Petra’s beautiful. Blonde with green eyes. Another stunning, insanely musically gifted person is walking around in the world. There are two of them, and of course, everyone would want them to couple up and clone themselves. Breathing hurts when I think of Rhyson with some gorgeous fellow genius piano prodigy who is perfect for him and whom his parents love.
The pain of losing my mother—that happened to me. I had no control over how loss raided my life, stealing one thing after another that I loved. But this? Rejecting Rhyson when he wanted me and then seeing him possibly move on . . . move back . . . to someone who hurt him before, who doesn’t deserve a second chance, this I inflicted on myself.
I hand the phone to San and walk back toward my bedroom without answering the question on San’s face.
“It’s just dinner, Kai,” he calls after me.
I close my bedroom door before he can offer more assurances that don’t make me feel any better. Rhyson’s been gone for days and hasn’t called. I’m the one who asked for space, so calling him would defeat that purpose, but missing him feels like a sad flower growing inside of me every day—an ache that keeps budding, opening up in my soul. I’d forgotten how much fun life could be until Rhyson entered mine. As much as they tried, San and Grady couldn’t drag me out of that solitary confinement my grief had consigned me to.
But Rhyson did.
Waitressing keeps me busy, blocking the depression and guilt I feel over what happened with Rhyson. My section is packed. The orders come thick and fast. The customers are demanding. It’s just what I need to distract me.
I’m in the kitchen checking on table three’s order when one of the other servers comes in, his face harried and irate under his pink-tinted faux hawk. How many trends can you fit onto one head, dude?
“Hey, Kai, older guy’s out there asking for you.”
My emotions yo-yo between overwhelming relief that Rhyson’s here and dread. I don’t even bother trying to freshen anything. I lost the elastic band taming my hair when the high school basketball team came through two hours ago. Haven’t seen it since, and my hair is all over the place. Oh, well. He’s seen me at my worst and he’s still here.
I walk out, scanning the dining room for him. Then I see the broad shoulders from behind, his height elevating him inches over the other customers at the podium waiting to be seated. He’s wearing a fedora I’ve never seen before. Guess he’s freshening the disguise. I walk up behind him and tap him on the shoulder, a smile already on my face despite the trepidation over what the next few moments hold for us.
“Hey, you,” I say. “I thought you were still in Chicago.”
He turns around, and it’s not the older man I expected. The grey in Grady’s goatee and the lines around his eyes aren’t a disguise. Time put those there, and he looks like he’s aged a few more years since I last saw him.
“Grady, hey.” I reach up to give him a quick hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Kai.” He steps out of the way of a few customers being shown to their seats. “Sorry to come down here when you’re working.”
“It’s fine.” I grab his arm and pull him off to the side. “Everything okay?”
The frown on his face and the worry in his eyes answer before he does.
“No, things aren’t good.”
“Rhyson?” I grip his hand, fixing my eyes on his face. “Is it Rhyson?”
“No, he’s fine. Well, as fine as can be expected.”
“Grady, what’s happened?” My imagination ping pongs between dire scenarios. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rhyson’s father.” Grady presses his lips together and swallows before speaking. “His father . . . my brother . . . had a heart attack. It’s bad. They’re not sure . . .”
Grady chokes the words back and composes himself before going on.
“They had a horrible argument at Christmas”
“I know. He told me.”
“The things they said to each other.” Grady levels a concerned look at me. “As bad as their relationship has been, I know Rhyson loves his father. He’s always wanted his approval. He thinks he’s been defying his father with all of his success, but I know on some level, he’s wanted my brother to be proud of him. If those things he said to him at Christmas are their last words, it’ll eat Rhyson alive.”
I am so far from where I belong. I should be right by Rhyson’s side. I know it immediately. I can’t help but think about my emotional implosion at Thanksgiving dinner, how he blocked everyone else out and comforted me. I need to do that for him.
“What . . . where?” I can’t piece together words. The desire to go to him is like a heat-seeking missile, strong and searching.
“He and Bristol were in Chicago for a few shows when they got the news, but they’re already in New York.”
Of course. I forgot about Petra. Maybe she’s with him. Maybe he doesn’t want anything from me now. Maybe he wouldn’t even accept it from me. I pushed him away.
“I’m sorry, Grady. Is there . . . is there anything I can do?”
“Bristol has arranged a private flight for me out to New York. It leaves in about an hour.”
“Good. I’m glad you can get there right away.” I pause, studying my Converse for a moment in silence. “Please tell him I’m praying for his dad.”
Grady holds my eyes, grabs my hands.
“Come tell him yourself, Kai.”
I look up from my shoes, my eyes wide.
“He doesn’t want me there, Grady. We had a . . . a disagreement and—”
“I know.”
“You know?” Confusion twists a frown onto my face. “How do you know?”
“Because I’m the one who told him to leave you alone and give you the space you asked for. I told him to let it go for now and deal with it when he got back from Chicago. He’s wanted to call you a dozen times.”
My heart rises and falls.
“He wanted to call?”
“To put it mildly.” Grady smiles a little for the first time since he walked into the restaurant. “I nearly had to hog tie his phone to get him not to.”
“So I have you to thank for the last week of torture.” I manage a smile too, no bigger than Grady’s.
“If it was torture, why didn’t you call him, Kai?”
I drop my eyes to the safety of my shoes again.
“I don’t know what I want, Grady.”
“Are you sure about that?” I look up to find Grady’s eyes, knowing, wise, studying my face. “Or are you just afraid of having it?”
These questions in the midst of everything going on with Rhyson’s dad only muddy things more. One thing is clear. Clarion clear. I may not know what I should do about my feelings for Rhyson. If it’s the right time. If I’m ready to risk my heart to a man who will take everything I give him and anything I would try to withhold. But I do know where I’m supposed to be. Right now.
“Grady, let’s go.”
SITTING IN THE WAITING ROOM OF a hospital while my dad is dying behind swinging double doors is purgatory. Hell would be knowing my last words to him were “cold, heartless, mercenary bastard.”
The acrimonious words we flung at each other over Christmas pile up in my mind like stones until my head is too heavy to hold up. I drop it into my hands. I’m exhausted, but it isn’t just fatigue weighing me down. The guilt, the regret, the anxiety. Shit, the fear. They are all bricks tied around my neck, pulling me under. Even though I sit here in this uncomfortable chair, perfectly still to the naked eye, inside I’m flailing. Gasping. I can’t breathe.
“I’m gonna step out and get some air, Bris.”
My sister nods, but doesn’t look up from her focus point on the floor. I don’t look at her before heading out of the waiting room and toward the cafeteria. I haven’t been able to look her in the eye since my mother called. We were just about to board the flight for Los Angeles, Bristol maintaining a constant flow of shit I didn’t want to talk about. The interviews I did in Chicago. How well the shows went. What we should keep for the tour later this year. What we might want to reconsider. How to work Petra into a few cities.