Chapter 33
Age 18
I wake up abruptly, my head pounding after the old nightmare that felt like it slammed me into a brick wall. It’s always the same, with me back in middle school and creepy, faceless tormentors taunting me. Mark was prominently featured like he usually is. He tried to kiss me. Bo is in the periphery. He watches everything, but he doesn’t intervene.
That’s the reality part. That’s my life now. There’s no Bo around to rescue me anymore.
Alone with all those old emotions weighing me down, I somehow manage to get the covers off. I sit up. Throwing my hair out of my eyes, I sigh shakily. It’s unsettling how in the dream, I try to reach Bo. I call him, but he keeps going, walking farther and farther away.
It’s been four years, but I’m stuck in the past for the most part. I pretend to be okay. I think I’m better at fooling everyone, but nothing much has changed. I read my books to escape. I share my thoughts with my journal rather than Bo. I don’t have any other friends, and I continue to pine for the boy I thought understood me.
I rub my chest. Beneath my ribs, my heart aches. The bullying left its mark on me, but Bo’s rejection was the fatal blow.
It’s over, Peace . I remind myself . You’re grown up. You’re no longer that trusting, desperate little girl anymore. Those naive longings are gone. Untrue, but I avoid the truth about Bo like I avoid a lot of things.
“I need light,” I declare. Crawling to the head of my bed, I peel back the blackout blinds. “Ouch.” I wince as the LA sunlight blasts me in the eyes. Releasing the shade, I frown at my phone. It’s late. My alarm didn’t go off for some reason. I scoot across the bed. After unplugging my cell from the charger, I open the clock app and realize it’s my own fault. I forgot to activate the alarm.
I shake my head in frustration.
“Knock. Knock,” a muffled but beloved voice drifts into my room from the other side of the closed door.
“Hold on.” I get out of bed. Grabbing my robe from the chair, I put it on over my favorite Brutal Strength T-shirt and matching sleep shorts before opening the door.
“Good morning, Snookums.” Alex Treyall is wearing a polo and pressed slacks and gives me a glance before sweeping inside the room.
“Morning, Uncle Alex,” I mumble and try to tame my snarled hair as the multi-Oscar-winning actor strides into my bedroom inside his West Hollywood mansion carrying a breakfast tray. With his blond wavy hair, perfect skin, and blue eyes, my uncle is gorgeous and looks like he came straight from a business meeting with his agent. He always looks put together and camera-ready. He has to be with the paparazzi relentlessly pursuing him. It’s the same for my mom whenever she visits him in LA. Thinking about her, a familiar pang squeezes the air from my lungs. My mom hates media attention, whereas her best friend, my uncle Alex, thrives on it. That’s why he and his husband Mike live in LA while my mom remains in Seattle.
Shaking off thoughts about my mom, I focus on Alex.
“The breakfast looks delicious. Smells good too.” The rich, buttery pancakes and the savory aroma of the hickory smoked bacon make my empty stomach grumble.
“Better eat up fast.” Alex sets the tray on my desk. “Today’s a big day.” Closing the journal I left open last night, he scoots it aside. There are volumes of confessionals just like that one on the bookshelves. They chronicle my pain from being bullied and then losing the only close friend I ever had. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I paste on a smile. I’m eighteen today. I should feel different, better, changed, but I don’t.
“Your present is…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “You get to live rent-free with me for another year.”
“Alex.” I shake my head at him and his bizarre humor. I might not be different, but at least I feel lighter when he’s around.
“No, really.” He grins. “Okay, okay, you broke me down. Your real present is we’re taking you with us to Tahiti for our wedding anniversary.”
“Yay!” I throw my arms around his neck and hug him. He pretends to be affronted by the PDA, but I know he loves my hugs as much as I love his.
“We’re happy to have your company, sweet face.” He eases back and studies me a long moment before saying, “But your uncle Mike and I don’t think it’s healthy for a girl your age to be hanging around two gay men who are gorgeous but past their prime.”
“You’re not old,” I insist.
“Well-seasoned then.” He wrinkles his nose. “Anyway, you’re coming. Maybe we can find you a straight guy on the beach who’s worthy of you. But for now, we need to get a move on if you still plan to stop by the campus before the airport.”
“I slept too late to make my flight.” I grab a piece of crisp bacon from the plate and chomp on it. “Mmm,” I moan with my hand covering my mouth. “This is delicious.”
“Mike is a culinary genius.”
I nod, finish chewing the succulent and savory bite, and swallow.
“Today is your big day.” Alex searches my lackluster light brown eyes with his brilliant blue ones. “Yet you overslept. I wonder if you did it on purpose.”
“No,” I deny, shaking my head.
“They miss you, pumpkin.” He doesn’t accept my denial.
“Hardly.” Tears prick my eyes as I shake my head harder. “Their lives are better without me.”
“Beautiful girl.” He grasps me by my shoulder. “Your parents and your sister miss you. Every time I talk to your mother, she grills me about you.”
“But she doesn’t call me.” And she rarely visits. I hardly see my parents or Harmony anymore except during the holidays and one week during the summer when we all get together for two weeks at Alex’s house in Carmel.
“Love is a two-way street, my sweet child. You must release it freely into the universe to have it returned to you.” He clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “The vibes you send out nowadays aren’t inviting.”
“I’m not a child anymore.” I ignore his subtle dig about the protective armor I wear. That layer of protection is critical for my well-being, especially around my family, whose approval I crave the most.
Bo also comes to mind. But our friendship wasn’t what I thought it was. And anyway, the years have undoubtedly changed both of us. I hide my heart nowadays. Bo doesn’t appear to have one. In his professional headshot, his eyes were pure ice. Melinda T. Belle-Reed showed me photos of him and all the members of his band when she interviewed me. I only allowed myself a passing glance at each one, resisting staring overly long at Bo, who has only grown handsomer since we parted ways. If Melinda noticed any lingering on my part over a boy who’s now a man and a stranger, the acting CEO of Black Cat Records didn’t let on. She tucked the glossies back in her desk drawer after asking for and receiving my assurance that working on the marketing for Bo’s band during my summer internship wouldn’t be a problem for me.
“Not a child outwardly.” Alex squeezes my shoulders, focusing me on the here and now rather than on the interview that happened a month ago. “You’re a stunning woman, Snookums, no doubt. But the damage from your childhood is a blockade to you reaching your full potential as a grownup.”
“Nothing’s holding me back,” I lie and lift my chin.
“We both know that’s not entirely true.” His eyes take on a sad sheen. “Deep childhood trauma never heals without assistance. Not mine.” He points at himself, then at me. “Or yours.”
“Mine isn’t significant compared to yours.” His parents rejected him for being gay. Mine just think I’m odd like everyone else does. I’m resigned to the fact that I’ll always be alone without anyone who will ever truly understand me.
“I disagree, my precious girl.” His lips thin. “I’m worried about you. Mike and me. You spend too much time in this room, scribbling in those journals and stewing.”
“I’m fine.” I repeat my mantra. I don’t need counseling. My journals are my therapy. Four years of them with the dates on the pink spines peer out at me from their positions on the shelves. Writing in them, reading my books, and talking to my two uncles is all the therapy I need. I have a new life in LA. An insular one, sure. I recognize that. I’m a high-performing introvert. But that’s me. Even if I’m the only one who accepts me. I’m the only one I need, right?
“Eat a couple more bites.” Alex taps the face of his Patek Philippe watch. “Then shower. Time’s a wasting.”
“I told you already I’ll never make my flight.”
“No, you won’t,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?’ I tilt my head.
“Because you’re not flying commercial, my sweet girl,” he informs me. “You’re flying in the private jet with me.”
“And don’t forget about me.” Mike appears. At over six feet, he dwarfs the doorway. Muscular and blond, he turns as many heads as his famous husband. “I’m not going to miss your eighteenth birthday party or a chance to celebrate your internship.”
“No one back home knows about the internship,” I mumble. “Except Harmony.”
“You’re nervous about telling your parents.” Mike narrows his cornflower blue eyes, guessing correctly.
“But you shouldn’t be nervous,” Alex adds. “They’ll be happy for you, just like we are.”
Alex is wrong. My parents will never get that I prefer managing music from behind the scenes rather than being centerstage like them. For me, working at Black Cat is the perfect opportunity to mesh my love for music and my fascination with artists and their backstories. At one time, there was one person who might have understood that desire and been happy for me. But I don’t know what Bo understands or cares about anymore.