Kinley

I don’t know how artists get in front of this many people and perform. Standing backstage at the charity concert, my heart beats triple time at the sight of the crowd, but Holt seems perfectly at ease. He jokes and laughs with some of the other musicians, and Turner tags along, as usual.

That boy hero worships his father and it’s a wonderful thing to witness. The way he looks at him, emulates him, even running his hand through his hair when he’s thinking the way Holt does. He couldn’t have a better role model.

I’m shocked at just how big this concert turned out to be, but I guess I should’ve expected it since they’ve managed to recruit a few of the most popular bands from a range of music genres. Holt joined late, but some of the later advertisements included him in the lineup, and we’ve had to deal with a little paparazzi, but not nearly the amount that followed him when he was pretending to be Marcus.

It was that Firefly song that made him known and popular in his own right—not just for being Marcus’s brother or Jilted’s songwriter—but the two additional songs he released are almost as well known. I’m not surprised. The first time he sang, I knew his voice would touch people the way it does me.

There’s a lot of people rushing around, calling back and forth to each other as they get things set up for the first performer, an on-the-rise pop singer who also became known through a viral video. Finally, it’s time for the concert to start. Like the rest of the families of the performers, we have seats at the sides of the stage where we have a great view of the musicians and the crowd.

Turner fusses a little when I put some soft earplugs into his ears, but he promptly forgets about it once the woman starts singing and dancing around the stage. She’s good, and the crowd reacts, cheering her on.

“Are you nervous?” I ask Holt.

His grin reaches both ears. “I’m excited.”

He gives me a quick kiss and hurries off to get ready for his set. After watching them set up so much for a pop performance, and I know there are rock bands that have even more equipment, it’s funny to see Holt just waiting with his guitar.

He’s so brave. There’s no band or backup singers behind him, and the stage looks massive when he walks out after his introduction and stands before the mic. The crowd is thrilled to see him, and he has to wait a bit for the cheering to die down to get started. Shouts of “Firefly” ring out, and he flashes a grin at me before giving them what they want.

I can’t count the times I’ve heard him sing this song, especially in the last few weeks of rehearsal, but it always takes me right back to that moment when he sang to me in the small Nashville bar. I may never be able to hear it without crying.

I was so hurt, so sure he never cared, and that my future wouldn’t include him. Now we’re engaged and raising a child. That’s a lesson that will stick with me. No matter how bad things may get, there’s hope hidden in places we never expect, waiting to remind us why we keep going when things are hard. For moments like this. For love.

As the last notes ring out, the audience roars its approval, and Holt turns to beam at me. It’s so amazing to see him like this, the way he comes alive as he sings the words that go straight to my heart. Whatever path he chooses for his career, I’ll have his back. If it means tours and paparazzi, so be it, because his happiness lights up the stage. Music is more than his career, it’s who he is, and not a trace of me would change that.

The next two songs go just as well, and the audience cheers him long after he’s left the stage to join me and Turner. The lights must have been hot because he’s covered in a sheen of sweat as he scoops Turner onto his hip and wraps his free arm around me in a hug.

“Well, what did you think?”

“You’re a rock star!” Turner exclaims.

“You were amazing,” I agree.

The corner of his mouth tilts up as he runs a finger across my cheek where a tear still clings. “All because of you. You’re my muse.”

There aren’t any words I can say at that moment, so I just plant a kiss on his lips.

“I’m hungry,” Turner announces.

“How does a big, fat cheeseburger sound?” Holt offers as we head backstage.

“Yes! And a chocolate shake!”

“Sounds good to me.”

Wearing identical smiles, we make our way to the waiting car he’s hired for the night. We weren’t sure whether we’d be followed and didn’t want to chance being without some security, especially since Turner is with us. We get lucky and by the time we’re on the highway, no one follows us.

Turner starts to nod off in the car, but perks back up when we arrive at our favorite local diner. We slide into a booth, and the waitress has our order to our table quickly. The place is almost empty, and we enjoy our burgers and shakes in peace. The waitress does ask for Holt’s autograph, and he signs a napkin with a smile.

“He’s my daddy!” Turner announces, pride ringing in his voice.

The waitress smiles at him. “He is? Well, maybe I should get your autograph too.”

His little shoulders rise and fall. “Okay.” He grabs one of the crayons the diner keeps out for kids and carefully writes his name on the paper placemat, the way I’ve just taught him.

All three of us cover smiles as he painstakingly writes each letter, then picks up the paper with a flourish and holds it out to the waitress.

“Thank you!” she exclaims. “I’m going to keep this forever.”

Stuffed full of food, we finally head back home. Turner is sound asleep when we get there, and Holt carries him in and tucks him into bed. Once he’s asleep, a nuclear bomb couldn’t wake him.

After showering, we head to bed too. It’s been a long, exciting day and we’re beat, but I practically hum with happiness as I doze off with Holt’s arms around me. Today was perfect, and there are so many days like this stretched out in front of us, including a wedding.

My phone rings with a video chat request from Grayson while I’m in my office. “Hey, you,” I greet cheerfully, accepting the call. “This is a nice surprise.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, Grayson’s reluctant grin tells me something is wrong.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Holt isn’t picking up his phone and I was hoping he’d be with you.”

“He took Turner to shop for school clothes, so he probably left it in the car. What’s wrong?”

Grayson sighs, and the despair on his face is clear as he says, “Marcus relapsed. I don’t know where he got the pills, but he failed a drug test and was high as hell when I showed up for therapy today.”

Anger floods through me, warring with pity for Grayson, who keeps trying to save a son who doesn’t deserve all the help he’s been given. “I’m so sorry, Grayson. What happens now?”

“I don’t know. The rehab center says it isn’t uncommon, they’ve tightened his restrictions, but it feels like starting all over. Fuck, Kinley, I just know I’m tired and nothing seems to make a difference in the long term, you know?”

“I can’t imagine how painful and frustrating that is.” The lines of stress on his face are concerning. “Come and stay with us for a while. I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I may just do that. Have Holt call me, okay?”

“I’ll get a hold of him,” I promise.

We hang up, and I sit back in my chair, seething. He doesn’t deserve this. Holt doesn’t deserve this. They keep trying, but it never matters. Marcus is a lost cause, but I know I could never say that to Grayson. No decent parent ever really gives up on their kid, and I can’t fault him for that, but in this moment, I despise Marcus more than I ever have. This is going to break Holt’s heart too, and after things have been going so well.

I’m surprised when Holt picks up on the first ring when I call. “Kinley, is everything okay? I just looked at my phone and Dad has been blowing it up.”

“Marcus relapsed, Holt, I’m so sorry. They caught him with pills and he failed a drug test.”

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbles.

“Where are you?”

“We’re on our way back from the mall. Can you ask Harriet to meet me at the cabin in ten minutes?”

“Yes, drive safe, babe.”

“I will. Love you, Bug.” He didn’t want to say too much or react too strongly with Turner in the backseat, but I can hear the defeat in his voice.

About thirty minutes later, he walks into my office, closing the door behind him. “Did you talk to your dad?” I ask as he sits across from me.

“Yeah, he’s disappointed, but he hasn’t made a decision on what he wants to do yet.”

“He looked exhausted.”

Holt slumps in the chair. “I know. He said you asked him to come here and get away for a bit.”

“I’m worried about him. He’s not a young guy, and he spends all his time worrying over Marcus. Did he say he’d come?”

Holt shakes his head. “I think I’ll visit him, try to convince him to come back with me.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“If I leave tonight, I could be back before the weekend. I promised to take Turner to the batting cages.”

Coming around the desk, I plant a kiss on his lips. “Maybe your dad could go with you. I’m sure Turner would love that.”

A small smile graces his face, and he nods. “I’m sure he would. I’m not staying in Colorado long. I’m done. I’ve tried for years, and so has Dad. Marc is determined to destroy his life, and there’s nothing we can do.”

“I know it’s hard, but there comes a time to let go for your own sanity and health, and I think your dad needs to grasp that too.”

A few hours later, I drop Holt off at the airport. By the time I feed Turner and get him to bed, I have a missed call from him, and I quickly call back.

“Hey, I’m stuck in Kansas City. It’s storming like crazy here, so the flights have been delayed. But I have some good news. I talked to Dad, and he’s coming back with me. There’s a family therapy session tomorrow, and he’s telling Marcus that he’s leaving and moving in with Harriet sooner than he planned. He’s done.”

“It’s the best thing for him. Are you going to the therapy session?”

“No, it’s early in the morning, and I’m picking him up after, so we’ll be on the first flight home after that. He doesn’t even want to take Marcus’s plane. He’s so pissed.”

Sighing, I lean my head back. “I’m sorry he’s going through this, Holt. And you too.”

“I know. It’ll be okay. Tell Turner I’m going to bring his grandpa back to play with him. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you, Bug.”

“Love you too.”

The next morning, I wake early. My sleep was thin, and I woke a lot, probably because I’ve gotten so used to sleeping with Holt beside me. Turner is still asleep as I make some coffee and peruse the fridge to decide what to make for breakfast.

The ring of my phone startles me. No one ever calls this early, and most people text in the first place. I expect it to be a telemarketer until I see Holt’s name on the screen. “Hi, you’re up early.”

“Kinley.” That’s the only word he gets out, but the pain in his voice sends a spike of fear through my stomach.

“Holt? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Every nightmare scenario possible runs through my brain before he replies.

“I’m not hurt. It’s Dad. He had a heart attack. Fuck,” he curses, trying to pull himself together.

“Oh God. Is he going to be okay? Where are you? Are you still in Kansas City?” Panic makes me fire the questions lightning fast.

“I’m in Colorado. I ended up getting a flight about an hour after I talked to you. When I went to pick him up after therapy, he was being loaded into an ambulance. I’m at the hospital now.”

“Holt, how is he?”

“Bug,” he chokes out. “He’s brain dead. They want me to give up his organs and allow them to take him off life support.”

My legs weaken, and I drop into the kitchen chair, sure I must’ve heard him wrong. Not Grayson. He wasn’t that old, and he had no health problems, no heart disease. He was coming to live near us and be a grandpa to Turner. This can’t be happening.

“I’m on my way. Do you hear me? I’m on my way.”

“Marcus sent his plane. Do you remember which hangar?”

“Yes, I’m so sorry.”

A voice rumbles in the background. “I have to go. The doctor is here.”

“Okay. I’m on my way. I love you.”

My mind spins as I try to make last minute plans. I’m a second away from calling Harriet to stay with Turner when it hits me. “Oh god, Harriet,” I moan under my breath. She’s going to be so heartbroken.

Instead I call Clark and explain quickly at the same time I’m packing a bag. He agrees to stay with Turner as long as I need, and Kate will help him too. They’re life savers. Turner adores both of them, so he won’t be scared.

If I live to a hundred, I’ll never forget the look on Harriet’s face when I tell her, and she rushes back to pack a bag too. She’s coming with me.

Turner wakes and wanders into the kitchen. A smile breaks across his face at the sight of Clark. “Are you eating breakfast with us?”

Clark grins at him. “I came to make you the best pancakes you ever ate. How does that sound?”

Turner climbs up onto the chair to sit at the dining table. “Great. Mommy makes happy faces on them sometimes.”

I sit across from him. “Listen to me a second, honey. You’re going to stay with Clark for a day or two. Grandpa…isn’t feeling well, and Daddy needs help taking care of him. I want you to be good and I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees easily enough and turns back to Clark. He doesn’t fuss when I give him a hug and head out the door. I’m glad because it’d be really hard to deal with when I’m already fighting back tears.

Harriet is ready when I pull up at Foxhaven, and we’re both silent through most of the car and the plane ride. There’s nothing much that can be said. I’m holding onto the hope there was some mistake, maybe he’s in a coma or something that he could recover from. I think she may be doing the same.

Some things you just have to see to believe, and the first moment we lay eyes on Grayson, the truth assaults both of us. Holt looks up and rushes over to me, throwing himself into my arms, and I squeeze him tight.

A nurse gives me a polite nod as she bustles around the room. The hiss whump sound of the ventilator is eerie in the silence. “Have they told you anything new?”

He shakes his head, and I notice Marcus, sitting back in the corner, staring at the rise and fall of Grayson’s chest in time with the machine. “The tests all confirm it. There’s no brain activity. He’s on the respirator to keep his organs alive until a procurement team can get here. He’d want that. It was on his license, and I have to do what he’d want.”

He sounds so lost, so young. “Yes, you’re doing the right thing.”

“They said to say our goodbyes now. They’ll take him into an operating room, then remove the life support. Once his heart stops beating…” Holt’s voice cracks and he covers his mouth, shaking his head as if his denial could make all of this go away.

“What happened?” Harriet asks, approaching the bed and taking Grayson’s limp hand.

Holt recites back what the doctors have told him in a disconnected tone. “It was a heart attack that led to a stroke. They think he had a clot that broke free. It was fast, they said. He was in therapy with Marcus and he just dropped. He wouldn’t have been aware of anything after that. By the time they got him here, there was no brain activity.”

A doctor calls everyone out into a nearby waiting room and advises us the organ donor team is here. “It’s time,” he says, somberly. “If you’d all like to take a few moments with him…”

“Yes, thank you,” Holt says. He turns to his brother. “Marc, do you want to go first?”

Without a word, Marcus goes back inside the room, emerging a few moments later, and making a beeline for the exit. Harriet goes next, and I hug her when she returns with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Come in with me,” Holt pleads, and I take his hand.

“Of course.”

Once we’re standing beside his bed, Holt doesn’t seem to be able to make the words come. “I’ll start,” I whisper, releasing his hand, and taking Grayson’s. I know he can’t hear me, that he’s already gone and we’re only talking to the leftover shell of who he was, but there are still things to be said.

“Hey, Grayson. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to see us get married and watch your grandson grow up. I’m so sorry this happened to you. I just want to say thank you, for always being kind to me and bringing me back to the love of my life. And I swear, I’ll always take care of him and Turner. I’m honored to be a part of your family. You will be missed and please know that you are so, so loved.”

Holt chokes back a sob as I let go of Grayson’s hand. I embrace Holt and give him a minute to gather himself. Finally, he sits on the edge of the bed, and I move back to lean against the wall, giving him some space, but ready if he needs me.

“Dad, I don’t know what to say. You were the one who could make awful moments okay by spouting some philosophical shit that used to drive me crazy because it was always true.” A chuckle breaks through his grief. “You were always right. It was infuriating when I was a teenager.” He picks up Grayson’s hand. “You saved me, Dad. I hope you know that. Before you, I never really knew what it was like to have someone put me first or really care about my needs. Even when I was a pain in the ass, you didn’t give up on me. Thank you. Thank you for being the parent I needed, for loving me when I wasn’t capable of being grateful for it. For leaving me with wisdom that I can pass onto my son. I love you.”

The last few weeks have been the hardest I’ve been through since my own father died. Seeing Holt in such pain reopened my wounds as well, but I’ve done my best to be strong for him, Turner, and Harriet.

Grayson may not have had serious health problems or any inkling this was coming but he was very well prepared with a will that included his final wishes not to have a funeral or memorial. He requested he be cremated and then, “Do whatever the hell you want with the ashes because I’ll be long gone anyway.”

Holt and I laughed out loud at the will reading, me until I had tears pouring, when the man read that part. It was just so quintessentially Grayson. No nonsense. Straight to the point. No need to pretty it up.

We spent a week packing up Grayson’s house and donating most of the clothing, housewares, and furniture to local charities. Holt kept a few mementos and held onto a few things he thought Marcus may want in the future.

Marcus fled from the hospital, withdrew a bunch of money from the bank, and then seemed to disappear. So on top of Grayson’s death, Holt has to deal with knowing Marcus is probably out there getting high and doing god knows what.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” I tell him, as we lie in bed. “He’s too famous to conceal himself long.”

“I’ve pretty much made peace with the fact we’ll be burying him next.”

His words break my heart, but I fear they’re true, until Holt gets a call from Sully the next morning. Holt is in the shower when the phone rings.

“It’s Sully!” I call out, carrying the phone to the bathroom.

“Put it on speaker,” he says, turning off the water so he can hear. Soap runs down his back and drips onto his shoulders from his hair. “Sully?”

“We found him,” Sully announces without a hello.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“We’re setting him up in a house. It’s isolated and secure, and he’ll have constant supervision. We’ll keep him safe.”

Of course, they will. He’s their product.

“I’m sorry, Holt,” Sully says. “He doesn’t want any contact with you right now.”

Holt hesitates for a moment. “Let me know if he runs again, or if there’s an emergency.”

“Absolutely.” Sully’s response holds relief and surprise in equal measure. He clearly expected an argument.

“He’s all yours,” Holt adds, then motions for me to disconnect the call.

Holt turns the water back on and rinses off, but I’m waiting for him when he emerges.

“Don’t you want to know where he is? They shouldn’t be keeping him from you.”

Dressing, he shakes his head. “I’m done, Bug. I’m not chasing him. Dad chased him and look what came of it. He chased him to death. I’m not following. I have my own family to worry about.”

Wrapping my arms around him, I lay my cheek against his chest. “I love you.”

His hands thread into my hair, and he rests his chin on the top of my head. “I love you too.”

After a moment, I speak up. “I found something you might be interested in.” He follows me to the living room. I pull out the paper tube and hand him the card associated with it. Grayson’s ashes have sat in an urn since we got them because Holt doesn’t know whether to scatter them or not.

“It’s meant for a loved one’s ashes,” I explain. “You add some of their ashes to the tube, then bury it, and the ashes help fertilize and grow a tree. A memorial tree. It’s supposed to be a way for a part of them to live on, but if this isn’t what you want to do, I understand, and—”

I’m swept off my feet into his arms and he hugs me hard. “It’s perfect.”

“I know Grayson didn’t want a grave or anything, but this will give you a place to visit, and maybe help Turner understand a little better too.”

It’s so hard to explain death to a four year old. It hasn’t been long since he lost his mother as well, but she so rarely had him, he didn’t seem to miss her much or care where she went. The same isn’t true for his grandpa.

The afternoon finds us in a clearing near our cabin, searching for the perfect spot. We finally settle on a place near the shore and dig the hole. I transferred the ashes earlier. Holt didn’t want to see them, which was understandable. I wish I had thought of this with my Dad when he died, but he requested his ashes be scattered on the lake, and that’s what I did.

It only takes a few minutes to plant the future tree, and once the hole is filled in, Holt turns to me. “Can you give me a few minutes?”

“Of course.” I lay my hand on Turner’s shoulder. “Come with me, Turner. Let’s go have some ice cream.”

Glancing back, I see Holt sit down beside the tiny mound, and I swallow the knot in my throat. I hope this helps him get through it, but I know from experience that grief is brutal, and while it fades, the pain from losing someone you loved never really ends.