Being fired from Three Ugly Guys wrecks me, and it definitely fucks with my self-confidence. I didn’t only lose the best job in the world, I lost the best woman, too. Going back to LA wasn’t what I planned, but since I didn’t know what to do next, it seemed the best choice. I took a cab to the airport, booked the redeye, then balked at the flight cost and the subsequent drop in my bank account balance. Adulting sucks.

When I show up on my parents’ doorstep early the next morning, they don’t dive into a lecture. However, their pinched stares say I told you so clearer than any words.

I’m the golden child. The one who goes after what he wants, and gets it. This sting of failure is foreign, and instead of fighting it, I allow myself to wallow.

For two weeks I mope around my parents’ mansion. Everyday tasks like taking a shower or remembering to eat take a concerted effort. The only joy I find is when I sneak into the basement at night to pound all my anger, sadness, and frustration out on my drum set. But even that reminds me of Opal, and how I fucked up.

It’s during one of my late night jams, when I’ve beaten everything onto those skins and my own hands ache from playing, that I’m hit with a moment of utter clarity. What the hell am I doing?

Why I am accepting defeat?

I’m not a quitter. I don’t give up. This is the only time in my life when I have, and it’s when it matters most.

Not anymore. Today I take back my independence. The pity party ends now. I want a life I’m proud of. One Opal would approve of if she were in it. And there’s no better time to start than now. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I jog upstairs. Outside the windows, the sun breaks over the horizon, the faint light of day brightening the cloudy morning sky.

My parents won’t be up for another hour, but I can’t wait. An idea strikes and I push inside my mother’s office, going straight for the bookshelf that holds dozens and dozens of photo albums. I’m thankful for her precise organization because it only takes a few minutes to locate the book from my graduation day.

I sit on the floor, then flip through the book, scouring each photograph. I need to find the missing piece. To understand why my uncle couldn’t get caught getting sucked off by the woman at my party. Why I was able to leverage that for a place in the band?

A good start would be discovering who she even is. If I could go back in time, I’d stay in the pool house long enough to get a good look at her face. But since I can’t, I hold out hope I’ll find her here.

“Son, what in God’s name are you doing?” My mother wraps her silk robe around her waist and takes in the disarray of open photo albums.

“Are these all the photos from my graduation? And the party after?”

She sighs and rubs her temples. “Why? Did you want me to have a set printed? I can have a second book made.”

“These are all of them, though? There’s no more? None at all?” This search is hopeless.

“Well, no.” She picks up the book and places it back on the shelf. “I went through the proofs. Practically all were garbage. I swear, Vincent’s gotten lazy in his old age. He shot half of them from his perch near the open bar.”

Wait. That’s good. Really good. I perk up with the sliver of hope, though it’s a long shot. “Do you still have them? The proofs?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in my email somewhere. I might be able to find it. If the link didn’t expire.” She rolls her eyes and turns to leave. By her flippant attitude she’s not in the mood for my wild treasure hunt.

I scramble from the floor and block the doorway before she leaves. “I need to see those photos.” The level of anxiety in my tone makes me sound desperate, but it catches her attention.

She narrows her gaze. “Why is this so important?”

“It just is.”

My mother sighs and makes a show of walking over to her computer. She isn’t thrilled, but to her benefit she does find the email and pulls up the proofs. “Here. Though I don’t know why you care about unflattering photos. I hope there’s a point to all this.”

I hope so, too. My eyes bug at the screen. “Three thousand photos!”

“I told you Vincent’s gone rogue.” She waltzes over to the bar.

While she mixes her breakfast cocktail, I get busy clicking through photos. I jump ahead to the party, praying there’s one of the woman or that I’ll even recognize her. An hour later I’m still on the hunt. My mother has come and gone, peering over my shoulder but not interrupting my search. It’s probably useless. Completely asinine. But I can’t make myself stop until I’ve gone through every single proof.

“Nothing. Fucking nothing.” I lean back into the soft leather chair, not knowing where to go from here.

“Find what you’re looking for?” My mother peeks her head in the room.

“No.” I shake my head, shut the laptop, then spin the chair to meet her gaze. “There was someone at the party, and I’m trying to find who she is. I was hoping a photo would jog my memory.”

She lifts her brows. “What did she look like?”

“Blonde. I’d guess twenties or thirties, but maybe not.”

“Well, I can’t help you there.” She shrugs. “The guest list was extensive. Everyone brought dates.”

“Wait. There was a guest list? Do you still have it?”

My mother rolls her eyes. “How do you think I manage my parties without a guest list? Seriously, Leighton. It’s as if you’ve lost everything we ever taught you. One month with this rock business and you’ve turned into a mongrel.”

My patience is thin but I manage to keep my tone even. “The list. Do you have it?”

“I don’t know, dear. I’ll look for it in a little while. Come, we’re having breakfast in the dining room. Unfortunately, your father had to catch a flight up to the San Francisco office and won’t be joining us.”

“I’ll grab something later. If you could get me that list?”

“Breakfast. We’re not animals.” Her glare is hard and she spins on her heels. She stomps away, my argument cut off.

In the dining room there’s an elaborate table setting, along with more food than she and I could eat in one week. Of course, she’s prepared none of it. My heart pangs for Opal. I long for her simple home-cooked meals. I miss everything about her.

Over stilted conversation, I get through the meal with my mother. I’m about to ask about the guest list again, when she clears her throat and speaks first.

She pushes her plate to the side and clasps her hands on her lap. “Leighton. It’s time we discussed your future.” Here we go. The lecture I’ve been expecting and avoiding. “I hope you enjoyed your little adventure, because it’s time you get your life back on track.”

The old me would sit back and smile through her words. Accept my fate, the path of least resistance. But I’m done with that. Straightening my spine, I meet her gaze across the table. Emotion wells in my chest, but I focus on communicating how I feel. “You know I loved every second. That playing in the band made me feel more alive than any other performance.”

“That’s lovely.” She smiles politely. “But you need to resume your practice schedule. Julliard is only one month away.”

I laugh, more from my mother’s total denial of reality, and shake my head. “Only, I’m not going. I delayed my admission. Remember?”

She waves a hand, dismissing my decision and my feelings. “Don’t be ridiculous. Your father called the dean. It wasn’t easy, but our hefty donation did the trick.”

I stare, long and hard because I need her to understand she can’t do this anymore. “I’m not going.”

Her face reddens and her brow creases with lines of displeasure. Her voice is sharp and stern. “Leighton Wellington, you will not throw your life away.”

“My life. Mine. You forget I’m an adult and not your pet. I did everything you asked for eighteen years. I won’t throw away any more.”

“So, what? You’re going to join a band? Live on the streets in LA? I will not support this vagabond lifestyle. You won’t see a penny from your father or me.”

“I don’t expect you to support me financially. I don’t need your money.” My voice is hard, but it’s sadness that fills my soul. “But you know what would’ve been nice? To know your love extends further than your checkbook and social connections.”

“That checkbook afforded you everything.”

“Not everything.” I smile sadly. “Maybe one day you’ll see that before it’s too late.” Pushing my chair back, I rise from my seat, knowing what I have to do next. What I should have done two weeks ago. I walk around the table and give her a hug. Her body stills with the contact. Hell, I’ve likely stunned her, but she doesn’t push me away. “Bye, Mom.”

I’m halfway to the door when she raises her voice. “You’re just going to leave.”

I turn back and nod. “I am.”

“You walk out that door and you are no longer my son. Do you understand that?” The lines she works so hard to hide are prevalent with her scowl. There’s no use in arguing. She doesn’t understand. She won’t even listen.

Though my heart longs for a relationship we’ve never shared, I will be fine without her. The hurt I feel for my mom is minuscule compared to how my heart breaks for Opal.

I go to my room, and taking only a duffle bag of clothes, head for the door. This time I don’t bother with an Uber; I’m on a budget after all, and the walk to the bus stop does me good. Pulling my cell from my back pocket, I do what I’ve been aching to do for weeks.

My finger hovers over her name. I doubt she’ll answer, or talk to me, but I won’t allow that fear to keep me from trying. After one ring it goes straight to voicemail.

“Opal, it’s me. I’m sorry for how things ended. I miss you. I’ve never stopped missing you. I know an apology doesn’t change what I did. But I’d like to talk, if you’ll give me the chance. I did a lot of wrong things. But loving you wasn’t one of them. I should have been honest with you from the start. I also should’ve called sooner, but I was in a bad place. I’m changing that now. I’m going to make you proud. And when you’re ready, even if it’s years from now, call me back. I hope you’re okay. I think of you every day. Thousands of moments. I love you. Bye.”