37. Quinn
quinn
. . .
I t’s been a long time since I’ve shown my face in the Bean Song. I honestly expected Zeke to boot me out as soon as I sat down. He just smiled, patted my back and welcomed me with open arms. I honestly don’t know why I came in here this morning, but something settled in my mind, telling me that I needed to be here.
The single Ajay and I wrote, “You’re the One,” debuted on the charts at number twenty about a week ago and is steadily climbing its way up. It’s getting a lot of airplay and Elle tells us all every day how many digital copies have been sold. Still, I feel empty, like something’s missing, which is why I think I ended up here.
The first time I heard it on the radio, I had to pull over. It was raining, and I stopped in front of her complex. So much emotion came pouring out of me, not only when I wrote the song, but listening to it as well. Dana slayed it during vocals, giving listeners her sexy, raspy voice. Everyone loves her, and they should.
I thought about driving through Nola’s parking lot but didn’t know what good that would do me. The wounds are still fresh and even more so with the letter sitting in my hand. I turn the envelope over, looking at the return address, staring at Sofia’s name in what I’m guessing is her handwriting.
It’s been about two months since she destroyed my life. I could’ve easily lived with Nola’s fake name issue but the rest, there’s no way. Even thinking about how they planned this and ganged up on me, it tears me to pieces. I’ve since taken up boxing at my uncle Xander’s gym to relieve some of the pent-up aggression I have. It was Noah’s suggestion. It was either that, or he was going to dress me in pads and let his offensive line tackle me.
“What can I get you?”
My eyes do a double-take as the waitress stands at my table. She looks like Nola, but her hair is shorter and she’s not as pretty or sweet. “Coffee and the breakfast sampler, please.” She nods and walks away. Yep, definitely nothing like Nola.
When the letter arrived, I called my sisters. I needed their advice about what to do, open it or burn it. I was shocked when both, without hesitation, told me to open. Elle even went as far as to say that Sofia is a product of her mother and that shouldn’t be held against her. Peyton added it doesn’t hurt to read what she has to say and reminded me that I don’t have to respond.
It’s taken me weeks, but I finally slide my finger under the flap and pull out the folded sheet of paper. Slowly, I unfold and look over her words.
Dear Quinn,
To begin, I want to tell you how sorry I am for my actions when we came to meet you. It’s taken me far too long to write this letter to you. I realized that night, and after hearing you and your father speak to my mom (I’ll refrain from calling her our mom) that the stories she’s told me have been lies. For years, she’s painted your dad as a man who stole her son away. I never understood why every lawyer she would visit, would tell her she didn’t have a case, and now I know why, because she gave you up. Until you said those words to her, I had no clue. I have always been under the impression that your father kidnapped you and it wasn’t until you turned eighteen, did she reveal your name. Now, it all makes sense.
After your birthday, she started keeping a detailed diary, printing off everything she could find out about you from the internet. You became her obsession. Every inch of her wall space is dedicated to you. It’s disturbing, but I didn’t understand until now. I thought she was a mom, yearning for her lost child. Everything changed when Eleanora came to visit. You see, someone snapped a picture of you singing and she was in the background and once my mother saw her, she put two and two together and her mind went into overdrive. Because Eleanora and I were friends, my mother knew where she worked and how to find you. Eleanora walked into a trap she didn’t even know was set, and that’s because I made up stories about you in college.
Eleanora. This is going to be hard to explain. I wasn’t very popular in college and when I met Eleanora at the end of my sophomore year, we hit it off and became roommates for the next two years. Off and on, I would show her pictures of my brother, Q. Bragging about how talented he was, how he was going to make it big. When I’d go home, he’d always visit, all lies of course. Over the years, Eleanora would comment on how you were, and when it came time to leave after graduation, she didn’t want to go home so she went to California with another roommate of ours.
I’m going out on a limb here and say that her getting a job where you were playing was happenstance. When she told me a “Quinn James” was playing open mic, I asked her not to approach you. When she was certain you were the Q from all my pictures, I posted a picture of a lookalike and told her you were in Phoenix so there was no way you were in Los Angeles. So, while she knew, she didn’t, which probably explains her confusion.
I can’t apologize enough for my actions and those of my mother. I know she’s sick and has been for a long time, but I had no idea of the obsession she had with you and your father. I’m sorry for the pain she’s caused, and hope that one day, you’ll be willing to give me a chance as your sister. If not, I completely understand. On the outside looking in, it’s not pretty, so I get it.
All my best,
Sofia
I want to scream, hit, throw, and do every other violent thing I can think of right now. That’s the only reaction I can have because words will not do any justice, not after everything that’s happened to me. I don’t even know where to begin. The beginning and the middle of this is so convoluted, and the ending is heartbreaking. I gave up the woman I’m in love with because of these two people. I read the letter again, and again, seeking out words that aren’t there. I don’t know what I’m looking for, an answer, a reason, an explanation as to why they would treat me like this. Nothing. Not a single clue.
“Are you Quinn James?” I don’t even look at who’s asking.
“Not right now,” I tell them. I don’t want to sign autographs or take pictures. I want to be left alone. Except they don’t get the hint and pull the chair out across from me. I look up to find an unfamiliar face, which isn’t shocking, glaring at me. “May I help you?”
She sticks her hand out. “I’m Kellie Macauley. Eleanora is my friend, she was my roommate while living here.” I shake her hand slowly while replaying her words.
“What do you mean, was?”
“She’s moved home, back to South Carolina.”
“Oh.”
She nods and leans forward. “Listen, I’m not going to pretend I understand everything that went down. One minute she tells me she’s leaving, the next she’s staying because she’s fallen in love, and then she’s gone, calling me from the road in hysterics, filling me in on everything.
“First thing I want to say, she didn’t know you were Sofia’s brother.”
“So, I’ve been told,” I tell her. I don’t know her, but I show her the letter, watching as she reads it. Her mouth drops open and she lets out a string of colorful words that don’t bear repeating.
“This sounds about right. I showed Eleanora the picture Sofia posted. I always thought she wasn’t right upstairs, but I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” I mumble, folding the letter and putting it in my pocket. My coffee and food arrive, and I offer half the plate to Kellie, who happily digs in. “Why are you here?”
“Because Eleanora’s in love with you.”
“Oh.”
“And while I know she lied about a few things...”
“One rather important thing, don’t you think?”
She shrugs. “Roy’s a douche… I’m assuming you’re talking about the fiancé?” I nod. “Yeah, figured. Do you remember when you called and asked her out, but she had plans?” I nod again. “She broke up with him for good. They weren’t really together, but she made sure to end things because she really liked you.”
“Oh.”
“Right,” she says in between putting tater tot hash browns in her mouth. “Anyway, the name thing. She was just trying to reinvent herself here. Her parents are really southern, and she was trying to break the mold.”
“Oh,” I say again.
She nods, dips the tot in mustard and points it at me. “You’re a man of few words, I see.”
“Yeah, well I’m shocked, confused, and a bit angry at the moment.”
“Do you love her? You know what, don’t answer that.” She picks up my pen and writes something down on the napkin. “This is where you’ll find her.” Kellie slides the white paper toward me and stands. “Oh, and she’s pregnant.”
This time my mouth drops open. I try to call out to Kellie, but she’s already gone. I reach for my phone and scroll through my contacts only to realize I ditched my phone and got a new one after everything happened. I don’t have Nola’s number. Instead, I call my dad and as soon as he answers, I say, “I need the plane.”
As long as I live I will never take for granted the fact that the band has a personal plane. It’s rare that I use it, but for times like this, I didn’t want to wait for a commercial flight. The flight east seemed to take forever, even though I know it didn’t. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than the fact that Kellie said Nola’s pregnant. I never stopped to think the baby couldn’t be mine because why would her friend tell me if that’s the case? And I have no idea what I’m going to do when I see her.
The driver of the car service has stopped. After a few seconds, he drops the window between us. “Are you sure you mean the Boone Estate?”
“Is that the address on the paper I gave you?”
“Yes, Sir. It seems the Boones are having a wedding. Would you still like me to stop?”
A wedding. Fiancé. Baby. I bolt out of the car and run down the white gravel road, which is covered by massive oak trees and Spanish moss. The immense two-story home looms in front of me as I run toward it. A man in a tuxedo puts his hands out to stop me, but I brush by him, determined to stop this wedding. She’s not marrying some other man because she’s pregnant. I can’t let that happen. I follow the voices echoing from the side of the house. I can see tops of heads and a gazebo, but nothing else.
I run, faster than I’ve ever run in my life, breathing in and out, until I reach the rose petaled aisle. “Stop,” I say, gasping for oxygen. “Stop. You can’t marry him.” I’m bent over, sucking in as much air as I can.
Everyone around me gasps. “Who the hell are you?” a voice demands.
I point. “I lo…” I straighten so I can look Nola in the eyes. “I love…”
“Quinn?”
I look to the right and there she is, dressed in soft pink with her hair curled and pulled to the side. “Nola,” I whisper. I thought she’d be happy to see me, but she’s coming toward me with a very pissed off look on her face.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she grits out as she grabs my arm and pushes me away from the gazebo. “My, God. You’ve gone and ruined the wedding.”
“I came to save you from making a mistake.”
“What’re you talking about? What mistake?”
“By marrying Roy, the douche,” I repeat Kellie’s words. “And to tell you that you don’t have to do things alone, I’ll be by your side.”
“Do what alone?”
“The baby.”
Nola’s eyes go wide, and her mouth drops open. “Oh, I’m going to kill her. You.” She jabs me in the chest. “Need to sit right here and don’t you freaking move. I’m going back over there to stand by my best friend while she marries the man of her dreams, and then you and I are going to talk. Ugh,” she grits out as she walks away.
Luckily for me, only a few people are staring. I smile and wave sheepishly and take a seat like Nola said.