Grant’s sincerity shows itself in small, strange ways, things that most people might not actually notice unless they were really looking deep into the heart of it all.

When the man knocks on my door at seven, I have to say that I’m kind of surprised, not just by the fact that he’s managed to be punctual, but because he seems like the kind of guy who would honk his horn and expect me to come out and meet him.

Could it be that he’s actually trying?

I open the door to find Grant standing before me in a surprisingly well-tailored suit. It’s dark and subtly striped, clearly rock and roll but also much more done up than I would’ve ever expected.

“You’re not shirtless,” I offer.

“Would you like me to take this off?” Grant jokes.

I laugh, but then grow slightly uncomfortable when I realize he’d probably take me up on that offer if I asked.

“Your chariot awaits,” Grant tells me, opening his arms wide and gesturing towards a neon green Lamborghini that’s parked right next to Jessica’s yellow sports car.

“Wow,” is all that I can say. “That’s even more obnoxious than the yellow one.”
Grant remains stone faced until he just can’t take it any longer, finally cracking a mischievous grin. “I’m just kidding. I’ve got a Jag parked around the other side of the cabin. Much classier.”

I’d like to laugh, but I’m still trying to wrap my mind around how much money he must’ve spent on this little joke. “You bought a ridiculous Lamborghini just to mess with me?” I ask, not quite sure if I’m impressed or upset but this.

Grant shrugs. “It’s a rental.”

“That’s still like… five thousand dollars a day,” I inform him.

“Is it?” Grant asks.

I let out a long sigh. “Shall well?”

Grant leads the way, strolling down towards his cabin where a beautiful black Jaguar slowly comes into view. I’m not the type of girl who gives a damn about fancy cars, but I have to admit, this piece of machinery is utterly gorgeous.

Grant presses a button and then doors slowly drift open for me, revealing an immaculately clean interior complete with that classic new car smell.

“I bought this one,” Grant informs me. “Not a rental.”

I hesitate, not wanting to encourage any more bad behavior but suddenly unsure of where Grant’s attitude lies. This is a nice ride, after all. “It suits you,” I finally say.

The next thing I know, Grant is pulling away from the house, making his way up the twisting dirt road and into the deep dark forest beyond. Of course, he’s taking all the turns way to fast, but I’d already figure this would be the case and manage to keep my cool.

“Have you been to Captain’s Cove yet?” Grant asks me.

“Yeah, the food was great,” I offer, declining to get too deep into the drama that occurred after. My rental was returned home safely as promised, and the insurance covered all damages. At this point, I’d like to put all of that behind me.

“Can I play you something?” Grant questions.

“One of your songs?” I ask.

Grant nods. “Just an idea I’m working on,” he explains.

I can’t help but find myself a little excited by the prospect of hearing a new Bad Blue Medicine song before the rest of the world. While I’ve slowly come to know Grant as a person, there’s still a part of me inside that remembers the posters of his face hanging on my wall. It’s so weird to think about that now, but the strangeness of our situation is more surreal than unpleasant.

“Play it,” I say with a nod.

Grant move his finger on the wheel, pressing a small inlayed button and then, moments later, the track begins.

A low, rumbling hum fills the car stereo, vibrating it’s way through my body. There’s a sense of anticipation in the air, an electricity that transports me back to my days as nothing more than an excited fan. Suddenly, the drums kick in, but the rhythm is hard for me to fully get a grasp on. It starts off fine, but near the end of the beat things tumble over onto each other, as if the drummer just got too tired and gave up. This happens over and over again, a constant loop that never seems to add up to anything.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Grant glancing over at me, trying to read the expression on my face while I do my best to keep it together. I’m trying to give this song a fair shot, but the bizarreness of the track is making it very difficult.

Eventually, the singing kicks in, a strange, distant moan that feels disconnected from the rest of the music. The constant drone from the top of the song is still wailing away, but at this point it has gone completely out of tune with the vocals, causing me to literally wince as it crosses my ears.

This goes on for a good minute before I suddenly realize exactly what’s going on. I reach out and turn down the stereo.

“Good one,” I offer Grant sarcastically. “Now where’s the real song?”

The musician looks confused, but I’m still not buying it.

“You got me once with the fake car, but you’re not gonna get me again with a fake song,” I continue. “Do you really have a new track or what?”

Grant scrunches his face up. “That bad, huh?”

I realize now that he’s being utterly sincere.

A wave of embarrassment washes over my body as I sit back into my passenger seat and star out the front windshield. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, trying desperately to cover up for my mistake. “Maybe I just wasn’t listening closely. Let me hear it again.”

Grant just shakes his head from side to side. Finally, I give up.

“That was really bad,” I admit, my words eventually evolving into uncontrollable laughter.

The next thing I know, Grant is laughing, too, the two of us cackling wildly as we continue towards town. In the midst of this, I suddenly realize it’s the first time I’ve completely let my guard down around Grant. There’s no part of me that sees him as some arrogant asshole projection, nor a famous rockstar, nor a billionaire playboy. Right now, Grant is just Grant, the same sweet guy that Taylor knew growing up on the island.

“You know, the girls said they loved it,” the handsome rockstar informs me. “Jessica actually called the song mind expanding.”

“I’m sure she did,” I reply.

Grant lets out a long sigh. He knows exactly what I’m thinking, so I decline to say it out loud. “I get it,” Grant finally offers. “I know.”

“What about that thing you were playing down on the beach?” I question. “That was gorgeous.”
Grant nods. “It is, but I’ve got a little confession about that song. It’s not new.”

‘It’s not?” I reply, slightly confused. “I know your old record like the back of my hand, and I’ve never heard that one before.”

Grant raises an eyebrow. “So you are a super fan! I knew it!”

“Maybe,” I retort.

Grant shrugs. “I’ve been working on that song for years. It kind of… follows me around. It’s so beautiful, but any time I try putting vocals over the top of it they’re just not good enough. It’s like, I’ve got this beautiful painting, but whenever I try to finish it, I just make a mess.”

As a fellow artist, Grant’s words hit close to home. I know exactly what he’s talking about. “That was a big problem for me when I was writing my first book,” I offer. “I was just about halfway done, and I knew where I wanted it to go, but the beginning was just too good to add on to. I started to second-guess every single word. Honestly, I got pretty close to giving up entirely.” I consider this comment for a moment. “God damn. My life would be so different.”

“What did you do?” Grant suddenly blurts. I glance over and realize now that he’s hanging on every word, completely entranced by my tale of artistic peril.

“I pushed through it,” I inform him, proudly. “I realized that I didn’t have faith in myself, in my talent, in my work, so I went out of my way to change that. I took responsibility for the fact that I was acting like some hot shot writer, but I didn’t actually feel it in my soul.”

Grant nods, but he says nothing. I can tell that my words are hitting close to home, but he’s not yet ready to admit it. He’s a man who, by all outside appearances, has confidence and swagger to spare, but deep down at his core, Grant is still terrified that he’s worthless.

“Sometimes, when I’m stuck, I just start writing and let my mind speak for itself,” I continue. “I don’t second-guess anything, or look back at it until I’ve had some time away. I just go for it. Maybe you should try that.”

Grant nods in acceptance. “Maybe I should.”

We spend the rest of the car ride in silence, but not awkward or uncomfortable. The feeling is actually quite warm and inviting, like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Eventually, we arrive at the restaurant, pulling up and parking out front in the same spot I’d taken yesterday. We climb out and head down the nearby alley, but before we get very far, Grant slides up and puts his arm around me.

It’s a forward gesture, especially given the fact that I was reluctant to come on this date in the first place, but I don’t move away. My first instinct is to pull back, of course, but once I get past my initial shock, Grant’s presence is incredibly satisfying. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this protected, and although I don’t think I can trust him with my heart, Grant’s large frame feels quite welcome against mine. I nuzzle into the muscular man, and he pulls me close.

This wordless exchange only lasts a brief moment, however, because the next thing I know, we’re arriving at the restaurant door. Grant opens it up for me and then waves me inside.

The waitress who’d served me before is here, and her eyes go wide when she sees me.

“You’re back!” the woman shouts excitedly, strolling over to us. “How’s the car?”

“It’s great now,” I explain. “Just the tires were damaged. Easy fix.”

“Good, good,” the waitress replies with a nod, then turns to face Grant. Her expression quickly erupts into even more of a wild-eyed grin. “And you! Where have you been these days?”

“Hey Beth, just working,” Grant offers with a smile. The two of them hug warmly.

“Getting into trouble?” she questions.

Grant smiles. “A little bit. Trying not to.”

Beth leads us over to the same table I’d taken before, the corner spot with a beautiful view of the cove as it spreads out in either direction. Now that night has fallen, there’s not quite as much to see, but the stars twinkling above us are more than enough to momentarily take my breath away. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the sky to clearly, the big city light typically doing their best to pollute my view.

Beth leaves us to look over our menus, but I can’t help remain transfixed by the brilliant night sky outside, a whole world of astral dust that I’ve never had a change to notice. It’s so strange to think that these stars and planets, entire galaxies even, have been hanging above my head this whole time, and yet I was never quite in the right position to see them.

Grant follows my gaze out the window, joining me in this moment of cosmic awe.

“It’s hard to imagine struggling for inspiration when there’s so much raw beauty in the universe,” I finally offer.

“Tell me about it,” Grant replies. “I think our talk is going to help, though.”

I glance back down at the muscular rockstar, his frame large and imposing before me. If I didn’t already know him, I’d find the man to be quite intimidating, even for someone as blunt and confident as myself. His suit may be well cut tonight, but it still manages to show off just how toned his body is, the man’s bulging arms pressed tightly against their inner fabric. Most of Grant’s tattoos have been covered, but just enough of them can be seen peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. It’s a reminder that no matter how done up he becomes, there’s a edge to his character that will remain permanent and unchanging. Grant will never entirely return to his sweet, caring former self.

But, maybe that’s okay.

Maybe there’s a beauty within Grant’s conflicted personality that’s perfect exactly the way it is, like these gorgeous stars that’ve hung above my head without me ever finding the right time to notice them.

I smile, allowing Grant’s words to simmer in the air between us without a response. Instead, I quietly look down at my menu, perusing the food and allowing myself to take in this moment without any pretense. I’ve been so wrapped up in my creative mission during this trip, that I haven’t really had a chance to just sit back and enjoy myself.

Unlike this afternoon, the restaurant around us is humming with activity. Patrons crowd nearly every other table, but I suppose when there’s only two places to eat on this island you’re bound to do good business in the evenings.

Grant has noticed the other diners around us, as well, but his focus seems to be much more pointed than mine. I follow that man’s gaze to see that he’s watching intently while a nearby table orders from Beth. The waitress is just trying to do her job, but the men snapping at her with sloppy enthusiasm are just barely coherent enough to function.

Finally, Beth returns to our table.

“It’s busy tonight,” the woman offers with a smile. “You two know what you’d like?”

“What was that all about?” Grant questions with grave concern.

“They’ve had a little too much to drink,” Beth explains. “I thought about kicking them out, but we need all the business we can get.”

“It looks like things are doing pretty damn well,” I butt in.

Beth nods. “The dinner rush doesn’t make up for dead afternoons, though. Like I said, we’ve gotta take what we can get.”

This seems like a reasonable answer, and I accept it, but I can tell that Grant is still intensely focused on the other table’s obnoxious diners.

I order the Ahi salad from Beth, and Grant somehow manages to pull himself together enough to ask for a rare steak. The waitress leaves.

“You look like you want to punch those guys in the face,” I finally inform my date.

“Not yet,” he tells me. “We’ll see if they mess with Beth much more.”

On one hand, there’s something kind of sweet about Grant’s protective nature of this innocent, older woman. Beth is certainly kind and caring and, from what I can tell, the situation with her sick daughter appears to be utterly tragic, but I also get the feeling that part of this comes down to the fact that Grant just wants to fight somebody.

I can’t let myself forget that the layers within Grant’s personality are made up of both darkness and light. He is a complicated man.

It only takes a few minutes before the hammer drops.

When Beth strolls by the other table again, one of the drunken men reaches out a grabs her by the arm, stopping her in her tracks and simultaneously knocking over his half filled glass of beer, which shatters across the dining room floor.

“Look what you made me do now, you stupid bitch!” the man cries out, staggering to his feet.

He doesn’t get very far.

The second that these events begin to fall into place, Grant is already out of his chair and moving towards the commotion. He has a singular focus, the rest of the world completely blocked out as he marches through the restaurant. The next thing I know, he’s swinging a powerful fist, connecting like a speeding truck with the side of the drunk man’s head.

The drunk goes down instantly, knocked out cold before he even has a chance to slam against the wooden floor below with a loud thud.

“Alright motherfucker,” the drunk’s equally intoxicated friend blurts, climbing out of his seat and putting his hands up in a vague boxing stance. The man begins to move back and forth, displaying a basic knowledge of how to fight.

Unfortunately, this knowledge doesn’t seem to help him out much.

Grant waits patiently for a few seconds, searching for his chance to strike and then suddenly, without warming, he takes his second swing. This one connects just as hard as the first, slamming the intoxicated patron hard in the face and sending him tumbling back against the wall.

Suddenly, everything becomes breathtakingly silent, the entire room watching as Grant stands over these men triumphantly. The situation feels both heroic and awkward, nobody quite sure how to react to the violence that just exploded before their very eyes.

Grant finally gets back to business while the restaurant remains still, reaching down and picking up one of the knocked cold drunks over his shoulder. This physical feat is even more impressive than his brawling skills, to be honest. I’m well aware of Grant’s large, muscular form, but these two other men are just as big. Still, Grant seems to have no problem hoisting the guy up and carrying him out the door of the restaurant.

Moments later, Grant returns for the next man, lifting him up and carrying him into the darkness.

When Grant come back for the last time, the restaurant is still completely silent, every eye in the place focused squarely on the man in the dark suit with blood on his knuckles.

Grant strolls over to Beth, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Sorry about that,” he says, quietly. “Just put their tab on ours. I’ll cover it.”

The man then continues onward, returning to his chair across from me as if nothing happened.

“You’ve got blood on your hands, and your collar,” I observe.

Grant nods. “One of them got clocked pretty good there. He’ll be fine. They’re just outside walking it off.”

“Is that so?” I question, my eyebrows raised skeptically.

Grant shrugs. “Sitting it off, maybe.”
The handsome rock and roller suddenly notices that the patrons around us are still staring in complete silence. He turns his attention to the room. “Sorry about that everyone!” Grant calls out. “Everything’s fine. You can all go back to eating now.”

Slowly but surely, people start returning to the food before them.

“Am I supposed to be impressed by that?” I question. “Violence isn’t a huge turn on for me.”

Grant shakes his head. “No. They just need to think about how they treat Beth when they come in here. I’m not here to impress anyone.”

I have to admit, while I’d like to pretend that Grant’s aggression didn’t turn me on, there’s something to be said for a man who takes charge of a situation so passionately. At least he was fighting for a good reason.

He just seemed a little too excited about it.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” I question.

“The pubs back home can get a little rowdy on occasion,” the man informs me with a smirk.

I shake my head. Grant’s methods were direct and refined, not a single bit of energy wasted while he disposed of his targets. This wasn’t a fight carried out by someone who has accidently fallen into one or two drunken brawls over the years.

“You were way too good at that,” I inform him. “I’m a writer. I notice these things. Fighting is in your blood.”

Grant nods. “Well, when you spend your teenage years getting teased for having dead parents, there’s plenty of time to practice. Kids can be cruel. I had plenty of money, but you can’t buy your way out of a fist fight.”

“Who was taking care of you?” I question.

“My uncle,” Grant informs me. “He’d bring me down to the bus stop and drop me off. Said I couldn’t get a ride home until I found someone to fight.”

“That’s horrible,” I gasp.

“It toughened me up,” Grant continues. “He told me I wasn’t worth a damn, and I proved him wrong.”

Suddenly, so many things about Grant’s complicated personality make perfect sense.

“You know, you can turn these feelings of aggression into inspiration,” I offer. “That’s what art is for.”

“It’s easier to be an asshole,” Grant informs me.

“I never said it was easy,” I counter.

Before I know it, my hand has crept its way across the table, meeting Grant’s in the middle. He places his palm over mine, a pleasant shiver pulsing through my whole frame the second that our skin meets.

This moment is both terrifying and intoxicating. I know that he’s a dangerous man to get close to, that his issues are much too deep for me to sort though on my own, but the prospect of trying my damnedest seems like a roller coaster ride that just might be worth it in the end.

Still, how the hell was any of this supposed to work? Grant currently has two fuck buddies waiting for him back at the cabin, awful women that he doesn’t seem to mind having around. Regardless of how hard I try to connect to the guy, he might just never be ready for someone like me. Maybe he likes a life that’s constantly hovering on the edge of complete and utter collapse.

I pull my hand away, a gesture that Grant takes note of, but doesn’t address.

Moment’s later, our food arrives. Me and my handsome companion immediately dig in, the stress of the day’s conflict building us up to a state of ravenous hunger. The meal is absolutely incredible, just as satisfying as the last time I was here, but in an entirely new way.

“You’re a lot different than the women I usually meet,” Grant informs me between bites of his bloody rare steak.

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “How’s that?”

Grant thinks about my question for a moment, as if he initially started talking about it without knowing where he was headed.

“Well, you don’t seem to like me,” he laughs. “The women I meet are typically falling all over themselves at this point.”

I scoff. “I like you!”

“Then why pull away,” Grant asks.

I glance down at his hand again, suddenly wondering the same thing.

“You’ve already got a girlfriend,” I remind Grant. “Two of them, actually.”
“Jessica and Amber?” the man says with a laugh, rolling his eyes. “They’re not my girlfriends.”

“Fuck buddies then,” I continue.

Grant has no response to this.

“I’m not interested in something like that,” I let him know.

The man sits back in his chair, chewing his food and gazing out though the window at the dark water below. The moon casts a long yellow line across the moving waves, shimmering beautifully.

“What if I sent them home tomorrow?” Grant questions.

I laugh. “Then maybe I’d consider a second date. Maybe. The thing is, you’re not gonna do that.”

The man doesn’t protest this, something that I completely expected, yet it still causes a strange surge of pain to erupt deep down within my heart.

Suddenly, a figure is standing next to the table, drawing the attention of Grant and me upward. It’s Amber.

“Jessica needs you,” the young woman blurts, her eyes frantic and her red hair a tangled, damp mess. “She’s in the hospital.”