HE’S GONE.
Today I said good-bye to the man who gave me life.
He was my whole world.
Just over six months ago, that world was shaken and flipped upside down the night the paramedics came into our home and took him away on a stretcher.
That night the doctors gave him three months.
He lived for six.
That’s how Marcus King rolled.
He did things his way.
On his own time.
No exceptions.
When life gave him lemons, he’d exchange them for limes and a bottle of tequila and say, “Who the hell wants lemonade when they can have margaritas?”
And now my world is shattered.
My mom is sitting across the room with my grandparents by her side. She smiles sadly and nods as friends and acquaintances offer their condolences. Her eyes are red and swollen and her face is splotchy, but she’s still beautiful.
I wonder if her pain feels different from the pain I feel.
He was my dad, but he was the love of her life.
Her soul mate.
Her best friend.
Her prince.
I wonder if she’ll ever find another soul mate.
Another love?
Another prince?
Did she do something so terrible in her life that Karma came to collect?
Or was this just the ugly side of fate?
I thought Zach was my soul mate, but what the hell do I know?
I still love him though. Even though I shouldn’t.
Maybe there’s hope for us one day.
Hope.
That’s something I don’t have much of these days.
I could almost swear that was Zach in the pew.
“JAYLA?”
Tilting my head back, I look up at the man standing over me. He looks oddly familiar—friendly face, light brown hair, and kind hazel eyes—but I can’t place him. “I’m Miles Townsend.” He extends his right hand. Ah. The writer from Rhythm & Riffs.
I never did that interview with him about the release of Jaybird. More important things and all that.
As we shake hands, my gaze immediately shifts to my mom, unsure of what I’m supposed to do or say. I’ve never been allowed to talk to reporters and, honestly, I’m not even sure why he’s here.
Sensing my discomfort, Miles puts my mind at ease. “Emerson suggested I come over and introduce myself.” He gestures to the empty space on the sofa beside me. “May I?”
“Sure.” I shift on the sofa to face him, tucking one leg under the other.
“I’m sorry about Marcus,” he says, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs, clasping his hands together. “You probably don’t remember me. It’s been a few years since I last saw you. Marcus and I go way back to the day Royal Mayhem got their first gig.”
“Davie’s Dive Bar,” I add with a small laugh followed by a sniffle.
He nods. “Davie was my father. Marcus and Andrew came into Davie’s, heads held high, and asked if they could play. Marcus said, ‘You don’t have to pay us or anything. We just want a chance to be heard.’” Miles smiles knowingly. “Marcus had no idea how much those words meant to my father. Davie was all about giving chances. If someone hadn’t given him a chance, he wouldn’t have had his bar, or me. He used to say, ‘Life is all about chances. Taking chances. Giving chances. Second chances. Chance encounters. Chances lead to possibilities.’ Davie loved those guys like they were his own family. A few months later, my father called his nephew, my cousin Chandler, who was in the music business, asking him to stop by the bar.” He pauses to let the information soak in, waiting for me to catch up.
“So, you’re Chandler’s cousin?” That explains why my dad trusted him.
Chandler Skye is my dad’s friend, former manager-turned business partner, and the COO of King Records. He’s also Evangeline’s father.
He nods again. “I also own Rhythm & Riffs. I personally interview all of the artists signed with King Records.”
“Truthfully, I was surprised when my dad told me he’d set up an interview. He’d always been protective when it came to the media.” I think back to our conversation about the interview. “He said you’re the only one he trusts with me.”
Miles lowers his head. “That means a lot. Those guys inspired me to become a writer. In college, my first creative writing paper was about four kids, barely out of high school, who went from playing for free in a dive bar to becoming one of the biggest rock bands in the world. Needless to say, I got an A-plus.” He smiles. “One day I’d like to publish that story.”
“I guess they owe a lot to Davie for giving them a chance. If he hadn’t made that call, they might not have gotten so lucky.”
“No. If he hadn’t made that call, Chandler wouldn’t have gotten so lucky.” He laughs. “Those guys were destined for success.” True. “Well, I really just wanted to come reintroduce myself and offer my condolences. I understand you need time to grieve, but when you’re feeling better, I’d still like to do the interview, if you’re up to it. Andrew mentioned King Records is pushing back Jaybird’s release.”
“I’d be happy to do the interview, Mr. Townsend—”
“Please, call me Miles.”
“Okay, Miles. Just set it up with my mom. I’ll be there.”
“Great.” He rubs his hands over his thighs. “I’ll get in touch with Emerson next week. In the meantime, I’ll compile a list of questions for you both to review and we’ll go from there.” He stands up and looks down at me, sympathy filling his gaze. “I really am very sorry about Marcus. I’m still having a hard time believing he’s gone, but I can honestly say I understand what it feels like to lose an amazing father.”
I gasp. “Davie?”
He nods again. “Nearly ten years ago. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t think about him and miss him. He was a good father. I want you to know that I know your pain. What you said about the pain of losing him, I’ve been there. Right now, it’s raw, like your heart has been ripped out. Your chest feels like there’s a hundred-pound weight on it and the only way to breathe is by taking small breaths. But even that hurts.” He rests a hand on my shoulder. “Everyone grieves in their own way, but pain is still pain. I promise you that the pain will fade and with each day that passes it’ll be easier to breathe. But you’ll always have that dull ache as a reminder of what you lost. Think about him as often as you’d like. Keep him alive in your memories.”
Releasing a heavy sigh, I say, “Thank you, Miles. I really needed to hear that. If one more person asks me how I’m feeling, I might punch myself in the face.”
He laughs. “There are only so many ways someone can offer their condolences before it just becomes awkward. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances, but it’s been a real pleasure talking to you, Jayla. You did an amazing job on the album. I listened to it with Marcus the day he and I met to set up your interview. He was very proud of you. You’re a sweet girl and I can see why he was so protective.” He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be in touch.”
“LET ME TAKE her,” Aunt Jessica says, lifting a sleeping eighteen-month-old Willow from my lap. For the past few days, my little cousin, Willow has been an adorable distraction from the hell that is now my life. We’ve watched Monsters Inc., her favorite movie, at least five times. Well, she watches the movie and I watch her. Her sweet little angelic voice and the way she puts her tiny hands on my cheeks to get my attention soothe my aching heart. I’ve started calling her “Boo” because she looks so much like the little girl in the movie.
Willow is the youngest child to my Uncle Max and Aunt Jessica, who are also the parents to my cousins Dylan, Cole and Aiden. Honestly, if I didn’t know Willow was adopted, I’d say she was born a Mackenzie, with her dark hair and bright green eyes, just like the rest of the family.
“Hey,” Lucas says, dropping into the empty spot beside me on the love seat with a plate of food in one hand, setting another plate of fruit on the coffee table. “I didn’t think I was hungry but one whiff of Grace’s cooking….” He shakes his head before shoveling a forkful into his mouth. “Have you eaten today?” he mumbles as he scoops another forkful from his plate and holds it out to me. I wrinkle my nose and turn my head.
I lost my appetite when I lost my father.
“Jay—” Lucas starts, but I shut him down with a “don’t even start” look.
“Don’t give me that look,” he chides. “You have to eat something or you’re going to get sick. I know you don’t feel hungry, but I’ve seen you eat an entire watermelon in one sitting right after you swore you weren’t hungry.”
I snort as Lucas picks up the plate of fruit from the coffee table and holds it out to me. “Come on. When have you ever turned away from a strawberry?”
I do love me some fruit. It’s my second favorite food next to chocolate. Give me some chocolate to go with my fruit—heaven. Plucking a strawberry from the plate, I pop it into my mouth and smile.
“See?” Lucas grins.
It had always been Evangeline, Lucas and me. The Three Musketeers. The Three Amigos. And in some situations, the Three Stooges. But most of the time growing up, it was just Lucas and me. Especially when we were younger and living on a tour bus. Lucas is protective and in some ways, he feels a sense of responsibility for me.
“I’m kind of tired, Lucas,” I say quietly as I hand over the barely touched plate of fruit. “Will you cover for me?”
He gives me a hesitant nod. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be up to check on you shortly.”
THERE’S A GENTLE tap on my bedroom door just before it opens and immediately shuts with a soft click. I don’t need to look to know it’s Mimi. I can smell her Donna Karan perfume. A moment later the mattress dips as she lies down beside me.
After a few moments of silence, she asks, “Do those things still glow?” We’re both lying on our backs, staring up at the plastic stars scattered across the ceiling above my bed.
I blow out a puff of air through my nose.
“Not sure. I remember when Mom put them up there. I was like six or seven, I think. Dad told me they were magic stars, that each star held one wish and the big ones were for special wishes. I don’t think I was ever as excited for bedtime as I was that night. I had a mental wish list a mile long by the time I went to bed.”
“What did you wish for?”
I smile at the memory. “A pink guitar.”
Mimi laughs. “Oh yes, I remember. I have several pictures of you with that little pink guitar. You were already making up your own songs then, too. And you loved everything pink.”
“It was my favorite color.” I roll my head to the side and smile at Mimi. “Remember my first piano?”
“Of course. First time I’d ever seen a pink baby grand piano.”
“I used up one of the big stars for that,” I admit with a laugh, turning to look up at the ceiling once more. “I used to try counting them, but I’d always end up falling asleep.” I roll my head to the side again. “There are seventy-five total—eight large, twelve medium, and fifty-five small. I finally counted them the day we found out dad was sick. I wished on every single one of them, hoping by some chance that Dad was right, that they were truly magic. I wished for him to get better, but instead he got sicker. He was wrong. They’re not magic. They’re just stupid plastic stars.” I choke out a sob and cover my face with my hands.
“Oh my sweet girl,” Mimi coos, shifting on the bed to wrap her arms around me. “Shhh. Honey, he was sick. His fate was in God’s hands.” She rubs a soothing hand down my back.
Fate.
I’m not a fan of that word.
Karma is a bitch who owns her shit.
Fate is misleading.
Fate paints a pretty little picture of ‘meant to bes’ and ‘happily ever afters.’ But what about death?
Fate is a passive-aggressive bitch.
“Nothing can change God’s plan. Not a wish. Not even a prayer.” Mimi comforts me for a few more minutes before we pull apart and I wipe the tears from my cheeks. When I look up again, she has a concerned expression. “Can I ask you a random question? It’s been on my mind for a while now.”
“Hmm?”
“What happened with Zach? You two were joined at the hip in St. Thomas.” Not exactly the hip, but close enough. “He asks about you all the time. Says he hasn’t talked to you since our vacation.”
I scoff. “He should focus more on his girlfriend and less on me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you won’t get mad, and you can’t tell anyone. Not even Grandma Kate.”
She frowns and holds up her fingers. “I promise.”
I burst out laughing. “Mimi that’s the shocker. Who taught you that?”
“Aiden. That little shit.” She laughs. “What’s the shocker?”