by Emma Scott
“I can’t. I gotta go. Mom’s dealt with Chet long enough.”
He drew on his boots, shouldered his bag, hefted his guitar case. When he was dressed, he stood in front of me, his tone hard.
“We’ll talk later.”
He bent and kissed my head, a short peck, and started to turn. I grabbed his hand and stood up, facing him, and waited until he met my unflinching gaze. Immediately, his steely blue eyes softened. He dropped his bags and case and wrapped his arms around me.
Wordlessly, we held each other. At an impasse. Our love for each other melding us together, while circumstance pulled us apart.
After a few moments, he picked up his bags again and left.
I sank back down on my bed, where my blood stained the sheets. Vivid evidence that last night had happened, though it felt like I’d woken to discover it had all been a dream.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“It’s a highly unusual circumstance for us to cut a check to a new artist on the same day we meet him.”
Jack Villegas reminded me of Andy Garcia. Tall. Sharp. Authoritative but kind. We sat on opposite sides of the polished desk in his office that had a view of the Hollywood sign. His brown eyes went to the abrasion on my cheek and the fingerprints on my neck. I’d tried to keep them covered, but LA was hot, and I’d left Holden’s scarf in the hotel.
“But your situation is a little bit special, isn’t it?” He rose to his feet and paced around the desk. Cufflinks glinted in the Los Angeles sun, and his gray suit probably cost more than six months of my rent. “You’re a rare talent. A little more angst than Shawn Mendes, a little less than Bon Iver. But you have that intangible quality, that magnetic pull that makes listeners feel connected to you. You have a story to tell, don’t you?”
He didn’t wait for an answer because he already had it. I heard his words before he spoke them; a reverse echo that felt like a dream until he made it real.
“That’s why we’re signing you, Miller. And because we like to consider all of our clients part of the family, you’re leaving here with some money.” He put his hand on my shoulder, like a father might to his son. “We take care of our own.”
On the bus from Violet’s neighborhood to mine, I could practically feel the check for $20,000 sitting heavy in my wallet. I felt like a thief and imagined the police surrounding the bus and pulling it over, hauling me out and arresting me. Jack Villegas would somehow be there, saying it had all been a huge mistake.
Stupid shit to be thinking about, but it was better than facing the reality of Violet moving to Texas. I needed to keep my mind occupied. The first order of business that morning was to get rid of Chet and sign over that check to Mom.
But Violet saturated my thoughts. Sense memories of sleeping with her for the first time seeped in and pushed out everything else, even the memory of sitting in a record exec’s office as he tells me he’s going to give me a brand-new life.
The bus rolled and jounced, and in my mind, Violet was under me in her bed. Beautiful and perfect. I’d loved her for so long, fantasized about that night in a hundred different ways. But being naked with her, being inside her, was better than any fevered imagining. She’d created sensations in me a million times more potent than anything I’d ever been able to give myself in all those fruitless years of wanting her.
And now, I was losing her.
Again, I yanked my thoughts away from her.
One shitstorm at a time, thanks.
The bus stopped at Lighthouse Apartments. I got out but kept walking down to the Shack to stow my bag and my guitar. I took my insulin with a meal of an apple, a bag of Fritos, and a bottle of water I’d bought at the airport the night before. Breakfast of Champions.
When I finished, I pulled out my phone and texted Ronan and Holden.
Let’s roll.
In front of my apartment door, I sucked in a breath, blew it out on a shaky exhale, then cracked my neck from side to side, like a fighter getting ready for a match. Holden stood pressed against the wall on the left. Ronan on the right. He gave me a nod, his eyes flat and emotionless, but I felt the power emanating off of him like a low heat.
Holden was dressed as impeccably as ever, although his clothes look rumpled and slept in. His eyes were red rimmed and swollen, and he stunk of stale alcohol and bonfire smoke. As if he’d passed out on some beach last night.
“You up to this?” I whispered.
He shot me a tired wink. “Forward my mail, tell my story, I’m not coming back.”
Despite the pit of fear gnawing a hole in my stomach, I snorted a laugh, then sucked in another breath. I knocked on the door to my own apartment.
It opened a crack, and Mom peered out. Her eyes widened for a moment with joy and then shut down again with fear. “Miller. You’re back.”
“Is he here?
“Yeah, he’s—”
The door pulled open all the way, and Chet filled the space. “Go lie down, Lynn. I’ll handle this.”
Mom looked at me uncertainly. I gave her a nearly imperceptible nod, hoping she would do as he said and take shelter from the storm that was coming. She hesitated, then retreated into the darkness of the apartment.
It took everything I had not to glance at Ronan and Holden, standing like sentries on either side of the door frame.
“You need to get out of my house.”
“You don’t live here anymore, son. You’re a grown man now and can’t be leeching off your mom. Now go on.”
He started to shut the door, and I blocked it with my boot, at the same time Ronan swung around from the wall, throwing the door all the way open with a bang. He strode into the house, gripping Chet by the collar of his shirt and driving him backwards as he went. Chet gave a shout of surprise, stumbled, and fell on his ass.
“Who the fuck are you? You can’t be in here!”
Ronan stood over him, still and hard as stone, hands balled into fists, his eyes like a snake’s before it struck.
“We’re your unwelcome wagon,” Holden said, leaning casually against the door, examining his nails. “As in, you are no longer welcome here, fuck-nugget.”
Chet’s panicked glance went between them as he scrambled to his feet. “Get the hell out of my house.”
“You good?” I asked Ronan.
“I got this.” His gaze hadn’t moved from Chet for a second.
I went to go around them in the small space.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Chet’s hand shot out to grab me, and Ronan was there. Like a statue come to life, his fist shot out, connecting square with Chet’s flabby cheek. Chet snarled, cursed and flew at Ronan, tackling him to the ground. The two became a tangle of arms and legs, grappling and grasping, cursing and grunting.
“We’re good.” Holden waved his hand. “He’ll tag me in if he needs me.”
I nodded and hurried down the short hall, nearly crashing into Mom.
“Miller, don’t do this. Please.”
“Do you love him?”
“N-no,” she said in a small voice. Then louder. “No.”
“Good.” I went past her into their bedroom as the sounds of our coffee table being demolished came from the living room. “This his bag?”
Mom nodded at the dirty red duffel bag in my hand.
I handed it to her. “Pack up his stuff,” I said and went back to the living room.
Ronan had Chet pinned to the floor face down, one knee in between Chet’s shoulder blades, the other on his elbow. He had a fistful of greasy hair and was pressing his face sideways to the floor.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” Chet seethed, his face smashed, spittle flying.
“How we doing out here?” I asked.
“Well, it was touch and go for a second,” Holden observed from the door, dabbing a handkerchief to his bleeding lip. “Chester, here, had Ronan pinned, which caused me to heroically jump into the fray and take an elbow to the mouth. My mistake. Ronan was going easy on him to prolong the
violence. You know our boy. He needs to get it out of his system every now and again.”
I shook my head at Ronan who shrugged one shoulder.
Mom emerged from the back bedroom with a duffel bag full of Chet’s stuff. I took it from her and joined Ronan in the center of our smashed living room.
“Let him up.”
Ronan released Chet, his eyes never leaving him, clearly ready—maybe hoping—for more of a fight. I shoved Chet’s bag into his arms.
“I’ll say it one more time. Get the fuck out of my house.”
He hesitated for a second, which was one second too long for Ronan. He grabbed Chet by the front of his shirt with both hands and drove him toward the door.
Holden opened it smoothly. “Thank you for choosing Ronan Air for all your travel needs. Please watch your step as you exit, as you could be in for a rough landing.”
Jesus, Ronan is going to kill him.
But instead of throwing Chet down the cement stairs as I feared, Ronan gripped him by the shirt collar and tipped him backwards over the balcony.
Chet’s arms pinwheeled. “Are you fucking crazy?”
“I live less than a block away from here,” Ronan said. “I’ll be watching you. If you step foot anywhere near this place again, I will end you. Do you hear me? I will fucking end you.”
Slowly, he released him, their eyes never breaking contact as the older man jerked his shirt back into place.
He shot me a pained look. “You needed a man in the house. I did my best. That’s all.”
“Your best was sorely lacking, Chester,” Holden observed.
Chet’s lip curled but he didn’t have any more fight in him. He took the stairs down, muttering and cursing impotently.
Ronan stepped back into the apartment. Holden shut the door. A short silence passed, the four of us absorbing what had just happened.
Then Holden clapped his hands together. “Who could go for some pancakes right about now?”
I shook my head, affection and gratitude for both my friends flooding me, calming the adrenaline rush.
“Can you guys give me a minute? Meet me at the Shack.”
Ronan nodded and looked to my mom. “Ma’am.”
Holden tipped an imaginary cap. “Good day, madam.”
When they were gone, I went with Mom to the couch, stepping over the ruined remains of our coffee table. She stared at the mess fearfully, not fully grasping yet that she was free.
“Mom,” I said. “Look at me. Gold Line Records gave me a contract. They want me. I don’t know how or why…” My throat was suddenly choked with emotion that was finally bubbling to the surface. Elation. Fear. All of it. I swallowed hard, tears stinging my eyes. “Things are going to be different now, okay?”
“Oh, baby,” she said, her brown eyes filling too. “I’m so proud of you. I know I haven’t been here for you the way I should—”
“It’s okay. I can take care of myself, and I’m going to take care of you. But you’re right, you haven’t been here. You haven’t been you. I need you to come back, okay? I need… I need you.”
I couldn’t stop it. I tried to hold my breath, but the sobs came bursting out of me. Mom put her arms around me and hugged me and held me like she used to when I was a kid. Before Dad left and her every waking hour had been about survival.
“You’re right,” she said, holding me close, stroking my hair. “I’m sorry. It just got too hard. Losing our house in Los Banos. The car. You being sick. I felt like anything could be taken away at any second. Including you.”
I raised my head, shocked to hear my own familiar thoughts repeated back to me. “I felt it too. But we can’t live that way. We have to keep going.”
I have to somehow keep going, without Violet.
I wiped my tears on the sleeve of my shirt.
“I’m going to LA, and I want you to come with me. I’ll get you set up in a new place. A better place than this, okay?”
“That sounds good, baby. Real good.”
For the first time in a long time, there was a light in her eyes and a little bit of color to her skin where there had only been gray.
It happened all at once.
Two weeks after we threw Chet out on his ass, we all graduated from SC Central—Ronan by the skin of his teeth. Holden with Honors thanks to his IQ and not because he ever studied a day in his life. Violet was class Valedictorian. Her parents sold their house, and the next day, she was going to drive her SUV packed with stuff to Texas. That same day, I was getting on a plane to Los Angeles with Evelyn. She’d wanted to ride with me to the airport, but I insisted on meeting her there.
I had to say my goodbyes.
Ronan, Holden, Violet, and Shiloh all gathered at the Shack. The afternoon was overcast and gray, reflecting our collective mood. Holden was uncharacteristically subdued and quiet, hardly saying a word. After I heard everything that had happened to him on Prom night, I worried about him the most.
Violet sat in the sand in front of me in our customary position, her back to my chest, my arms wrapped around her. We’d spent the last few days either at her house, so I could help her pack or mine, so she could help me. Not that I had much.
Nights were spent in her bed, her taking me inside her wordlessly, sometimes desperately. Kissing and touching and grasping, as if trying to take a piece of the other with us, as the days grew closer to this one.
The sun began to set over the ocean, and it was time to go. Shiloh gave me a hug and a kiss first. “Be safe. Do good.”
Holden gave me a hug that was saturated in expensive vodka. “If you ever need anything and I hear that you didn’t ask me first, I will personally hunt you down and kill you.”
I smiled and hugged him back. “I don’t need anything but for you to take care of yourself, okay?”
“Me?” He scoffed. “I’m a paragon of good life choices.”
“My ass.” And then I hugged him again, a sudden fear that I’d never see him again, washing over me. “I mean it. Take care.”
“Careful, Stratton, or I’ll have to assume you’re in love with me.”
But I was, in a way. Him and Ronan both. Leaving them was nearly as hard as leaving Violet.
Ronan clasped my hand and pulled me in until our elbows touched. “I’ll watch your mom’s place until you get set up down there.”
“Thanks, man. Shouldn’t be long.”
“However long it takes.”
My damn heart ached, and I was perilously close to tears. I had to say something ridiculous, stat.
“Promise me, Ronan. Promise to write to me every day.”
Ronan barked a laugh. “Get the fuck out of here.” He gave me a shove, though I didn’t miss the almost-smile my dumb joke got out of him.
Violet drove me to the airport, up the winding 14 highway, through the forest that led out of Santa Cruz. Before she got to the highway that would take us to the airport terminals in San Jose, she abruptly pulled her SUV into a restaurant parking lot.
“Vi?”
“The police at the airport won’t let me stay and hug you and kiss you as much as I need to. So I have to say goodbye here…” She flapped her hand at the restaurant sign. “In a Denny’s parking lot, for God’s sake. And I don’t want to say goodbye at all.”
I reached over and pulled her to me and held her for the longest time. Stroking her hair, inhaling her scent, memorizing how she felt in my arms, how good it felt to be held by her.
For the millionth time, the words to beg her to come with me rose to my lips. But I couldn’t hear no again. And she’d be right. She was going to be a brilliant doctor and had a long road of medical school before she could even begin a career. Mine was taking off like a shotgun, hers was a long runway. I couldn’t stand in her way.
Even so, it gnawed at my guts that she wouldn’t come with me. Wasn’t logical, wasn’t fair; I had to be one of the luckiest bastards alive to have a record deal right out of the gate, and yet, in that moment, I was so close to throwing
it all away and going with her to Texas.
As I held her and kissed her, a different future rolled out in front of me.
We’d get a place together. I’d get a job while she went to class. Hell, I’d get two jobs to help support her, so she wouldn’t have to work at all. She could concentrate on being a student and then come home and fall into bed with me. Long lazy Sundays in the Texas heat, sweating between the sheets. I’d make her come so hard, her cries would fill the space of our place that was just hers and mine. I could play small clubs on the weekends and build my career piece by piece, instead of being slingshot into the stratosphere. I never wanted fame. I wanted my mom in a safe place, not one crawling with roaches and no AC. I wanted a little piece of security, and I wanted Violet.
Part of me felt like the universe was playing a tremendous prank on me, dumping riches in my lap while taking away my greatest treasure.
I kissed her and tasted her salty tears.
“Miller,” she said brokenly, her hand in my hair, our foreheads pressed together. “It feels like the other half of my heart is being ripped away.”
“I’ll call you every day,” I said. “We’ll visit as much as we can, okay? Weekends, vacations, holidays.” The words sounded hollow and inadequate, even in my own ears. I wanted her all the time, every minute, in my arms, in my bed, in my life.
The twinge of bitterness in my stomach grew and expanded. And I worried how big it would be a month from now. Or three, or six.
“Okay,” she said, though I could read the doubt in her eyes too. The pain of enduring a long-distance relationship when we had only just begun to explore what we were to each other.
We kissed, and she cried, until I was in danger of missing my flight. But Violet would never let that happen. She pulled herself together and took me to the airport. At the curb, I held her close one last time.
“Call me when you get there.”
“I will.” I kissed her a final time, pouring myself into it, into her, trying desperately to seal a pact—the hope that we could make it.
