Chapter 42
42
REMI
I am enamored with Adams North.
He’s perfected being a dick. He’s demanding. He’s rough around the edges, soft, compassionate, stubborn, sweet, and each one of those bits of him shows in the footage Xander has sent through in the last couple days.
And it’s not just him. Felix and Dev open up more, and the band’s cohesiveness and dynamic take center stage.
The band members are interviewing each other randomly. They pop on the glasses for candid moments between themselves, whether it’s in their pre-show huddle, showing their circled shoes, or sneaks behind the bunk curtain when one’s asleep.
All of the new stuff is amazing, raw, real.
Of course I know exactly who is responsible. The man behind it all.
Because Foster’s sending pictures and videos straight to me. Like he used to.
Between concerts and writing, which he also shares, he shows me forgotten places and accidental finds in different cities up the Eastern Coast.
And fountains. He seeks out a fountain in every city for me.
An annoyed Colt is a frequent flyer, accompanying Foster from place to place. But he looks annoyed at the activity, not the man, so at least he seems to have forgiven his best friend.
Then the video chats start—the neck of his acoustic while he works on a song, an argument between the band and Colton when Felix locks the door on him during a writing session. The bodyguard threatens to kick the shit out of the guy he’s guarding if they don’t take a break.
Foster even calls from center stage in the middle of their set. “ Just wanted to say hey .”
But one afternoon, he goes back to sending me a pre-recorded video.
“I fucking miss you,” he says, camera on him.
He’s walking outside in a black hoodie, no sunglasses or hat. Not much more than some bare tree branches appear behind him with the gray winter sky. When he stops, he softly groans.
“I’ve spent too much time fucking missing you, Remi. I’ll warn you now, I’m going to be clingy as fuck for years.”
He said he’s going to be.
“Be ready when I come for you. But before any of that happens, there’s something I need to do.” He smirks, an eyebrow rising. “I’m going to knock on a door, and I need you to answer one.”
When he flips the camera, my breath catches. For a second, I thought it would be mine, but it’s not. Foster shows me a white front door with a winter wreath of reds and golds. Without anything more, I know it belongs to a quaint little house in the suburbs of Philly.
Then he knocks. “Open the door, Remi.”
The video cuts right as the door starts to open. I look to the one in my apartment, a smile spreading. I’m already rushing toward it when the knocking starts. I jerk it open, and my favorite smile in the world waits for me—well, one of my favorites. Roman’s shares its spot now.
“How was my timing?” Roman asks.
I laugh and throw my arms around his neck. “It was perfect.”
His hug lasts longer than usual, and then he aims a narrowed look at me while pulling back. “No warning Adams North was going to show up at my door?”
My squint meets his as I move aside for him. “Did you even know what Adams North looked like before he showed up?”
“I am not that old,” he says over his shoulder. He tosses his winter jacket and plops on the couch, and I’m right behind him.
“I can’t believe you met Foster.”
He nods. “Sure did. And I was right, I like him better than Xander.”
“Not surprising,” I deadpan. “But why was he there?”
One side of Roman’s mouth turns up. “Foster thought he needed to apologize to me for what happened when we were staying at the lake.”
My muscles stiffen as understanding dawns. “Oh.”
He watches me for a second, like he can see the internal reactions I’m trying to tamp down.
“I always believed it was my fault they found us,” I admit. “The timing lined up with when I took your car and went to Ashfield for my dad’s SD card, and I thought someone followed me.” I lower my gaze and breathe for a second while willing the edge off the memories and guilt they bring along for the ride. “But Foster told me he was there a day earlier. About taking my phone and throwing it, and I’m guessing he told you about the tracker on it—I’m so sorry, Roman.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he drawls.
His unbothered response makes me look up, and I repeat, “Yeah, yeah?” but with far more confusion.
“I get it, Remington. You’re sorry. Foster’s sorry.” He ducks in closer, gaze locked on mine. “And now I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. There’s no need for an apology because there’s not a damn thing to forgive.”
“But—”
He holds up his palm, indicating he hasn’t finished. “Even if the phone was the how and why, it’s not yours or his to carry the guilt over. The evil of others isn’t our responsibility. All we can do is try and cancel it out in whatever ways we find.”
Biting back tears, I force a smile and nod an okay. But it’s not. His kindness is a given. I wouldn’t expect anything else. But it’s not the how and why that matters here. It’s the what —Roman dehumanized and beaten.
He sighs at me, shaking his head. “Foster gave me the same fake-ass smile.” Roman pulls a knee up on the couch between us, twisting to face me with his arm stretched along the back of the couch toward me. “Here’s the truth I need you to understand. It could have been the phone. It also could have been the guidance counselor at the high school.”
I draw back a little at his statement.
With a week remaining in the semester, I had to contact the counselor to verify what I needed for graduation and confirm my transcripts would be sent to NYU. I’d already taken most finals and only needed to submit a paper. By then, everyone knew about my mom’s death, so they didn’t expect me in classes. She just needed an address to mail my diploma and documents for a scholarship.
“You said she had to keep any information confidential since I was eighteen.”
“And Daniel should have been arrested for Rebecca’s murder, pretty girl.” He exhales slowly, looking down between us at the tan cushion. “I never told you this, but three days before they broke in, I filed a report with state authorities.”
“What?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I wanted to believe in justice. It was supposed to be anonymous, but … it could have found its way into the wrong hands. I could have been followed. The corrupt pieces of shit might have tracked down people I knew and searched properties, finding Bea’s. Rebecca could have mentioned the lake house to Daniel at some point. Or maybe it was none of those things,” he says. “If that man was planning to look until he found us, he was going to find us, Remington. I’m just fucking glad it was me in the living room when they broke the glass with guns.”
I tip my head to the side, resting my cheek on his hand. “I’ve always felt like such a terrible human for hiding. For just listening while they said such horrible things and hurt you so badly. Maybe if I would have offered to?—”
Roman cuts me off. “Fuck off with whatever you’re about to say. I never would have forgiven myself if they touched you. Hell, I probably would have died trying to end them all.”
I blink away tears, and he brushes his thumb over my temple.
“You’ve suffered enough over other people’s bullshit. We both have. And I’m so fucking proud of you for living your life again.” His lips lift at the corners. “I can’t kill the monster in your closet. But you can stop believing in him?—”
“And it’s damn near the same thing,” I finish with him.
He nods and smiles my tied-for-favorite smile. “Even strung out, I was fucking parenting. Not only that, but my shit holds up whether you’re eight or twenty-three.”
I laugh and wryly remind him, “You also told me if I ever stole you anything worth pawning, you’d give me a cut in gummy bears.”
Roman winces. “Let’s not relive my greatest hits.”
“Or the time you explained the importance of always knowing my dealer?”
He scrubs his hand over his face. “I had to open my goddamn mouth.” But then he settles his gaze on me again, all warm and kind and safe. “I know you won’t entirely believe that none of the blame lies with you or him right away, but swear you will piece by piece. Whittle away at it for me, yeah?”
I nod, listening and committing to it. “Yeah.”
“Great. I can’t ask for more. It can count as my Father’s Day gift.” Not giving me time to respond to that one, he adds, “And so you’re up to speed on the rest of his visit, Imane cuddled on, cried on, and then threw up on Adams North.”
My eyes close for a long moment, lips pressed together. “Please tell me you got pictures of at least one?”
“The first,” he confirms, shifting to show me.
The idea of Foster snuggling an almost-two-year-old should not be so sexy to me or my ovaries. But it very much is. Then I see Imane on his lap, and I am unrecoverable. Her face is smooshed into the front of his hoodie while her little hands hold the strings, and he’s looking down at her with a bewildered smile.
“Where are we at with Foster now?” Roman asks as he tucks the phone away.
“I love him.” I sigh. “I have loved him, probably all along. But I think I’m finally ready to admit it. At least to you.”
Roman gives a long nod. “I’m glad you said that.”
My glare narrows, my curiosity piqued by his response. “Why does it feel like there should be more to that sentence?”
“Because there is.” He roughs up my hair before standing. “Let’s grab dinner.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“Nope.” On his way to the door, he glances over his shoulder and cracks a grin. “You’ll find out soon on your own.”
* * *
In the four days after Roman appeared at my door, I’ve received something from Foster every day. Flowers, a hoodie that smells like him, and a mug with a camera on it that says, Keep It Reel .
Then on Christmas Eve he sends an empty film canister which holds a key. No explanation, no indications of its purpose. I message him a picture of it with question marks, but he only sends more back.
Always cryptic and vague.
Roman convinces me to spend the holiday at his and Bea’s house. And of course, Foster shows up in parts.
His gifts are already under the tree when I arrive. He sent a toy guitar for Imane—red and black like his—to go with the drums he sent her after his visit. So I guess a bass is next on his list.
Bea and Roman receive tickets to a theater in the city for next month, along with Foster offering up my services to babysit when they go.
I want to have an opinion about it, but honestly, I’m already looking forward to it.
After I return to my apartment, my Christmas gift shows up. A delivery guy hauls in three vintage cases that scream movie set. Once he vacates with his cart, I flip the latches on the first and turn all giddy, seeing the packed-away mount. I scramble for the next and actually squeal at the studio camera from the 1930s. The third is accessories, lenses, and the original manual.
Foster’s present sits wrapped in the corner where our tree leaned last year, and I lug the cases over beside it.
The mysterious soon reveals itself the following day. Or what I’m guessing is the soon .
I’m reviewing the latest footage from the crew when there’s a pounding at my door. But when I check the peephole, rather than a delivery, I see the back of a chick’s head. A long black ponytail over the hood of her winter coat, and her arms crossed.
Figuring she’s here for Xander—not the first time someone’s shown up when he doesn’t respond—I smother a groan and open the door to tell her he’s not here. And not interested since he clearly hasn’t talked to her recently.
“Can I help you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Except then she turns around, and the entire world folds in on itself.
“Oh my God, it’s really you.”
Sage rushes me, locking her arms around me. It would knock the air out of me if I had any, but it vanished the second I saw her face. I slip back into my body after a second, a quiet sob escaping as I embrace her back.
“How…?”
“Foster,” she chokes out, pulling back and grasping my face, tears falling. “Or Adams? That’s a mind-fuck on its own.”
I scan her over like I do Imane, seeking out every change. She’s the exact same yet wildly different, and I drag her back for another hug. We stand just inside the door for a long time, not talking while we cry.
When I finally pull away, I step around her to shut the door. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
She spins, her eyes shiny. “I’m here, and I’m so sorry, Remi. I was a selfish teen and incredibly naive, and I let you down. I’ve wished so many times I could go back and help you the way I should have.”
I shake my head, confused by her apology. “Did Foster tell you?—”
“Nothing,” she says. “He only told me you’d been on tour with him, and if you didn’t want to see me, I had to leave.”
“Don’t leave.” I tug open one of the buttons on her coat to emphasize, and one side of her mouth tips up.
She shucks off her coat, following me into the living room. I sit, she sits, and then she scoots closer.
“You weren’t okay back then,” she says. “Miles tried to tell me shit wasn’t okay for you so many times, but I couldn’t see it. I was oblivious to so much, and after you left, I still twisted it to be about me. I’d decided you two were together, so when Daniel told me you and Roman ran off together, I believed him. I said you guys were hanging out, feeling sorry for myself because I was the one left behind.”
Fresh tears fall down her cheeks, and I tame my own, her words striking so many tender spots inside me while simultaneously warming them. The pain easy to absorb and breathe through.
“It’s okay?—”
“It’s not, Remi.” She grabs my hand on my leg, squeezing and reminding me she’s with me. “It was never acceptable. Miles was so angry with me. After I met up with Foster and still thought nothing was wrong, he broke up with me. He said I needed to grow the fuck up and realize how the world really works.”
That explains why when I searched social media for Sage Ricci last year, I didn’t find her. I post videos and documentary clips on my account RSFrames, and someone in a shot reminded me of her. She always said she would lock Miles down ASAP, so it felt like a safe bet. The thought was fleeting, though, and I never looked up Sage Teller.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but she shakes her head at me.
“He was right. My second year of nursing school, I took a class where we learned how to interact with patients who suffered domestic abuse. So much made me think of you. Things you’d say and do. The pillows—fuck, Remi, and the trellis.” She presses her lips together for a second and exhales. “Your mom never stopped using, did she?”
“No,” I whisper.
Sage nods. “In high school, I knew she took pills, but I thought it wasn’t a big deal, or else Chief Kane would do something about it.” Her gaze lowers. “And Roman taking you to your dad’s funeral because she was sick?”
“She was high.”
When she looks up, her face crumples. “Goddamn it. No wonder you skipped town.”
Anxiety lodges in my throat as I consider telling her the truth, but then there’s another knock.
“Hold on.” I leave her on the couch and check the peephole, then I whip around to her. “Did you skip over a rather important detail?”
She shrugs, lips curving up. “I was getting there.”
This time I’m at least prepared when I open the door—tears burn my eyes anyway.
“Hey, Rem,” Miles says. He charges in and flings his arms around me. “Your parking situation sucks.”
I laugh, but it’s half sob, and then I shove him away. “You fucking broke up with her? You unworthy asshole.”
He smiles and jerks me back into the hug. Tighter. Longer.
Once I pry him off of me, he takes off his coat and settles in next to Sage. Seeing them together in my tiny Tribeca apartment feels like a fever dream. In some ways it is, given the source of my everlasting fever sent them to me.
I’ve been thinking about Sage a lot since I heard her voice, adding her to my list of one days. I mentioned it to Foster, and I’ll never be able to thank him enough for bypassing me to make it happen so soon. Am I in emotional overload? Absolutely. Would I want anything different? Absolutely not.
They ask me about the documentary, the tour, and Foster. I tell them about it all—especially him.
Then I learn everything I missed with them for the past five years. Sage finished school and works as a labor and delivery nurse, taking extra classes for another certification. Miles has remained with the company that created Wanderer as a developer, but he’s remote now, and they live outside of Hunts in an adorable house on a hill.
By the end of the night, I’ve told them the practiced words: Daniel killed my mom . It’s a lot of crying, but so fucking cathartic. Even though I’m perfectly fine not talking about it again for a long time. They know about Roman too. The favorites and the threats.
I think what hurts my heart the most is when I open the door and Sage stops before walking out of it. “I wanted to find you when I finally opened my eyes, but I thought you probably hated me for not seeing it in the first place. But I need you to know I’ve missed you every day. You never said goodbye, and a piece of me has always held out hope that meant it wasn’t one. It’s why I called Foster every year in case he felt the same way.”
“Fuck,” I say. “You are terrible for mascara.”
“That’s why we’re not married, you know?” Miles steps between Sage and the open door, his head cocked at me. “You weren’t here, and we both wanted you to be a part of it.” He tosses me his phone, camera already recording, and he winks. “And now you are.”
I smile, aiming it at them before Sage catches up. Then her eyes bulge when Miles drops to a knee, right there on the threshold. I ease the shot out, sure to have the right angle as he reveals a box from his coat’s inside pocket.
That’s all the farther he gets before she tackles him. He looks prepared, though, keeping his balance, and she ends up sitting on his bent leg, opening the box herself and squealing at me like I’m the one proposing.
But he swipes the ring. “At least let me do some of it.”
I text myself the video, and after they leave, I curl up on the couch. Relieved. Drained. Happy. Although, I could be happier. I message Foster a picture of the three of us together.
And then he calls. The lighting is abysmal, his face only lit by the screen. “Damn, sending them there could have backfired on me so fucking hard. But you’re smiling. I love your smile.”
I am smiling. He’s backstage, listening to the crowd.
“Thank you,” I tell him, “for the best gift you could ever give me.”
He scrunches his face. “I really wish you wouldn’t have said that.”
“Why?”
“Because now I need to figure out what’s better than best so I can give that to you too.”