23. Grae #2
No journal, but no hole in my wall either. And at least Teddy brought me food. I eat a sandwich while I text Alana pictures of all the work I’ve done to prove I can fix this. But with each room, it seems increasingly hopeless.
Me: I’m so sorry. I don’t know where it is.
Alana (Future wife): It’s fine, you tried. Come back.
Me: I’ll book a flight for noon. That will give me the morning to do one more search.
Although it’s feeling like a hopeless endeavor.
Me: I’m depressed.
Alana (Future wife): It was twelve years ago. Maybe we can move on from the past and focus on the future.
Me: Oh, so you think we have one?
Alana (Future wife):: You’ve got a few days left on your free trial.
Me: So we’re back to that?
Alana(Future wife):: What makes you think it was ever gone?
Me: Well, that’s not helping with my depression, that’s for sure.
Alana(Future wife):: How can I help?
Me: Can I play with your cat?
Alana(Future wife):: Sure.
Me: And Midge too?
Alana(Future wife):: I’m not going to turn down that offer.
I’m not losing her again. Exhausted, I go to bed and I hate it. It’s too big and empty. I need Alana’s body pressed up against me. That would make me feel better, if only for a while.
DAY 6
In the morning, I search the spare bedroom’s nightstand.
I sort through stacks of various papers, gifts from fans, and other things I didn't know where to put. I take out the small velvet box and toss it into my bag. I should’ve thrown this out years ago, but I couldn’t do it.
The day I paid this thing off was the same day I bought the first sports car.
I do one last ditch sweep of the house, but it’s a bust. I don’t know why I’m surprised.
It’s like every time I search for something Alana-related I come up short.
It does feel like there’s some other force keeping us apart, but who?
Alana’s right, it can’t be CJ. So who could be pulling the strings?
And better yet why? What is there to gain by keeping us apart?
As I walk back through LAX, I go into Hudson News to grab some gum for the flight.
It’s the same stuff that’s always there—stiff travel pillows, bags of faux healthy nuts, and books.
I scan the shelves to see if there’s anything I can buy for my e-reader.
I’m long past the physical book stage of my life.
That’s when I look at the nonfiction section.
Between a variety of self-help books, an assload of marketing and business tips, and a small selection of history and science books, there are six hardcovers about the same family on the biography shelf.
What’s it like to be in that family? Scrutinized by the media and society at large for generations.
I thought the King and Queen had it rough, but they’re the equivalent of internet-famous when compared to the Olympians.
I make it to my gate with gum and an iced coffee and check my notifications to see if any of my assistants found anything. Nope. So I text Alana instead.
Me: At the airport now. Slept like shit. Miss you.
Alana (Future wife): Any luck?
Me: You think if I found my journal you’d be hearing about it through a half-hearted text? But I found other stuff.
The square velvet box sits in my inner jacket pocket next to my chest.
Alana (Future wife): Don’t stress about the journal… we can make up a reason and just move on.
Me: Can’t and won’t happen.
Me: It’s the whys that will eat me alive.
Me: It’s not knowing where it is, who has it, what happened to it. Did it get thrown out? Does someone have it?
Me: And we both deserve to know the truth.
They announce boarding, and people start swarming toward the gate.
Me: Random question. When did you start working with the Olympians?
First class is asked to board, and I jump to my feet.
Once my boarding pass is scanned, I stare at the little dots bouncing on Alana’s text message.
What is taking so long? The screen remains unchanged and the line of people trying to board the plane moves slower than a glacier.
Unless you’re flying private, the line is the great equalizer. Everyone has to do it.
I take my seat by the window and pull out my phone again. Anything to look busy. Most of the time I don’t think people recognize me as much as they see an attractive man and start whispering. But any flight from L.A. increases the chance of a celebrity sighting. The phone vibrates and pings.
Alana (Future wife): My entire adult life. I started working for them a few weeks after we broke up.
Me: Are you close with them?
Alana (Future wife): I’m Olivia Olympian’s godmother.
I blink at the message a few times. It takes a second to really understand the world she’s been living in. Teddy wasn’t lying. Part criminal, all powerful, Alana is one step away from kingmakers.
Alana(Future wife): What time does your flight land?
Me: On it now. I’ll be home tonight.
Alana(Future wife):I’m going to a friend’s house.
Me: Gasp! You’re cheating on me… you have other friends.
Alana(Future wife): Eye-roll emoji.
Me: Wanna meet up after and I can tell you about my label-making system?
Alana(Future wife): You know how to show a girl a good time. But I thought there was a discussion about playing with my cat?
Me: I’ll be over later.
Me: Love ya… Delete.
Nope, too early to send that message. But why does it feel so right? Probably because I never stopped.
The last person boards the plane, and the flight attendants do their little spiel about emergencies and such.
But I tune it out while replaying all the tidbits that bring my fuzzy vision of Alana into high definition.
The Olympians have been deeply entwined into her life.
Is it a one-sided loyalty thing or does it go both ways?
It must, otherwise she wouldn’t be the godmother to the Olympian heir.
While the flight attendant talks about flotation devices, I start my deep dive into this family and as it turns out, Hadeon’s email address is stupid easy to find.
Probably because it’s not real or scanned by bots.
But it’s worth a shot. I’m pulling at straws here, but something has to pay off.
I shoot him a quick email with the subject line, “Alana King.”
For most of the flight, I’m mindlessly watching a show on my tablet and avoiding eye contact with the other passengers.
I haven’t written anything in days and my fingers itch to be creative.
Working on a bridge to a song that won’t be published any time soon doesn’t seem like the best idea, but on the other hand, what am I going to do?
Five hours later the plane bumps and skids to a stop.
I hate landings, it’s so loud and aggressive.
By the time we’re allowed to turn our devices back on, there’s already a response.
Hadeon Olympian… emailed me. Me! And someone will pick me up when I land.
I’m one of the first people off the plane, and as I re-enter the gate, there’s a man standing at the door. Sunglasses, black suit, gloves, and everything about him seem sharp. His hair is slicked into a straight line, and the corners of his suit are at perfect 90-degree angles.
“Davin Graeloch?” It takes me a second to register that he’s talking to me. My legal name is used so rarely sometimes that I forget it. Hell, hearing Alana say it a few days ago was the first time someone said it in years.
“Yep.”
“Please, come with me.” He pushes open a side door I never noticed before, and I’ve flown in and out of this gate hundreds of times.
We walk through the inner workings of the airport, parts that feel illegal to see.
After we leave the labyrinth of white halls, he opens a door and I’m blinded by the setting sun.
Once my vision returns, a car door opens for me.
It’s a luxury car, that much I can tell, but it’s not a brand I recognize.
I step inside and sit across from a man who looks smaller in real life than he does on camera.
Dark circles under his eyes and an ever-present frown make me think his public persona and his real-life one are not the same. But is it ever?
What I do notice immediately—
“Puppy!” There’s a Rottweiler perched beside a man in a black suit, the sharp tailoring matching the dog’s glossy fur a little too perfectly.
“This puppy will rip your throat out.”
I frown and will my hands to stay folded in my lap. “So, no pets?”
“No pets.” He gets right to the point. “I’ve known Alana since back when she was Kinsley. She’s a valuable asset and a good friend.”
My back straightens and I answer honestly, “She’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”
“My wife isn’t exactly a fan of yours. We were left cleaning up the mess you made of Kinsley.” He’s quiet for a moment before adding, “My family has bets about why you did it.”
I feel sick to my stomach. “What’s your theory?”
“You wanted to fuck Amanda Chase without guilt.” He turns away from me, his deep grimace reflecting in the window.
Wrong. No. Wrong. It’s such a loud thought no other ideas can come through.
Once the screaming stops, doubts worm their way in.
I did start dating Amanda. I’ve seen paparazzi pictures from that time.
God, to think that Kinsley was alone, watching from a distance as her ex-boyfriend and her friend were romantically involved.
Bile fills my mouth and my hands start to shake, and it signals to my brain what’s next.
It’s been years since I’ve had a panic attack.
I had it under control, but this is bringing me back to my nineteen-year-old self.
Maybe the billionaire is used to seeing people have meltdowns.
He bends over and lifts a black leather box with The Knights of the Night crest off the car floor and hands it to me.
He waits for me to open it. I stop and stare at the contents, the white paper and the signatures in different sizes and colors.
Hadeon says, “I heard this is all your little nerd heart ever wanted.”