Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Brodie paced his Malibu home. Up and down like a panther.
He’d done everything he normally did when he was there.
He’d gone to a friend’s beach club for a party, where he’d stayed till the sunrise glowed like copper on the water.
He’d fine-dined at his usual table at Nobu.
He’d driven out to the State Park to do his favorite run.
But none of it hooked him the way it usually did.
It felt like he was killing time rather than living.
His house was right on the beach with direct access to the sand. He looked out at the paltry surf, waves too small to tempt him. He crossed his arms on the balcony and rested his head on his forearms. He didn’t know what he was doing, couldn’t think straight.
A message came through on his phone. He’d had it mainly on silent—ignoring calls from Maeve, from his brothers, from his mom.
He checked it now, it was a message from Maeve.
It would surely be something telling him not to bother coming back, how he’d sadly lived up to her expectations of him, how upset Zoey was.
He didn’t want to read it. He only did because it felt like a punishment he deserved for skipping town.
He hated his own actions as much as Maeve did.
He clicked on the message, braced himself.
Not sure where you are or what’s happened, but – and this may sound stupid, especially if you’re in Vegas – I just want you to know that I believe in you. As a dad, as a person, as a friend. Maeve x
Brodie frowned. He closed the message then opened it again to check he’d read it right, hadn’t conjured up an illusion. He had to go and sit down on his couch, read it again.
As a dad, as a person, as a friend.
He realized he was welling up, and dabbed the tears away with the back of his hand.
He flopped against the cushions, perplexed. Why? Why did she believe in him? He didn’t even believe in himself. He chucked the phone on the couch cushion.
He didn’t want her to believe in him; it was much easier, he realized, to be self-indulgently morose.
“Darn it!” he said, out loud.
He sighed, raking his hands through his hair. What now? He stood up, needed some air. The waves might suck but they’d have to do.
He got his board out and ran down to the water. He rode a few mediocre waves but there was no decent break, nothing to distract him.
In the end, he gave in, paddled right out past the wave line and lay on his board staring out at the horizon.
I believe in you.
He felt a swell of pride—courage, even—flow through him at the idea of her typing the words.
Courage.
You gotta sit with it.
Sit with what?
The sky out ahead built from blue, through orange, up to dusky pink like a rainbow. Clouds drifted in wisps. Gulls floated lazily on the warm air currents.
Images, memories, flowed through Brodie’s mind like a baggage carousel.
Shooting hoops with Zoey and Maeve, the scent of Maeve’s perfume when they danced, watching Harry Potter under a blanket.
All of that made him smile, resting his chin on his hands, the water bobbing beneath him, lulling him like a cradle.
He thought further back. Saw Logan carrying him home as a kid on his shoulders when he twisted his ankle. Making his sister Willow laugh so hard when she was eating her cereal that milk came out her nose. Sitting next to his mom at the piano, singing a song they wrote together.
Seeing his mom cry at his brother Jack’s funeral.
Drinking hot chocolate with Maeve that fateful night.
Playing on his PlayStation with Ethan, laughing at the smell of the tour bus after a week on the road.
Playing practical jokes on Jack because he always got the maddest and there was a nerve-racking thrill that came from making him lose his temper.
Waiting under a trap door beneath the stage, listening to the growing crescendo of screaming applause, the ground beneath him shaking.
Rising up, ears ringing as the noise got louder and louder, arms spread wide, drinking it all in like a superpower.
Looking across and just seeing his brothers, all together on stage.
Like being out in the wild together. Same thing, different place.
Just them, having a good time. Together.
He loved being in that band. Writing those songs.
Sixty thousand screaming fans shouting his name, wanting to touch him, worship him, adore him.
Number-one albums, world tours, platinum discs.
All from lyrics he wrote with Ethan, lyrics he sang, melodies played by his brothers.
It was magic. He would give anything to have that back. Anything.
That was the problem: he’d reached the pinnacle of life at sixteen.
How could anything ever live up to that?
Who was he without it? Who did he want to be without it?
The questions and the thoughts kept coming, rippling through him like the waves.
He saw his dad when they left, turning his back as they packed into the old truck, Logan at the wheel.
Their decrepit labrador, Duke, at his heels.
He remembered the bubbling freedom inside himself, the bursting of sheer joy to be leaving, to be on the journey toward his dream, so strong that it made his fingers tingle.
His notebook of songs, snippets on his phone, ideas just coming at him as plentiful as rainfall.
So young, so free. It felt as if chains were literally falling from him as they turned out the Silver Sky Ranch gates.
He had sat back, turned his head to see the mountains retreat in the distance, and seen the reflection in the window of his own beaming smile.
Lying on his surfboard in the ocean, came a cascade of memories he simply couldn’t hold back, Brodie’s muscles twitched with the urge to move, to flee, to turn around paddle back to shore.
I believe in you.
He forced himself to feel it, to let it roll over him.
All that excitement, that hope, that fun.
Best darn days of his life. Then it had vanished, quick as that.
And there was nothing, just an empty void beneath him, the dream shattered.
All that regret and frustration. He’d wake up in the night sweating, lie staring up in the darkness trying to find who he was.
His sense of self. His purpose. His pride. His brothers. Jack. Ethan.
Brodie shut his eyes and rested his face down on the board. He could taste the salt water on his lips and wondered if he was crying again.
The waves lapped gently around him like soothing hands where his skin touched the water, the sun beat down on his back.
He couldn’t say how long he lay there but it felt like he’d seen his whole life before his eyes, every painful memory, every delicious one.
Everything. Unfettered. Shameful, exhilarating, terrifying, loving.
A cacophony of experiences held back as he raced forward.
He propped his chin on his hands and gazed at the swathes of blue. I believe in you. He smiled.
It was then that he heard a whistle. Sharp and quick, like summoning a dog.
Brodie narrowed his eyes, felt like there was something familiar in that whistle.
Then it came again. Louder this time.
He sat up, straddling the board, and glanced over his shoulder to see where it was coming from. Looking across the water to the beach, he saw two incongruous figures standing side by side, one with his hands in his pockets, the other with his finger and thumb in his mouth ready to whistle again.
Logan and Noah.
Brodie laughed out loud.
Logan raised a hand when he saw that Brodie’d noticed them.
Brodie shook his head in disbelief, then he turned his board around and started paddling, smooth long strokes, back in to shore.
“What the heck are you two doing here?” he called when he was knee-deep, scooping his board up under his arm and striding through the shallows.
“What the heck do you think we’re doing here?” Logan lobbed him his beach towel.
Noah answered for him, “Come to find you, you idiot!”