Someone offers to take our photo together.
“He has this affliction,” Drew tells the guy as I hand him my phone. “He’s unable to smile. I’ve started a Go Fund Me on his behalf but we haven’t had much success because he looks so cranky in the photo.”
The picture is taken. I thank the guy and glance at it when Drew is looking away.
I was smiling.
22
DREW
An hour after we return, I attempt to rouse Six for his day of golfing and he says Five more minutes and pulls the pillow over his head so I go to breakfast without him.
I sit at the table with Josh while his parents go through the buffet, trying hard not to laugh at him in his dumb golf shoes and belted shorts and polo.
It’s not that he looks dumb in golf clothes. It’s that everyone looks dumb in golf clothes.
“Something to share?” he asks, raising a brow. “Go ahead. Your struggle is palpable.”
“You look like an idiot,” I reply, unable to restrain my laughter. “Why are golf clothes so dumb?”
His lips push forward, in an attempt not to smile. “Golf clothes are a mark of civility. If you were from a better family, you’d know this.”
“Wow,” I say, picking up a roll, fully prepared to pitch it at his head. “I can’t believe you went there.”
“I can’t believe you think lobbing food at me in the middle of The Four Seasons will prove me wrong.”
I close my eyes as I laugh, and when I open them, Six is standing at the head of the table.
“What did I miss?” he asks, and it feels as if I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t have, which makes no sense. Six would love a food fight in an upscale restaurant more than anyone.
“I was just saying you look like idiots in your golf attire.”
“Josh does,” says Six, “because he’s too fucking big and he has no tattoos.”
“Yes, he does,” I reply too quickly.
“One,” Six says. “On his arm. Big deal.”
Josh actually has two, but I say nothing, as I wouldn’t know about the other one if I hadn’t been watching him climb from the pool way too closely for the last several days.
“What are you going to do all day without me, babe?” asks Six, taking the chair beside me and wrapping his arm around my back.
Josh’s gaze freezes on that arm for a moment. A vein pulses in his temple. “You should work on your song,” he says, his eyes moving to mine.
Six frowns. “What song? She doesn’t write her own shit.”
I’m not sure why I was willing to let Josh know but don’t want to discuss it with the guy I’m actually dating. Who’s a musician. “Just something I’ve been playing around with,” I reply.
“Babe,” Six says with a laugh. “You don’t even play an instrument. Leave the songwriting to the pros.”
I feel something silvery and cold slide into my blood. He knows I started out performing my own stuff. With as little as we’ve discussed about our respective pasts, I know he’s heard this much, and he’s either forgotten or just feels this strange need to take me down a peg, to put me in my place. And I suspect I know which it is.
“I could play guitar and piano before I could read, as a matter of fact.”
“So eleventh grade?” Six cracks. It’s mean. It hurts. But my first thought is Don’t overreact.
Stop being so dramatic my mother must have said a thousand times, whenever I was upset about something Richard or his father had done.
But Josh has gone perfectly still, like a snake about to strike. I’ve never seen him so furious, which tells me my anger and pain might not be an overreaction after all.
“I know you didn’t just say that to her,” Josh snarls. His hand is gripping the coffee cup so hard he risks crushing it.
“Settle down. It was a joke,” says Six, turning to me. “But babe, lots of people claim they can play, but that doesn’t mean they can actually play. So you see where I’d have to call you out a little.”
I climb to my feet. Beth and Jim are approaching, but I’m too furious to stop myself. “I actually play as well as you do,” I reply. “And by the way, I’ve never seen you play an F chord correctly live. Not once.”
And with that, I march away from the table. This is normally the point where I’d worry I’ve gone too far, but Josh’s reaction to what Six said is burned in my brain—like he simply couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. It leaves me wondering if maybe I haven’t gone far enough. If maybe I’ve been letting a lot of people walk on me for a very long time, because the worst things they say about me aren’t nearly as bad as the things I say about myself.
So I’m going to let myself stay mad a while longer. And the only thing to do in the meantime is get out one of Six’s precious guitars, which he never tunes right, and write my fucking song.
I’m at the beach that afternoon, half-asleep, when I hear the sound of a towel unfurling beside me.
Josh, out of his dumb golf clothes. Shirtless. Bare skin, for a moment, is all I seem to see. He’s so chiseled that his abs look like boulders stacked one atop the other with a perfect line running straight to his navel, and below it, leading to that small happy trail I’d love to…Gah. Stop, Drew, for the love of God, stop. I roll over and turn to face him, but I try to keep my gaze north of where it was.
“How mad is your brother?”
Josh shrugs. “He was pretty mad this morning, and then he got drunk while golfing, and I imagine he’s sound asleep in your room and will have forgotten by dinner.”
My lips press together and I squeeze my eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have said it,” I say softly. “I do that—get my feelings hurt and lash out. Which might have something to do with the fact that none of my family is currently speaking to me.”
“Did you call them all raging cunts?” he asks with half a smile.
The breeze picks up and I pull my baseball cap lower. “Basically.” I blow out a tired breath. “I’ll apologize to him.”
He runs his hands over his head as if he’s frustrated. I’m momentarily distracted by the pulse of his tricep. “Don’t. He can be jealous of your career and your fame all he wants, but he doesn’t get to speak to you like that. He doesn’t get to belittle you. Ever.”
I laugh. “He’s not jealous. He just has no respect for my career, and I can’t even fault him for it when I don’t respect it either.”
“He wants what you have,” Josh says. His head turns toward me. “I can’t imagine why, because until you dyed your hair and got a little privacy, your life looked miserable, and I imagine it will go back to being miserable. But it’s definitely what he wants. And you take way too much shit from people.”
I frown. Josh would never say that if he spent a moment with me around my family. “I don’t really see myself as taking shit from anyone.”
“You take it from him,” he says. “At that party last summer, a friend of my dad’s asked for an autograph and Six said something shitty about it, something totally demeaning, and you just laughed.”
Look at her rack, is what he said. If you want to know what it takes to be famous in this country, I offer you exhibit A and exhibit B. And yes, I laughed. He was joking, mostly, and it wasn’t entirely untrue. I’m not about to delude myself into thinking I got where I am based on talent alone.
“He was just drunk. He makes stupid, tactless jokes when he’s drunk. The nice thing about your brother is that he doesn’t give a shit about my money, or my fame, so when he’s nice…I get to know he means it. And I’d like to point out that you’re the one who convinced me to stay on this trip yesterday.”
He blows out a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. And I shouldn’t have. You deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on, Drew. Someone you can lean on. Who cares more about your happiness than his own.”
I swallow. I’m not sure what he’s describing exists, and it hardly matters, because I don’t want it anyway. Life is eas
ier when you don’t entirely depend on another person for anything, when you hold a little back.
“I’m not looking for that,” I tell him. “It’s like driving. Some people want to take the long, meandering journey with no guarantees, hoping they end up in a good place. And some of us just take the express bus: it won’t get you anywhere special, but at least you know what you’re in for.”
He looks like he wants to argue, and I’m relieved when he doesn’t.
Because he’s the one person alive who could convince me to take a risk, and I can’t stand to let myself love yet another thing I’ll eventually lose.
When I get back to the room, Six is awake and wary. He looks at me like I’m a feral animal skulking near his chickens.
“Hey,” I say quietly, dropping my beach bag on the desk.
“Hey,” he replies. He crosses to the minibar and I’m sorely tempted to ask if he really needs it, but I’m not his mother, after all.
I’m sticky and sandy and I just want to have a shower and not engage in some pointless fight with him. I go to my suitcase and grab a change of clothes.
“You played my guitar today,” he says.
I look up and meet his gaze. I’m not going to apologize for it. It’s one of his backups, and no one would consider it a great guitar. “I tuned it for you.”
“I didn’t need you to tune it for me,” he snaps.
Oh, believe me, Six. You needed me to tune it.
“Josh spent all of breakfast and half of the golf game laying into me about what I said, by the way,” he says. “So that was fun.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. I didn’t need Six to be scolded, but I kind of love that for once in my life, someone took my side. Especially when I’m not sure I deserved it.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did,” I reply, grabbing my clothes. “But you shouldn’t have either.”
For a moment I’m certain he means to argue, but then he puts his glass down and crosses the room, pulling me against him. I’m in my bikini, he’s only in shorts, and it’s the most physical contact we’ve had since this so-called vacation started. He hardens and I try to ignore it.
“You’re right,” he says. “I just—”
“Please don’t double down and defend what you said,” I reply, stepping away. “Just don’t.”
He laughs and pulls me back to him. “Okay, babe. Whatever. You’re the best guitarist in the fucking world. Are we good now?”
No, I’m not sure we are.
I close my eyes and see a gray sky, bare trees. A driver glancing back at me in the mirror, thinking I’m too young to be on the bus for so long. It’s what I remember whenever I’m feeling lost, whenever I’m scared.
Or whenever I suspect I’m on a dangerous path, and I think maybe I am right now. I just don’t know if it’s Six, or his brother, who’s the danger.
PART III
KAUAI
“Home to staggering vistas and lush vegetation, Kauai is, without a doubt, the most beautiful of Hawaii’s islands.”
From Kauai: The Garden Isle
23
DREW
January 29th
“Kauai is believed to be the most beautiful of all the islands,” Beth reads as Josh drives us from the airport to Princeville, located on Kauai’s north shore.
I stare out the window at the dreamy coast off to our right, trying to ignore my desire to look at Josh, to point things out to him or study his broad hand resting on the console near mine, the flex of his bicep as he steers.
“Oh,” Beth murmurs. “For major medical care you have to be transported to Oahu. That’s disappointing.”
Josh’s gaze slides to mine and we both smile. His skin is tan from the long days outdoors, his hair glinting gold, that sensual lip of his looking like it was made to be kissed.
“I’m so excited to see it all,” Beth says. “I just wish Josh wasn’t here alone. Drew, do you have a sister you can set him up with back home?”
“Only my stepsister-in-law,” I reply. “She’s married, so that’s a problem, but she might even be too evil for Josh.”
“I think you’ve mentioned her,” Josh says, his mouth twitching. “What was it you called her again?”
I bite my lip. “Aggressive?”
He smiles. “No, it was something else. I’m trying to think…”
“Don’t try too hard,” I reply. “We can’t afford to have you fry a circuit board right before the backpacking trip or you’ll need to be medevacked to Oahu.”
We both laugh and for a second I forget there’s anyone else in the car. I catch myself and turn back to Beth. “What’s the deal with the backpacking trip?” I ask her.
“There are two distances. I signed all you kids up for the longer one. Jim and I will do the shorter. It’s supposed to be one of the world’s most scenic hikes.”
Josh winces. “Mom, are you sure you want to backpack? Scenic usually means altitude and there’s a big difference between hiking, and hiking with forty pounds of gear on your back.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says, lips pinched.
He looks at her in the mirror. “How about if we drive over to the trail today to check it out?” he asks. “It’s not the kind of thing you want to figure out when you’re too far to get back easily.”
They exchange another silent look and she concedes, unwillingly.
Six, who’s been on his phone this entire time, looks up and for one unrealistic moment, I hope that he’s stepping in to side with Josh about the backpacking trip. I’m not even sure I’m ready for this trip so there’s no way Beth is. But he’s only looking at me. “Babe, we got it,” he says. “Pitchfork is doing a profile of us.”
My eyes widen and when I smile at him, it isn’t fake. A profile in Pitchfork could be huge for the band, just the push they need. Yet everyone in the car just looks politely blank, as if he’s made the most mundane of announcements. As if he’d said Babe, they serve piña coladas at the pool or Babe, let’s make sure to get t-shirts today.
“That’s amazing,” I reply, squeezing his hand. I turn to his parents. “Pitchfork is, like, huge.”
“Well, it’s no Rolling Stone,” says Jim, and I could throttle him with my bare hands for trying to diminish Six’s moment.
“Rolling Stone covers music but they’re more general,” I say. “Pitchfork is all music. It’s the one people who are actually into music would read.” My voice grows a little hard at the end, daring him to challenge me on this. He chooses not to, wisely.
“When’s the interview?” I ask Six.
He pushes a hand through his hair and shoots me a worried glance. “They’re talking about doing it sometime this week.”
There’s been an ongoing battle about who will be the face of the band—Six, the founder, or Brian, the lead singer. Six won’t want to miss the interview and let Brian take over, especially as he has no respect for people like Brian who don’t play an instrument, which is probably why his bullshit in Lanai bothered me as much as it did.
“You can call in,” I say. “People do it all the time.”
He nods, but his nostrils are flaring and he’s still staring at his phone. I already know what he’s thinking. I can see it in his face.
Don’t do this to your mom, I think. Beth has been so eager to see him, to have this time with him.
“I could just fly back for the day,” he suggests. “I’d be back the next night.”
“But you’ve already missed half the trip,” says Beth. “You would miss out on backpacking.”
He laughs. “Sorry, Mom, but I wouldn’t consider missing backpacking a big sacrifice.”
His glance toward me is pleading. He wants me to back him up and I just won’t do it.
“Going to LA would be a lot of effort for something you can accomplish by Zoom,” I say, a trifle coolly. “I promise you’ll still be quoted.”
He nods, discontent with my answer, and I have a feeling this isn’t over.
Josh tur
ns down a long road, passing a golf course, and we arrive at the St. Regis. Six calls Brian the second we’re out of the car, arguing volubly, while I follow the Baileys inside.
The hotel isn’t open-air the way the last two were, but it has the most magnificent view of all through the floor-to-ceiling windows along its back half: a coastline of green cliffs jutting out toward the deep blue sea. In all my travels, I’ve never seen anything like it.
I don’t have to turn to know it’s Josh standing beside me a moment later. “Every time we arrive at a hotel, I think it can’t be topped,” I say quietly.
He glances at me with something affectionate in his gaze, a way I’ve never seen him look at anyone else. “You’re thinking of living off the land again, aren’t you?”
I laugh. “I’m gonna see how backpacking goes before I commit.”
He bites his lip. “Thanks for stepping in back there,” he says. “In the car. My mom will be devastated if Joel leaves.”
“I’ll kill him with my bare hands if he leaves,” I reply. “Probably not the kind of thing I should say aloud but my mom is good at her job. She’ll make you look like an unreliable witness.”
Beth approaches, waving keys. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she asks.
“It’s breathtaking,” I tell her. “Thank you so much for doing all this. You’ve picked out the most amazing hotels and I’m so glad I got to see it all.”
She smiles and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I’m so glad you came. You have no idea how happy it makes me to have you here. Just wait ‘til you see the views tomorrow.”
Josh raises a brow at her. “That reminds me. We’re going to check out the trail, aren’t we?”
He gives me a grin over her head as she sighs loudly and starts toward the front doors. He’s a good son. A good man. If his brother was just a little more like him, I might be able to make this work.
The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea Page 11