In the cons column, that I was on this flight by myself meant I’d left my best friend, father, and the band behind.
But I needed to get away. The slashing of the bus’s tires was the proverbial straw—I just couldn’t take any more stress.
I hadn’t realized how hard it would be to say my goodbyes to the guys (even Andres, though his sendoff had been pretty starchy). So hard that I nearly changed my mind, especially when Darren had squeezed me really tightly, making me think he wasn’t kidding when he’d said he would miss me, like really miss me. But the lie I told them—that I would be back after a break—made it slightly easier to get away.
Of course, returning to our Hamptons home was not going to be the fun time Sandy and I had hoped for when we’d made plans to spend the entire summer at the beach. It was going to be quiet (pro) and drama free (also pro) but crazy lonely at the same time (obviously: con).
At least I’d get to do some riding at the stables down the road—probably the one thing that would keep me from going crazy and getting cabin fever out there on my own. Although it’s not like I’d be roughing it—Dad had already contacted the housekeeper to stock the kitchen and pantry in anticipation of my arrival, complete with junk food for the forthcoming Netflix marathon of rom-coms.
As I sipped my mineral water and stared out the window at a sea of wispy clouds, I thought back to the private conversation I’d had with my father when I’d told him I needed a mental health break and wanted to go home. He was reluctant to let me go, but in the end had given in, realizing that after fulfilling my obligation to hear my mother out and with Linda back, he didn’t have a right to keep me at the job I’d never wanted in the first place. He had promised to let me go, after all. So with a warning not to have any huge parties at the beach house (wasn’t he funny?) and telling me the one condition was that he was sending a driver-slash-security guy to keep watch over me, he’d agreed to buy me a ticket home.
I hadn’t loved the idea of a security detail, but until they figured out who had slashed the tires and why, he was taking no chances, even if I was across the country. Maybe especially if I was across the country outside his watch. Anyway, it made sense, and he was probably right.
He’d then reminded me that Sandy needed to stay with him, his reminder unnecessary, especially because, given the choice, she would stay with the band (and Max). But then he asked me how I would feel if he officially became her legal guardian—presuming she’d want him to.
Of course she would, and I loved the idea because I could not have asked for a better ‘sister.’ He told me to keep it to myself while he talked to a lawyer, not wanting to disappoint her if it didn’t work out.
But I really hoped it did because it would mean he’d take care of her financially (and with it being his legal obligation, she’d have to get over feeling she didn’t deserve his help). And more importantly, he would be a great sort-of-dad to her. The best she could ask for, really. And she needed at least one good parental-figure in her life.
That thought inevitably made me think of my mother. The one I had totally walked out on and had made sure I hadn’t seen since.
Not that she could have been surprised at my reaction—she had been practically expecting it.
So why didn’t it sit well with me how I’d left things? Especially as I was now flying across the country?
Not ready to examine those feelings just yet, I put on my headphones and turned on the entertainment system, unsurprised but delighted that even this tiny screen was larger than the one on my bunk.
My former bunk.
When the plane landed, I didn’t need to bother with the baggage claim, since everything I had on tour fit into my backpack and the carry-on bag that Linda had lent me so I headed straight out to the terminal. I was early, so I sat to wait for my driver/bodyguard, a guy named Ken Boyd.
I took out my phone and powered it on to let my dad know I’d landed (regular check-ins being another condition of my solitary travel, though an unspoken one). As the messages rolled in, my eyes stuck on one from Will. It was unexpected, but as I opened it, I realized I shouldn’t have been surprised.
How did it go with your mom?
A loaded question. But how to respond? I didn’t even know how I felt about the whole ordeal yet, so there was no way I could sort out my feelings enough to boil it down to a few lines of text.
As I considered my reply, I scrolled up the thread, past the messages where he’d agreed a clean break was a good idea (so much for that, Will Davidson) to the fun and silly ones we’d exchanged while on the bus. From before he’d left, back when we’d been friends. More than friends.
A tiny part of my brain told me I should delete the texts because reading them now was just making this all harder. But my heart—the one that was currently aching because it missed him like crazy—would never let me get rid of these messages.
I was still thinking up my response when I got the text from the security company to say Ken was on his way in to collect me. It also included his photo, which was helpful, though I suppose it was another level of security to make sure I didn’t walk off with a kidnapper. On that pleasant thought, I locked my screen and slid the phone into my pocket before I grabbed my bag and waited for him.
A few moments later, he arrived, handed me his card, and apologized for being late. He took my bag and escorted me out to his town car that was parked right in front of the terminal.
Once we were on the road, he told me that his job was to keep me safe, but while he would be my shadow, he would stay as out of my way as possible. I appreciated that, even though it felt weird putting my life in this stranger’s hands. I just hoped his job stayed super-boring.
After another hour and a half of travel—including a stop at a burger joint to shove some food into my face—we arrived at the beach house. After nearly the whole day spent in the air or at airports, I was exhausted.
Ken grabbed my bag without asking and took it to the front porch while I fumbled around for my key.
After we got inside and I turned off the alarm, I watched as Ken locked the door behind me. “So how does this work?” I asked. “Do I need to make up a room for you?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No. I’m not your houseguest. I’m going to just do a check of the inside of the house to make sure everything is secure and then I’ll find a chair and read my newspaper. We do twelve-hour shifts, so you’re stuck with me until early tomorrow morning. But it means no one will need a room.”
That was both a relief and a little more awkward at the same time, since it meant I would have at least two bodyguards to get to know. Actually, they had to get some time off, so more than two.
Not much I could do about it, so I waved toward the living room and told him to do his thing and that I was going to zone out in front of the big television for a while.
After he did a sweep of the main floor, he offered to take my bag upstairs, so I told him which room was mine. I used the bathroom, grabbed a soda and took myself to the oversized and very comfortable couch.
The sofa had seen plenty of people—musicians mostly—crashing on it. As I lay myself down, pulling the afghan off the back of it and draping it over myself, I reasoned that if it was good enough for world-famous, platinum-record-selling musicians, it was good enough for me.
I took my phone from my pocket, sent Dad a quick text to tell him I’d arrived with Ken, and then fell fast asleep.
When I awoke in my bed much later, after more TV and a dinner of chips and dip, a glance at the dark window told me it wasn’t yet dawn so I grabbed my phone to get the precise time. As I stretched under the covers like a starfish, taking up every corner of the bed, I saw it was currently nearly four in New York time, which was basically bedtime on the west coast for the band. Then I remembered they were in Austin, so not quite as late for them.
But I was still on west coast time. It was going to take a few day
s to adjust, but after my long nap, I at least no longer felt like I was running on empty.
After a quick trip to use the bathroom and get a drink of water, I returned to my bed and sat up against the headboard as I opened the text thread with Will.
I began to tap out a message back to him: As well as could be expected. Crazy story.
As I sent it, I anticipated his next question would be to ask if I forgave my mother, so I got ahead of it: still processing. Not sure where to go from here.
It was mostly true, although by leaving not just the room of our meeting, but the city, after making no attempt at further contact, I’d made it pretty clear how I felt about her.
I was about to look at the rest of my messages when I saw the three dots pop up. I couldn’t help but smile because leave it to Will to be up at four a.m., although maybe he was still on west coast time. I realized then that I didn’t even know where he was. Maybe it was better that way.
Maybe better I didn’t let myself think of him at all. A little late for that now. Though I couldn’t be rude and just blow him off when he’d been concerned about me.
Chris texted me to say you left, he sent.
I muttered a curse out loud when I read it. I could hardly blame Chris; it’s not like it was a secret. And it was stupid to think Will wouldn’t find out, but for some reason, I hadn’t wanted him to.
Yes, I replied. Needed some time to myself at the beach house. Which made me cringe after I sent it, because the last time I was here it was with him and everyone else. And I’d been hooking up with Andres and Will had caught us after a make-out session in the bathroom.
I hoped he wasn’t thinking about that or wondering if I somehow felt any sort of nostalgia for Andres here. Because I didn’t. The only thing I felt about that short time with Andres was regret.
I held my breath, waiting for Will to mention it, but all he responded with was: good, you deserve it. Let me know if I can help.
Help? With what? And anyway...What about clean break? I sent back, resisting the urge to add on a ‘boy band’ because I couldn’t call him that anymore, and not just because he’d left the boy band.
Your idea, Nessa.
Oh right, I sent back because what else was there to say?
You alone?
Weird question, but: Yes. Unless you count the security guy downstairs. It was barely sent before my phone rang.
I sighed but didn’t have the time to come up with a reason not to answer; he knew I was awake with the phone already in my hand.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hi,” was his reply.
And it nearly killed me that it took exactly one word containing two stupid letters to remind me how much I had missed his voice.
But as I sat there, thinking about how much I also missed his face, his smell, his...everything about him...there was a long pause.
“So,” I said. “You are calling me becauuuuuuse?”
I heard him exhale into the phone. “No reason.”
“Will. Come on. It’s pretty middle-of-the-night to call me for no reason.”
“All right, so a few reasons.”
I scooted down the bed so I was horizontal, arranging the covers with my free hand. “Those reasons being?”
“You sure you want to hear them? We were supposed to have a clean break, Nessa.”
“Then why did you call me?” I said, wanting to sound short but suddenly desperate to hear those reasons, even while I was annoyed with him.
This was all so confusing.
“Because I wanted to hear about the thing with your mother.”
“Which I don’t want to talk about,” I said. “It sucked, it’s over, nothing more to discuss. Next reason.”
He chuckled, the sound suddenly muffled.
“Are you in bed?” I asked, realizing the minute the words were out of my mouth that it was the middle of the night, so of course he was. Although, it suddenly felt like too intimate of a question. One I shouldn’t have asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “You?”
“Yes. Tell me why you called.”
“Because I was up and I was hoping you’d sing me a lullaby to get me back to sleep.”
“Not a chance,” I said, though he could probably hear me smiling. “Next reason.”
“Wait,” he said suddenly sounding serious, “I wasn’t done with the last one. You have an amazing voice, Nessa. We never got a chance to talk about it.”
Huh? “What’s to talk about?”
“You pursuing music. Professionally, I mean. You wouldn’t have to go far to get a break, considering.”
“Nope. Not interested. Not even accounting for the nepotism thing. No way, no how. Next reason.” I hoped I wasn’t protesting too much, but he couldn’t be serious. Sure, I’d enjoyed that silly little performance at the sound check. And okay, I did enjoy jamming every once in a while, but as a career? No.
There was a pause where I thought he was going to push it, but instead, he said, “All right. I called mostly because I miss your voice. Wait, and the thing with your mother. Okay, so two reasons. One, to make sure you’re okay after meeting her and two, to hear your voice. So yeah, even if you won’t sing me to sleep, it’s still great to talk to you, Nessa.”
Oh my God, this guy. Could he be any more adorable or sound any sexier? Nope and nope.
“Will,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“You’re making this clean break thing really, really hard.”
“Then take it back, Nessa,” he said on a sigh. “It doesn’t have to be over between us.”
“No. I... I can’t and yes it does.” And then I panicked and blurted out, “And it’s the middle of the night and I need to get some sleep.”
“Nessa...”
“I can’t do this anymore, Will. This isn’t a movie where everything works out in the end no matter how much you want to make it into one. I’m going back to school and you’re going on tour. None of this adds up to us being together.”
And then, before he could have the opportunity to argue or tell me he loved me or say something even more stupid like he was quitting Legion Thunder to be with me, I hung up and turned off my phone.
Pringles Are a Food Group
Two days later, when the band would be in New Orleans which meant it was Saturday, (I still knew their tour schedule better than I knew my own name), I was sitting on the couch at the beach house, still in my pajamas even though it was dinnertime.
Although, I wasn’t sure if a can of Pringles and a tub of sour cream could be called ‘dinner.’ Especially when it had been lunch. And, I’m ashamed to admit breakfast.
I hadn’t been to the stables, the grocery store (despite the Pringles supply getting low), or even out to the beach just outside my back door. It had nothing to do with having a security tail; they’d told me they would take me just about anywhere.
For some reason, I just couldn’t find the motivation to go anywhere. I had showered, so I guess that was something. Though, to be honest, if it hadn’t been for the security guys I likely wouldn’t have bothered.
It occurred to me, at least on some level, that I was bored, restless, and maybe a little depressed, eating my feelings as a strategy to keep myself from having feelings. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.
At one point, I’d gone searching for news about my mother, almost disappointed when I found there was nothing more shocking than what I already knew. In fact, thanks to Nick’s book deal that promised to be a tell-all and my mother’s current unwillingness to talk to the press, there was precious little information out there, though plenty of speculation. I did learn that she was back in New York, thanks to some paparazzi that had been hounding her.
I suspected some of them had tried to track Dad down for a story or at least a comment but with the beefed up security on tour, no one was getting close to him. Or me, thankfully. And
that included my mother—not that I thought she’d show up unannounced after the way I’d walked out on her.
I’d even started stalking the Wiretap social media to see what they were up to. Not that I was worried Linda wasn’t doing a way better job than I had, but I felt like a border collie with no sheep to herd. I needed a job. Sitting around, watching movie after movie on Netflix and numbing out with junk food was not working for me. Literally.
Which was why I’d called Sandy to get an update on life on the road, missing it like I never thought possible. Not that I would admit it; the last thing I needed was a chorus of ‘I told you sos.’
As I turned from the Pringles to a bag of Cheetos, she’d given me the basics: how the guys were performing, how Linda was obviously doing a great job but wasn’t as fun as me, how they still didn’t know who’d slashed the tires, to how much of a hassle it was having even more security around them. She did understood and appreciate it, but she said it was a pain.
She’d gone on and on, her updates funny and comforting, even though hearing about everyone made me miss them more. She’d asked me what I’d been doing, interested in what she expected were fun activities, but after I’d told her I’d basically been eating and sleeping, she went back to her monologue about the band.
“...but whatever you do, don’t tell your dad,” she said, getting my attention suddenly. I realized I’d been absorbed by the shirtless Zac Efron on the larger-than-life screen in front of me, musing that he looked a lot like Will.
“What?” I said, turning my eyes away from the TV or I was just going to get sucked in again, because: Zac’s abs. “Sorry, but don’t tell my dad what?”
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Nessa, pay attention. Don’t tell your dad about me and Max.”
“I thought there wasn’t anything to tell,” I said, glancing at the TV but then away really quickly.
“There isn’t. Yet. But probably...”
“I get it,” I said, getting off the couch to grab a drink from the kitchen. “But you can’t—”
The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set Page 87