by Julie Reece
My phone buzzes, and I flip the cover and read Grey’s text. I miss you. Hurry.
Another first—no one’s ever missed me before.
My lips curl up of their own accord. I’m so slow when I text, it’s not like I’ve had a phone since I was eight like most girls. I poke at the keypad until the words, I can’t wait to hear you sing, disappear into the void I know will reassemble on his screen.
With my new backpack slung over my shoulder, I motion to my dog. “Come on, boy.” Fenris trots after me down the stairs and out into the driveway to the Audi.
Grey caught a ride with his friend, Michael, to do sound checks and left his keys so I could follow on my own time.
Nerves batter my stomach at the thought of driving his car. “Here goes nothing, Wolfie,” I say to Fenris.
My phone buzzes with another message from Grey. I’ll be thinking of you the whole time.
• • •
Centennial Olympic Park sits like an emerald oasis in downtown Atlanta. Pretty salmon and peach brick sidewalks line the twenty-one acre park, complete with water gardens, monuments, pavilions, and music venues.
Scud and Kate sit to my right in a sea of little white chairs as music blares from the amphitheatre. To my left sit both sets of parents.
Surprise!
No one mentioned the parents—and me dressed for a jewelry heist? Perfect.
A fifteen-minute intermission is announced before Push comes on. I’m hungry and wonder if I have time to grab a sandwich. Googie Burger is located next to the Olympic fountains, but it’s not super close. Instead of making a run for it, I fantasize about hot dogs with mustard and chocolate shakes. Indecision, coupled with pain, makes me fidget. The hard wood of my seat is unmerciful against my tailbone, bruised in yesterday’s sparring contest.
“Are you cold, Birdie?” Mrs. Mathews lifts a corner of her red flannel throw. “I’ll share my blanket if you like.” Her eyes soften, crinkling at the corners as she smiles. I think she wants to like me. I don’t know if she does.
“No, I’m fine,” I say. “Thank you, that’s really nice of you. You’ll probably think this is silly, but I’m nervous for Grey.” That, and I’ll be looking for a notorious skin trafficker in a couple of hours. “I’m sure he’s doing great. It’s just me.”
“No, I know what you mean. I get the jitters for him, too, every time. And it’s not even me that’s up there.” She laughs.
“Yeah, exactly.”
Mr. Mathews glares at the stage. A muscle in his jaw jumps as he grits his teeth. When his wife speaks, his handsome, model-face turns the bad vibes my direction. He nods and looks away again. It’s like he’s Cyclops trying to melt stuff with his eyes.
“Is something wrong?” I ask Mrs. Mathews.
“Oh, Grey’s dad isn’t crazy about the music business. He doesn’t want even one event to sidetrack his son from what’s important.”
Important to whom? My blood heats, but it’s not my place to say anything. Especially not when I consider that if he’s worried now, what happens if he discovers Grey’s gone to England with me? Mr. Mathews will need cardiac paddles for sure. Izzy will paint me as some Mata Hari who lured him away, and they’ll all hate my guts.
Grey said he hasn’t told his parents anything about our trip. His plan is to lie and say he’s staying with Michael a while longer. Everything’s all screwed up, so different than what I’d dreamed of when Jeff first gave me his money.
My Spidey sense goes off as I feel the eyes of someone bore into the depths of my brain.
Izzy leans over the back of my chair. “Can I talk to you a minute?”
Can I stop you? “Sure.”
I follow her over to a grassy isle between rows. Behind us stands a line of blue Porta-Potties, waiting like foul sentries and spoiling my view. I fantasize about shoving her head in one of the stinky, cavernous holes and giving her a nice swirly. The image is so satisfying, I have to suppress a laugh.
Izzy whirls to me. Her lips spread, and she starts with a big, overblown smile that exposes her little white teeth. It’s the kind of grin one of Stephen King’s demonic clowns might give you—right before he eats your face off.
She jerks her head toward our party still seated on their folding chairs. “The people over there think I’m apologizing to you for my interference at the Fox. They know I don’t trust you, and that I only acted out of a sincere concern my dear friend, Grey, would get hurt.”
“Touching.” I lift my shoulders in an ‘aw shucks’ move for the benefit of anyone watching. “So how’s it hanging, Iz? Did your boys wind up in a vice over your failed attempt to get rid of me?”
“Very funny. True, my idea didn’t work out like I’d planned,” she says, “but it’s not over, Annie.”
Annie? Oh, wait, Little Orphan Annie. “That’s hilarious. You ought to do your shtick on Letterman.”
“You’re the comedian, or maybe just the joke.” She lifts her chin, and her smile inflates, as though she’s proud of her big comeback. “I figured it out. Grey is like the earth. He’s full of life, like the world, and I’m the sun. I’m the heat he needs to survive. You …”
Wait for it …
“… are this big, dumb, useless rock that’s eclipsed me for about one minute.”
… and there it is! Gag me. “Really? The moon?” I say. “How poetic. Your intellect is dizzying. Did you come up with that illustration all by yourself, or have you been watching the Science Channel again?”
Izzy’s brow folds, her eyebrows coming together, making a V.
“Careful Isabel, your claws are showing, hon.”
She glances to where our group waits, smoothes her face into a calm mask and keeps talking. “The nice thing about an eclipse is it doesn’t last. Oh, Grey’s infatuated with you because you need him, but you’ll do something stupid. You’ll screw it up and have to move on, and, well, I’ll still be here, won’t I? Enjoy your evening.”
I laugh like she just said something witty. “Bite me, Iz. I’m not playing. Grey’s not a prize you win at the fair. He’s a big boy who can make his own choices. We’re done here.”
We turn and walk back to the others as Push walks onto the stage, all the members dressed in black as if they just stepped out of their poster. The crowd cheers.
“Hello, Atlanta!” Grey speaks into the mike.
Screaming commences.
“We want to thank you all for coming out tonight. It’s a little cold, so you might want to … get closer.”
The crowd answers with hoots and whistles.
“If you’re here with someone special, snuggle up. If you’re not, make friends with the one next to ya.”
Everyone laughs.
“It’s all for a great cause, and we’ll have a good time while we’re at it.” He backs up, turns toward his base player and nods in time, two, three, four …. His guitar screams, and they launch into their first song, Speakeasy, followed by Manic, On Your Way to Me, and Darker Star.
Grey’s lips move against the microphone as he sings. It’s sensual to watch. I remember his kisses, those lips pressed to mine. The arms that hold his guitar held me—the fingers, so masterful against the strings, touched my face.
Good Lord. Heat bleeds into my cheeks. I doubt my sanity for the hundredth time since we met, wondering if I imagined everything. I’m glad it’s dark—it feels creepy having these thoughts while sitting next to his mom and dad. Okay, eew.
Push is brilliant. Grey’s brilliant. I watch as if I don’t know him, but I’ve heard his music through my headphones and seen him sing for a minute, once, in Dylan’s basement.
This is different. He’s smooth, confident, animated, not to mention sexy, and having the time of his life doing what he’s been gifted to do. I can’t understand his father. Has he never seen Grey perform? Why force an eagle into a birdcage? The cruelty of it pisses me off.
Push finishes to thunderous applause and exits the stage. The crowd wants an encore, but they won’t ge
t it. The benefit allows each band a short set in order to get through all ten on time.
Push was good, but Grey was fantastic.
The night has been fun and exciting, but a shadow looms dark and foreboding, and soon it’s back to business. The dream of a normal life chafes at my desire to do right. I want to claim Grey as my own, to kick responsibility to the curb and run from the idea of Jeff and his stupid curse. I won’t, though. I’m determined to make that way of thinking the old Birdie.
• • •
Yuletide’s host comes on the stage to announce the next band. Our party shuffles out of the isle and off to the side to wait for Grey and Dylan. I’m anxious to congratulate them.
“Do you know how long they’ll be?” says Izzy to no one in particular. “I’m starved.”
Kate grabs my arm and drags me away from the others, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Mom and Dad want to take just you and Grey for dessert tonight. Relax, go with it, and don’t be weird.”
“Aw, really? That spoils my plan to be as weird as possible around your parents.”
“Oh, hush.” She smiles and smacks my arm. “Izzy doesn’t know it yet, but Dylan and his date are taking the rest of us to a Yuletide after-party with some of his friends from the other bands.”
My mind fills with stereotypical images of hotel rocker parties, ending with everyone wasted and a sofa crashing through a window of the fourth floor to the street below. I lift an eyebrow.
“Oh, my gosh,” she says, one octave higher. “Get over yourself. They’re not random guys from some heavy metal vomit band. They’re friends of Dylan’s, and Scud will be there. Chill, girl.” She glances over toward her mother and back to me. “Mom’s trying really hard to be supportive of Grey’s choice to play tonight … and of you. They don’t say much, but there’s serious tension between my dad and brother.”
Great. Dylan’s soiree sounds better every minute.
“Go with them and have fun. Once ya’ll get to know each other, it won’t be as awkward, ya know?”
Kate’s always so positive, but she’s right; it would be good to get to know them. I’ve poked some fun at the perfect, plastic people that they didn’t deserve. Grey was right, too, I had judged his family. Envy and fear played a part, and I needed to make that right.
“Sure, sure. We’ll keep things light. It’ll be fine.”
She nods. “You’re a nice person, Birdie. Just be yourself. It’s going to be great.”
My bottom lip quivers. I don’t know why, but I reach out with both arms and hug her. She jumps before hugging me back and squealing. I squeal, too. My first girly sound that plays oddly in my head. I make a mental note never to do it again, but right now, however crazy it seems, I know it’s important.
• • •
Mr. and Mrs. Mathews, Grey and I sit in wide rattan chairs at the Cheesecake Factory. The restaurant glows with gold paint, and etched glass accents sparkle over a cream tiled floor. Leafy green palms adorn corners where big columns—whose design strikes me as some funky cross between Aztec, Egyptian, and big pineapples—support the ceiling. Delicious scents our waiter indentifies as Fettuccine Alfredo and Jamaican shrimp war for attention and seduce my waiting appetite, but the winning items sit on the table: chocolate cake and fresh strawberries.
I’m so hungry, it’s hard to be polite.
There’s never been a time Grey and his family didn’t intimidate me. Between Kate’s offer of friendship and Grey and I beating the tar out of each other daily, those feelings have lessened. However, sitting here next to Push’s guitar-god brings it all back. I keep smiling and glancing over at him as if I have a crush on a blind date. He’s a teen idol from Hollywood on a mercy date with the head of his fan club. Ack.
Grey grins back at me, almost to the point of laughing. “What?” he asks repeatedly.
“Nothing!” I say.
He smiles some more. I think he knows exactly what he does to me.
“I enjoyed the concert tonight,” says Mrs. Mathews. “You were wonderful, honey. So polished, it’s as if you’d never stopped playing.” When Mr. Mathews shoots her a death stare, she clears her throat. “More strawberries, Birdie?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Mr. Mathews’ smile is wooden as he turns to Grey. “It was for a good cause. People are hungry and you helped feed them. You did a good thing, and now it’s over, right?” Mrs. Mathews puts her hand on her husband’s arm, but he moves it away, and his excuse for a smile fades. “Right?”
I hold my breath and await Grey’s answer, but our waitress chooses that moment to appear. “More tea?” She holds up a pitcher and bobs her head toward my empty glass.
I exhale, “Yes, please.”
“Anyone else need a refill?” she asks.
“I’d like to have my coffee warmed up,” says Mrs. Mathews. “Two creams.” She winks at me.
I beam at her over the table, a sense of camaraderie coming over me—aware we’re both grateful for the interruption. Out of the corner of my eye, a group of four twenty-somethings head toward our table, all bundled up for the weather.
“Excuse me?” says a girl with auburn hair. “I never do this, and I’m sorry to bother you, but aren’t you Grey Mathews from Push?”
Grey swivels in his chair toward her. “Yes, I am.”
“I’m Jess. We just came from Yuletide.” She pokes a gloved finger toward her friends. “One of the bands we came to see was yours. Can I get your autograph?” Jess holds out a blue ballpoint and scrap of paper.
“Sure, no problem. I’m glad you came out. I know it went glacial out there once we lost the sun.” Grey places the paper on the table and starts to write.
A tall, blond guy I assume to be Jess’ boyfriend leans over her. “So does this mean you’re out of retirement? Are you guys going to start playing again?”
Mr. Mathews’ shoulders stiffen.
“I don’t know.” Grey’s eyes dart to his father and back. “Tonight was a one time thing. Not sure what the future holds.”
“Well, I love your music, man. I hope you’ll do more.” His friends murmur in agreement.
“Thanks a lot.” Grey hands the paper and pen back to Jess. “And thanks for stopping by.”
Jess nods and smiles. Her friends wave. She starts to turn but stops and angles back toward me. Her eyebrows scrunch, as if she’s seen me before and is trying to place me. “Are you anybody?”
Heat explodes on my face as my brain numbs. My eyes bulge, and I look down trying to think of a response.
“This is my girlfriend, Birdie,” Grey says.
“Oh, sorry,” she says. “I thought I recognized you as someone important.”
Grey’s hand finds my knee, and he squeezes. “She is. Have a nice night, Jess. Thanks again for supporting the locals.”
As he dismisses them, Jess and her friends edge away. They grin and bow a little, like they’ve seen a king—which strikes me as funny.
Grey turns to me, his eyes fierce. I bite at the inside of my cheek.
“That was sweet of your fans to come say hello,” says Mrs. Mathews.
“It was.” I try to smooth the awkward moment. “It’s awesome to get feedback from people like that. Let’s you know you’re doing something right.” I slide the dessert plate over the tablecloth in Mrs. Mathew’s direction, just trying to get a conversation going. Anything to distract from the fact Jess just called me a Jane Doe in front of everyone, even if she didn’t say those exact words. Grey’s hand stays on my knee, steady and reassuring. I shrug inwardly. Jess’s blunder doesn’t have to be a big deal unless I make it one. “So … about this chocolate cake—”
“But are you?” Mr. Mathews’ face is rigid, his jaw tight. “Are you doing the right thing? Was this a one-time performance, or are you starting up again? You’ll risk everything we’ve accomplished—school, goals—if you get sidetracked with an old hobby now.”
Aw, hell.
Grey takes his hand from my knee. “We’ve
accomplished? That’s it, isn’t it, Dad? Only I think you mean you. I don’t know if I want to play music forever—probably not—but dictating my life won’t make you feel better about Sean.”
“Grey …” his mother says softly. Her eyes are glassy.
“No! I’ve had it. I don’t want to be your puppet anymore. My becoming an engineer won’t bring Sean back. Dad sees nothing but his own pain. Do you think I don’t miss him, too? I can’t live for Sean, or you, or anyone else. I have to live my own life, and whatever that looks like, I’ll decide.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if you make a mistake you can’t come back from?” As Mr. Mathews shouts, people at the surrounding tables begin to shift their bodies toward us.
“Then it’s mine to make. Come on, Birdie.”
Mr. Mathews glowers at me, though his next words are for Grey. “How much does she have to do with this? You didn’t talk like this before she showed up.”
“Oh, Scott … don’t,” Mrs. Mathews says.
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? No family … no ties. She comes from nowhere. What do we even know about her?”
My glance flits among the other three people at the table. I want to be a bridge but realize there’s no convincing anyone. What would I say? His father is right and wrong. My gut twists inside me, and I squelch the urge to run out the door. Grey would only follow, and I want him to stay and fight for his family.
Grey’s chest sags. “You’re so blind, Dad. Leave it to you to go there.” All traces of anger drain from his voice. He shakes his head, an uncomfortable silence dragging on before he leans over and lifts my coat from the back of my chair.
I stand as he straightens. “Wait …” I lift my chin so I can see Grey’s eyes. “Can I leave you alone to talk awhile? I’m sure if everyone—”
“No.” He pauses, turning to his mother. “I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t do this with him anymore.”