by B. B. Miller
She laughs, and it’s a much brighter sound than I’d heard earlier. “Sounds perfect.”
We sort out ingredients for the pasta, a salad, and bread, each busy in our own tasks. Her shoulders look so thin beneath her blouse, and I wonder if she’s well.
“You’re very comfortable in his kitchen,” she observes. I glance over to see her eyeing me speculatively.
“I enjoy cooking,” I offer, and then laugh lightly. “This kitchen is much larger than mine; it’s been great to work in.”
“I can’t believe how different he is, how much better he looks,” she says softly, glancing over at me. “The look on his face when you two were talking about the event . . . He’s smiling like he did when he was a little boy.”
I find a grater and begin preparing the Parmesan. “I wasn’t exaggerating earlier; he’s truly been amazing. He cares so much about making this event perfect. He’s put his heart into it.”
“He’s done all this for you?”
I look at her sharply. “No, he’s done it for Parker, and the other kids.” She cocks an eyebrow at me, and I sigh in acknowledgement. “Perhaps I’m part of it, too,” I concede. “But it’s mostly about Parker. And you.”
“Me?” she blurts, shocked.
“Yes, you, his father, Adam . . . and Robin,” I say, ignoring her sharp intake of breath. “He’s doing it for all of you, as well as himself. I think it’s struck at something deep inside of him, and it’s helping him find strength he didn’t know he has.”
She slices vegetables for the salad quietly, frowning as she considers my words. “Robin was such a beautiful girl. She was pretty, yes, but it was her spirit that shone so brightly,” she says, her voice strained. “Everyone loved her. All three of them were close, but there was something special between her and Kennedy. She was always his biggest supporter, but she also held him accountable. When his music took off and he began to reap the benefits of his success, she always encouraged him to do more.”
Setting her knife down, she turns to me. “She wanted him to start a charity that could benefit people who weren’t as lucky. But she also wanted him to do it so that he wouldn’t lose himself as the voices clamoring for his attention grew louder. She knew, better than I did, how easily Kennedy could get swallowed up.” She looks down and grips the kitchen counter, her anguish written on her face.
“He’s a grown man, and he’s responsible for his choices,” I say gently, wanting to ease her pain. “You can’t blame yourself for his poor decisions.”
“I blamed him for Robin,” she whispers, hanging her head. “I thought that if he hadn’t argued with her, if he had done what she asked that night, she would never have been in that car.” She takes a deep breath, and my heart aches for the pain that has held this whole family in thrall.
“Blame is a tricky thing.” Resting my hands on the countertop, I avert my eyes from where she stands rigidly, grappling with the past. “It’s one thing to acknowledge facts,” I murmur, thinking of Lucas’s overdue debt to his dealer that ended up putting Dad and I in harm’s way. “But to blame someone. . . . Once it starts, it can grow and fester, and never let you move beyond it. It’s easy to be caught in a vicious cycle you can’t break out of, to the detriment of all.”
“Yes,” she agrees softly and looks at me directly, her eyes glistening. “Robin always wanted more for Kennedy. I’m happier than I can say that it looks like he may finally be getting it.”
I give her a watery smile, and she takes a step, reaching out to embrace me, but freezes when we hear notes drifting in from the piano. A flicker of recognition lights her face, and she turns abruptly to walk out of the kitchen, leaving me to trail behind. Kennedy sits at the piano, playing something I’ve never heard before. It’s lyrical and haunting, and one of the most beautiful pieces I’ve ever heard.
Hovering at the kitchen door, I watch as Helena slowly glides across the room to stand slightly behind him and rests a hand on his shoulder. When he comes to the end of the piece, he reaches up for her hand; I can hear her faint, wistful sob as he pulls her down next to him, wrapping his arms around her. I clap my hand over my mouth, afraid that I might make a noise to spoil the moment, when his eyes meet mine across the room, hope and relief written on his face. I give him an encouraging smile, and then retreat to the kitchen to give them their privacy.
Leaning against the doorframe, my heart swells with the love I saw between mother and son. Hopefully, this time together for the concert would do the same for Kennedy’s family as I wished it would bring a measure of for Parker’s family, and all of the other kids and families involved.
Healing.
Kennedy
“ARE WE ALL finally in agreement with the order?” Nicole’s exasperated voice carries through the boardroom of Abby’s office. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“Fuck no,” Matt complains, stalking to the whiteboard. Reaching for a red marker, he draws a series of angry lines under a few of the names. “In what alternate universe do The Vandels go before Lennon Acer?”
“The one in which the demographic of eighteen to twenty-four year olds watches the most television.” I can hear the patience in Tess’s voice fading. We’ve been at it for the entire afternoon, hashing out the order of performances for the concert over a table laden with Chinese takeout.
It’s a small army in here; Abby and her team, Nicole, Tucker, and the band, minus one very absent Cameron. Dawson was even here for a few minutes, along with the television producer. You’d think this would be an easy task to coordinate, but no. I don’t know how Nic does shit like this on a daily basis. She’s got the patience of a saint.
We’ve got to juggle competing schedules of more than twenty different high maintenance performers and satellite feeds from locations around the globe. There are interviews and planned backstage peeks, comedy skits, and obscene demands by A-list actors who are only appearing to say, “And now, welcome so and so.” It’s fucking beyond ridiculous. Who the hell needs their own room with designer water, a catered, vegan-friendly meal from Spago, and a crystal bowl filled with roasted almonds for fifteen seconds of air time? Some of these celebrities are insane.
“We’ve been over this. The Vandels are the hottest band in that demographic right now. We’re putting them on when we get the most viewers, which means more donations,” Tess challenges, not backing down one bit.
Matt barely contains a growl of frustration as he takes a step toward her. “Are you implying we appeal to a more geriatric crowd?”
I lean back in my chair, amused at the show these two have been putting on over the last few hours. It’s rare that a woman stands up to Matt and speaks her mind. It’s refreshing to see. Somehow, in the space of the afternoon, Tess has gotten under his skin.
“Why can’t you just listen for once?” Tess protests, her hands defiantly balled into fists at her hips.
“Remind me again. You’re just an assistant, right?” Matt provokes her once more.
Tess narrows her eyes, closing the distance between them, and poking her finger against his chest. “And you’re just the bass player, right?”
“Grasshopper, relax and listen to the lovely Tess,” Sean chimes in, doing nothing to defuse the situation. “Do we really give a rat’s ass at this point? We’ll be on stage all night regardless of the order, mate.”
“A-fucking-men. Words of wisdom from the Brit finally,” I mutter, opening up another fortune cookie from the box. Abby catches my gaze across the table and grins.
“Landon will be gloating that he’s going first. Plus he’s doing the song at the end with you,” Matt fires back, turning to glance in my direction, hoping I’ll throw him a bone.
“Don’t care.” I read the fortune, tossing the tiny slip of paper across the table to Abby.
“It’s all about the big finish anyway, Matty. The grand finale. You want to end with a bang, yeah? You know how that goes . . . or maybe you don’t? Do you have trouble finishing? Hmm?” Sean p
okes the bear that is Matt once more, unable to contain his smirk.
Nic throws her hands up in frustration as the rest of us crack up, Tess included. “We’re going with this order.” She motions to the whiteboard, her hands flailing wildly. “So suck it up. All of you.”
Sean pushes his chair back, standing up to give her a salute. “Ma’am, yes ma’am!”
Tess narrows her eyes at Matt and he responds in kind, sticking his tongue out at her like some twelve-year-old. There’s no mistaking the audible gasp from her as her eyes widen at his tongue piercing, and he plunks down into his chair. I think it’s safe to say he’s won this round. I wonder how long it will be before they hook up.
“Let’s talk about the missing link,” Nic starts, clearing her throat.
The mood in the rooms takes a noticeable dive, and Sean is the first to speak. “When’s the last time any of us spoke to Cam?”
“At the funeral.” Sean holds my gaze across the table, nodding.
“Me, too,” Matt adds.
“He’s going to be there. Cam wouldn’t let us down.” I try to muster up a convincing tone, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.
Cameron has fallen off the face of the earth again. He’s been unresponsive to any of our calls and texts. Rumors are flying that he’s off on a binge somewhere. It’s publicity we don’t need right now with the concert less than forty-eight hours away.
“He’s in rehab.” Tucker’s deep voice slices through the room. Relief washes through me and Abby meets my gaze across the table, offering me a small smile of encouragement. Thank fuck, she’s here to help calm the chaos. “That piece of information doesn’t leave this room,” Tucker adds, glancing at Abby’s team.
“Of course not,” April confirms for the group. I smile at the determination in her voice. Abby has a great group of people working for her. This kind of loyalty is hard to find. “What goes on in here stays in here.” Tucker nods, relaxing slightly from his post beside the door.
“And you were going to tell us this when?” Sean asks after a long beat, narrowing his eyes.
“I’m telling you now. It’s . . . intensive, this one. Not supposed to be any contact for the first little while. He’s being put through the paces.”
“You should have told us,” Matt complains, straightening in his chair.
“You should have asked,” Tucker counters.
“You’re right,” Sean interrupts Matt before he can start another rant.
“I’d like that on a flashing neon sign please.” Tucker grins before taking a long sip from his green energy drink.
Holding Nicole’s gaze, I give her the answer they all need to hear. “He’ll be there.”
Satisfied for the moment, she scrolls through her tablet. “Okay. Then let’s switch to security. Tucker, how much over budget are we?”
“This is your house?” Parker’s voice seems to have climbed about three octaves as he roams to the bank of windows that face the ocean.
“Yep. It is.”
After the limo ride to my place, we were greeted by Mom and Dad, and Adam and Sara, with the band’s video and photography crew already setting up shop inside.
Parker seems as taken with Adam as he is with the whole day so far. I think it may have been Adam’s promise to take him for a ride in his car one day that vaulted him into hero territory.
“I haven’t been home in so long,” Parker comments wistfully, stopping at the piano, and staring out to the ocean.
At his words, I see Parker’s dad, David, almost lose it for the first time today, and I move quickly across the room to join Parker at the piano. “Do you want to see the ocean, Park?”
“Can I?” He starts to turn back to seek permission, but I steer him away from what I know is an impending breakdown about to happen with his parents. I’m not sure how any of us are going to make it through the rest of the day, but I know we need to find a way.
“You sure can.”
I guide him outside and down the stairs, aware of the camera crew following us. Parker laughs when his shoes hit the sand, and he looks up at me tentatively. “Can I take off my shoes?”
“I think you have to at the beach, right? It’s like a rule or something.” I toe off my boots, and sit on the bottom step to roll my jeans up, pulling off my socks in the process.
Parker plunks himself down in the sand, tugging off his Converse sneakers and socks, and rolling his jeans up as far as he can.
Standing, he shyly reaches his hand out to me, and I take it without hesitating, moving along the sand towards the roar of the surf. The sand is warm and inviting under our feet, but his laugh as we make our way to the shore warms my heart more.
For a few minutes, we’re quiet, both of us gazing out to the ocean, and I feel his hand tighten around mine. “Thanks for today, Kennedy,” he starts, his eyes fixed on the surf. “I’m not sure if I said it yet.”
My heart tightens at his words. “You don’t have to thank me, Park. I should be thanking you.”
“Hey, can we lie down?” he asks, switching gears completely.
“Are you tired?” I glance down at him in concern, and he shakes his head.
“I mean in the sand.”
With a laugh, I catch sight of the camera crew, filming just off to the side. “We can do whatever you want.”
Without missing a beat, he’s down on his back, the waves lapping over his feet and shins. “Come on!”
I glance up to the house, and smile at the audience we’ve drawn. The band—Cam included now—Tucker, Parker’s parents, and my parents, are all on the deck, watching us intently. I offer them a shrug before lowering down beside him, stretching my legs out.
The first few waves are cold, as evidenced by the squeal from Parker each time another rolls over our legs. I feel his hand reach for mine, slowly closing with a firm squeeze.
“Coolest thing ever,” he says quietly.
Moving along the extensive hallway on the second floor, I have to give my head a shake at the ridiculous size of my house. One person doesn’t need nine bedrooms and over seventeen-thousand square feet, but right now, I’m glad for it. Parker and his family can get some well-deserved rest for a few hours and not hear anything that goes on in the rest of the house.
I smile at the sound of his excited voice, stopping to listen outside of the door to the bedroom we’ve set him up in. He’s chattering away, sounding like he’s on hyper-drive, and both of his parents indulge him. “Listen!” he shouts, and the room falls silent. “You can hear the ocean.”
“You can see it too, bud. This view is something else.” His dad’s voice trails, and I lean into the room.
“Everybody comfortable in here?”
Parker looks so tiny and frail in the monster of a bed that dominates the room. I watch as Nurse Claire gingerly unwraps a blood-pressure cuff from his thin arm, giving me a warm smile.
“We’re doing great.” Her words ease my worry slightly, but I also know that today has already been over the top for Parker with the press conference this morning at the hospital, and the drive in the limo here. The last thing I want is for him to get run down because we’ve overdone it.
“Did you get enough to eat?” I make my way over to the bed and take a seat on the edge, glancing at the spread laid out on the large coffee table set by the windows. Under Parker’s doctor’s advice we stuck with what he’s used to. It would be tempting to give him a Michelin star five-course meal, but his tender stomach would never be able to handle it.
Parker lifts the empty smoothie glass with a smile before setting it on the nightstand. “This is way better than that pink junk at the hospital. Is this what you have before a concert?”
Joyce smiles, climbing into the bed beside her son. “It’s exactly what I have. It’s full of protein and energy. Just what you need before a big night.” I can see him fighting exhaustion. Joyce gently removes the bandana from his head, setting it to the side. He looks so vulnerable like this, and I fight to
rein in the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “You know what else you need?”
He lets out a sigh, settling back against the plush pillows on the bed. “You’re going to tell me I need rest, right?”
“You do, bud. I mean, what kind of a rock star packs it in at nine thirty because he’s too tired to stay up?”
His eyes widen. “That’s an hour past my normal bedtime!”
“You rebel.”
Leaving Parker and his parents to rest, I lead Claire back downstairs. She sets her bag on the edge of the kitchen island before moving back beside me. “You’re a good man, Kennedy.” Without another word, she turns away, heading out to the patio.
“Don’t let that go to your head, mate.” Sean’s voice rings from across the room, and I turn to find my three bandmates lingering outside the staircase that leads to the studio. We all know what we need to do. It’s as simple as taking a breath. This is how we deal with the curveballs life seems intent on throwing at us; it’s how we fight temptation that taunts us at every turn. We need to play.
“We doing this or what?” Cam asks with a smirk. I can tell the past few weeks haven’t been easy for him. If this rehab facility is as intense as Tucker alluded to, I can understand why. It’s what I don’t see that gives me hope. The lifeless, red-rimmed eyes are gone, the greyish tinge to his skin replaced with a bit of color.
I know there’s no magical solution when you’re trying to kick a habit. Mine was found with Abby, with Parker, and with finally starting to forgive myself for what happened with Robin. Cam needs to find his own reasons, and I can only hope that he’s starting to do just that.
“Well, you showed up so we better. Never know when we might see you again.” Matt’s only half teasing.
Cam nudges me in the shoulder as I move to punch in the code to open the studio doors. “You look better,” I offer.
“I’m getting there.” It’s a muttered admission, but I’ll take it.