by R. C. Martin
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hello. I’m looking for a Tatiana Valentine.”
My brow scrunches lower. That is my name, of course, but only the name by which my mother addresses me. “I’m Millicent Tatiana Valentine. With whom am I speaking?”
“My name is Detective Cody D’Ambrogio. I’m with the New Jersey police. There was a mugging two nights ago, ma’am. The victim was stabbed and killed.”
In an instant, my blood runs cold.
Why is he telling me this?
“Her purse was stolen, along with everything inside, so that is why this call is delayed,” he continues. “I’m sorry to inform you that we have reason to believe the victim we found is Natalya Valentine. You are listed as her only emergency contact on her employee records at her place of work.”
“What?” I find myself saying, surprised my lips can form the word. “My mother is—my mother is…dead?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Evidence suggests that, yes, the deceased is Ms. Valentine. We’ll need you to ID the body to be sure.”
I shake my head, as if rattling my brain a little will somehow make this phone call make sense.
It doesn’t.
“I notice that you are currently residing in Fort Collins, Colorado. Ideally, we’d like you to come to the morgue in person—”
My entire body flinches at the word morgue.
“—but if it’s more convenient for you, we can send you photographs.”
The thought of seeing a picture of my dead mother on my phone makes me shiver.
“No. No—no pictures. I…”
For a second, my thoughts hit a wall—a big, steel, mental wall. I can’t see around it. I can’t think around it. I feel cold. When I look down at my hand, I see that it’s trembling, and I can’t seem to manage a deep breath.
My mother is—my mother is…dead?
“Miss Valentine?” asks the detective, whose name I can no longer remember.
“What?”
“You were speaking. You said you didn’t want us to send any photographs. Does that mean you’ll be coming to New Jersey?”
“Yes.” The word falls from my lips without a thought. I don’t think about whether or not I actually want to go to my home state. I don’t think about what it will be like to step off that plane only to head to the morgue. I don’t think about any of it—I just answer yes.
“Okay. I’d appreciate a call, once you’ve got your travel plans in order, so we can arrange to meet. I’m truly sorry about all of this, Miss Valentine. I wish this wasn’t the call I had to make.”
“I understand,” I reply, even though I’m sure that I don’t. I don’t understand a single thing that’s happening right now.
My mother is—my mother is…dead?
“Well, you have my number. I’ll be awaiting your call.”
“Okay.”
He starts to say something else, but I don’t hear it. I drop the phone away from my ear as I end the call. I stand frozen for I don’t know how long, trying to process what just happened.
There was a mugging.
It’s cold in Jersey this time of year.
Is there snow?
I’m still cold. Still shivering.
There was a mugging.
The victim was stabbed.
My mother is—my mother is…dead?
Not breathing.
No pulse.
Cold.
Fuck, why am I so fucking cold?
There was a mugging.
Two nights ago.
Two nights ago, I was—
Sage!
I don’t think. I don’t want to think. I can’t think; so instead, I move.
I hurry to my closet, grabbing a pair of fuzzy boots. I don’t bother with socks before I shove my feet inside. I then hurry to the front, grabbing my coat from out of the closet. I shrug it over my shoulders and button it all the way to the top.
It’s so cold.
I take a look around, seeing nothing, and then realize that I need my keys. I head to my room, snatch up my purse, and then go straight to my car. I barely give it a chance to warm up before I pull out of my spot and hit the road. I know that Sage won’t be home, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I just need—I need—
Fuck, my mother is dead?
Not breathing.
No pulse.
I shake the thoughts away and focus on the road. It looks like it snowed last night. The sun is out now, melting winter’s efforts already. Yet, regardless of the affect the heat seems to have on the snow, I can’t feel it. I can’t feel it at all.
When I pull into the boys’ driveway, I park just behind Sage’s Audi. I get out and head for the front door. It’s locked, though I can’t say that I’m surprised. No one is home.
I’m halfway to my car, determined to wait it out, when I remember the back door. I turn on my heel, heading for the gated fence, and hurry toward my alternate entrance. I breathe a sigh of relief when I find it unlocked. I let myself in and shut and lock the door behind me. I then make my way to Sage’s room, closing myself inside.
I’m still so cold, so I kick off my boots and crawl into his bed, pulling the covers all the way up to my chin. I smell his scent in the sheets that surround me, and I wish that he was here. I need him here. I’m just so cold.
It’s cold in Jersey this time of year.
There was a mugging.
The victim was stabbed.
Two nights ago.
My mother is…dead?
Not breathing.
No pulse.
GREGORY BLACK DOESN’T look much older than me. He’s a short dude, standing no taller than five-seven, but you can tell it doesn’t hurt his ego any. He’s in jeans and a t-shirt, his curly, light brown hair cropped short—and if I had to guess, the sports jacket he threw on was a formality. He’s got more energy than he seems to know what to do with, and at first glance, I think all of us were a bit apprehensive—but then he got to talking.
An hour later, all of us sitting around his conference room table, I get the feeling that Stefany’s gut instinct was right. This guy knows his shit. He’s got vision. He’s got drive. But most of all, he’s got passion. He’s also got money and an eye for detail; the very room in which we sit showcasing the latter. The wall-to-wall windows face the foothills, giving us a great view, and I know he paid a pretty penny for this spot.
“Bottom line,” he states, clapping his hand against the table. “I don’t have a lot behind my name, but my name is not worthless, and your name has just the potential I’m looking for. Mountains & Men might be a fucking gold mine, and I’m willing to invest.
“Signing with Potential Records isn’t just a deal. It’s not about money. We’re all going to have to work our asses off, but that’s how the greats became legends. Don’t be fooled by instant fame. YouTube superstars are quick to be forgotten, and what we’re building here is going to be better than that.”
“Brooks took a look at this—it all checks out,” says Stefany, pushing our contract toward Knox, who sits directly to her right. Brooks is the lawyer who walked us through our deal with Stefany. He’s on the up and up, and I’m content with his go ahead.
“Let’s fuckin’ do this,” says Knox, reaching for a pen.
Greg stands, propping himself up against the table with one hand as he raps his knuckles against the wood with the other. “You made the right choice,” he assures us. “I know you boys—and girl—just got back into town, and we’re running out of shopping days before Christmas. We won’t hit the ground running until after the New Year. Stefany and I will be in contact to set up your recording schedule. It’s going to be busy, we want to get something out there as soon as we can, so be prepared. ‘Round here, we go hard or we fucking go home.”
“They’ll be ready,” Stefany states, grinning at all of us.
Greg nods and then steps away from the table, offering a blanket wave.
“Happy to be in business with you.
I’ve got another meeting I’ve got to get to, but I’ll see you later. Merry Christmas,” he calls out as he leaves.
“That was painless,” mutters Derrick as he stands.
“As it should be,” says Stefany. “That’s what you’ve got me for. Now, who’s hungry? I’m thinking a pit stop in D-town for burgers and milkshakes.”
“You and your celebratory milkshakes,” JJ chuckles, shaking his head at her as we all make our exit.
“You’re not turning me down, are you?” she gasps mockingly.
“Fuck no, babe,” cries Maddox. “We are most definitely in.”
As I follow the group to the parking lot, I pull out my phone and send my girl a text. It’s almost eleven thirty, so it’s a toss-up as to whether or not she’ll be awake. When I don’t hear back from her right away, a knowing smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. I pocket my phone and hop into Derrick’s SUV, suddenly craving a basket of fries.
It takes us about forty-five minutes to get to the burger joint, and we talk shop throughout our meal—reminiscing about our recent days on the road, talking about which songs the crowd responded to best, discussing which tracks we want to lay down for our first album, and working out a practice schedule for the next couple of weeks. By the time we’re getting ready to head home, it’s almost one-thirty and I still haven’t heard from Millie.
I climb into the back row of Derrick’s ride, intending to give her a call. When it rings through to voicemail, I’m quick to hang up and try her again. Still nothing. After the weekend we just had, it doesn’t sit right with me that she’s not responding to my calls or texts. Something in my gut wonders if I should be worried, and I try to get her on the phone one more time. When I’m dropped into her voicemail again, I decide to leave a message.
“Doll face, why aren’t you answering your phone? Call me.”
As I disconnect, spinning my phone around in circles with my fingers, my worry starts to make me anxious.
“What’s with you? Everything all right?” asks Alex, nudging me with her elbow.
“I don’t know. Guess I’ll find out when we get back to FoCo.”
Traffic is light, and Derrick gets us back to town in an hour—but with every passing minute, my gut feeling weighs me down a little bit more, and then a little bit more. When we pull up to the house and I see Millie’s Ford Focus parked behind my car, I don’t know whether to feel better or worse.
“Did you give Millie a key?” calls out Knox from the front seat. “I swear I locked the door on our way out this morning.”
“No,” I state simply, too many questions buzzing in my own head to offer more than the one-word reply. The second I’m out of the vehicle, I jog up the driveway and through the opened garage door. “Millie?” I call out, looking around the living room as I pass it to get to the stairs. I take the steps two at a time and notice my bedroom door is closed. I don’t hesitate to push it open, and what I find makes this moment feel a little bit like déjà vu.
She’s not crying like the other night, but something is definitely wrong. Her face is pale, and I can tell from here that she’s shivering beneath the covers.
“Shit, Millie, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” I murmur, shutting the door behind me. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t get warm. I can’t get warm, baby, I can’t get warm.”
I shrug out of my coat, moving to drape it over the back of the chair tucked in under my desk. “Are you sick? Did you catch the flu or something?” I ask, toeing my way out of my boots before making my way toward the bed. I lift the blanket to slide between the sheets, and I realize she’s still got her coat on.
Shit—how can she still be cold?
“There was a mugging,” she whispers.
I pause, the sheets still clenched and raised in one hand. “What?”
“The victim was stabbed,” she continues, as if she didn’t hear me speak. “Two nights ago.”
“Millie—”
“My mother is…dead.”
My stomach drops as I stare at her in shock. “What?”
“Not breathing. No pulse. I haven’t spoken to her in two months. Our last conversation was a yelling match. She called me a bitch. Now she’s…dead. Not breathing. No pulse…no pulse,” she whimpers. “No pulse,” she repeats, her voice cracking. “My mother—is dead.”
She blows out a gust of air, as if what she’s just told me has hit her square in the chest, knocking the wind out of her. Then she draws in a shaky breath, her watery eyes locking with mine as she sobs, “I’m so fucking cold!”
Immediately, I pull her into my arms, holding onto her as if it were life or death.
Fucking hell, I think to myself, today—it really is life and death.
“I’m all alone now,” she cries into my chest. “She’s all I ever had—I’m all alone now!”
“Shh, baby, you’re not alone,” I insist, pressing my lips against her hair, squeezing my arms and crushing her shivering body against me. “You’ve got me, remember? I’m not going anywhere, baby. Hold onto me, Millie. I’m not going anywhere.”
SHE CRIES HERSELF to sleep in my arms. I don’t remember when she stopped shivering, but when her body grows heavy with slumber, I look down and see that her face is starting to break out in a sweat. I untangle myself from her grasp, careful not to wake her, and then gently work her out of her coat. Once I’ve freed her second arm, she whimpers and rolls away from me. I freeze for a second, waiting to be sure she’s still sleeping, then I quietly make my way out into the hallway, shutting my door behind me.
I sure as fuck was not expecting to come home to this. Now that my girl isn’t shivering and crying in my arms, I begin to process the reality of the situation. Her mother was murdered. I can barely wrap my head around the facts. I don’t know much, as Millie was too distraught to tell me more, but the only family that Millie has was stabbed and killed for the contents of her purse.
Not the only family, I correct myself.
She’s got me now.
My hands are shaking when I reach for my phone. I go to my saved favorite contacts and hit the third entry down. As I press my mobile to my ear, I reach up and run my fingers through my hair, willing myself to calm down.
“Hey, Sage? Can I call you back? Carter just—”
“Pepper, I need to talk to you.”
She pauses, and I know she hears the twinge of desperation in my voice. “All right,” she agrees softly. “Give me two seconds, okay?”
“Yeah,” I mutter as I begin to pace up and down the length of the hallway.
Two seconds is more like three minutes, but I hold without complaint, my eyes looking at my door every time I pass it.
“Okay. Sorry about that. What’s the matter?”
I stop pacing and take a deep breath. “Millie’s mom was stabbed to death in a mugging.”
Pepper gasps. “Oh, my god! Oh, my god, Sage! That’s…shit,” she whispers her curse. “That’s horrible.”
“I don’t know what to do, Pep. What do I do?” I ask, knowing she’ll know.
No one in our family has died since we’ve been alive. I have no idea how Millie is feeling. I have no idea what she needs from me; but Pepper has been through this before. Harry’s dad passed away a few months before Henley was born. Pepper was there for him. Pepper will know what to do.
“Oh, Sage,” she sighs sympathetically. “You just love her, babe.”
“When I got home, she was in my bed. She got into the house somehow and she was in my bed, under the covers, with her coat on. She was shaking like a leaf, Pep. I don’t know how long she had been here before I arrived, but she kept telling me she couldn’t get warm.”
“She’s probably in shock, honey. That news…it shook her up. How is she now?”
“She’s sleeping.”
“Good, she could probably use the rest.”
“Pepper—I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you do, Sage,” she coos encouragingly. “You
make sure she stays hydrated and that she tries to eat. She might not have an appetite for a couple of days, but she’s got to get something in her system to keep her strength up. Don’t hover excessively, she might need a little space—but check in on her and be there when she needs you. You’ve just got to let her grieve, babe. Everyone does that differently. But you love her, so just listen to your heart—listen to her. She’ll be okay. She’ll get through it, and you’ll help her. We all will.”
“Sage?” I hear Millie murmur my name, and I turn toward the door.
“Look, Pep, I’ve got to go.”
“Yeah. Go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Hey, Pepper?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Thank you.”
“Love you.”
“You, too.”
We say goodbye and I slide my phone back into my pocket as I make my way into my bedroom. Millie’s propped up on her side, leaning against her forearm as she searches for me about the room. Her puffy, red-rimmed eyes find mine as I shut the door behind me, and I watch as a couple tears trickle down her cheeks.
“Hey, doll face,” I murmur, closing the distance between us. I slide back in bed, leaning back against the pillows before lifting my arm, signaling her to come closer. She snuggles up against my side, gripping a handful of my shirt as she cries quietly.
“I have to go to Jersey,” she sniffles. “I have to…I have to ID the body. I have to—pack up her place.”
Her grip on my shirt tightens as she buries her face in my chest. In this moment, I know there’s no way in hell I’m letting her go all the way out there to deal with this shit on her own.
“I’m coming with you.”
“What?” she asks, pulling away from me so that she can look at my face. “No, Sage.”
“Yeah, baby—I’m comin’.”
She shakes her head as more tears gather in her eyes. “You’ve got the band and—”
“They’ll be fine without me for a few days. It’s not an issue,” I interrupt.
“But your parents—”