by KC Enders
I replay the whole week for my friends, sharing everything but the most intimate of details because a girl can only share so much before shit gets weird. No one needs to know the way he groans when I tug on his nipple rings or the fact that I kind of like it when he wraps his hand around my throat.
“So, where does that leave you? What’s the plan, moving forward?” Lis is always the calm, practical one, poking and prodding for information while gauging how I feel.
“We exchanged numbers this time,” I tell her, laughing at my own stupidity from last time.
“And?”
“Wait, why wouldn’t you have exchanged numbers when you met him before?”
Kate is so much a part of us now; I forget that she wasn’t part of our group until after this was all shoved down and forgotten in the past.
“They decided to delete each other’s information before separating to see if it was meant to be,” Lis supplies. “Stupidest thing she ever did.”
“I might have stretched the truth a little,” I mumble, biting my lip. I don’t want to go back and relive any of that shit. Not in the least. “We never exchanged numbers, and I didn’t leave him mine when I left before he woke up.”
“What?” Lis is pissed, and poor Kate looks lost.
I sigh, knowing I have no choice but to completely spill. “It was just supposed to be sex. I never planned on falling for him.
“And then my mom called before the sun came up and demanded I come home because she needed me. She’d caught my dad cheating on her, and she wanted my support.” I snort derisively. “I didn’t want you to think I was off, being a slut, not when you were still hurting from your sister and Rob. I’m sorry. I panicked. I was stupid.”
“Yeah, ya were.” Kate nods, tapping her empty glass on the bar to get Finn’s attention.
Eyes still pinned on Addie, he fills each of our glasses whether they need it or not, mumbling under his breath the entire time.
“But this time …” Lis leads me, the question dangling and the past shoved aside.
“This time, we’re going to see where it goes.”
“You’re ready to take that chance? They don’t drop in your lap too many times, G. Don’t let the skeletons rule from the closet. You’re worth more than that.”
Chapter 30
Gavin
True to Rand’s word, we hit the ground running in LA.
The seven-hour flight from LaGuardia should have been enough time to tweak the last song for the album, but I needed my guitar. Couldn’t concentrate with visions of Gracyn playing in my mind. So, I slept. Well, I tried anyway. I got stuck in coach though because of the flight change. And, since the toddler behind me wasn’t tired, I got a jerky massage through the seat back and a serenade of the latest kid movie or some shit instead of a couple of hours of rest.
Brilliant sun, azure skies. LA is fucking perfect outside in October, and I’m spending ten, maybe twelve hours a day or more in the studio. Not even glimpsing the sun. Not breathing the soft air.
But the tracks we’re laying are kick-ass.
It’s the saving grace, the bright spot in my forced separation from Gracyn.
We text all day long.
Though our hours don’t line up very well.
We talk when we can.
Though the time difference and schedules are a bitch.
We FaceTime …
Though, usually, we end up missing each other or having to cut things short. But those moments—those few precious times when everything works out and we spend a blissful evening or outrageously early morning with each other, talking about everything and absolutely nothing—those are the moments that keep me going. Those and the contract and the tour and the guys and the label.
There are still times I fucking have to pinch myself to see if it’s all real.
“You got that last song locked down? Is it ready to go?” Rand has been pushing the hours in the studio well beyond the point of stupid for the past several weeks, and we’re down to laying the tracks for the final song, “One.”
The “One.”
Jesus, it feels like a lifetime ago when my ass was planted on a park bench, lamenting over the one who had gotten away. And, now, she’s mine. Mostly mine. At the very least, I’m interviewing for the position.
“Yeah, I guess,” I tell him, even as I consider changing up the bridge. Hitting the break hard. Switching up a couple of words that I’m just not sure on.
It could be stronger, tighter. It’s not ready.
“How many times do you need to run through it before we can lay it down?”
Rand’s bouncing and chain-smoking is a far cry from his typical mellow persona. And I’m not the only one freaked out by him.
“Dude, chill. What the hell is your issue?” Ian asks, coming through the door with Nate and a couple of six-packs and a brown paper bag spotted with grease.
The smell of burgers and fries quickly fills the space, and saliva pools in my mouth.
“You jonesing for the road? You know the schedule’s set, right?” Kane shoots at our manager, pulling a cold beer from the plastic loop dangling from Nate’s left hand. The can hisses as Kane pops it open. “Rushing Gavin ain’t gonna get you out of town any faster.”
“Yeah, no … it’s all good. I’m just—this is a big step for you guys. I want to get you there. Want to see you killing it across the pond, you know?” Rand shoves his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. Deep breath in, pursed lips blowing it out.
As managers go, he’s pretty fucking chill. Keeps our shit together without overextending us. Hell, he’s probably just missing his collection of all the bras chicks launch onto the stage during our shows. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has some kind of lingerie fetish going soon.
The last track, “One,” is taking almost as much time for us to nail down as the rest of the album, and it’s just not happening. The band is annoyed as fuck with me. The sound engineers are far beyond granting me polite smiles. And Rand is fucking pissed, but something feels off with it.
Like something’s missing.
I don’t even know anymore.
“This shit needs to be scrapped. Song’s not ready.” I cringe as the words tumble from my lips, and I’m met with a palpable mix of astonishment and relief.
“We got enough without it?” Kane pins me with a glare.
The hours practicing and recording in the studio, not seeing the sun and sand, are taking its toll on all of us. But Kane, he takes it to a new level.
“If we need this song on there, we need to hit it. I leave this studio now, and I am not coming back. Got things I need to see, people I need to do.”
“Nope.” I glance around the confined space, meeting each set of eyes. “Somethin’ ain’t there, not workin’, so …”
“Goddamn it, Gavin.” Rand stands up and storms out of the room, slamming doors as he goes. His chill is no more.
The implication is clear. I’ve wasted time and money for nothing. For a song I can’t quite finish. One that almost doesn’t feel relevant anymore.
With nothing left to say, I turn and walk out.
The past few weeks have been brutal, and the brilliant glow of the sun assaults me as I leave the dark cave of the studio. I need to get away. Need to change my scenery. Unfortunately, a flight to the East Coast isn’t an option, so settling my shades over my eyes, I go for the next best thing.
The Jeep I rented has a kicking sound system. With the top and sides off, the wind whips past me for the two minutes of actual driving before I hit the parking lot that is I-5, heading south out of LA. The stop and go eventually lands me in El Segundo at a little Cuban place. Despite the afternoon sun, I grab a breakfast burrito the size of my forearm and a couple of beers, and I head down to the quiet beach in the shadow of LAX.
Peeling back the wrapper of my burrito, I pop an earbud in and hit Gracyn’s number. The parking lot is all but empty, tourists choosing to hang out at the iconic Venice Beach or the Santa M
onica Pier. As the phone rings, I kick my foot up on the frame of the Jeep and dig into my food.
And she answers as soon as my mouth is stuffed full of steak, black beans, rice, and guac.
Of course.
“Hey, hold on. I’m just leaving the office,” Gracyn rushes out, the words spilling quietly from her mouth.
I chew fast and swallow faster, popping open a beer to wash the food down.
“Sorry, I need to get out of here,” she whispers. A car engine starts, and there’s that awkward moment as the call switches over to Bluetooth. “How are you? What’s … is that … are you at the beach?”
“I am. Recording’s done, so I left. Took everything I had not to go straight to the airport and catch the first flight east.” Starving, I shove another bite of burrito in my mouth and hope she asks a million more questions, so I can properly devour this thing.
“And what are you eating? Oh my God, what?” Her edge of panic at what she thinks she’s missing out on pulls my cheeks tight. “You’re eating tacos on the beach, you bastard. Is that what you’re doing?” She whines an exaggerated fake cry.
My mouth is so full; I can’t answer right away. All I can give her is a hum of foodie ecstasy, but it has the effect I crave. The breathy huff that filters through the phone has me picturing Gracyn in every gorgeous detail. The lock of hair that can’t seem to stay out of her eyes, the bunching of her shoulders when she really wants to get her way, the squint of her eyes, and the way she pinches her bottom lip.
Mind sifting through the band’s schedule, me getting out of Cali soon doesn’t look good. I ask, “Want to have breakfast with me tomorrow? I’ll take you for a brekkie burrito of your very own.” It’s a long shot—the longest, and I know it—but I offer up a silent prayer anyway. Maybe, just maybe, she’s free …
“I can’t,” Gracyn sighs. “I have a conference I have to go to, and my workload just jumped up by a shit-ton with an expanding scope of services for a new-ish client. There’s no way I can get away for—pfft—at least a couple of weeks.” Frustration bleeds through her words. “When do you leave again?”
I grab my beer and the extra and hoist myself out of the Jeep.
I miss her. A lot.
“In a couple of weeks,” I say as I march toward the water and plop my ass down on the beach. Flipping off my flops, I dig my toes in the sand and take a pull from my beer. “This sucks.”
“It does. I’ll try … maybe I can hand some things off?” She poses the question more to herself as opposed to me.
And we both know it’s not really possible. She might be the owner’s daughter, but she’s a hard worker and the newest employee there … low bitch on the scrotum pole.
Chapter 31
Gracyn
The door to my apartment is blocked by another set of brown boxes full of more shit Kate ordered for her classroom. You would think the delivery guy would pile them off to the side a little, but no. I have to lean into the stack to access the lock while juggling my phone, messenger bag, and the three travel coffee cups I had in my car. It’s been a rough week, and it’s not anywhere near being over yet.
“Kate,” I yell over the music thumping through our apartment. “Katelyn, get your shit—”
“Babe, maybe I should let you go,” Gavin says, pulling my attention back to the reason my phone is wedged precariously between my chin and shoulder.
“Sorry for being such a hot mess and a hard-ass. She loves those kids in her class.” I have zero experience with kids, but I think my roommate might be one of the best kindergarten teachers in existence. “I mean, if I had to spend all day with snot-nosed five-year-olds, I’d have a serious drinking problem.”
“Are you sure she doesn’t? Didn’t you tell me tequila was her therapy?”
I don’t know whether to laugh at him for remembering the little things I’ve told him about my friends or cry because he remembers even the most insignificant things I’ve told him.
“Yeah, but it’s more for relationship therapy, never frustration with the kiddos. She’s got the worst dating history ever, I swear.” I kick off my shoes before rinsing my coffee mugs and dropping them into the dishwasher.
“I can’t wait to meet your friends. Soon? I’ll see if I can rearrange things and get a couple of days. I want to see you. I need to see you.”
My shoulders droop, and I’m hit with just how much I miss him.
How will this ever work with us? On different coasts, different countries for months at a time.
“I’m sorry. I’ll … Gavin, I just can’t get away right now. I feel so stuck.”
“Nah, no worries. I’ll see what I can do, but I’m gonna let you go now. I miss you.”
“Me, too.” I end the call before I can make a tear or say something crazy that I haven’t even begun to examine yet. The frustrations and doubts from being separated are at war with the heart-wrenching longing that makes me think this could be love.
How? How can I be in love?
Lost in the deep, dark recesses of my mind, I jump when Kate drops her boxes on the kitchen floor.
“Can you hand me the scissors?”
“God, you scared the shit out of me,” I gush, hand flying to my chest to keep my heart from beating its way out.
“No kidding. What’s happening? You looked pretty deep in thought.” Kate reaches over the island and grabs a knife from the drawer. She unpacks each of the boxes, lining the island with feathers, balloons, paper plates, and a million other miscellaneous things, grouping them in a completely nonsensical way.
“I was—am really. Do you want wine?” I ask, finally taking my coat off. “I think I need wine to figure this out.” I grab a glass from the cabinet and turn to see if I need to grab another.
Kate bobs her head side to side and looks at the clock on the microwave. “Couldn’t hurt,” she says. “I have a date—eh, let’s not jinx things. I’m having dinner with someone tonight, but I’m sure the wine will help.”
And it finally clicks that Kate’s not in her usual after-school leggings and hoodie. She’s dressed nice. Black pencil skirt, white silk blouse—
“You’re rocking the sexy-librarian thing pretty hard. Who is this guy?” I pour us each a glass of merlot and lean against the counter, watching her repack all her treasures according to the projects she has no doubt planned. “Another Tinder winner?”
The woodsy, berry notes of the wine burst on my tongue.
Too bad I’m more in the mood to gulp than sip and savor.
Concentration pushing her brows together, Kate closes up the freshly organized boxes and labels the short sides in color-coded marker. “Nope. And I’m sure it won’t amount to anything.”
She shrugs, trying her best for nonplussed, but this girl needs a break. She’s been on so many disastrous dates. Not to mention, the guy she moved up here with, the one she caught macking on another dude … yeah, she’s earned one of the good ones. Now if only she can manage to find one.
“Let’s concentrate on you for a hot minute though. Things rocky with the rock star?”
“No, it’s just … I don’t know.” I sigh. “Dude, can I actually be falling for him? Like, in real love when we’ve only spent a handful of days together? Half of them well over a year ago?”
Kate sips at her wine and assesses me over the rim of the glass. “Anything’s possible. Is it a problem though? You sound like it might be a problem.” She stacks the boxes, tucking them under the table by our front door.
“It’s just stupid. We’ve spent next to no time together. What if it’s all an illusion and we’re not at all compatible?”
“What do you mean? Like, sexually?” She whips her head around and stares at me. “I thought you said—”
My wine barely makes it down my throat, narrowly escaping a wild expulsion through my nose. “The sex is fine, but what if that’s all there is? It’s not like we can just date like normal people and then walk away when things go south. He’s either in LA or on tour,
and I’m here. That doesn’t bode well for a normal dating relationship.”
“When?”
I look at her like she’s making no sense—because, right now, she’s not.
“You said ‘when things go south,’ not if. Are you invested or not? Are you willing to take a risk for real, or are you just playing with him?”
“Same thing—”
“Nuh-uh. Girl, you need to decide what your plan is. Are you in or out? Planning or playing? There’s no harm in playing, but you’ve gotta know that for yourself. And, if you’re just playing, then it’s probably not gonna go anywhere.” She pauses, checking the time again. “Listen, I’m the last one you should go to for relationship anything, but if you’re not putting yourself on the line, you’re not serious. And you’re not gonna build anything worthwhile on a fling.”
“But that’s all this was ever supposed to be,” I whine, stomping, my feet.
Not proud at all for my toddler behavior, Kate takes my tantrum in stride and pulls out her totally reasonable teacher voice. “And that’s all it ever will be unless you risk your heart and give it a real chance.” She drains her glass and hands it to me. “I’ve gotta shake. I own the fact that this is going nowhere, so I’m meeting Mr. Right Now at the restaurant. Don’t wait up. If he plays his cards right, he might get dessert.”
Sashaying her way to the door, Kate turns dramatically and flips her ruby-red velvet coat around her shoulders, waiting for the inevitable. When I hold off longer than pleases her, she rolls her hand in a hurry-up motion.
Rolling my eyes, I hit her with the standard send-off. “Be safe and make good choices.”
The door clicks shut, and I dump another healthy dose of wine in my glass.
* * *
GAVIN
With the tracks done, the production engineers slap us with a rough mix of each of the songs. The hours upon hours of recording the initial tracks—starting with Ian and Nate, then me, and finally Kane—are draining. Exhausting, both physically and emotionally. But, at the same time, the experience is thrilling.
