by Elks, Carrie
“I’ll still be writing. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Okayyyyyy…” Marco trailed the sound out for four syllables. “But let me talk to the label, let them know what you’re doing. Maybe schedule a video conference. And about this construction, I’ll have to check your insurance, see what you can and can’t do.”
Gray laughed. “I’m almost certain they don’t mention plumbing in the cover letter.”
“It’ll come under manual labor. I’ll have to talk to the broker.” Marco paused as though he was making a note. “And how’s the family?”
“Okay. Wet.” Gray filled him in on the flood.
“Is your aunt okay? None of her things got ruined, did they?”
“She’s fine. Stronger than all of us put together. Can you arrange a truck for me while I’m here. I’m going to need it to pick up supplies.”
Marco started to laugh. “You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am.” Gray frowned. “Why does everybody laugh when I tell them?”
“Because you’re Gray Hartson. You earn more in a minute than a plumber earns in a month. There’s no sense to what you’re doing.” Marco cleared his throat. “Did you really call the Johnson brothers for help?”
“They’re giving me some advice.” Gray knew he sounded defensive. And that it wasn’t Marco’s fault he was finding it all so strange. Heck, it was strange.
“Okay, look, just don’t do anything stupid, okay? I don’t know why you’re doing this, but you are and I’m going with it. But take care of those hands and make sure you write some music. That’s all I ask.”
The music wasn’t the problem. He’d already written two tracks. Raw, gritty, and full of emotion.
The way he felt every time he woke up in Hartson’s Creek. Or each time he stepped into the diner and saw a certain brunette behind the counter. He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to work out what it was that drew him to his ex-girlfriend’s little sister. Yeah, she was pretty, but he was so over pretty women. Like the drugs and the drink, being surrounded by perfect lost its luster pretty quick for him.
But then Maddie wasn’t perfect. She was forthright but cagey, confident yet he could see the vulnerability there, too. Madison Clark was an enigma, and so different to the teenage girl he remembered. And he was fascinated by her.
Marco cleared his throat. “Ah, Gray?”
“Yeah?” He watched as Aunt Gina walked in with a basket full of clothes. Sandwiching his phone between his ear and his shoulder, he took it from her and carried it to the laundry room.
“Are you okay?” Marco lowered his voice. “As in, you know, mentally okay?”
“What?” Gray coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, I am. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re making strange decisions. I’ve seen it before. A long tour followed by burnout. Shall I arrange a video consultation with Doctor Tennison?”
“I don’t need to talk to my shrink. I’m just taking care of my family. Try not to worry so much.” Gray shook his head. “Two months and I’ll be back in LA, recording the next album. Don’t worry.”
“I do worry. Don’t do anything stupid. And keep your head down. I’ve no idea how I’m going to spin this. Maybe we can get a film crew in or something…”
“No film crew.” Gray shook his head. “We don’t need to spin anything. I’m going to repair a few pipes and shingles and spend some time with my family. Nothing could be simpler.”
“Famous last words,” Marco said quietly.
“I’ll speak to you later, Marco.” He hung up before Marco could suggest anything else. Because this was fine. He had it under control. He’d spend the next few weeks repairing the house and writing songs.
What could go wrong with that?
* * *
“Here you go,” Maddie said, putting her mom’s prescriptions on the kitchen table. She’d stopped in to the pharmacy on her way home from work. “Enough to see you through the next month. And Murphy sent some pie over for us to have after dinner.”
“What kind?” her mom looked up with a smile. She had that hazy look that she wore after her nap.
“Cherry. Your favorite. I’m going to take a shower and then cook us something tasty. You need anything?”
“I’m good. Rita Foster came over earlier. Helped me with lunch.”
“That’s good.” Maddie leaned down to kiss her mom’s cheek. “I stink of grease, I’m sorry.”
“Rita said that Gray Hartson had to escape from Church on Sunday. Said you helped him.”
Maddie’s spine straightened. “Oh did she?” she said, keeping her voice light. “I’d have thought she’d have saved that for chairs.”
Her mom chuckled. “She couldn’t help herself. Said there’d been complaints. Della Thorsen says you almost scared her to death.”
“Della Thorsen could barely see us. We were at the end of her yard for about three seconds. I was trying to help. Reverend Maitland asked me to smuggle Gray out of there.”
Her mom smiled. “How is he? He was always such a lovely young man. At one point I really thought he and Ashleigh…” her voice trailed off. “Well that’s history now,” she added hastily. “Ashleigh is so happy with Michael and the kids.”
“Yeah.” Maddie’s throat felt scratchy. “And he’s good. I’m sure he’ll come by at some point to say hi. He always had a lot of time for you.”
“How long is he staying in town?” her mom asked.
Maddie cupped the back of her neck with her palm. Her skin felt clammy and warm. “A couple of months, I think. He’s helping his dad repair the house.”
“Gina will love that. She’s always complaining about that house. And of course she loves it when her boys come home. They don’t do it enough.” She clucked her tongue.
Maddie gave her mom a smile and headed down the hallway. She didn’t want to think about Gray Hartson right now. It had been a long day and she was beat. Maybe a shower would spruce her up.
* * *
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Mac Johnson said, his head shaking as he stared at Gray through his cellphone screen. “Those pipes are at least fifty years old. See that corrosion there on the right? That pipe’s made of lead. Some of the others look more like galvanized steel from what I can tell. But without seeing it for myself all I can do is make a best guess. Do you know when the pipes were last replaced?”
“I think Dad did it when he and mom first got married.” Gray ran his thumb along his jaw. “I guess that was about forty years ago.”
“Yeah, that’s where the steel pipes come from. The lead ones could be originals. If it was my house, I’d rip ’em all out and start from scratch.”
“How long will that take?” That was Tanner. He leaned over the phone, fascinated that Gray was casually taking advice from one of the Johnson brothers.
“If it was me, a week. For amateurs? Your guess is as good as mine.” His brows pulled together. “Are you sure you want to do this, Gray? I could understand if you were doing it for publicity or charity. But anything else? Call in a professional.”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?”
“Because you’re crazy, bro,” Tanner told him. Mac laughed.
“You should listen to him,” Mac agreed. “Pay a professional, then go make another million dollar album.”
“I’m doing it myself,” Gray told him.
“He’s stubborn as hell.” Tanner shrugged. “We all are. When he sets his mind on something there’s no persuading him otherwise.”
“Yeah, well he might need that if he’s replacing the pipes.” Mac sighed. “I’ve spoken to a plumber friend of mine and he’s going to draw up a plan for you. List out the supplies you need, the timeline for repairs, what tools you’ll want, and the sequence to replace it all. But you have to realize, this is a professional job. I wouldn’t expect to pick up a guitar and be able to play it right away. You shouldn’t expect to be able to do this either. You
will make mistakes and you will cause damage.”
“That sounds ominous.” Tanner smirked.
“Are you going to be helping him?” Mac asked.
“Not for long. I’m heading back home after next weekend. After that, he’s on his own.”
“I’ll be here,” Becca protested. “I can help.”
“You look like the most sensible of all of them.” Mac nodded. “All right, I’d better go. We’ve got a meeting on next season in half an hour.”
“Okay.” Gray nodded. “Thanks, Mac. I appreciate it.”
“And I’ll appreciate it when you sing at my daughter’s wedding,” Mac said, winking at him. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
Gray hung up the phone and looked at his brother, who was biting down a smile. “I told you this was crazy,” Tanner said.
“Ignore him. You can do this, Gray. You were always working on the house when we were kids. And you fixed my bike when I crashed it into the wall, remember?” Becca grinned.
“You’re going to have to record this,” Tanner said, ruffling his little sister’s hair. “I need to see it in all it’s glory.”
“Nobody’s recording anything,” Gray growled. “When are you leaving exactly?”
“The Monday after my birthday. The same time that Cam and Logan will leave.” Their brothers were making a quick visit to town for the weekend of Tanner’s birthday, to celebrate with him and catch up with Gray, too.
“That reminds me. I spoke to Sam, and the Karaoke Contest is a go,” Becca said, her eyes sparkling. “Eight o’clock sharp at the Moonlight Bar.”
“Karaoke contest?” Gray shook his head. “Seriously?”
“Karaoke at the Moonlight is the best,” Tanner said, his face serious. “You’re gonna love it.”
Becca clapped her hands together. “It’s going to be amazing. All my brothers in one place.”
“Are you sure I should go?” Gray felt like he was pissing on her parade. “I don’t want to cause any more problems like I did at church.”
“It’ll be fine,” Tanner told him. “They won’t let teenage girls in. And Sam who runs it is as straight as they come. He’ll have our backs.”
“Come on, Gray,” Becca urged. “We’ve never been to a bar together. I want to dance with my big brother.”
“He can’t dance,” Tanner said, grinning. “But it would be good to have you there.”
“I don’t know…” Gray pressed his lips together.
“Just say yes. We’ll look after you. So will Logan and Cam.” Becca squeezed his arm.
“Maybe he’s scared.” Tanner winked. “What if he loses at Karaoke? He’ll never live it down.”
Gray groaned. “I’ll come. But I won’t be singing Karaoke.” He looked at his sister. “And I won’t be dancing, unless I’m full of whiskey.”
Becca raised her eyebrows. “That sounds like a challenge.” She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m so happy you’re here. You’re the best.”
Chapter Ten
Gray couldn’t remember the last time he’d ached this much. It was only eight in the evening, yet his muscles were begging him to put them to bed and let them sleep for a good twelve hours. And he would’ve, if he didn’t have a damn album to write. While he’d spent the past few days with his body contorted into crazy positions to work on the plumbing, he spent the evenings in his dad’s old summerhouse with his guitar and blank sheet music, determined to write at least one song a week and be ready for the recording studio in two months.
He’d almost flooded the kitchen on the first day he’d started. Cue panic from Becca and loud groaning from his father as he mopped up the water and tried to determine where he’d gone wrong. Everything seemed to take twice the time he thought it would.
“Damn, I’ll be glad to get home,” Tanner said, circling his head as though trying to work out the knots in his neck. “Why did I say I’d help you again?”
“Because otherwise I would’ve kicked your ass,” Gray told him as he dried a plate and passed it to his younger brother. “And that would’ve hurt more.”
“Yeah, right.” Tanner grinned. “You can barely hold that dish towel, let alone inflict bodily damage on me. Besides, I heard what your manager said to you about your hands. Keep the gloves on at all times, no cuts, no nicks. Those pretty fingers are worth too much.”
Gray rolled his eyes. “You always had a smart mouth.”
“It’s only getting smarter.” Tanner winked. “Man, I’m pooped. You want to come with me to the Moonlight? You can buy me a beer to thank me for my hard work.”
“I’ll buy you a beer on Saturday,” Gray told him. “We can toast your leaving.”
Tanner laughed. “Are you that desperate to get rid of me?”
Nope. Gray was dreading his brother leaving. Not just because he’d been helping him with the remodeling, but because he’d enjoyed having this time to connect with Tanner. At three years younger than him, his little brother had been a pain in his ass for most of their childhood. Yet he’d protected him as best he could – first from the pain of their mom’s death, then from the anger their dad could never shake.
Tanner had been almost seventeen when Gray left for L.A. Still a kid, despite his protestations. But now he was a man, and Gray was connecting with him on a new level.
It was going to be quiet here without him.
“I’m going to work on some music tonight,” Gray told his brother. “But I’ll definitely be there on Saturday.”
Tanner’s eyes softened. “That means a lot. Thanks, bro.”
Gray made a mental note to put his card behind the bar. Saturday night was on him. “And if you get drunk tonight, avoid the third step. Otherwise dad will hear you come home.”
“Ah, the old third step trick. Don’t worry, Logan taught me that one,” Tanner told him. “Good luck with the music.”
“Thanks.” Gray watched his brother grab his jacket and call goodbye to Aunt Gina and Becca, who were watching an old movie in the living room. Then he walked down the hallway, planning on grabbing his guitar and music before heading out to the summer house.
“That you, Gray?” his father called out as he passed the study. For a moment, Gray considered ignoring him. What could he do, anyway? It wasn’t as though he was going to chase him up the stairs the way he’d done when Gray was a kid.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Compassion won out over disdain. He pushed the study door open, spotting his dad sitting in the wing backed leather chair next to his bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” His dad nodded. “Or as okay as it gets.” He cleared his throat, and Gray winced at how much fluid he could hear. “How’s the plumbing?”
“It’s slow but sure. We managed to replace about six feet today. The worst part is stopping and turning the water on each time. It takes forever to test the seals.”
“Hmmm.” His dad nodded but said nothing more.
“You need anything?” Gray asked him. “Want me to get you a drink?”
“No thank you.”
“Okay then.” Gray lingered for a moment, nonplussed by the lack of venom in his father’s voice. “I’m going to head out and play some guitar.”
“Keep it quiet. Remember the neighbors.”
“I’ve got headphones. Nobody will hear.”
His father picked up the book from the table in front of him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for the work you’re doing.”
Gray did a double take at his father’s words. When was the last time he thanked him for anything? It felt weird and uncomfortable, so he just nodded and went upstairs to grab his guitar.
He couldn’t remember a time he didn’t resent his old man. And though that feeling was still there, tonight it felt diluted. And he wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge right now.
An hour later, he was sitting on the cushioned wicker chair in the summer house, the glass doors wide open to let in the cool evening air.
His headphones were around his neck as he played around with some lyrics, the only sound in his ears the constant buzz of the cicadas. He’d forgotten how loud they were around here. How they’d been the soundtrack to his teenage summer evenings, along with Nirvana, or the Foo Fighters, or whatever band he was playing on repeat that week.
Maybe somewhere a teenage kid was playing Gray’s own music on repeat. The corner of his mouth lifted at the thought.
He stood and rolled his shoulders, releasing the tightness in his muscles. He was humming a riff that had come to him when he was playing around with his guitar. He stepped outside of the summerhouse and took in the sweet, heady scents of the lilacs planted around the wooden building.
Like everything else, it was decaying. Could do with a coat of paint, new windowpanes, and the interior being refinished. But he liked the way it made him feel in there. As though he was still sixteen, permanently glued to his guitar, dreaming of being a famous musician one day.
And now he was. He should be happy. And yet…
…that sixteen-year-old kid wasn’t content with what he’d achieved. Because that achievement was supposed to bring his father’s approval. And it hadn’t. Not at all.
He hated that a part of him still yearned for it.
He quietly closed the door to the summerhouse and walked to the front of his father’s yard. From here he could see the tall spire of the First Baptist Church, and the red roofs of the shops that clustered around the town’s square. Beyond was farmland – the growing corn illuminated by the moonlight.
Apart from the hum of insects, the town was eerily quiet. He checked his watch – it was only nine-thirty, yet it felt as though everybody but him was asleep. Maybe he should head to the bar after all. Tanner was probably still there, a beer or two into a good night. He could order a whiskey, let the strong burn of alcohol take the wistful feelings away.
But instead he found himself heading toward another familiar road. One three blocks down from his own.
It took less than five minutes until he was there. He frowned as he stared at the old bungalow, wondering what the hell he should do next. And then, through the open window at the front of the house he saw her sitting down at the piano.