by C. L. Stone
Nathan stood at the stove, bare chest with shorts that he’d slept in. He had gotten up before me and started making breakfast, which had lured me into the kitchen. He flipped over a fried egg at the stove and kept his eyes on his cooking. “Sounds like drunk Victor likes to tell people what he’s really thinking. Telling his parents he wants to leave them. Not wanting to play the concerts he doesn’t like playing. It’s all the stuff he’s been saying for a while, just not to the people who mattered.”
I’d sat at the kitchen bar on a stool. I kept my hands pressed to my face to hide the redness and warmth that I could feel creeping in from my neck. Was that true? Saying what he was really thinking?
So when he said he loved me...
I didn’t say anything back to him. Would he remember? I read about people who were drunk and couldn’t remember what happened. Still, I should have said something.
That I cared.
That I felt the same.
I wanted to; I was just too stunned.
Would he think I didn’t?
I’d sent him a text to say hi to him. I’d checked my phone a hundred times, hoping for an answer. I didn’t want to bother too much if they were still sleeping though. I slumped forward, gently pressing my face against the granite counter. Smooth. Cold to my skin. Soothing. “I hope he’s okay. There hasn’t been a message, has there?”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Nathan said before I could think any further. I sensed him coming over and putting a hand on the back of my head gently. “Don’t worry about Victor. And his parents will probably take him back if he’ll apologize for his odd behavior, claim he was drunk. He’ll be okay. We’ll be back to normal.”
I picked my head up, and his hand slid off. He stood across the counter, his chest slowly rising and falling with his breath, his red hair that had been growing out and curled a little at the edges.
It was his intense blue eyes that told me he wasn’t really happy. The more I got to know them, the more I began to understand them through the expressions they carried. I’d once thought it was magic the way they wordlessly would communicate to each other. In reality, I was learning they simply carried their emotions openly, and had been around each other so long that it became easy to understand what the other was thinking.
With this, Nathan’s wary gaze said a lot to me. “Maybe he shouldn’t,” I said. “If that’s how he really feels, like you say. Isn’t it better that he says what he’s really thinking?”
Nathan’s eyes drifted around the kitchen, to the eggs still cooking, and the bread out, ready to make toast. “I don’t know,” he said, his deep voice gruff today with the lack of sleep. “His parents are cruel people, but he’s stayed with them this long. They treat him like a puppet, dangling the money in front of him and telling him he’s a brat if he doesn’t do what they want. I understand Victor would want to try to be reasonable with them and try to keep a connection. They are his parents and there’s always that hope they still care about you. I always kind of thought there was a reason Mr. Blackbourne didn’t just come up with a way to move him out.”
“He’s not unsafe there, is he?” I asked.
“It’s mental,” he said. He made a hand in the shape of a gun, pointing at his temple. “They get in his head, make him think he’s worthless unless he does what they want. His parents are the shining example of not understanding what it’s like to be genuinely a good person and supportive of family. It’s more important how they look to other people. Before we got there, they had him on strict diet and exercise routines... at like six years old or whenever it was. Because he’d gotten ‘pudgy.’ If you consider round cheeks on a kid pudgy...”
“So he shouldn’t be there,” I said.
“I can’t make that decision. Sometimes a person has to make a decision for themselves, I guess.”
It didn’t seem fair to make him stay. When I’d been around Victor’s house, for the most part, his parents seemed to stay away from him unless they wanted him to do something, like a concert. Otherwise, it felt like he was left to his own devices. Abandoned.
Nathan smiled at me, and it was such a strange expression in the moment I sputtered a bit instead of asking what he was thinking.
He softly chuckled. “You know, I used to be jealous about it, but I really love when you get so caught up and worried about someone on the team. You just can’t seem to settle down until everyone is happy.” He took a half step backward toward his cooking again. “Makes me think this might actually work... and that maybe sometimes you get that worried look when I’m in trouble.”
I did worry about them. All the time.
I slid off the chair and walked around to where Nathan was cooking. I stood behind him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and pressed my head against his back. My forehead sticking to his bare skin.
He ignored me for just a minute while he was fiddling with his cooking and then turned to me, reached around my shoulders, and hugged me close. He kissed my forehead, close to the hairline.
He didn’t say anything. He just held on to me.
Some of the tension eased from me. They all seemed to have that ability to stop me worrying so much.
Instead of letting me go, he walked me backward until my butt was against the kitchen island. He scooped me up by my thighs until I was sitting on the counter.
I was a head above him now, looking down at his face.
“Now,” he said, his blue eyes gazing at me, “I want you to promise me you’ll stay here and let me finish making you breakfast. We’ll take a nice long walk outside until they get here. Or call and tell us to go somewhere.”
“Shouldn’t we...”
He reached up, pressing a thick finger at my mouth.
I automatically popped my lips open and kissed the tip.
He smiled. “Stop worrying so much. I love that you care and I want to hear you out, but you need a break. Trust me. Everyone is fine or they’d be calling to say they are not ok and need help. You’re going to drive yourself crazy if all you focus on is worrying about everyone else.”
He was probably right about that.
I was about to say something else when the doorbell rang.
Nathan quickly pulled away and picked up his cell phone. I assumed he was checking the front door camera. “It’s Victor. What’s he doing here this early?” He felt his body, as if trying to remember how dressed he was, and realized he was still just in boxers. He motioned. “He probably just doesn’t have his key on him or something. Go answer it?” He turned off his frying pan, setting it aside, and headed to the bedroom.
I climbed down from the kitchen stool, scooting across the stone floor barefoot to go around a corner and head to the front door.
The tiny spyhole glowed with the morning light shining in on it. Just double-checking it was him.
My eyes slowly adjusted to the change of view, finding Victor’s brown eyes oddly enlarged on his face as he looked on, waiting on the porch.
I opened the door quickly.
Victor was in the same outfit as last night, the fancy gray suit with the black T-shirt-like dress shirt, only the entire thing was rumpled. He kept his head bowed and juggled two small bags under each arm. Wavy locks of brown hair hung in his eyes more, and the waves in the back were splayed out in odd directions.
He lifted his head as I stood there quietly.
We studied each other. His dark eyes, the usual fire diminished. I’d never seen him so down, so unsure, and entirely devoid of feeling.
He frowned and his baritone voice was raspy as he spoke. “I moved out,” he said.
I could only stand there, staring out at him in mild shock. Unmoving. Unsure what to do.
Did he really?
Did he remember last night at all?
Was he... moving in?
“Are you okay?” I eventually squeaked out.
He nodded but before he could say anything else, Nathan came up behind me, putting a hand on the small of my back. He had changed i
nto sport shorts and a red tank shirt and looked curiously out. “Victor?” he asked. “What happened?”
Victor dropped the bags on the porch, sighing like he was uncomfortable. Behind him in the drive, Kota was trying to tug a large trunk out of the back of his car.
“Let me go help him,” Nathan said, skirting around me and Victor. He jogged over in bare feet to help Kota figure out how to wedge the trunk out.
I leaned in, reaching for one of the bags Victor had dropped. “Come on,” I said. The bag was leather, heavy, and the silver nameplate glinted in the light: Alexander McQueen. A brand name, I assumed. With it being very overloaded, I tried to carry it carefully, worried it might break open.
Victor picked up the other bag that appeared very similar, expensive, and filled to capacity as well.
We carried them inside and I paused back in the kitchen, wondering which direction to go. Nathan’s bedroom? Nathan had moved out a lot of his own things in order to fit mine into his closet, but it was already getting overcrowded again with stuff the other boys often put in there, too, like extra clothes for when they spent the night, and occasionally extra laptops and cameras and other equipment. Victor’s large trunk and the two bags might fit, but it’d be tight.
And where were we going to sleep? In Nathan’s bed together? It wasn’t uncommon for three to share the bed, and there was a couch. Would it be okay for the long term?
How was this going to work?
“Where should we...” I asked.
“Maybe his dad’s room,” Victor said.
There was a short hallway just past the garage door. At the end of the hall was the laundry room. But the door to the right was closed, the master bedroom of the Griffin house. We’d used the room on occasion already, but for the most part, we stayed out of it.
Victor walked around me toward it, opening the door.
The waterbed was neatly made, the bedroom tidy, with knickknacks and other items on top of the dressers and side tables. There was a large mirror across the room over top a counter in an alcove between the closet and the door that led to the bathroom. Our images reflected there as we stepped in, looking around at the quiet space.
Victor dropped his bag on the waterbed, and the bed made a slight dent, the bag nearly sliding off to the floor. “Not my favorite place to sleep,” he said. “The bed makes a dip in the middle usually. Maybe we can get a different bed in here...”
I placed the other bag gently on the floor. Move the bed out? “Won’t his father notice if he comes back?”
“The Academy would warn us if he did,” Victor said, although he didn’t sound like himself. His whole stance was different. Droopy. Defeated.
“We’d have to swap out the beds again if he did,” I said. “And I’m not sure where we’d go while he was here.”
Victor sighed, looking up at me.
Again, a connection between us. Neither one of us was sure how to approach the other. It wasn’t a divide, more like treading softly after last night.
Are you really okay? I wanted to ask him, but hesitated.
Do you remember last night?
I didn’t care what other people thought of him. None of them knew him like we did. I worried it bothered him now. Did he regret any of it?
Was it all how he really felt?
Was what he said to me... was that how he really felt?
I didn’t want to ask him. Not right now. We all needed time to let things settle.
Footsteps. A bang of wood against wood. A curse. From the front door, Kota and Nathan trudged a cumbersome trunk into the house. The trunk itself was faux antique style, dark with brass buckles on the front. They stopped in an awkward angle half still in the hallway, half in the kitchen, and put it down with a thud.
“What’s in this thing?” Nathan asked. He rubbed at his shoulder. “Did you get your piano in there?”
“No,” Victor said. “It’s mostly Sang’s clothes. And anything Academy I could hide underneath. I couldn’t let them find it.”
“It’s the only stuff they’d let him take out of the house,” Kota panted, short of breath and holding his hands at his hips. “They wouldn’t let him bring anything of his own if he was leaving. We claimed there was stuff from the rest of us in his closet as well. We might be allowed back to reclaim it, but we were worried they’d go through and find... things they shouldn’t. So we took all that first.”
Nathan seemed surprised. “They left you with nothing?”
“They took the car back,” Victor said in a dead tone. “Both of them. The bags mostly have personal stuff they didn’t see any value in and nothing else. The clothes on my back. The bags themselves were all they let me leave with.”
“They tried to inspect it all,” Kota said. “Luckily the trunk has a false bottom for Academy gear.”
“Everything is gone,” Victor said blankly. “They already turned off the credit card. I’m completely out.”
“So we’re not apologizing?” Nathan asked.
The tired eyes of Victor finally sparked to life, only to answer his question. “Never,” he said. And then a second later, the fire was gone and he went back to appearing tired.
Silence fell between us all. Victor refusing to ask forgiveness for what happened. Of course, we stood with him in his decision. If his parents couldn’t understand he didn’t want to be their puppet anymore, and they kicked him out for that...
It seemed surreal. But wasn’t this a good thing? Nathan had said they were mentally not good for Victor.
But hadn’t I felt odd to be out from under my own parents? Even now, I sensed the occasional tug at my memories, questioning times when I was younger and when I last thought we had been a normal family. Your own parents are supposed to be your family. They should want to make sure you’re okay and support you and love you no matter what. That’s what we were taught by all the childhood songs, stories, and movies. That’s what we saw all around us with our friends at school.
There was always a layer of guilt that I carried with me now. That somehow if only things had been different, maybe I would have normal parents that loved and cared about me. It had started to get better, the feeling being replaced every time the guys near me made me feel wanted. It was a new normal to get used to.
The emptiness was still inside, though. In the back, somewhere. I sometimes forgot, but it was there.
Did his own mother not care what happened to him?
“What happens now?” I asked quietly. “They won’t come after you to come back?”
“They think it’s a phase,” Victor said. “That the moment I need money, I’ll come back begging and will apologize and agree to do whatever they say. They might even hold a party for it.” He rolled his eyes. “They think I wanted that car. I never asked for anything. Not one thing. And I don’t want any of it. Not if it means I’m on stage and pretending to be someone I’m not.”
There was another moment of silence. Victor had never been so outspoken about this before. It was like last night triggered something in him.
“Still, it’ll be different now,” Nathan said. “We don’t need the black card or their money. We’ll just have to budget a bit.”
Victor smiled at that. “I don’t need anything. Really.”
“You need a place to live,” Kota said. “Food, clothes... now a car.”
Victor started to say something and stopped, considering. “I guess if it wasn’t for Nathan’s dad being gone...” He turned to him. “I know we don’t need to ask technically, but is it okay that I stay here?”
“Sure,” he said. “Unless you prefer Dr. Green’s. Or Kota’s. Wherever.”
“And do I have clothes still around here?” Victor said. “I’m not completely without.”
“There’s some at my place,” Kota said. “I think we can pick through emergency kits for the essentials.”
“I feel bad that I had to leave behind things,” Victor said, “but maybe... maybe I needed out.” He touched the collar of h
is expensive-looking crumpled suit. “Maybe I need a new look.”
A knock at the door got everyone’s attention.
“I’ll get it,” Nathan said, heading to the door.
The rest of us went into the kitchen. Kota checked on what Nathan had made for breakfast, the now cool fried eggs and bread still waiting to be made into toast, when Nathan came back around.
Followed by Mr. Buble. His outfit had few changes, a crisp white shirt, black tie, black pants, the glasses gleamed. His hair was parted on the side, combed, the dark locks formed into place, and didn’t move.
He stood tall, shoulders back, and carried with him a leather-bound notebook.
“Good morning,” Mr. Buble said, his tone precise with every syllable. “It’s an excellent Sunday.”
His strict expression made the sentiment and good tidings feel a bit weird. Probably because we didn’t know him very well.
“It is a nice morning,” Kota said, taking the lead on this. He touched briefly at a kitchen towel to clean up his fingertips and moved around, holding a hand out toward Mr. Buble. “I hear you’re Sang’s new manager. I don’t believe we’ve met yet individually, but I remember you from camp. Mr. Buble, yes?”
Mr. Buble shook Kota’s hand a few times and released it quickly. “Of course. Dakota Lee. Yes, I’m here as Miss Sang Sorenson’s new manager. And I believe I’ve been informed...” There was a small pause and turn as he held out a hand toward Victor. “That you might be in need of a manager at this time as well.”
I held my breath, unsure. It was easy to forget that the others, Victor as well as Kota and Nathan and the rest, weren’t actually full-fledged members like Dr. Green and Mr. Blackbourne. While I was still in something of an introductory phase, they were still trying to graduate. From what Mr. Buble said before and from what I understood, anyone not graduated who might need some guidance and the help of an actual adult got a manager.
Victor’s tired expression drooped a little at the mouth but he still shook Mr. Buble’s hand politely. “So you’ve heard?”
“I prefer to be kept up to date on any occurrences surrounding someone under my management.” He released Victor’s hand, turning to me. “And as your manager, I prefer to hear from you when there’s trouble and not the morning after from an associate.”
