Sometime After Midnight

by L. Philips

  “I didn’t have any service out here in the desert. I’m really sorry.” Nate makes no move to come close to me, but he looks at the woman standing to his right. “Tonya, this is Cameron Pierce. Cameron, my stepmom, Tonya.”

  I move then, extending my hand politely, which she takes in a firm shake. I try my hardest to mask my surprise. Somewhere in my head I knew that Tonya was younger than my parents, because she’d only been about twenty-one years old with Mick died, but it’s like it hadn’t dawned on me that she would look it. If not for the worn, tired expression and the beginnings of crow’s feet around her eyes, I would have mistaken her for a college student.

  “You don’t look much like your father,” she says to me, eyes narrowed, and from her, it must be a compliment.

  “Small blessings, I suppose,” I say, smiling, though my stomach would like to relieve itself of everything I’ve eaten in the last twenty-four hours. “I’m trying not to act like him, either.”

  Tonya holds up CDs, their iridescence flashing in the light, and I recognize them as Mick’s. “Yes, thank you for letting Nate have these. I thought they’d been lost forever. I can’t wait to hear Mick’s voice again.”

  “Tonya, you should know . . .” Nate steps closer to me, nearly in between me and his stepmom. “Richard didn’t want anyone to hear them because he was trying to protect Dad’s legacy. There wasn’t any malice behind it.”

  Tonya looks at me as if looking for confirmation. I nod. “He didn’t want to ruin the reputation Mick had made for himself.”

  Tonya appears to mull that over and accept it. She bites her lip, then says, “I believe you. I’m not sure I agree with your father’s belief that these would have hurt his reputation, but I believe you.”

  She and I both look expectantly to Nate, who is inspecting the contents of the storage unit in front of us. He turns to his stepmother.

  “Mind if I stay here? I need to read through his stuff. I need to try to understand him. Maybe even get to know him, as silly as that sounds.”

  Tonya studies him, her gaze soft. “It’s not silly. If I could have faced it, I would have done it long ago. I suppose Cameron won’t mind taking you home?”

  “Of course not,” I say, reaching for Nate’s hand.

  Tonya appears to appraise us for a moment, then, to my relief, gives us both a smile. “I’ll see you at home, Nate?”

  “Yes,” Nate says, smiling back at her. “Thank you.”

  Tonya glances behind herself, at the contents of the U-Stor-It unit. “I’m just sorry there’s not more.”

  With that, Tonya gets into her ancient Subaru and pulls away, leaving Nate and me alone.

  “Nate,” I begin, “I really am sorry. Travis told me where you were and why you came here. I know you probably don’t want me here, but just in case . . .”

  “So you got ahold of Travis so that you could figure out where I was, just in case I needed you?” he asks.

  “No, I drove to Somewhat Damaged to find Travis, because you weren’t answering my texts and I thought maybe you were with him. Then I practically had to offer my kidneys and my firstborn to him before he told me where you were. Then I drove here.”

  Nate purses his lips, and I can’t tell whether he’s trying not to laugh or smile or yell. “So you drove about six hours today to find me?”

  I shrug, sheepish. “I told you. I’m Christian Grey. I mean, I hope I come off a little less controlling and stalkery, but I worry, and I have resources and plenty of money, so I can pretty much find anyone I care about if I need to.”

  Nate says nothing, just stands there looking at me, arms crossed, and again I’m not sure if he wants to hit me or hug me. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, then clear my throat.

  “I’ll go. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand the thought of you running away to this godforsaken place, that’s all. I was afraid you thought you had to do this alone, since you’ve been doing things alone most of your life.”

  Nate studies me, still not talking.

  “What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to do anything alone anymore, Nate. Not if you don’t want to.” I wait a beat, a silent beat, then turn to go, resigned.

  “Cameron,” I hear him say. “Stay.”

  I turn back. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I mean, look at all this. I want to read through it and it’s going to take me ages. I need company.”

  “My company, though? I could get Vic out here for you.”

  Nate moves toward me, his smile warm and sweet. He cups my face in his hands. “I want you here. For this. And for music. And for everything else.”

  “And my father? And the tabloids?”

  Nate strokes a thumb over my lips and it sends tingles all the way down to my feet. “You’re worth it. Besides, I don’t think your father is so bad. I think maybe you need to give him more credit. Granted, he needs to give you a hell of a lot more too.”

  He leans up on his toes and kisses me, and my arms wrap around him of their own volition.

  “I’m really sorry I didn’t call. I was still sorting stuff out.”

  “And now it’s all sorted?” I ask.

  “Oddly, my life is more sorted now than it’s ever been.” He steps back from me, leaving my arms to feel all too empty. He gestures around at the boxes. “Tonya was amazing today. And I’m not sure I’ll ever get all the answers I want, but I think this might be a good place to start. I need to get to know my dad.”

  “How can I help?”

  Nate shrugs. “Open up a box and get reading, I guess.”

  “I can do that. But can I ask one thing?”

  He reads my mind, like we’ve been doing with each other since we met. “The masters? I . . . really don’t know how to describe them. Would you want to listen?”

  “Yes,” I say without hesitation.

  He takes his phone out and we park ourselves on the cool concrete floor. “I loaded the music on here last night. It doesn’t exactly have the greatest speakers, but it will do.”

  He presses play, and from the first notes I go still, and all I can do is close my eyes and listen.

  About three songs in, I open them. I feel like I might cry.

  “Is it all like this?” I ask Nate.

  “Every single song,” he replies.

  I shake my head, swallowing hard. “It’s so painful. I can’t imagine what he was going through to write this. It’s so incredibly dark.”

  “And unlistenable?” Nate asks.

  “No,” I say, forceful. “No. It’s beautiful. And weird and unpredictable and . . . it’s not unlistenable. My father was wrong about that. It’s just hard. Really hard. It makes me feel sort of . . .”

  “Crazy?” Nate offers, and I nod.

  “Do you think . . . do you think this is what it was like for him, all the time? Is this what it was like in his head?”

  “I think so,” Nate says. “If you listen close, you can hear these strange harmonies in the background. Almost like—”

  “Other voices.”

  “Exactly,” Nate says. “Like every voice in his head had a melody. A sad one, and an angry one, and a violent one. Cameron . . .”

  Nate shuts the music off, distraught, and I put my hand on his knee, trying to steady him.

  “Do you think I’ll be like him?” Nate whispers. “Do you think I’ll start hearing voices?”

  “No, I don’t,” I say. “But if you start to, tell me. I looked up stuff about it to learn about your dad, and they have some really effective treatments now. We’d find you the best doctors and the best programs.”

  “We?” he asks, incredulous. “Doesn’t this scare the shit out of you, that I could end up like my dad? It scares the shit out of me.”

  “One step at a time. There’s no reason to worry about something that most likely will
not ever happen. My sister says worrying robs us of the present, which is something she probably got from a spa brochure, but she’s not wrong. And currently, all I want in the world is to keep making music with you, keep kissing you, keep falling in love with you.”

  “You too,” he tells me, and takes one of those kisses. My whole face, my heart, my body lights up with a warm flame.

  When we pull apart, we’re both smiling like lovesick idiots. As I reach into the box next to me and grab one of Mick’s old notebooks, I start to hum a new melody. Beside me, perhaps without even realizing he’s doing it, Nate jumps in with a harmony.

  Nate

  The sun goes down and is coming back up again by the time Cameron and I leave U-Stor-It, a few boxes of notebooks in tow, along with a few pictures of my dad. We drive in comfortable silence for a while, both of us exhausted and bleary-eyed. I’m drifting off when I feel Cameron’s hand close over mine on the console.

  “Hey. I just wanted to say something before you fall asleep.”

  I grin but don’t really open my eyes. “Say it, Pierce.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing romantic; don’t get your hopes up. Although I’m certainly over the moon that you decided not to dump me. This is about your dad.”

  I do open my eyes then. “What about him?”

  “I think . . . I think maybe his fans would have gone along with it. Those recordings. And I think, and of course I could be wrong, but . . . I think that even if it’s not like the music he was known for, it’s also something new. Something completely different. And it could have been what he was known for instead. I mean, look at people like Nick Cave or Tom Waits. Look at how dark they get sometimes. Your dad could have been known for this, and maybe people would have started to understand what he was going through and they would have accepted it. Maybe even thought it was incredibly cool.”

  “Are you suggesting Paradise release it?” I ask groggily.

  “No. I . . . I wouldn’t ever want the company to profit off this, Nate,” Cameron tells me. “I’m just saying. I think my dad was wrong. I think if he’d let your dad make this album, it would have attracted a specific kind of listener, and it would have made a mark.”

  I look at him, completely awake now, and nod once. “Thank you, Cameron.”

  “Do you think you would ever want to finish one of these songs? Record it yourself? As an homage, of sorts?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe. I’d have to figure out how to do it right. Not just respectfully, but musically. I may have gotten some talent from him, but our sounds are different.”

  “Probably my fault,” he teases. “My R&B has rubbed off on you.”

  I laugh and settle back lazily into my seat. “How much more work do we need to do for the demo?”

  “Not much. Just some tweaking on the mix. Nate, about the demo . . .”

  I smile. “You don’t want to go to Paradise with it.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve always known. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “And you didn’t share that with me?” he asks.

  “You had to learn it for yourself.”

  “Who are you, Glinda the Good Witch?”

  I wrinkle my nose at his joke. “Your dad will respect you more if you go it alone.”

  “I’m not alone,” he says, and puts his hand over mine on the console again.

  “Any ideas where you want to go?”

  “I was thinking about Liquid’s label, Somewhat Damaged.”

  “Fitting name for both of us, don’t you think?” I ask with a yawn.

  “Indeed. Now you should nap, sleepyhead,” he tells me. “We’ve got at least a half hour before we see signs of civilization again.”

  And as I’m half-asleep already, I quickly heed his advice.

  * * *

  ***

  We cross some magical cell tower line because all of a sudden, my phone and Cameron’s make so much noise, it wakes me up and probably terrifies half of L.A.

  I sit up and stare at Cameron, who takes his eyes off the road to stare back.

  “That can’t be good,” he says.

  “Nope. Nothing good ever came of both of our phones going off at the same time.”

  Biting the proverbial bullet, I yank my phone out of my pocket and stare at the lit-up screen. Messages from Victor, Tess, and even Tonya. Nope, this can’t be good. . . .

  I open the text from Tonya first.

  Nate, I am so sorry. I feel like this is my fault.

  Oh god.

  Then Tess.

  Please tell my brother to call me right the hell now because our father is home early and he’s seen the news on TMZ and he is truly going to kill him dead. Deader than dead.

  Shit.

  Victor:

  Dude! You have to hire a bodyguard or something. This is super creepy. Also, your dad’s recordings are still around? THAT IS SO FREAKIN AWESOME. Can’t wait to hear them. Love you, bro.

  “Well?” Cameron asks, panicking.

  “Well, Tess says your dad is going to kill you, Tonya is afraid it’s her fault, and Victor somehow knows about the masters. Might as well look.”

  And as soon as I do, I wish I could go back in time and unsee it all.

  I look over at Cameron, who is looking at the phone in my hands instead of the road. He obviously recognizes TMZ’s logo and font.

  “What’s the headline?” he asks, and his tone is one of utter defeat.

  I clear my throat and read. “‘Mick’s Recordings Exist! Paradise Owner Cruelly Kept Them from Mick’s Own Family.’”

  “How?”

  Because I know exactly what he’s asking, I answer, “It looks like we were not alone at the storage unit. There are pictures. You. Me. Tonya. God, he was so close, I can see my pores in these pictures. He must have heard every word.”

  Cameron nods, resigned, like someone who has been losing at poker all night, and has now been dealt a full hand of duds. Then he growls an impressive string of curses that, had it been anyone else, would have made me a little scared of him.

  “My father is indeed going to kill me.”

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  “He’ll find a way to make it my fault. He always does.” Cameron looks like he might cry. Or maybe scream and punch things. Either way, he shouldn’t be driving.

  I order him to pull over and he does, surprised by my insistence and the strength of my voice. I wait until the car is in park to unbuckle myself, and I take his face in my hands.

  “This isn’t your fault. My father’s death isn’t your fault. Getting hounded by the paparazzi isn’t your fault. Me freaking out about the paparazzi isn’t your fault. You are not your father and you will never be your father, and you are one of the most gorgeous human beings I’ve ever seen and definitely the kindest and smartest and most poetic person I’ve ever met. And you have a voice that sounds like love and heartbreak and passion and anger and longing all rolled into one, and a whole choir of angels couldn’t match it. And I am in love with you, Cameron, and I want to be with you and make brilliant music with you, so you’ve just got to go to your father and tell him you’re not going to take his shit and you’re going to go make a record with some other company because I need you, Cameron, and you need me, so you just have to.”

  Cameron stares at me, tears welling up in his eyes, his chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm.

  “Cameron?”

  Cameron swallows and blinks, a few tears spilling over. “I know,” he says, voice choked. “I know. And I think I can. With you. For you. Because you mean all that, don’t you?”

  “Every word.”

  “Even the part where you love me?”

  There are tears in my eyes too, damn it. I smile at him. “Especially that part.” I let his face go
and take his hands in mine instead. “We’re partners. Fifty-fifty. With everything.”

  “Okay,” he says, and I can tell he’s gathering his courage, psyching himself up for it. “Okay. Let’s go talk to my dad.”

  “Let’s go.”

  And Cameron puts the car in drive and steps on the gas.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cameron

  When I pull the Land Rover onto the gridlocked street and look ahead at Paradise Tower, I hiss out a curse.

  “What?” Nate asks, just as he spots what I’m looking at.

  In front of Paradise’s main entrance, a crowd, armed with cameras and microphones, has gathered. Even from this distance, I recognize a few particularly heinous humans that hounded me when the news broke about Harry. Little details, like how one always wore a green, tattered baseball cap backward, tend to stick in the mind.

  “Three guesses why they’re there, but you only need one.”

  “What do we do?” Nate asks.

  I blow out a breath. “We have a few options. We could park out front and run the gauntlet. Or we could try to sneak in the back way, although I’m sure they’re savvy enough to figure that one out. Or . . .” I nod in the direction of a drugstore on the corner. “We run in there, grab sunglasses, cheap shirts, and hats, and pretend we don’t know who the hell these Cameron Pierce and Nate Grisheimer guys are.”

  “You left out the option of running to Mexico.”

  “Mexico’s so hot this time of year,” I say dryly, then look over at him. “Any of those options sound less awful than the others?”

  Nate continues looking down the block at Paradise’s entrance, and the hungry crowd gathered there. His lips curl in amusement. “I mean, compared to your dad, they’re probably a cake walk, right?”

  “They can’t disown me, at least.”

  “Then let’s just go for it.” Nate looks at me. “We can tell them the masters are indeed safe with me, thanks to your generous father, and there are no plans to release them at this time.”

  I raise a brow. “You’re a natural spin doctor, Nathan Grisheimer.”