by S. E. Rose
It’s a quote from Titus Andronicus by William Shakespeare. I only know that because my mother made me attend this ridiculous Shakespeare camp one summer because I said I might want to act. I was thirteen. It was a long summer. But it’s not the source of the quote that has my palms sweating, it’s the fact that this quote matches the many other Shakespeare quotes written on sticky notes and left on my car all those years ago when I was racing. I haven’t seen one since then, until right now.
I don’t pick up the flowers. I open my front door and lock it behind me before pulling out my phone. I dial Rhett.
“A call? The date must have been epic!”
“I got white roses and a photo of Emma and me from tonight,” I blurt out as I toss the photo on my island.
“Wait. What?”
I explain what I found.
“We need to get security now,” he states. “Hold on, I’m adding Max to the call.”
“What?” Max whines.
“Grady got white roses and a photo of his date.”
“Huh?”
“The stalker,” Rhett says. I explain quickly to Max.
“Shit, dudes. We need real security. No more bullshit stuff. Like twenty-four-seven serious guys who could kill people with their bare hands.”
“I hate to agree, but, yeah, we do,” I admit.
“I’ll call Calvin and have him line up that Bryce guy’s firm immediately,” Rhett states. I hear him typing away and I know he’s sending a message to our manager.
“Grady. You need to call that cop we were talking to: Sergeant Kramer.”
“I know,” I sigh as I run a hand through my hair.
“Do it now and don’t touch anything else.”
“Yeah, will do, and be careful, guys. We all need to be watching our surroundings until we get security.”
They both agree, and I disconnect and call the officer.
“Sergeant Kramer,” he answers.
“Hey, this Grady Daniels.”
“Oh, hey, Grady. I’m sorry to say that I don’t have any more information to share with you on your case.”
“I’m not calling about that. I…had a delivery tonight.” I explain for the third time in fifteen minutes what happened.
“I’ll stop by and collect the photograph and call the flower shop. Did you get the name of it?” he asks.
I nod and give him the name of the flower shop.
“I’ll be there in thirty.” We hang up and I stare at the photo. How could I be so happy an hour ago and now I’m scared, not just for me, but for Emma?
I pace my kitchen as I wait. I have to tell her. I don’t know if she could be in danger. Fuck my life! The doorbell rings and I see on my video doorbell app that it’s the officer.
He has another man standing with him.
“Hi, Grady. This is Detective Benson,” Sergeant Kramer says when I answer the door.
I shake his hand and invite them inside.
“The photo’s on the island,” I motion to it, and they both step forward to examine it. “And there’s something else.”
Both men turn to me. “The quote…it matches other Shakespeare quotes that were sticky notes on my car back when I raced. Nothing ever happened, but my parents did beef up security. After my dad died, the notes stopped. The officers just figured it was a fan obsessed with our family and that they lost interest after Dad died and I stopped racing.”
“Do you have the police contact information for that case?” Detective Benson asks me.
I shrug. “I was a kid. My mom might.” I give him her number and curse. I’m going to have to call her to explain.
Kramer puts the photo in a plastic bag. “We’ll look into this and get back to you. Anything else strange happen?”
I shake my head. “Just the thing the other day at Rhett’s and now this.”
“It’s probably an unstable-fan situation. Do you have security beyond that video doorbell?” he asks.
“We’re getting some.”
“Good. You can never be too safe. Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else.”
I nod and show them out and then call my mom to explain. She justifiably freaks out and it takes me thirty more minutes to calm her down. I promise her that we are getting around-the-clock security and she finally relents and lets me stay at home after swearing she was sending a car to come get me.
As soon as I hang up, I pause contemplating what I’m about to do next. I have to call the one person that I’ve been dreading calling since I opened that damn envelope.
“Hey, you.” Emma’s cheerful voice nearly slays me.
“Hey,” I say slowly, searching for words.
“What’s wrong? You sound…off,” she states. The fact that she can denote my mood after one week is, well, baffling to me and also makes me want to protect her. And that’s when I decide that I need to do the one thing that I don’t want to do in order to keep her safe. I decide to give her a slightly limited version of the events that have transpired.
“Emma, listen, we need to talk.”
“About what?” Her voice is filled with hesitation and what I’m about to do kills me. I feel my heart shattering into a million pieces as I speak the words.
“This…we can’t see each other right now. I…the band…we have a stalker and it’s not safe. I’d rather we just stop seeing each other. I can’t handle a relationship right now with everything else going on.” I lie. I lie because even though we’ve just met, I know this woman will not leave my side just because of a stalker. So, if I’m going to protect her, I have to let her go.
“Grady, don’t be silly. I’m fine. Besides, stalkers are into famous people, and I’m not famous.”
“Emma, damn it! I can’t do this. I’m…sorry, OK? I wish I could. Stalker or no stalker, you deserve better. I’ll see you around.” And with that, I hang up and toss my phone on a chair before she can say another word. I let out a roar and pull on my hair as I slam my fist into the drywall of my kitchen, leaving an indentation on my wall and bruises on my knuckles, which is nothing compared to the fracture I just made in my heart.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma
What in the actual fuck just happened? Did Grady just break up with me before we were even officially dating? I fall back on my bed. I text the one person I know who will make me feel better.
Me: Men suck! I’ve decided to become a nun.
My phone rings with a video chat and I answer it.
“Whose balls do I need to rip off?”
I tell her what just happened.
“What in the actual fuck?” Kate questions.
“Right? I don’t get it. One second we are all lovey-dovey and planning date three and then he calls and dumps my ass.” I sigh. “Maybe my first impression was right. Maybe he’s just a giant, narcissistic asshole.”
“I’m sorry, Ems. That just sucks. I promise you though, there are good guys out there.”
“Right. I think you got the last eligible bachelor prince, so I’m screwed.”
“Don’t say that. You’ll find a guy. Plus, on the bright side, you can throw yourself into your project and school.”
I grunt. “I suppose. I just…I really liked him, Kate. And he was an amazing kisser. I can’t believe I was even contemplating sex with him on date three. I was such an idiot. Ugh. And Blythe, what will I say to her?”
“You aren’t an idiot. And Blythe will be pissed at her son for being an asshat. Hey, you should ask Will out again.”
“Maybe,” I grumble.
“We could make you a dating app profile and right-swipe some guys?” she suggests.
“No. I’ve tried that and, just no.”
“Fine, but don’t let one fucker get under your skin.”
“I won’t.” I let several get under my skin, I think to myself as I reflect on my past boyfriends.
“Good. That’s the spirit.”
“I should go. I have reading to do,” I say as I look over at my de
sk.
“Go be a student. I’ll talk to you later.”
“OK.”
“Love you, Ems.”
“Love you, too.” I let the phone fall onto my bed.
I stare at my ceiling a while longer before willing myself to get on with my life. Why should I care? It was one week of my life. I’ve spent more time with other guys who turned out to be total dicks and I got over them.
I contemplate texting Will, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I want to feel like I’m falling head over heels when I meet a guy and I’ve known Will for almost six months, and while I enjoy his company, I don’t feel butterflies when I’m around him.
My grandmother would say if you don’t feel the butterflies, then you shouldn’t be feeling the guy. I grin at that. I haven’t spoken to her in a while and I could use a good grandmother chat right now.
I call her and put her on speaker as I straighten up my room.
“Hello?” she says. Grandma Martha sounds like she smokes a pack a day, but she quit thirty years ago. Of course, she also mentions that she quit thirty years ago about every five minutes.
“Hey, Grandma!” I say.
“Em, is that you, cupcake?”
“It’s me. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine for an old lady. I’m not wearing diapers yet, so I can’t complain.”
I snort. “Uh, glad to hear that, I guess.”
“What’s on your mind, child? You’re young and you have a busy life, so if you are calling me out of the blue, it must be because something is on your mind.”
Grandma Martha doesn’t miss a thing.
I sigh. “I like a boy.”
“Oh? Is he cute?”
I can practically hear her rubbing her hands together in excitement. I roll my eyes. “Yes, but after two dates, he just ended things. Just like that, for no real reason.”
“How were the dates? Did you kiss him?”
“Yes.”
“Did you do the deed?”
“Grandma!” I yell, trying to cover my laugh. “No. We only went on two dates.”
“Well, back in my day I may have gotten to at least third base on the second date. I mean with your grandfather, we—”
“Ew! Grandma. No. I don’t want to hear about that. I just…what do you think? Should I just forget him?”
“You really like this boy, don’t you?” she asks.
I nod and then realize she can’t see me. “Yes. I do,” I confess.
“Well, give him another chance. Let him have a few days. He might come around. Maybe there are things going on that he can’t talk about right now. Sometimes, boys just don’t talk like us girls do. Your grandfather never used to tell me his problems, well, until they became my problems. It used to drive me batty.”
I grin. “I bet.”
“You just give him some space and time. He might come around.”
“OK,” I huff.
“How’s school?”
I tell her about my documentary and she “ohhs” and “ahhs” before we hang up and I go about folding my clothes. Maybe Grandma Martha is right. Maybe he will come back to me. I hold on to that small glimmer of hope as I settle in with a book.
Grady
I stare at my notes. I should be working, but all I can think about is Emma. Why did I do that? What was I thinking? God, I’m an idiot. The one good thing to come my way in a long time and I throw it away just because something is scary. I should be protecting her. The officers don’t think she’s in danger, especially after I told them we broke up, but I can’t help feeling worried about her.
I look down to see a text from my mom.
Mom: You should call Emma.
Me: Stay out of it.
Mom: I’m just saying.
Me: STAY OUT OF IT!
Mom: Fine. But I just called her about her project, and I can tell she’s sad.
Me: She’ll get over it.
Mom: Don’t be a dick. I love you.
I toss my phone down. I love my mom, but she’s meddling too much in my personal life lately. She keeps saying she wants to see me settled like I’m forty-five or something. I pace the room. There’s so much on my mind right now. Emma. My brother. Telling my mom about my brother. The band’s next album. Oh, and a stalker.
I decide to say, “fuck it” and see if Max wants to hang out. Max always has a way of making me feel better.
Me: You want to hang out?
Max: Is the Pope Catholic?
Me: Beach?
Max: Beer?
Me: Hell yes.
Max: See you in thirty.
I grab my guitar case, a blanket, and some beer and I head down to the beach. I find our spot. Rhett, Max, and I have had the same beach spot for years. It’s our thing, and I hope it always will be. I’m pulling out my guitar when Max sits down.
I crack open a beer, hide it in a koozie, and hand it to him, we cheers.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks me.
“Nope.”
“Want to get wasted and play some music?”
“Hell yes.”
He laughs and pulls his guitar out of a case. We sit there on the beach and jam, playing everything and nothing in particular. By the time the sun sets, we are a good four beers each into a stupor. I lie back on the blanket and stare up at the sky.
“You should call her,” Max says.
“No, that’ll just make it worse. I fucked up. It’s over.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
I turn to him. “Dude, we have a stalker. I can’t bring her into my life right now. What if something happens?”
“Just be honest with her.”
I shrug.
“Come on, let’s go for a walk. You need to clear your head,” he says standing up and giving me a hand to help me.
I take his hand and pull him into a bear hug. “I love you, bro.”
He thumps my back. “I love you, too, you dumb shit.”
I grin. Max always makes me feel better.
We walk down to the water, where the sand is hardened from the waves crashing on the shore. I look out and see a dolphin pod. Pointing, Max turns at the same time I do, and we sit and watch them playing in the waves.
“I think dolphins are my spirit animal,” Max states.
I laugh. “I thought sloths were.”
He shrugs. “There aren’t any rules, you know. You can have more than one spirit animal.”
“Can you?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
“In my world, you can.”
I shake my head at my goofy friend. I just love him. He has the purest heart of anyone I know.
“Why’d you do it, man?”
“Do what?” I frown.
“I get we have a stalker. Bands get them all the time. It’s like some sort of warped badge of honor telling us that we made it. But, why ditch the one girl who’s brought a real smile to your face in who knows how long?”
I groan because I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I can’t. I just have to move forward. Before I can speak again, Max starts talking.
“Remember when we decided to skip playing at that music festival because we were worried the big acts would take away from the smaller stages? And then, your mom, I remember this very clearly because she made the kind of ravioli that I love, and she was serving us in her kitchen. God, I love your mom. Anyhow, she said that we shouldn’t pass up the opportunity, that we shouldn’t pass up any opportunity because then we’d live a life full of ‘what-ifs’ and regrets, which is no way to live. She said jump into the deep end even if it’s scary because if you don’t, you’ll never learn how to swim, you’ll never know if you could. So, just call her. Maybe it doesn’t work out anyhow, but at least you’ll know.”
Max pauses and looks over at me.
“I don’t know,” I huff. “There’s just a lot going on right now. Maybe it’s the universe telling me that now isn’t the right time.”
“Or maybe it’s the universe issu
ing you a challenge. And if you rise to it, you’ll be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”
“OK, Zoltar. Thanks for the fortune.”
“Man, don’t be a douche. Seriously, if you disappoint me, so help me dolphin gods, I will never let you forget it.”
I chuckle. “Dolphin gods? Really? You talk like that and you want me to take you seriously?”
He flicks me off and stands up, brushing off the sand. “Let’s go grab some food. I’m starving.”
“Max, you gotta lay off the weed, dude. You have the munchies twenty-four seven.”
“Hey, don’t be an asswipe. I’m just high on life, and right now, that high could be improved with street tacos.” He motions to the food trucks nearby. I sigh and get up, resigning myself to eating street tacos with one of my best friends. There are far worse ways to spend a day.
Chapter Nineteen
Emma
I look over my notes and hit send. I’ve redone my concept for my documentary based on my continued conversations with Andy and Blythe, AKA the world’s most amazing advisors ever. I pinch myself because I still can’t believe that Hollywood royalty are helping me with this project.
I’m about to shut down my computer when I see a reply come back from Blythe.
Emma,
Hi. I will look over this later today. Why don’t you come to my Malibu house for dinner tonight around six? I made a ton of my famous ravioli and would love for you to try it.
Xoxo,
Blythe
I grin. I could use a home-cooked meal that isn’t ramen noodles or bologna sandwiches. A stellar chef, I am not. And I just haven’t had time to cook any real food. My mouth waters at the sound of home-cooked ravioli.
I reply with a yes. And get back to my studying.
The next time I look up, the clock reads four, and I jump up to shower. I get ready in record time and hop in my old beat-up car. I debated not bringing my car to school because it’s seen better days, but moments like this make me happy that I have it and don’t have to worry about the money for a car service or a cab. And my condo has a coveted parking spot which was the main selling feature.
I get to Blythe’s house about fifteen minutes early. I press the call button at her gate, and it swings open. I pull my car up and park. A woman greets me at the front door.
