“Me, too, as soon as I check on a few things. Have a good weekend, Chelsie.”
“You, too, Knoah.”
It had been a long-running joke about where Mickey disappeared to on Fridays. No one knew, and she never gave any hints. Sawyer believed she had a guy she met at a hotel for dirty, hot sex. I imagined that wasn’t far from the truth.
Sawyer waggled her eyebrows as she came in with a fresh cup of coffee from the deli in the lobby. “I know I’m right. One day we’ll find out who the mystery man is.”
We snickered as I walked back to my office. Hopefully the delivery was the Greggor samples for the party next month. They were having a Thanksgiving gala to raise money for the local food bank.
As I walked through the doorway, I paused and blinked to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. A huge bouquet of exotic flowers sat on my desk. Oh my. Who sent these to me? They were simply exquisite. I smiled as I smelled them. I plucked the card from the bouquet.
Happy Birthday, Knoah
No signature. I took out my phone and texted Kurt. He was the only person I imagined would send something like this.
Me: It was good seeing you today. I have a lot of explaining to do. By chance, did you send me flowers?
The response was almost immediate.
Kurt: It was good seeing you, too. We’ll talk tomorrow. Flowers? I wish I’d thought about sending you some, but I didn’t.
Me: I got some without a signature on the card. They’re probably from a client.
Kurt: You’re probably right. See you tonight. They need me for a sound check.
Me: Talk to you later.
I stroked the petal of one of the purple flowers. Hopefully the sender made himself known.
Chapter Three
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Knoah, I just fed Snickers. Are you almost ready?” Sawyer’s muffled voice came through the door.
While our neighbor Jessica was out of town, we were taking care of her cat. Mainly me, since I was home more times than not. Sawyer liked to be on the go and kept her schedule busy.
Jessica sublet the apartment from me last year when Sawyer and I considered combining the two places into a bigger unit. That had lasted only a month before the landlord changed his mind about knocking out the walls. It all worked out in the end, although it would have been nice to have more space.
I called over my shoulder. “Thank you. Five minutes and I’ll be ready!”
“Okay, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I ringed my eyes with a little more smoky eye shadow. It had been forever since I’d gone out. Concerts used to be my scene. For fun during the sound check, Dylan and I used to sing together. I never wanted it as a career, but I loved singing.
Tonight was about me taking a step forward.
I blew out a breath, readying myself to come face-to-face with all I had been avoiding for the last three and a half years.
I can do this.
During my next session, my therapist was probably going to fall out of her chair when I told her all that had transpired.
When I was finished with my makeup, I stared at my reflection, waiting for the guilty emotion that never came. Oddly, I felt excited about going as I hummed one of Reverence’s slower tunes.
Honestly, in the past few months, I’d felt an internal shift, but I hadn’t been ready to admit it until today. Seeing Kurt again brought something full circle—I still had people alive I loved. It was time to take the leap and start living again. I needed to stop keeping my parents at a distance, as well. They’d been so patient while I isolated myself from my past life.
I released another breath and took a step back. Long thick eyelashes and glittery eye shadow gave me a mysterious look.
I can do this. It’s time.
The face of the man in Cameron’s office flashed across my mind. Those eyes, his jawline… I was drawn to him. I hadn’t been able to keep my mind from straying to him since lunch. And how I acted like a complete fool.
He’s out of my league.
My eyes grew wide as I realized what I’d thought. I might be ready to take the next step forward to living and not simply existing. However, the dating scene was not on my radar. Panic rose inside me.
Deep breath. It’s fine.
“Knoah, are you ready?”
Thankful for the interruption, I grabbed my purse and headed to the kitchen. “Coming!”
Our apartment was modest in size—two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The best part about it was the view of the ocean. Listening to the waves crashing against the shore at night through the door to the balcony of my room calmed me. Sawyer hated balconies, so she freely gave me this room. More times than not, I left the windows open and allowed the waves to lull me into a dreamless sleep.
My parents lived about an hour or so away in Cocoa Beach. I lived there my entire childhood. When I cut my ties to Kurt, I moved to Orlando. In reality, I was still close to home, but far enough away that I had my own space.
A whistle came from the kitchen, and I rounded the corner to face Sawyer, who wore a skintight black dress. “Fuck a duck, Knoah. Where in the world did you get your clothes?”
I looked down at my outfit. I wore skinny black pants covered in buckles with a shimmery red top. It was something I’d worn once upon a time. “It was in a box. Do you think it’s okay?”
What if the style changed while I was hiding under a rock? Maybe I should have taken up Sawyer’s offer to go shopping that afternoon when we left the office. Hell, I was terrible at this—completely out of practice.
“Seriously, Knoah. You look great. This is going to be the best night of our lives. Come here, I have a toast ready to celebrate your birthday. And you got some cards.”
“Thanks. I’ll open them later.” It was not something I wanted to deal with right now. I knew who they were from.
Hesitantly, I walked into the kitchen to see two shot glasses filled with tequila. They were right next to my two birthday cards—one from my mom and one from Dylan’s. The first would be filled with love, the other, hate. Every year, it was hard to open one without the other. I knew it was unhealthy. This year, my therapist challenged me not to open either since I felt I had to open both. I took the envelopes and slipped them into the clutter drawer in the kitchen while Sawyer put up the tequila bottle.
No thinking of Vivian today. Push her from your mind. Her words aren’t true. You are not responsible for killing her son.
I turned my focus back to the shots. “Umm…” It had been forever since I drank. “Sawyer, I don’t—”
“Cameron sent us a driver. I’m not saying let’s get trashed, but we should loosen up a smidge. A birthday toast. To an amazing friend who has been there for me just the way I needed.”
Lifting my glass, I said, “Ditto.”
Sawyer’s toast spoke volumes to my suspicions that she was hiding something, too. I eyed the shot of tequila. What the hell. Might as well go all in. I downed it, grimacing with the burn. “Geez, I forgot how wretched that stuff was,” I choked out.
“Whoo! Bottoms up!” Sawyer tossed it back like a pro before grabbing her clutch off the counter. After looping her arm through mine, we walked to the door. “This night is going to be one to remember.”
Hopefully not in a “hugging the porcelain throne” kind of way.
~ ~ ~
My body pulsed with the energy from the opening act. We were waiting in the pit for Jazz to come back out for her encore performance. In between performances, we planned to go backstage to watch Kurt’s performance.
Lights danced, and the cheers grew louder. I’d forgotten how much I loved the energy from concerts.
I felt alive. And I loved it.
Sawyer stood beside me, whistling through her fingers. Everyone was amped and ready. The anticipation became palpable in the arena.
The lights dimmed and the perky, pink-haired singer came back onstage. Half of her face was decorated with glitter. I doubted Kurt picked her to tour
with him. It was probably a record studio mandate or a favor to someone.
The drums started. The guitar followed. The lights flashed.
Her most popular song, “Young,” talked about living youth to the fullest. I’d heard it on the radio; it had a great dance beat. I swayed my hips with my hands in the air. Beside me, Sawyer did her thing. I sang along without a care.
In that moment, nothing mattered. All I focused on was me… having fun. I danced harder, swinging my hips and letting the beat envelop me. A light sheen of sweat coated my body.
The audience clapped in tune to the beat as Jazz sang a cappella. Louder cheers erupted as Jazz left the stage. Sawyer grabbed my hand. “Let’s head back there before Kurt comes onstage.”
“Sounds good,” I yelled. The people were vying to get closer to the stage as the crew changed out the instruments for Reverence.
The large bodyguard cocked his head to the side as we approached. I held up my badge. “We have an all-access pass.”
“Of course, Ms. Knox. I’ll radio to let Mr. Hendrix know you’re coming.”
I took a steadying breath. “Thanks.”
After the accident, I didn’t change my name. Hearing Reynolds all the time would have destroyed me.
The halls were crowded as we entered the backstage area. It was quite a production. For a second, I stood in awe. Dylan would have loved this. A member of the stage crew briskly walked by carrying some cords.
Sawyer slapped my shoulder. “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. I have never been backstage before.”
“Well, you are looking for a monkey,” I teased.
“Shut it. I don’t want to think about that wretched wedding. Let’s go find my sidepiece.”
I sniggered as we kept moving toward the stage. A security guard intercepted us. “This way, Ms. Knox.”
Without another word, we followed the security guard down another hall and neared the stage. To say things were chaotic was an understatement, but it only elevated my excitement. I was really doing this. From the audience, the chanting increased in volume.
“Kurt! Kurt! Kurt!”
The security guard pointed to an area next to the stage. “This is your private area arranged by Mr. Hendrix. If you need anything, let one of us know.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “Where’s Kurt?”
The tall, bulky man motioned to the stage as the crowd erupted. Kurt walked onto the stage from the opposite side. He gave me a wink before addressing the crowd. I checked the time—he wasn’t due onstage for another twenty or thirty minutes.
“How’s everyone’s evening turning out so far?”
The noise from the crowd became deafening. Sawyer grabbed my arm, no doubt affected by Mr. Rockstar himself. Her eyes were transfixed to him on the stage. I wasn’t sure Sawyer knew she’d grabbed on to me.
Kurt held out the microphone to the crowd for a second before bringing it back to his mouth. “I can’t hear you!”
The crowd roared.
“Who’s ready?”
The crowd grew even louder.
“Fuck yeah, that’s want I want to hear.” His voice was rough in that soul-searching kind of way. “Who wants to hear something we’ve never sung before?”
I raised my eyebrow at Kurt’s declaration to the crowd. What was he up to? Apprehension lingered around me as he left the stage, moseying toward me, his eyes dancing with excitement.
Kurt stopped in front of me with a huge grin on his face. “Hey there.”
“Hey. What are you doing?”
A dimple appeared on his cheek. “Do you remember the song we wrote together?”
I gulped. “‘Lost’?”
“Yes. I finished it and want to sing it for you.”
My head shook. “I don’t—What if—”
He took my hand. “I have another surprise for them if you don’t want to. There isn’t any pressure here, Knoah. I thought it might be a nice birthday present to hear the song we worked on.”
Beside us, Sawyer watched, not saying a word.
Seize the day, Knoah. Live. You know you want to hear the song. It deserves to be out there.
Dylan’s voice echoed in my head. He would want this.
Kurt grabbed my hand, and we took a few steps away so no one could hear us. “I think hearing the song would help us. But you don’t have to say yes. Like I said, I have a backup plan.”
The song held a special place in my heart. It was a piece of my soul combined with the music. Kurt’s, too. It kept Dylan tied to me.
An excited light danced in Kurt’s eyes—the way it always had when he spoke about music.
“What if they don’t like it?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s ours.”
I smiled. He was right; it didn’t matter. The song should be shared. Kurt pulled me to him. I savored the moment, hugging him and relishing being with my friend again. Softly, I said, “Sing it for Dylan, Kurt.”
“I will. I’ve missed you, Knoah.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
With obvious reluctance, he released me. Instead of desire, all I felt was an overwhelming sense of friendship emanating from him. Hopefully he felt that night was a mistake, too. From the look on his face, I thought he did.
The crowd cheered Kurt’s name. “Kurt! Kurt! Kurt!”
“I think the crowd wants you back out there.” I giggled.
He turned and looked out at the crowd, a smile playing on his lips. “Dylan would have loved this.”
“Yes, he would have. When I came backstage, I thought the same thing. You’re living the dream you guys talked about. I’m so proud of you.”
Kurt squeezed my hand. “Thanks, Knoah.”
A woman walked up with a tray of shots. Before each show, Dylan and Kurt always had one. It appeared Kurt hadn’t stopped the tradition. A small tear formed in the corner of my eye while I stared at him. I held my shot glass and asked, “What are we toasting?”
“To reconnecting and finding our friendship again.”
Friendship.
I smiled when I held up my shot. “To friendship and reconnecting.”
The alcohol burned going down.
Kurt shook his head and said, “It’s show time.”
Chapter Four
“You guys wanna hear something?”
Kurt held out the mic to the crowd. With the response, he gave a megawatt smile.
“It’s a song no one else has ever heard.” Kurt’s profile stood out against the lights, making him seem almost untouchable. He owned them.
Sawyer grabbed my hand. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll see.”
The crowd went wild. “Do you want to hear it?” Cheers exploded. “What? I can’t hear you!” The roar from the crowd became deafening.
Kurt had always had a knack for working up the crowd. Together with Dylan, they’d been a force to be reckoned with. A wistful feeling came over me. This felt like old times. Maybe closure? I wasn’t sure with the warmness spreading through me.
From the other side of the stage, someone handed Kurt a guitar, and he adjusted it as the lights dimmed. I closed my eyes at the first chords of the guitar. It sounded… lonely. Empty. I moved across the stage toward the sound, as if drawn with an inescapable force. I’d always wondered how it would feel to have people hear the song we’d created after Dylan died. We’d worked on it off and on for about two years.
Now I would find out. I opened my eyes, and Kurt’s caught mine. Frozen, I stood onstage, realizing I’d stepped out from behind the safety of the curtain.
He smiled. A few more notes played. “This song goes out to Knoah. Happy birthday.”
The crowd went wild when the spotlight shone on me. Surprisingly, I felt calm through all this. I’d been onstage numerous times when Dylan had wanted to introduce his girl to the crowd. Once or twice, I’d sung with him to smaller crowds.
I swallowed and waved.
“Knoah had no idea about tonight, but I think i
t’s going to be worth the risk. This is called ‘Lost.’”
Without another word, Kurt started his guitar solo. Then he closed his eyes as the words spilled from his lips. The song spoke about wanting to protect me and help me find my way.
Pictures of us from a better time flashed up on the screens. I took it all in. The words came out clear as he sang about being completely lost, lonely, and not feeling complete since I left. He sang a new bridge I hadn’t heard. It was full of a promised hope that someday I would want to be found.
And I had. I was found. Tears stung my eyes.
The pictures were of us as a group, laughing. Kurt and Dylan hugging me after a successful show in Atlanta.
The melody shifted, picking up speed as Kurt sang two lines about how we would find our way to each other again.
As I watched the pictures, I was mesmerized by the life I’d lived. Through the years, I’d tried to lock it away, bury the pain, but I needed to feel it in order to move on.
The haunted melody morphed, becoming stronger. The song spoke about how the indescribable happened, something no one should have to endure. There was so much life left for us to live—not all had been lost.
With all that happened, I wondered if I was strong enough to hold on to the courage to move forward.
Am I? I hoped so.
Kurt walked further onto the stage. I embraced the words and let them seep out, hoping I had found my way... no longer lost.
The song was intimate in the way it bared my soul.
Kurt’s guitar took over as the notes filled the air. The notes sent a prayer up in the sky, asking to be answered.
I want to live again.
I want to be happy again.
I want to feel… again.
A light pressure touched my hand, and I realized it was Kurt. He launched into the chorus again. Hearing him sing his heart out was cathartic to my soul. As he released my hand, the guitar added life back to the otherwise haunted song.
A lone tear ran down my face.
Untouched Perfection Page 3
