We’ve been flying seven hours, heading to Miami where we’ll stop to fuel up. It’s been a long flight, vacant of any cheer or conversation. We’ve done this trip without Alec before, when he’d been on tour and we’d already seen Locked Tight perform in a couple cities. During those stints Jack and I would go to Ibiza to relax and pass the time. Or Santorini. Or Belize. One year we even went to Alaska and froze our asses off to see the glaciers melting. It was more sobering than fun, so we never went again. I returned and donated a hefty chunk of change to Earth Justice, after researching them of course. Even if their records didn’t have the transparency they proved to have had, I might have chosen them just because of their kickass slogan: Because The Earth Needs A Good Lawyer.
I didn’t tell Jack I did that.
Not because I was sure he’d object, but because I wasn’t sure what he’d do. And I didn’t want to argue about Global Warming and whether or not it was happening. If Jack had argued the opposite stance, I would have had one more reason to be disappointed in my brother.
I pick my battles. Even though I’ve never been more disappointed in Jack than I am today, my hands aren’t clean. I could have been firmer. I could have been more sympathetic. I could have… what? I don’t know. But this gnawing sensation in my stomach is telling me there must have been something I could have done. And now I’m playing the fun replay game, every moment since we got the news from Henderson, going over and over in my mind as I search for what I could have done differently.
This flight is going to be a blast.
Without glancing over to me, Jack grumbles, “You’re quiet.”
I pause from tapping my fingers on the leather armrest. “Not really. It’s usually you and Alec who are doing most of the talking, so it just seems like that without him here.”
He winces; target hit. “Did you talk to him before he took off?”
“No.”
“Did he call you?”
“No.”
“Text?”
“Jack,” I sigh, exasperated.
His lips tighten and he holds his tongue. But that doesn’t last as long as I’d like it to.
“Hey.”
I hit the armrest hard. “What?!”
He turns his head and meets my impatience with a look that stills me. “I fucked up. I want her back.”
I’m too stunned to speak for several seconds. “What, so you can keep playing your games with her? You want to entertain yourself some more since you have nothing better to do with your time?”
Anger flashes behind his eyes and his nostrils flare. “Not again.”
I unbuckle my seat and head for the liquid patience to my left. Opening up the shelves, my body jerks with an unexpected blast of turbulence. “Whoa.” Gripping the bar, I look over my shoulder at Jack. “What was that?”
“A handshake from the devil,” Jack mutters dryly, unaffected by the jolt. His head bobs as another hits, this one making the bile rise to the back of my throat. Jack glances in my direction and to humor me, hits the button on his chair. “Terence?”
The pilot’s voice sounds through the speakers, “Mr. Stone, it’s just a little bad weather, but it’d be best if you both buckle up.”
I walk quickly back to my chair, my heart beating a little faster. I’ve always hated turbulence. Jack seems to not give a shit about it, ever.
“No, I don’t want her back for that. Something happened to me today.” He stares ahead and inhales deeply. “She almost died in my arms, and I thought…”
Another jolt of turbulence hits us. “Holy shit! Fucking cut it out, Terence!” I yell toward the closed cockpit door. There’ve been too many small planes like this plummeting into mountains for me to chastise myself about my paranoia. I’m not an idiot. We’re flying miles in the air and how exactly is that possible? No amount of explaining aerodynamics will ever convince me that this isn’t a miracle susceptible to flaws.
Jack holds my look, asking silently if I’m done freaking out, before he continues, “And maybe I want to mess with her a little still, but only because she rises to the bait.” He smiles with brotherly mischief that would normally have me relaxing, but not after today.
“Jack. You asked Alec to ruin her heart!”
His eyes flash defensively and his jaw ticks. “I said I fucked up.”
Another jolt and the plane bobs down making even Jack’s eyes widen momentarily.
Fueled by my fear, I yell at him, not holding back anymore, “You fucked up? What you did was downright malicious if not evil! You deserved Alec punching you in the face. If I weren’t strapped down right now, I’d–” The plane jerks again and my stomach dips into a vortex of motion sickness. “Ugh,” I groan, rolling my eyes toward the windows, the charcoal gray ominous clouds giving me chills. To my horror, a flash of light followed by a thunder-clap explodes while I watch. “Shit. Did you see that? We’re in the middle of a lightning storm!”
Terence’s voice sounds over the speakers, this time with more urgency, “If you’re not buckled up, do so now. It’s getting hairy.” The silence that follows is unnerving.
I look to Jack, completely forgetting my outburst until I see his face. He leans over and snaps, “I’m trying to fucking apologize! What do you want from me?”
Another crack of thunder and the room lights up with a bright flash.
“I want you to apologize to them!”
“I will! They’re just not here right now, are they?!”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Jesus, Sean. It must be hard to live up on that pedestal. Why don’t you come down and breathe human air for a change?” He glares at me. A jolt throws us to the right, the low seat belts cutting into our waists. My teeth clang against each other painfully and I stare at the flashing jagged strikes outside. Jack’s got a deep line piercing the bruise above his nose. “He’s a great pilot. We’re going to be fine.”
I glance to him, surprised by the fear I heard in his voice. Another terrifying dip and my knuckles go the color of bone, gripping the armrest. “Holy shit. Has it ever been this bad before?”
Grimly, Jack shakes his head a little, his attention on the swaying plane. Another jolt and we dip forward. Jack slams his palm against the button. “What’s going on?!!” No answer. “Terence!”
Urgency edges into the response. “Lightning hit us! We’re going down! Prepare for a water landing.”
“What?!!” I shout. Looking to my brother for hope, he turns his head to meet my eyes, his overflowing with fear, shock, resignation and some sort of superhuman strength. Our fight evaporates. Everything that’s ever happened disintegrates instantly as the plane begins to shake. The pilot is fighting to keep it from nose-diving and our fight seems petty all of a sudden.
In life, I’ve always been the empath, knowing what people needed sometimes before even they did. I’m the one they talk to, our friends and family. But Jack? He’s always been the badass. He’s always kicked the ass that needed kicking. He’s always been the one who never lets it get to him. And right now I need him to kick the shit out of my terror. “Are we going to die?”
The plane plummets forward. Jack yells over the rattling, “Get your life vest!” He motions to my seat and bends to yank out the yellow plastic beneath his own.
I whisper, “Oh my God,” as oxygen masks fall from the ceiling. Jack and I put on the vests, fastening the belts and pulling the red cord to inflate them. They both explode with air. The ache in my ears from the cabin pressure strips away my ability to think. Grabbing for the oxygen mask and missing as it swings away from me, I look over to Jack and see him staring at me like this is it.
With everything clattering around us and pillows flying through the air, he’s calm.
“Sean.” I couldn’t hear him, but I saw his lips move and I know his voice as though it were my own. The look on his face cuts through my frantic mind and I relax. A peace comes over me as I look into my brother’s eyes. As we race toward the Atlantic, the air in the
cells of my body slows down.
I reach out to him, the oxygen masks flapping around our heads. He grabs my hand and we clasp tightly. I tell him, the guy who drives me the most crazy out of anyone else in the entire world, “I love you, too.”
We hit the water with such force that our hands tear apart.
Chapter Forty-Two
Alec
Flying commercial airlines is never any fun for me. The fact is I’m spoiled. Not by the luxury of private planes, but by the anonymity of them. I’m struggling with what happened in the hospital. Or, hell, what happened in Ibiza in general. The last thing I want to be dealing with right now is smiling for the camera or being nice to people I don’t know. If my mother were here, I’d have a hard time talking to her, too.
All I want to do is crawl in my cave and hole up until I can figure out what to do.
But that’s not possible for me, not anymore. I try never to be ungrateful. Playing music is a great gift. I don’t take credit for my talent or even the prose or melody I write onto the page. I believe in the Muse. That I am a conduit for something outside of me to speak through me. For some unknown reason, my soul or someone outside of it, signed me up to be a musician and there is nothing I can do but play. It’s in my blood. When I’m inspired, the words come when I’m holding a beautiful woman in my arms, or sitting on a toilet. It doesn’t matter where I am. She whispers into my mind like they’re my own thoughts, but I know they’re not mine because when I want to ignore her and rest for a change, she nags at me until I get them down on paper, or on my phone, or on a napkin. I can believe it that J.K. Rowling wrote most or all of the first Harry Potter on a napkin… because she really didn’t have a choice. The Muse will be heard and you must listen. If you don’t, you’ll pay the price, whatever that price is for you. Addiction. Overeating. Sex. Infidelity. Violence. Lethargy. Those are only several. It comes in all forms. If you don’t do what you’re meant to, what drives your soul to rise up and sing, metaphorically speaking, then you will succumb to your baser instincts because you’re not following your purpose. When we’re not following our purpose, life, like a pair of pants we grew out of, never quite fits.
I get it. Believe me, I fucking get it. I know what music does to people, so my gift is particularly beguiling. I can’t blame people for wanting to touch it through me. I can’t blame them at all. I’m like that with the bands I love. But today, I’ve been flying for fifteen hours. We had to stop down in Miami. The last five hours to Los Angeles felt like the longest of my life. All I want to do is be alone.
De-boarding the plane, I force myself to thank the flight attendants and pilots for a safe flight. They all stand stationed to wish us a goodbye, and they tip heads to me with smiles they really mean. “You have a good visit!” “Thank you for choosing United.”
Heading to baggage claim, I tuck my head under my Irish cap and keep my sunglasses on, trying to blend into the crowd. But of course my trademark jeans, white t-shirt, leather bracelets, and walk, all give me away. Gritting my teeth, I force a smile at two teenage girls who squeal when they see me, crying out as they run up, “Oh my God! You’re ALIVE!”
Taken aback by such an odd statement, I frown. “Yeah. Walking and breathing, ladies. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”
The brunette one with the blue eyes grabs my arm and says something I can’t grasp the meaning of: “You weren’t on the plane!”
Growing impatient, I assert myself, taking her hand off my arm and releasing it back to her possession. “Yes, I was. I just got off the plane. Now I really have to get my luggage. If you’ll excuse me.”
They look at each other in a silent exchange, and the blonde’s clear braces flash briefly into view as she explains, “No… the plane with Sean and Jack! We thought for sure you would be with them when it went down, because you’re always with them, but you’re here! You’re alive!”
Someone just kicked me in the chest with a steel-toed boot. I reach out and grab the blonde’s shoulders. “What did you just say?”
She stutters under my grip. “Their plane went d-down in the-the OCEAN!”
Almost yelling, the brunette adds, “They can’t find them anywhere!”
I take off running, leaping around passengers and over rolling suitcases that block my way. A sports bar is ahead on my left and I race straight up to the bar, shouting at the female bartender, “Turn on the news!”
She cocks her head back, appalled. “Who are you?”
Of all the times, now is when I don’t get recognized. “Just turn on the fucking news!”
She grimaces like she’s about to throw me out. I search for the remote and almost jump over the bar to grab it, but a younger male, a fan, intervenes. “He’s Alec Gabriel. The Stone Brother’s best friend.”
Recognition lights her eyes and others in the bar turn to stare at me. From their somber looks and the hush that falls over the room, they already heard the news.
They know before I do. That is so fucking wrong, I can’t even get my head around it.
As the bartender grabs the remote, my anger melts into denial.
Their plane can’t have gone down.
All four of them gone, just like that.
It’s not fucking possible.
Why wasn’t I with them?!
“Someone tell me this isn’t happening,” I mutter under my breath, so gone I don’t even know I said it. On CNN, an anchorman appears center shot. Embedded is a square at the top left of the screen with a two-shot of Sean and Jack, split down the middle. “There! There!” I yell. She stops, gulps, and lays the remote on the bar. The guy who recognized me picks it up and turns up the sound before I even have to ask. The anchorman’s voice rises as he says, “It seems the pilot called in the emergency landing but since then, there’s been no communication with the plane. The report from satellite had them located somewhere off the coast of Florida. The search party is looking for the Stone brothers now and we’ll keep you informed as we learn more. In other news…”
No mention of Rue and Jenna. They didn’t mention the pilot or co-pilot either. The brothers of course would get the airtime since the whole world has watched them grow up. “I was supposed to be on that plane,” I mumble, staring miles away.
“What did he say?”
“I don’t know.”
“He said he was supposed to be on the plane.”
“No! He was? Oh my God, can you imagine?”
“Shhhh!”
Numb, I walk toward the exit without looking back, drifting in with the people who are coming and going to their flights, their luggage, their friends, their families, their loves.
Tears hover in my eyes. When people spot me, they move out of the way. The sea of nameless bodies parts, creating a passageway for me to trudge through. I have never known this much pain. I have never felt this separate from my body as it simultaneously wracks with agony from its core.
When the electric doors slide open, I walk outside, and the familiar smell of Los Angeles hits me. Home. Our home. I fall, boneless, to my knees on the mat as confused doors slide open and closed behind me. Staring ahead, I unlock my jaw and howl. I crumble with my hands over my face, sobbing. Strangers rush at me, trying to help. But I’m not able to tell the difference between help and attack, so I fight them off, yelling at the top of my lungs a guttural wail I’ve never heard before. A large, soft woman grabs onto me from where she’s fallen to her knees, too, squeezing me hard in a bear hug and cooing in my ear, “Shhh. There now. It’s going to be okay.” She rocks me and says it one more time. “It’s going to be okay, child.”
Bending my head into her neck, I croak, “No. It’s not.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Rue
Banging on the giant front door of the Stone Mansion, I yell, “Mrs. Stone?! Please open the door!”
There’s a pause and then the muffled scream, “No! Go Away!”
My face is caked with dried tears, the skin so tight and dry. “Please, M
rs. Stone! Please!” A fresh wave of salt-water fills my tear ducts and I whimper against the door with my fingertips and forehead resting on it. “I want to help you through this.”
Jenna and I heard the news at the airport when we arrived. Since their plane went down in Florida, by the time we got to Los Angeles the broadcast had been airing for hours. Jenna had to hold me up so I could walk out of the airport. I sat on the dirty floor by a wall as she waited for our baggage, while concerned and helpless eyes flitted to me from everywhere around us. In the cab ride home, I took turns sobbing and staring out the window at the 405, then the 101, then at Camarillo Street where I live. The cabbie asked if I was sick like he didn’t want to catch my disease. He was two seconds away from pulling over and kicking us to the curb when Jenna leaned in and reproached him. “She’s just lost her brothers. Give her a break. Haven’t you ever lost anyone you loved?”
Loved? The word was jarring to me in my haze. Do I love them? I had to ask myself that. Can you love people that quickly? Some would argue no… and I feel sorry for them.
“Just as soon as I’d wished for them gone, they went,” I whispered to Jenna as she hugged me on my doorstep.
“I know. I’m going to stay here with you.”
“No.” I’d said, shaking my head. “It’s okay, Jenna-bean. I want to be alone.”
But as soon as I went in the house, I pictured Connie Stone. All alone now. Just like me. And though I was probably the last person she wanted to see, I wanted to go to her and see if I could help. “Jenna!” I’d shouted out my door. She came running around the corner, not having made it yet to her car. “Can you drive me to the Stone mansion?”
In hindsight, I probably should have had her wait for me.
“Mrs. Stone! Please open the door. I know I don’t have the right…”
The door opens and she stares at me, mascara running down papery cheeks, her silver hair askew. “That’s right! You don’t have the right!” she croaks, furious.
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