Sometimes the world moves slowly, painstakingly dragging you along with it while every moment stretches on and on for what seems like forever. This typically occurs when you’d rather be anywhere else.

Other times, however, time really does fly.

Ironically, these are the moments that we wish would stick around. The days when everything really does just feel like it’s perfectly falling into place.

Ever since me and Grant got back together, things have felt like this, the wonderful moments cascading by like a river over beautiful rocks, refining their edges and polishing them up, but never quite sticking around as long as you’d like.

Since recording backup vocals on Grant’s song, we’ve gotten to work bringing his entire studio up to my mountaintop cottage, high above the water’s edge and far from any memories that are less than pleasant. I’m not trying to ignore the past, but I’d rather not wallow in it, and I think Grant is feeling exactly the same way.

Our days have fallen into a routine, but it’s a beautiful, glorious one. While the handsome rockstar records his next album inside, I find myself sitting on the deck while I write, typing away at my keyboard while the inspiration flows through me. The weather’s turned for the better, and it’s been remarkably warm during what could’ve been a chilly season.

Eventually, Grant will take a break and come out to sit with me, venting about the lyrics that he’s trying to smooth out or the chord changes that aren’t quite right yet, while I explain to him my own issues with pacing and characterization.

It might sound like we’re being nothing but critical, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Grant is the sounding board that I’ve always wanted, brutally honest and open, but with a kindness in his heart that makes things easier to hear. We tell each other exactly what we think, but have found ourselves in the fortunate situation of absolutely loving one another’s projects. When Grant plays me a new song that he’s working on, I know he wants the truth.

Obviously, I’m willing to give it to him, but his songs all happen to be really damn good.

Clearly, were not the only one’s that think that about each other’s art. Over the last few weeks, Price Publishing and their new CEO have been losing their minds over my new manuscript, which is now edging dangerously close to a finished rough draft.

Meanwhile, Grant’s record label has been pushing for more tracks, absolutely thrilled with the response to Riley. The leaked demo went viral almost instantly, and when the finished song was sent out days later as a fully produced single, Bad Blue Medicine was definitely back on the map.

Now the suits are calling day and night, hoping to release a new full-length record as soon as possible, and they’ve fortunately caught Grant during a very productive phase. I’m not entirely sure when he’ll be ready, but from the sound of it, they guys back in London won’t have to wait long.

Of course, it’s not just the professional side of things that’s going well around here. Grant and me have been going at it like jackrabbits, having more sex than I would’ve ever thought a man was capable of providing.

Typically, when I’m at a good place in my life I’m damn near insatiable, but Grant is giving me a run for my money.

We still make time to get out of the house, heading down to Captain’s Cove for dinner whenever we want a brief moment away from the cabin. It’s nice to see Beth, who still apologizes profusely for not warning me about Grant’s surprise romantic concert, but I wave her away. Everything worked out just fine.

This is the way our island lives go for quite some time, a man and a woman proving that you’re not required to be endlessly tortured to make great art. Of course, it remains to be seen whether or not people out there in the real world decide to pick up what we’re putting down, but at least we’re giving it our best shot.

Like all things, however, these carefree days must eventually come to an end.

This is that moment, I realize, the moment when everything turns.

I’m standing in the doorway of our cottage in the early afternoon, hoping to step outside with a warm cup of tea but halting in my tracks when something blocks my path.

My eyes remain glued on the ground before me, trying to wrap my mind around what could’ve possibly done this.

There on the deck are the bloody remains of what appears to be a small, woodland animal, still fresh and sticky from the brief glance I get before looking away.

“Grant!” I cry out. “Come look at this!”

Moment’s later, the protective rock and roller comes bounding out from the other room. He wraps his arm around me, but instantly notices my chilly response to his touch. Grant glances down and stops in his tracks exactly like I did.

“Well, that’s not something you see every day,” the man observes.

“What is it?” I question, utterly disgusted.

Grant shakes his head. “Some kind of animal. Maybe are rabbit or a small deer, they’re all over the island.”

“Do you think a bear could’ve done this?” I continue.

“No bears no the island,” Grant informs me. “No large predators at all, actually. That’s why there’s so many damn deer. There’s hungry eagles around here, but this is a little to big for them.”

I narrow my eyes. “What are you saying? That a person did this?”

“I mean… what else?” Grant counters.

I suddenly turn my attention to the woods around us, my eyes scanning across the tree line for a glimpse of anyone who might be watching from afar.

“Should we call the police?” I wonder aloud.

Grant considers this for a moment. “I don’t think so. I don’t know what they’d do for us. Honestly, it’s probably nothing. An animal could’ve just curled up and died here looking for some shelter.”

A scoff. “That’s not what an animal looks like when it just curls up and dies.”

Grant lets out a long sigh. “Fair enough. You want me to get the sheriff out here to take a look?”

I appreciate that Grant is willing to humor me like this, but he actually has a point. This is a long way from town for the island’s only law enforcement to come pay us a quick visit, and he won’t have much to go on.

“It’s fine,” I finally offer.

“You sure?” Grant continues, deeply concerned about doing the right thing for me.

“I’m sure,” I tell him, forcing a smile.

Grant nods. “You know, an animal could’ve be hit by a car down on the main road, then made its way up here before kicking the bucket.”

This is the first explanation besides another human being that seems even remotely possible, and although it’s a long short, it still puts me slightly at ease.

“You get started with your writing,” Grant offers. “I’ll hose this off and you’ll never have to think about it again.”

I wrap my arms around the beautiful, tattoo covered man and kiss him deeply, thankful to have found such a caring guy by my side. He’s still a little rough around the edges, of course, but when it comes to dealing with me, Grant is nothing but a gentleman these days.

I stay like this for quite a while in my muscular lover’s embrace, then finally release once I’m good and ready. “Thanks,” I finally tell him, then head back out to the deck.

I sit down in my usual chair, overlooking the glorious cascade of evergreens and the cliffs below. This has become a place of peace and endless inspiration, but now I find myself deeply disturbed. No matter how many times I tell myself that the carnage at the front door was nothing to be worried about, I still can’t push it completely out of my mind.

That mess could’ve been cause by a number of things, but there’s only one person I can think of who would actually follow through with it.

Grant raps gently on the wooden doorframe behind me. “All done,” he tells me. “I’m headed back into the studio.”

“Already?” I question, turning around in my chair.

Grant nods.

I realize suddenly that I’ve been lost in thought for at least fifteen minutes, completely zoned out as I allowed my mind to wander.

“Are you okay?” Grant asks, picking up on the subtle cues of my body language.

I take a deep breath, trying to align my thoughts calmly and not erupt like a blathering lunatic.

“You think it’s Jessica, don’t you,” Grant eventually offers.

I nod. “You can’t tell me that didn’t cross your mind.”

The muscular man sticks out his bottom lip, thinking quietly to himself. “I saw her leave the island. I drove her to the airport myself.”

I narrow my eyes. “There’s an airport here?”

“It’s small,” Grant informs me. “Very small.”

“You don’t think she could’ve turned around and hopped a plane right back?” I counter.

“Sure. She could have,” Grant concedes. “I just don’t really think she’s that crazy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s absolutely mad, but I don’t know if she’s the type to kill a deer and leave it on someone’s front porch.”

“I don’t know either,” I admit.

“Well, we’ll keep an eye out,” Grant finally concludes. “That’s all we can do. Don’t let her keep ruining your day after she’s long gone.”

The loving man strolls over and kisses me on my forehead. He stays here for a moment, resting his warm, comforting hands on my shoulders, and then eventually heads back inside, shutting the door to his makeshift studio behind him.

I take a deep breath and let my gaze return to the blank page before me, struggling to begin and desperately hoping that once I get my fingers going my subconscious brain will do the rest. I’ve come too far to let this book slow down now, just a few thousand more words to go before crossing the finish line.

I force myself to dive in.

Somehow, I actually manage to get a little work done today, although it’s much more difficult than I’m used to. As the sun creeps slowly across the sky above, I find my mind wandering, drifting back to the mysterious gift that was left for us this morning. I try my best not to think about it, realizing that if this is the work of some disgruntled human, my distraction and fear is exactly what they want.

Meanwhile, Grant continues writing and recording from deep within the cottage, the sound of his music just barely audible through the thick door we’ve installed. The fact that he cares enough to keep the volume down these days fills me with so many pleasant feelings, they eventually push out the bad vibes completely.

By the time dinner rolls around, Jessica is once again a distant memory.

“You hungry?” Grant questions, sneaking up behind me.

I don’t hesitate for a second, closing down my laptop and standing abruptly. “Hell yes,” I reply.

I carry my things back inside and grab a jacket, taking great care to make sure that every door and window is closed and locked.

Soon enough, Grant and me are climbing into his car and taking off down the hill, the same drive we’ve made a hundred times before. It’s become routine now, something that neither of us think twice about as we navigate the curves that wind up and down our tree-filled cliffside route. The angle is steep and the turns are sharp, but there’s never much of a problem if you take things slow.

Today, Grant’s not taking things slow.

“Come on,” I blurt out suddenly, glancing over at the man with a look of frustration.

I’d rather he never drove like this, and when he’s on his own there’s nothing I can do. If I’m a passenger in the car, however, I have no problem telling Grant to slow the hell down.

Everything changes when I see Grant’s expression. The man is just as concerned as I am, his visible mixture of fear and confusion drastically elevating with every passing second.

“Slow down!” I yell, struggling to understand why Grant would be acting this way.

The man shakes his head frantically, now slamming his foot down over and over again on the brakes. Nothing happens.

“I can’t stop!” Grant cries out.

We’re coming up on the first switchback dangerously fast now, and without much time to consider his options, Grant yanks the wheel as hard as he possibly can.               We round the bend with a loud screech, just a few feet shy of careening over the edge.

I can feel the weight of the car tipping slightly, threatening to flip over completely but somehow managing to stay upright as we make the turn. For once, I’m actually thankful to be in Grant’s low-sitting sports car and not some top-heavy ride, otherwise we might’ve ended up tumbling over the cliff.

Unfortunately, there are several more turns coming up, and we’ve done nothing but gain speed. The trees are flying past us on either side now, the weight of our vehicle taking over and propelling us onward at an ever-escalating pace.

Suddenly, Grant’s survival instincts kick in. Instead of going into even more of a full on panic, the man becomes eerily calm. He reaches over and pulls the emergency brake; firmly applying enough pressure so that the car begins to slow while a loud grinding sound fills our ears.

Unfortunately, it’s just not enough to stop us completely after all the momentum we’ve built on this steep incline. Somehow we still manage to make the next turn, however, whipping around the bend.

We now find ourselves at the top of a long straightaway, ending in a final turn that also happens to be the sharpest of the bunch. The road here is so steep that even the emergency break is having trouble slowing us down.

“Hold on tight,” Grant tells me, glancing over to make sure that my seatbelt is firmly secured.

Realizing that we’ll only be speeding up from here, Grant cocks the wheel slightly and heads off into the dirt, dust and debris spraying everywhere. He’s aiming for the smallest tree he can find, something with a little give, but when we hit the tall, deeply rooted Douglas Fir, we might as well be slamming into a brick wall.

There’s a deafening bang as an airbag goes off next to me, filling the left side of Grant’s Jag with a puffy white cloud. Meanwhile, my side of the car fills with shattering glass, a renegade branch punching a massive hole through the windshield and nearly impaling my face. My entire body snaps forward as the seatbelts lock tight, securing me in place but damn near yanking my shoulder out from its socket. I’m completely overwhelmed with searing pain.

Then, in less than the space of a single second, it’s all over.

Dust begins to settle around me as I cough, each heave of my chest filling my body with excruciating pain. I’m bewildered and disoriented, struggling to understand my orientation in the world as a high-pitched ring annihilates my ears.               I’m vaguely aware of the airbag moving around next to me, then moments later my passenger door opens.

Grant is hovering over my wounded body, his mouth moving but the words not making any sense. He’s repeating the same question over and over again, but I don’t understand what it is so I just stare back at him in a state of shock.

Moment’s later, Grant is reaching in and unbuckling my seatbelt. The man wraps his huge, muscular arms around me and carefully lifts me up from my seat, safety glass spilling away from my lap. Instinctually, I cling to Grant’s broad chest, holding on tight as he begins to carry me, step by step, back up the hill.

“What’s happening?” I groan.

Grant shakes his head. “I don’t know. The brakes stopped working.”

“Someone cut them,” I continue.

“Yeah,” Grant affirms with a nod. “They turned off the passenger side airbag, too.”

I close my eyes and snuggle deep into Grant’s chest, enjoying his warmth at a time when I need it the most. Despite everything that just happened, I still somehow feel safe in his arms.

There’s no question now that someone is out to get me, and Jessica is the number one suspect, but I honestly believe that Grant will protect me from harm.               Hell, I’ve got no problem protecting myself.

In the meantime, I need to rest.

“Looks like we’re having dinner at home tonight,” Grant offers.

“Yay,” I reply meekly, the single word drenched in sarcasm.

Grant forces a smile; his pace not faltering for a second as he continues to carry me up the road in his arms.

 

 

From my place in the bedroom and can hear Grant and the sheriff talking quietly, their voices full of concern as they struggle to determine where to go from here.               Grant seems frustrated, and it’s understandable why. If I wasn’t aching from head to toe while buried under an ocean of warm blankets, I’d be frustrated too, but right now I’m still focused on trying to exist comfortably in my own body.

The problem, it seems, is that there’s not much we can actually do about our situation. As far as anyone is aware, Jessica is not on the island, and what Grant knows of her personal information is so vague and undefined that it’s impossible to get a restraining order. She’s gone under several last names, apparently, all of them fake. The woman is like a ghost.

Besides, there’s still no direct evidence linking her to any of this. Of course, it fits her personality to a tee, but that’s just not enough in the eyes of the law.

After investigating the wreckage, it’s determined that the brake line was, in fact, cut. The passenger side airbag was also intentionally deactivated.

All of this has culminated in Grant making a call to his old bodyguard from back in the day when Bad Blue Medicine were at their peak, a man who Grant claims to trust with his life.

Apparently, he’ll be here within the next few days.

The doctor was came by earlier, providing me with some incredibly potent pain medication and stern instructions to rest for the next two weeks. While no bones were broken, my rib cage is horribly bruised and my head is concussed, something that Doctor Kent has seen twice now from Grant’s girlfriends.

Sitting at my bedside, the doctor reflected on this with great concern, as if hinting that he’s someone I can open up to. I quickly waved away his concerns.

“Jessica did that to herself,” I informed the doctor. “I found the boat paddle.”
He seemed unconvinced. “A welt like that? I doubt it.”

I furrowed my brow. “Why?”

“People don’t realize how difficult it is to hit yourself that hard,” the doctor explained. “Your brain will always try to pull back at the last second. Unless you’re drunk, of course.”

“Well, there you go,” I replied. “Anyway, I’m fine. It’s more dangerous for Grant to be around me than it is for me to be around him. There’s a reason why only one airbag was deactivated.”

Out in the living room, Sheriff Thomson finally leaves, instructing Grant to give him a call if he notices anything suspicious. Down on the road below, a crew has almost finished clearing away Grant’s smashed up car, the front half crunched in on itself like an aluminum can.

Grant enters the bedroom quietly, walking over and kneeling down at the edge of the bed. He takes my hands in his and then kisses them softly, a gesture that feels both beautiful and strange coming from such a large, muscular man.

“I’m so sorry,” Grant finally says.

“It’s not your fault,” I assure him.

“It is,” he continues. “I should’ve never let someone like that into my life.”

I crack a smile. “Maybe it is a little bit your fault.”

Grant leans in and gives me a quick kiss. “Well, at least you still have a good sense of humor about things.”

“I kinda have to,” I retort.

Grant nods, then takes in a deep breath, his mind shifting elsewhere. “Sheriff Thomson says they’re investigating. Whatever that means.”

“They?” I reply. “You mean there’s more than one person fighting crime on this island?”

“Sounds like it,” Grant continues. “He says we shouldn’t tell anyone about what happened. Apparently, that makes it even harder to pin down any suspects. The press will go absolutely nuts with this.”

“Wow, yeah,” I reply, truly realizing for the first time how much people care about the minutia of Grant’s life. I’ve got a fan base of my own, too, albeit quite a bit smaller, but the combination of me and my new rockstar boyfriend in a fight for hour lives would quickly ignite the entertainment press.

Suddenly, another thought crosses my mind. “Are you my boyfriend?” I question, realizing that it’s an important discussion we’ve never quite gotten around to.

Grant smiles. “Do you want me to be?”

I nod.

“Of course I’m your boyfriend,” the man replies, giving my hand a brief squeeze.

I close my eyes, basking in this moment a bit. It’s funny that we’ve grow so close without actually saying the words boyfriend or girlfriend. I guess all it takes is a near death experience.

“I won’t tell anyone about the crash,” I finally say, “but it’s gonna be so hard with all these people coming and going.”

Grant laughs and rolls his eyes at my sarcastic exaggeration. “I’m gonna start making dinner, you need anything?”

I smile wide, impressed. “You’re gonna start making dinner?” I question. “The bad boy of Britain? Grant Morrison himself? Making me dinner?”

“I didn’t say it was going to be good,” Grant jokes.

“Well, I’m excited to find out,” I tell him, then suddenly my mood shifts to one of deep seriousness. “Just make sure the door and windows are locked.”
“I will,” Grant assures me, standing up.

“When’s your bodyguard gonna get here?” I ask.

“As soon as he can, and he’s your bodyguard now, too,” Grant reminds me.