by Rae Kennedy
“I’m sorry, hun. Do you need a drink?”
I smile for the first time today. “Maybe.”
“I’ll make it a double.”
I don’t drink much but this drink is going down mighty easily. I sigh and rub the side of my face after finishing the last of it.
“It’s never easy,” Mila says with a small smile.
“The worst part is that I’m now essentially homeless and if I don’t find a place fast that’s really cheap, I’ll have to withdraw from classes next term.”
“We’re not going to let that happen. You can stay with me.”
“What? Oh my gosh, Mila are you sure? I won’t stay long, I promise.” I’ve been to Mila’s place a few times and it’s small. Like, extremely small, and I know I’ll only have the apartment-sized sofa, but it’s better than my car.
“I insist. And you can stay as long as you need.” She bends down, digging something out from under the bar. “Here.” Mila slides a little gold key over to me on the counter. “I have to work a double today, but go and drop off your things. Relax. Take a shower or whatever before your shift.”
“Wow, thank you. I don’t even know what to say. You’re the best.” I stand and practically climb up onto the bar to reach over and hug her hard.
The dining area is getting louder and tables are starting to fill up. Mila grimaces then heads out to her section with her notepad in hand and her little black apron low on her hips.
Terry pops out of the back room just at that moment. His long golden-white hair is loose today. He squints a gray eye at me. “Are you working right now? I didn’t think you were on the schedule.”
“No, I’m not working, but I will be later tonight.”
“Ah. Mic night. Are you going to perform too?”
I sometimes read my poetry on open mic nights, but I haven’t written anything new recently. “Maybe.”
He gives a noncommittal grunt and retreats back to his office.
I feel slightly buzzed already and realize I probably ought to hang out for a bit before driving to Mila’s place. Maybe have some lunch. Definitely some water.
I turn the key in my hand, feeling the cool metal on my skin. It’s amazing how quickly everything can change.
“Gracie?”
The masculine voice behind me is a ghost from my past. Goosebumps rise on my arms as I turn around to see him.
“Logan?”
CHAPTER 23
Logan is standing near the front door, backlit by the bright afternoon sunlight streaming in from the expansive windows. His face lights with the same charming smile I remember. His hair is shorter but still curly and wild, his eyes the warmest brown.
I’m crossing the room without conscious thought. Toward Logan, who’s coming at me with his arms outstretched and before I know it I’m entangled in a tight hug and being swung from side to side.
Logan pulls back and holds me by the shoulders. “Gracie, wow. It’s amazing to see you again. You look great. I love this.” He points to my nose.
I touch the tiny stud in my nose. “Oh yeah. Well, I had to finish off the list.”
He nods, eyes wide and glittery, mouth open and we just stare at each other, struck silent in shock.
After a beat, he shakes the blank look off his face. “Hey, want to have lunch with me?”
“Yeah, I’d love that.”
We sit over in a quiet corner away from other tables.
“It’s so crazy that you’re here, I mean—what a coincidence. I was supposed to meet Dean here for lunch, but then he bailed on me.”
“Dean’s in town too?”
“Yeah. We’re all here. We’ve been prepping for our world tour for months and this is our last break before it starts next week. We’re doing a little work in the recording studio on the next album right now.” Logan’s eyes get wide and he starts slapping the table. “Oh my god, come to the studio with me! This is perfect, running into you like this. It was meant to be. You need to record the song with us!”
“Song? What song?” I know exactly what song he’s talking about.
“The song. The one from the video. You know about the video, right?”
I nod then take an awkwardly long drink of my water.
“Man, Rick would probably have a heart attack if we told him we were going to record that song. The label has been on our asses wanting us to record it. They bring it up at every meeting, I swear, but Colin refuses. He always says that he won’t do it without you.”
My throat constricts at the mention of his name but Logan goes on and on.
“It would be so cool, and obviously you would get paid plus royalties, plus a co-writing credit—”
“That all sounds great, but I'm not interested, Logan.”
“Oh, okay. That’s cool too. You should still totally come with me though. All the guys will be so excited to see you and hang out.”
He’s here. In the same city as me. He could be close, around the corner. The idea makes my heart race and a surge of cold rush through my veins.
I keep my head up and smile at Logan but I feel it wavering. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He holds my gaze with his big, dark brown eyes, his smile fading to a soft line. “He wants to see you, Gracie. I know he does.”
I shake my head. “The way we ended was so abrupt, I don’t think—”
“I know why it ended. The situation was shitty, and the only way he thought to protect you from it was to get you as far away from it as he could. And I’m the one who made it shitty.”
“What happened between Colin and me was not your fault—”
“But it was, and I’m sorry.”
“No. If anyone should be apologizing here, it’s me. I’ve always felt terrible for leaving when you were in the hospital. I should have stayed until you woke up, until we knew that you were going to be okay. I was a horrible friend.”
“Pshh. I never thought that for a second.” His chair screeches against the floor as he stands and scoops me up in another hug.
He sits back down just as our food arrives. We dig in, and Logan asks if he can have a bite of my club sandwich almost immediately then offers to share his roast beef French dip.
As he’s finishing up both of our fries, he says, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you coming to the studio isn’t a good idea. I didn’t think about it being hard for you guys, I just know it would make him happy. He’s never gotten over it. God, if you thought he was broody before, it’s ten times worse now. Makes for writing good songs though. I guess that’s the only upside to being heartbroken.”
I almost spit out my water. “Heartbroken? No one’s heart got broken.” Except mine.
He looks at me incredulously, his face all twisted up in bewilderment.
“It wasn’t even real.”
And then I tell him about how Colin and I faked everything. We were never actually together. We were never in love. I say it with conviction. It’s the same way I’ve convinced myself over the last two years.
“Pretend, huh? Sure didn’t seem that way.”
Yeah, to you and me both. “It’s true.”
Logan just looks at me for a while, head cocked, a thoughtful look in his eyes, while chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“Have you listened to any of our last two albums?”
“No.” I can’t.
“I think you should.”
* * *
I have no idea where to put any of my stuff in Mila’s apartment. The closet by the front door has several colorful scarves tied to the handle along with a few purses hanging from it. I open it carefully to see it is bursting with coats and sweaters and sparkly dresses and shoes. So many shoes.
So I just leave my suitcases by the bright red couch and sit, glad I left the boxes in the car—I think they’re going to stay there.
Mila’s entire place could probably fit in Ethan’s living room. There is no dining area, just the kitchen with dark wood cabinets in a U shape, so small
that the oven and refrigerator cannot be opened at the same time and you definitely could not fit more than one and a half people into it at once. Said refrigerator is covered in magnets and photographs.
There’s a teeny tiny window over the sink—which is full of dishes—where herbs sit in the sunshine, potted in a random assortment of different plastic cups and containers.
The walls are a cheerful yellow color, except for one spot that has been faded by the sun. It’s directly across from the large sliding glass door off the living room that leads to a deck that is large enough for exactly one chair.
My eyelids are heavy with the weight of not sleeping last night. Vivid teal drapes frame the slider and I decide to pull them shut. I sink back onto the couch—it’s soft and velvety as I lie down, grabbing a leopard print throw pillow to rest on.
I close my eyes.
But I can’t sleep.
Logan’s words keep nagging at my mind.
I shouldn’t do it.
I think you should.
I fumble for my phone and for the second time in two days, I search Wicked Road. They’ve put out two studio albums in the last two years since their big record deal. Before I can change my mind I hit download. And in the darkened room, I listen.
I listen to several songs. They’re all new to me but I recognize Joey’s heavy drum beats and Logan’s skilled guitar-playing. But everything comes back to his vocals. The voice that I can never forget, that sends shivers down my spine. I try to focus on the lyrics and I recognize many of them from when he let me read his notebook. I can see the slanted words written hastily in black ink covering the lined pages. I fall into the music, nodding my head to the rhythms, a smile threatening to tug at my lips even as something deep inside of me aches.
And then I get to a song where I don’t recognize any of the lyrics. It’s slower. Colin’s voice is deep and it breaks as he starts into the chorus.
You were my stars
Bright in the dark
A shot of life to my heart
Torn apart by the storm
The song is called “Gray Skies”. Is it—is it about me? The title is probably just a coincidence. I listen to the rest of the songs on the first album but when I go to click on the second one, I see what it’s called and I don’t think it’s a coincidence anymore.
It’s called The Gray Album.
I scan the list of titles. The first song is called “Haunted”. Then there’s “Hate Me”. My heart sinks when I read the next one: “The Wolf Who Loved the Lamb”.
My heart is beating rapidly as I hit play and I don’t think I'm breathing. I listen through in a haze, lost in the music, feeling that invisible connection to him again. I try to focus on the lyrics. The lines speak to me and I know. I know they’re all for me.
You can’t hate me
More than I hate myself
Oh but I lied
I lied
I fucking lied
And we died
We died
The last song is just titled, Gray.
Everything is gray since you’ve been gone
I was wrong
I was wrong
I lie silent and still after it’s over. I realize my cheeks are wet.
There are so many thoughts and emotions swirling and twisting in my mind. Tugging in all directions, forceful, angry, sad, hurt, yearning. I can’t handle them.
So I get up and fish out my notebook and pour every thought out on the page instead.
* * *
“Did you get settled okay?” Mila asks as I hand her back the key. “Sorry I only have the couch for you, and I’ll have a spare key made tomorrow. I should probably have one anyway, right?”
I nod, making sure to hold my smile as wide as I can. “It’s really great, Mila. Thank you again for letting me stay with you.”
“Psht. It’s not even a thing.” She waves a hand.
It is, though. Mila is my coworker. Yeah we’re friends, but we’re not that close, and for her to offer her home to me so freely is definitely a thing. So much has happened today that my emotions are close to the surface, and just this little realization has my smile cracking and tears starting to well up.
Mila gives me a small smile, her dark eyes full of understanding.
“You’ll get through this. I know you will.”
I nod again, unable to speak. She thinks this is all about the breakup, but she doesn’t even know the half of it.
Terry pops around the corner just at this moment. I think he might actually live here. He’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt covered in yellow swirls that bleed into green then blue, faded after many washes.
“Gracie, just the person I was looking for. Remind me, did you say you were going to perform tonight?”
I glance at the notebook in my purse. I’d filled three pages with words in a frenzy this afternoon and then spent some time composing a new poem from them—the first poem I’ve written in months. But I don’t usually read a poem without having practiced and memorized it.
“I don’t know,” I say.
He clicks his tongue. “Ah, okay. Well, I guess you’ve got some time to decide.”
The bar and restaurant fill up as the evening goes on, a typical Friday night. Half the patrons are sitting at the tables eating, chatting quietly and clapping as performers start to take the stage. Some people sing, some speak their poetry quietly and others spit it out like a fierce rap battle. The other half of the bar is rowdily throwing darts and taking shots and betting rounds of beer.
I’m so distracted I can barely remember simple drink orders and I’ve almost broken three glasses already.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I pull it out, hoping Terry doesn’t choose this moment to pop out.
Ethan: Did you pack up your stuff and leave?
Me: Yes, we broke up this morning or do you not remember?
Ethan: I thought we agreed we were going to talk tonight
Me: I didn’t agree to anything. I can’t talk about this right now, I’m at work.
Ethan: Fine. I’ll call you later.
I don’t want to talk later. I want to scream.
I clench my fists and shove the phone in my purse just as Terry wanders out from the back. He looks around for a minute then gives a nod and pushes up his thin glasses when he sees me. “Are you going on?”
The stage is empty and it’s getting late. I can’t scream, but I can do this.
“Yes.”
I walk up to the stage, the familiar butterflies stirring in my stomach as I step up to the microphone. I introduce myself, trying not to think too much about how many eyes are on me right now.
“I wrote this earlier today, so I’m just going to read it for you. It’s called Deep.”
I open my notebook, grateful to be holding a tangible thing. And I read.
I am a bird. A flame.
Delicate but strong.
I can fly far and for however long,
but I still hear your song.
You’re a witch. A Siren.
Calling me back. Calling me down.
I can’t get too close, I think.
But, maybe just one drink.
It’s cool and sweet
but then you pull me in deep
and I sink.
I sink.
Overtaken by the black and the ink.
The water’s like oil, slick on my feathers
and I know I’ll never be free of your tethers.
It fills my lungs, in through my throat.
No more breathing or sighing.
Or fighting. Or flying.
And I’m not even trying,
because the truth is I love the dying.
My fingers shake slightly as I lift my head to gentle applause and murmurs, the wave of adrenaline giving way to the feeling of excitement and accomplishment. I smile out to the crowd and thank them.
But just as I turn to exit the stage, I see them. Piercing dark eyes from across the room.
<
br /> He’s sitting in shadows, a black cap pulled low, his head resting against his hand, two fingers at his temple. I’d recognize the angle of his jaw, the lines of his nose—but those eyes.
I’ll always know the intensity of Colin Wolfe’s stare.
CHAPTER 24
My heart is thumping wildly, the sound reverberating through my bones. Heat blooms under my skin and I think I'm about to break out into a cold sweat. I can’t look away from him. I don’t even blink.
But then I stumble, not realizing I’m at the edge of the steps, and barely catch myself before I fall. When I look back, people are getting out of their seats and so many of them are crossing in front of me to go to the bar or the bathroom that his spot in the back corner is obscured. And when I get closer, he’s not there.
I hide in the back. There’s twenty minutes left of my lunch break before I have to go back out there, but the thought of eating makes my stomach turn. I sit, doubled over, until my heart steadies itself and I no longer feel shaky.
Of course Logan would tell him about me. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him. But I was—even more so by my body’s visceral response to him.
Is he going to talk to me? What am I supposed to say? We’re not friends, but we’re more than acquaintances. We know each other intimately, but we’re also strangers. He’s literally famous—a millionaire—and I’m no one. But I’m Mystery Girl. I’m Gray.
We have this weird little history, a time together that was so brief it shouldn’t even matter. But it did. It does. It changed the trajectory of my entire life.
And he’s here.
When my break is up, I take a few deep breaths and go back out to the bar. Mila smiles and nods from the other end of the bar as she fills up a line of blowjob shots for a group of giggling women. Rory, the other bartender working tonight, leaves for his break and I look around the bar.
I don’t see him.