by Luana Ferraz
‘Going for breakie, meet me there’
‘They have cinnamon rolls, wake up!’
‘Ran into Tris, we’re heading out, DO NOT DARE TO JUDGE ME’
‘Update: ran into everyone else, we’re all going out. Hope you’re happy YOU WITCH’
‘We’re already lost. It was nice knowing you, we had a good run, goodbye’
I chuckle with his drama and text back.
‘Leaving in my white horse right now, don’t fret!’
I chuck the phone into my black leather backpack and step out of the room. It’s only after I lock my door that I notice Tyler standing in front of the elevator. Apparently, Pete’s ‘everyone else’ didn’t include him. I freeze, debating what to do, as I’m not really sure how to act after last night. Should I keep my distance? Should I be friendly? Is he thinking of me as much as I’m thinking of him?
Before I can decide whether to run back to my room, the lift doors open and he steps inside, finally seeing me when he turns around. He’s surprisingly not wearing sunglasses, so I have a clear vision of his blue eyes locking on me.
“Are you coming?” he asks as he holds the doors open.
“Yep.” I throttle towards him, deciding there’s no point in avoiding him.
The trip down the three floors is rather silent. I keep glancing at him, debating whether to say something, even just a ‘good morning’, but nothing comes out. When we reach the ground floor, he turns to head to the restaurant and I decide to go towards the exit.
“Where are you going?” he asks when I’m about five steps away from being free.
“I’m going to meet Pete.” I turn around to find an inquisitive expression on his face.
“Don’t you want to eat first?” he asks, taking a look at his watch. “We have about twenty minutes.”
“Uh, sure, I could eat,” I say. Even though I don’t want to, I can’t say no.
“Do you know where they are?” he asks as we walk to the restaurant.
“Pete said they’re lost,” I inform and he snorts.
“Great.”
We fill our plates quickly—unfortunately there are no cinnamon rolls left—and sit together. I observe him while he eats and scrolls through his phone. The restaurant is in an open area and even though it’s a really cold day, the sun is out, which makes Tyler squint because of the brightness. Every now and then he runs a hand through his hair to push it away from his face, which is useless, since it is so silky—so smooth—that it doesn’t sit in place not even for a second.
Do you think he’d let you near his hair? Damn you Pete. It’s totally his fault that now I want to.
“Do you have something on your mind?” he asks suddenly, still not taking his eyes off his phone. Crap. I’ve been staring for way too long.
“Where are your sunglasses?” I manage to ask and earn a surprised look.
“That’s a good question.” He rests his phone on the table, giving me his full attention. Again, crap. “I don’t know where I left them.”
“I thought you never took them off your face,” I say, hurrying to finish my eggs.
“You noticed,” he smirks.
“Just because it’s ridiculous,” I blurt. Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
His eyes widen in surprise. I can’t hold his gaze, so I avert my eyes towards my half-empty plate.
“So, you think I’m ridiculous,” he says after a while.
“Not you, just…” I risk looking at him again. He’s naturally not pleased with this conversation. “Just the whole sunglasses indoors is a bit too…”
“Too rock’n’roll?”
“Too diva.”
He snorts, looking around the same way he did in the club. I’m sure he has a good comeback but, unlike me, he does a better job of holding his tongue.
“Ridiculous and a diva,” he nods, looking back at me. “Anything else?”
“No, I think that’s about it,” I say, trying to make it sound like a joke. By the look on his face, I’m not successful. So, I resort to eating in silence under his glaring blue gaze.
After a moment or two, he speaks again. “Do you ever regret the things you say?”
First, I’m a bit offended by the question. But, on second thought, what right do I have to be offended when I just offended him for no reason at all? I swallow my pride and decide to take my guard down a bit.
“Just 99% of the time,” I confess.
“Really?” he sounds skeptical. “You never apologize.”
“Because there’s no point,” I explain.
“How so?” he asks, frowning, more curious than angry now.
“Apologizing won’t change the fact that I said shit. It won’t make people forget it. It’s done.”
“But it makes them aware that you didn’t really mean it,” he argues.
“But… I really do mean it. I just regret that I say it out loud.”
His mouth gapes open for a few seconds, and then he starts to laugh, which takes me aback. I’m not sure if he thinks I’m joking or if he thinks I’m not. It doesn’t matter. It makes me smile anyway.
My phone buzzes interrupting the weird moment. It’s Pete.
‘Did your horse break a leg or something?’
I reply asking where they are and me and Tyler leave to meet them—silent again, but a bit more comfortable now.
***
We end up finding them at a souvenir store in Morgan Quarter, browsing like true tourists—including Pete. He’s holding a basket already full of crap, observing intently a shelf of steel cups in the medieval style.
“You’re aware these are not antiques, right?” I approach him.
“How would you know? This might have been the cup from where King Arthur had his last sip of wine!” He grabs one at random.
I take it from him and turn it upside down, exposing the ‘made in China’ tag.
“These are to fool the tourists.” He takes the cup from me and throws it in the basket.
“Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard here?” I point to the pile he’s already made.
“It’s your fault,” he says as he moves to another shelf—mugs. “If I was to depend on you to rescue me, I’d be dead by now.”
“I doubt that prince charming over there would let that happen,” I tease and he blushes violently.
He pushes my shoulder lightly and stands on the tip of his toes, looking around, probably to make sure our subject matter didn’t hear us. When he finds him, he stops and gives me an odd look.
“Speaking of prince charming…” He raises an eyebrow and it’s my turn to blush.
“Don’t start.” I turn to the shelf, picking up a mug at random.
“That’s what took you so long?” he asks.
“I didn’t take long,” I argue.
“Exactly 21 minutes from the time you said you were leaving to the time you actually left,” he informs me, making me turn to him again.
“You know, sometimes our relationship worries me,” I joke, trying to make him drop it.
“What were you two doing?” he asks and I get angry. I’m both offended and amazed by how well he knows what to expect from me.
“Having breakfast,” I say in an outraged tone. That seems to make him back off. I can see he has something else on his mind, but he decides to keep it to himself.
We both look through the colorful mugs together and in silence, and Pete throws a matching ‘king & queer’ pair in the basket. I laugh.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I ask. He stiffens. But before he can tell me what it is, his phone rings.
It’s his mom. I zone out for a few moments, until I hear him saying, “Yes, she’s here.”
“Send her my love,” I say, as I always do whenever she calls. I watch as his expression drops again with something his mother is telling him. He stops dead in the middle of the aisle, his eyes slowly meeting mine. Color drains from his face.
“Grandma?” I whisper, already feeling m
y knees giving in.
“She’s fine,” Pete is quick to say, putting his basket down to grab one of my arms. “She’s at the hospital.”
“What happened?” I grip his shirt. I only half listen as he repeats his mother’s words—something about her falling in the street, her heart and an unknown diagnosis.
“They’re going to hold her up until they know more,” Pete says, pulling me closer to a half embrace.
Guilt consumes me. My relationship with my grandmother is… complicated. She wasn’t prepared to take on the responsibility of raising me, especially not the way it happened. I think it made her a little paranoid. When life became just the two of us, she used to track me down at all times. She would call me at three in the morning to make sure I was okay, even when she knew I was soundly asleep on Pete’s floor. I complained a lot, we fought a lot, for this and for several other reasons. But when things got serious, she got my back.
She let me be an angry teenager, she let me drink until I passed out, she let me invest in this music thing. She got me out of trouble. She let me leave—more than once. Sometimes I wonder if I ever would if she had asked me not to. Sometimes I wonder if she wanted me gone.
We don’t talk enough, we don’t see each other enough, we don’t participate in each other’s lives anymore. But when things get serious, I got her back.
“Eileen is strong,” Pete runs a hand up and down my back.
“I need to see her,” I say, pulling away.
“Becky…” Pete shakes his head, ready to give me an extensive list of reasons why I shouldn’t make the trip.
“What if this is my last chance?” I don’t want to think about it, but I do. People leave me. That’s the only constant in my life.
“It’s not,” Pete sighs, probably already aware it’s a lost battle.
“I need to go. If I leave now, I’ll probably arrive by tonight. I can meet you up in our next city, we have three days off, I won’t even miss any concert,” I speak fast, a plan already forming in my mind. I take my phone out of my pocket to start researching bus tickets. The fact that I don’t have any missed calls doesn’t go unnoticed.
“I’m not worried about the concerts.” Pete takes the phone out of my hands.
“I need to go,” I say slowly, more and more convinced of it.
“When was the last time you were ever there?” he asks, knowing very well when it had been.
“That’s why I need to go!” I argue childishly.
“Go where?” Neil approaches us with a few bags in hand.
“Home,” I say and the word sounds so foreign that it feels like it comes out another person’s mouth.
“Oh, Seth is driving back to London—”
“Alnwick,” I interrupt him. “My grandmother is hospitalized and I need to see her.”
“Wow, wait, what happened?” he asks with genuine concern.
“We don’t know yet,” Pete answers calmly. “It just happened, they’re going to run some tests to find out what’s wrong.”
“Okay,” Neil nods, observing me for a little too long. “Let’s get back to the hotel, shall we? Then we can discuss.” He squeezes one of my shoulders and I already know he’s not liking the idea of me going anywhere.
I shoot a desperate look at Pete, but he has the same resolution on his face. Fuck it. Fuck them. I’m going and no one will stop me.
***
Back at the hotel, Neil got into a meeting that conveniently lasted the rest of the morning. Tristan was the one that convinced me to wait and talk to him, promising he would help my case. Apparently, I’ll need his permission, since he’s technically responsible for all of us throughout the duration of the tour—including the days off. It all sounds like bullshit to me, but I decide to try it the ‘right’ way before flipping everyone off. Neil has been a good boss up until now, besides he’s willing to help us, I can’t just throw it all in the bin.
So I wait. Impatiently. I sit quietly during lunch while Pete tries to talk me out of my decision. I call his mother twice in hopes she’ll have some news, which she doesn’t. I’m about to call her again when Neil finally appears.
“So, any news?” he asks sitting down at our table.
“Not yet,” I say, reluctantly putting my phone down. “Grandma is still sedated and the doctors haven’t come back with test results.”
“Maybe we should wait—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.
“I can’t. I have to go.”
“Look…” he sighs and pauses, clearly choosing his words. I promise myself I’ll try to not freak out with whatever he’s about to say. “I can’t authorize this, not without having the full picture.”
“Oh, you mean I can only go after she’s dead,” I say, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Rebecca,” Pete whispers, reaching for my hand. “She’s not dying.”
“You don’t know that,” I snap, angry that he’s not taking my side.
“Come on,” Tristan speaks, in an attempt to keep his promise. Only then I realize everyone is listening to this conversation. “It’s her grandmother, and she’s in the hospital. We have three days off.”
“I know it’s a delicate situation,” Neil agrees, and then looks at me again, “but if anything happens to you, I’ll have to answer for it.”
“Nothing will happen,” I say. He gives me a look of disbelief. “What do you think can happen?”
“I don’t know, and that’s the problem. You’re too upset now, rightly so, but I just can’t let you go,” he says with finality.
“Okay…” I nod slowly, taking that in. “Hypothetically, what are the implications if I decide to go anyway?”
“Rebecca!” Pete exclaims. “Just listen…”
“I’ll be in Manchester in time for the next concert,” I ignore him.
“It’s a ten-hour trip,” Pete continues.
“I can make it in six with a car,” I argue.
“You can make it in two if you wait until Edinburgh,” he insists.
“We won’t have a day off in Edinburgh,” I remind him. Plus, we’re four days away from our Edinburgh concert, and, for all I know, Eileen might be dead by then.
“Rebecca…” Pete sighs, closing his eyes for a moment—a sign that I’m getting under his skin.
“The last thing I said to her was that I was never setting foot in Alnwick again,” I say and my voice falters.
I know he remembers it, he was there, he heard me. I’m sure this is part of the reason he doesn’t want me to go. But it’s why I need to. I don’t know how often my grandmother thinks about it, but I know this can’t be the last thing I told her in life.
“Hypothetically…” Neil breaks the awkward silence that falls upon us. “If anyone notices you’re gone, you could get fired. There might even be a fine involved.”
“Will anyone notice?” I ask, my hopes building up.
“If something happens…” he trails off.
“Nothing will happen,” I insist.
Neil sighs again, biting his bottom lip, thinking.
“You can’t go on your own,” Pete says before Neil makes up his mind.
“Then come with me!” I suggest, even though I’m absolutely pissed off with him.
“Lindsey is coming to visit me,” he informs.
“Is she?” Tristan and I ask at the same time. I glance at him and he drops his eyes to his hands. So this is what he wanted to talk about earlier.
“I can ask her—”
“No, don’t,” I interrupt him before he suggests it. He has his own problems to deal with at the moment. Also, I have a good relationship with Lindsey, it’s better not to push it, especially when I know they’re not in a good place.
“I could go.”
There is a moment of silence before the unison ‘what?’ that follows this suggestion.
“I could go with you. We could take turns driving, keep each other awake,” Tyler explains.
“What about no one go
es?” Pete gives me an exasperated look.
“Yeah, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Tristan says.
“Good thing we’re not asking your opinion,” Tyler retorts.
“I’d be less worried if you didn’t go alone,” Neil chips in.
I stare at him and then at Tyler. His expression is unreadable, as usual, but genuine. I’m not gonna lie, the idea of spending time alone and in close proximity with him stirs something in my stomach, something I know shouldn’t be there, something that screams trouble. But I don’t want to be fired. Even hating Pete at the moment, I can’t ruin our biggest opportunity to date. I also shouldn’t drive six hours to a place I swore never to go back to again before having concrete information. But I know I won’t be able to rest if I don’t see her. And if I don’t go now, maybe I really won’t ever go.
“Okay, then,” I agree, for Pete’s dismay.
“Rebecca—”
“Stop calling me that!” I hiss and get up. “I’m going to get my stuff.”
“I’ll take care of arranging a car,” Neil says, getting up too.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I walk away. While I’m waiting for the lift, Tyler catches up with me.
“So… Alnwick,” he says.
“Yep.” I bite my lip. The elevator arrives and we get inside.
“Just so you know, you can kick me out at the side of the road after we leave, if you want to,” he says out of nowhere.
“Do you want out?” I ask, confused. Wasn’t he the one to suggest this?
“No,” he says firmly, but I sense his nervousness. As we get out on our floor, he turns to me. “Do you want me in?”
I take a deep breath, trying to see past his blue eyes. I recall Tristan telling me I reminded him of Tyler sometimes. I remember that he was the one to find us online and request us as opening act. I think of us playing piano together. I think of us drinking wine on the rooftop.
“Yes.”
***
“Can’t you just wait until we at least know what happened?” Pete asks for the millionth time.
“Peter,” I stop trying to fit clean underwear into my small backpack to look at him, “I’m really close to saying things I don’t want to say. Please, drop it.”