgot to buy candy for the kids. We always get so many trick-or-treaters—”
“Kate’s got it under control.” Zander pointed out a couple dressed in vampire costumes, waving and giving out handfuls of candy to kids as they approached the Matthews house from the side street, away from the adults standing in long lines on his sidewalk. “See? She’s got someone out there by the far side of the gates with bins of candy. Don’t worry, dude. The woman thought of everything.”
Of course she had. Drake’s heart wrenched a little sideways in his chest, but his voice was normal when he spoke.
“Why aren’t we parking in the back in the driveway?”
“Because your truck, the caterer’s van, Mom’s car, and Kate’s and Imani’s vehicles are all parked in there. No room. Besides, Kate gave explicit directions she wants you coming in from the front door, not the back.”
His brother expertly maneuvered the Prius to a spot in front of his house that had been blocked off by orange cones and black caution tape with white print that read Horror Zone.
“Let’s go. Kate will string me up if you’re late.” Zander jumped out.
Drake did the same, then froze, taking in the entire scene. There weren’t a few dozen people, but hundreds of them, queued up behind velvet rope that wound, doubling back on itself, on the sidewalk outside his gates, and then into his front yard, where a more elaborate maze-like system awaited his fans.
When they saw him, they frantically waved, holding up signs that ran the gamut from Drake Matthews’s Books ROCK to the more original. One girl, wearing a vintage dress with makeup on that made her face appear as if it were made of cracked porcelain, clutched a sign that read Let Me Be Your Dark Doll and a big, pot-bellied guy with a trucker hat held one that said You are the Knight of my Nightmares.
Then, he spotted one brave fan who held up a folded cardboard sign saying You had me at “Drake Matthews Romance!” and Drake’s face was as hot as if he’d stepped in front of a blazing fire.
He scanned the crowd for the hate signs—there was always one. Someone advocating censorship in the name of Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. Yet he saw nothing but support.
“We love you, Drake!” came the scream from some woman in the crowd, and then everyone started to yell.
“Wave, dude,” Zander said, coming around to nudge him in the side. “They’re your fans. They are here to celebrate with you. Wave!”
Drake did as he was told, and his insides thawed enough for him to approach the crowd, summoning a smile as he entered the batwing gates to his house. A murmur snaked up the line of people ahead of him, so that they all turned to watch as he walked by them. He realized this line of people waiting patiently in single file were all there either to tour his house or to take a picture on the porch in front of his house.
All because of what he wrote.
“You’re acting like a kook,” Zander said in a low voice, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “Say something, for Pete’s sake!”
“Uh, thank you all for coming.” Drake cleared his throat, filling his lungs to pitch his voice toward the very back of the queue. “I hope you enjoy the tour…and that you all live to tell the tale!”
The fans cheered, and Drake’s smile came more easily.
“Happy Halloween, horror fans! See you on the other side.”
He waved, and Zander tugged his elbow, motioning him to move. Drake gazed around in awe at the number of readers who had turned out for this. As Kate predicted, they were all there to see if what they’d imagined was his reality, and it wouldn’t matter what they found inside. Somehow, it would all fit within their perception of him, be it positive or negative.
Kate.
The thought of facing her again after saying such rotten things to her made his steps falter. Zander nudged him from behind, and he continued walking to his front door.
He knew he had to go inside. A Marine didn’t walk away from a conflict. They walked toward danger, even if danger was a petite, red-haired event planner who wore killer heels and wielded binders of spreadsheets. The picture of Kate in those stilettos, hair unbound, face blurry with pleasure, hit Drake’s confidence then, like a pack of hungry piranhas, tearing off bits and chunks until he was raw and bloody inside.
Kate had planned for the queue to end at the bottom of the porch, where, originally, the spider dropped down, giving the guests one last scare before heading inside. Now, the entryway was draped in dark-gray fabric, with pumpkins painted black or white scattered in artful arrangements here and there. Perfect for a fan photo opp.
It was simple and tasteful, yet still evocative enough that people’s eyes were popping as they took in his house, the filled-in fountain out front, the turret-like attic where a single candle-shaped light flickered in the window.
It wasn’t a circus. It was actually pretty cool.
The two Matthews brothers bypassed the line, where a crew of people was helping the visitors put on blue, surgical-type booties over their shoes. Even women in heels were reluctantly sliding on booties, looking a little ridiculous as they waited for a chance to walk in his house.
Drake and Zander refused the blue booties, and the volunteers laughed, recognizing and congratulating him as he and his brother maneuvered around the queue to enter the house, moving into the front parlor where the crowd hadn’t been allowed.
“Dude, is that a thesaurus in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Zander asked once they’d closed the door behind them, gesturing to Drake’s black dress pants.
Drake adjusted the long box bulging unattractively in his front pocket and finally cursed, pulling it out to put it in his inside suit jacket pocket.
“It’s for Kate. It’s my apology.”
Zander gave a dubious look at the odd rectangular bulge at Drake’s side. “It’s none of my business, but that box is too big to be a ring and too small to be fifty dozen roses. If you’re not proposing, and you’re not groveling with flowers, what are you doing? Because, I hate to tell you, big brother, but you screwed up royally. Girls like Kate don’t come along every day. You need to bring your A game.”
“This is it. Let’s pray it works.”
About a week ago, after another Cobb salad lunch with Kate where he’d delighted in listening to an embarrassing story she told about why she’d had to quit taking dance classes with Imani as a girl, Drake had sat at his computer, still grinning from ear to ear as he often did after spending time with his event planner. He’d had the idea then to get Kate a gift as a thank-you for working so hard on his launch, and maybe even a pre-congratulatory gift for being considered for her EVPLEX. He’d thought about flowers or candy, and quickly discarded them as too impersonal. The idea of buying her a new crystal pen crossed his mind, but she seemed pretty attached to her pink one.
Stumped, he’d been absently flipping through his yellow legal pad when he spotted the perfect gift, and he’d made a few calls, sent over his specifications, and paid a hefty sum to rush the jeweler to create this piece in time. All he’d had to do was pick it up in Manhattan after his publicity tour, which he’d done after Ryker had convinced him to attend his book launch and be man enough to tell Kate what he felt.
Tonight, his master plan was simple: apologize to Kate, give her this box, tell her his feelings…and hope for the best.
As far as plans go, it was a pretty flimsy one, but it was the best he could do once he’d realized what an ass he’d been to her. He’d let his past with Rachel color how he’d viewed Kate’s actions.
“Oh, there you are!” The bright, cheery voice made both brothers start. It was Imani, clad in a chic black dress, her deep mahogany hair loose and curled down her back. She beckoned the two men toward the other pocket doors that led from the parlor into the dining room and then to the kitchen, where she pointed to the door to the backyard.
“Drake, stand in front of the door, and don’t open it until I give you the word. And you…” Imani paused, clearly searching for his brother’s name.
“Zander. Zander Matthews, the best Matthews brother, at your service.” His youngest brother gave her his megawatt grin, trying to look cool and flexing at the same time.
Drake stifled a laugh. The guy never could resist a pretty woman in charge.
Imani raised one eyebrow, but did not crack a smile. “The best Matthews brother? That seems pretty subjective.”
Zander’s smile dimmed.
Then Imani winked. “I’m kidding. Okay, best Matthews brother, you stay right here with me, and we’re going to wait until the guest of honor enters before we go in.” Imani toggled her earpiece. “He’s entering in three. Two. One.”
With that, Drake was shoved out the back door of his kitchen into what appeared to be a massive white tent, lit entirely by skull-shaped twinkle lights strung along every edge and corner of the canvas. Tables, covered in black cloths, held tiny black and white pumpkins, tiny tea lights and…was that? Yes. She’d covered the tops of the table with silver glitter.
The corner of Drake’s mouth canted up in a half smile.
Kate. You could take the girl out of her glittery events, but you couldn’t take the glitter out of the girl. No matter how dark, Kate always found a way to reflect and refract light.
He scanned the crowd, but before he’d stepped onto his back porch, a man’s voice filled the night air.
“Here he is,” came a deep, unseen voice from a disguised sound system. “The Knight of Nightmares himself, Drrrrraaaakkke Matthewwwwwssss.” The announcer stretched his name out, like he was entering a boxing ring instead of his backyard.
And if he’d misjudged the strength of his apology to Kate, it might be.
As his guests cheered, papers floated down on the entire assembly from the tent’s top. Gazing up, Drake spied white sheets that had been attached to the ceiling, which had a thin rope at one end. Black-clad helpers had tugged the rope down, releasing what appeared to be a waterfall of cascading book pages.
His guests cheered louder, snatching at papers around them in delight. A piece of paper fluttered onto his head. He plucked it off, and then grinned.
It was a cunningly designed, hatchet-shaped bookmark for Halloween Hacker, complete with a blurb, written so that the text carried on over the entire thing, as if it were a page ripped from a book.
Drake knew. It was the “Aww!” moment Kate promised, but with a horror twist. Perfect for his launch.
He glanced up, scanning the crowd for his event planner. Where was she?
He spotted his mom and Ryker toward the back, where hundreds of cupcakes were set up in a display around an old Mac computer, keyboard, and mouse, being operated by…yes! That was the skeleton from his mother’s front porch in front of the Mac, with one hand holding up his new release, and the other on the keyboard, as if he were manip
ulating it to play a silent version of his “book trailer” promotional video.
Super clever.
Above the posed skeleton and the mass of cupcakes were what he sincerely hoped were plastic hatchets hung from invisible fishing line from the tent top. They swayed in the air currents inside the tent, dramatic and spooky, but oddly classy at the same time.
Where was Kate?
He smiled and waved at the crowd, his gaze raking every face. He recognized neighbors, friends, other writers, amid a vast, nameless sea of VIPs and readers sitting at the pumpkin-carving stations, clustered around the snack table, or grabbing a drink at the bar next to a large, inflatable movie screen. Drake stared at the screen, playing the original Dracula in black-and-white, the silent movie and dramatic subtitles giving the whole thing a low-key, Gothic effect.
Suddenly, he was hit with a wave of remorse.
He’d heard about the permit issue, which nixed the maze and the massive mechanical spider from the plan, but he’d figured there’d be another circus stunt taking their place. Now, to find this? How had she cobbled together such a perfect event in such a short amount of time?
Drake wanted to give himself a forehead smack for being such a jackass.
He ignored the microphone being thrust into his hands by another assistant, as he spotted a woman dressed in a white suit half-hidden behind the inflatable movie screen. Her auburn hair was slicked back in an updo, but it was the black stilettos—those hot ones with the silver tips—that were a dead giveaway, as was the clipboard she held to her chest as if a million dollars, instead of a spreadsheet, were clipped to it.
His heart leaped.
Kate.
Drake threaded his way through the crowd, pulse racing. He had the impression she was avoiding him, but then a small woman behind Kate grabbed her elbow, and to Drake’s astonishment, the woman wagged her index finger in Kate’s face, as if dressing her down.
Drake frowned. Who was that? One of the town council, maybe? A guest, bitching because there wasn’t a gluten-free alternative to the cupcakes?
