25. Grae
Grae
I’m still no closer to figuring out what happened to my journal.
It’s not in L.A. or any of the storage units.
Mom texted and she says it’s not at her place.
Oh, and the most powerful family in the world has been reading my journal and they think I’m boring.
So not exactly the best use of time. At least I know why all of my efforts to find Alana came up empty, but what makes it different this time?
None of that makes me feel better, but at least I’ll spend the night with Alana. I swing home, pack an overnight bag and go to her place. On the subway ride over, Amanda sends me a text.
Amanda: Where have you been?
Me: I flew back to L.A.to try to find a journal I lost twelve years ago.
She hasn’t spoken to me since her epic sobbing fit about Alana a few days ago. I’m pretty sure this is the longest we’ve ever gone without talking—a whole seventy-two hours. It feels weird.
Amanda: Do you want to come over?
Me: Can’t. I’m going to see Alana and her cat Midge.
I also plan on fucking her blind, but that’s neither here nor there.
Amanda: She has a pet?
Me: A gray, stubby-legged cat.
Then Amanda goes radio silent. There’re a million things she’s probably doing right now, so it’s not surprising, but I hate it when she does that.
The subway comes to a screeching halt, and I push my way through the crowd. The city is just a series of obstacles between me and Alana. When I knock on the door, she greets me with a smile and throws her arms around my neck. I lift her up with one hand and kick the door closed.
She kisses me. “I had a fun victory today.”
Well, I’m sure as hell not going to ruin this mood. I pick her up and she wraps her legs around my waist. We take a few steps into the apartment. Her eyes are so bright, like they were back when we were kids. “Are you in a good mood because of the win, or me?”
She presses her lips to my cheek and says, “Let’s see how the next few minutes play out.”
I give her ass a squeeze and carry her to the bedroom.
Clothes are removed in a frenzy. I can’t give her good news or any real resolution, but I can give her this.
Her pussy tastes glorious as she clenches the sheets and arches her back.
She’s panting as wave after wave of pleasure hits her.
Then when I’m satisfied that she’s had enough solo attention, I fuck her until she breaks on my cock.
Once she is placated, I pull her into my chest, and my anxiety is finally quieted.
“Thank you for trying,” she says in a sleepy voice.
Midge jumps up on the bed, walks across our bodies and settles in the space where she can nuzzle against both of us. My pinky finger strokes the cat’s fur and for a moment, everything is perfect. I’ve got my girls, and I’d do anything to stay like this forever.
DAY 8
In the morning, I make sure Alana sleeps in, sneaking out to check my phone. And there’s a message I’d been waiting for.
Amanda: Come over at 10 am. Bring Alana. We need to talk.
I’m not sure how she’s going to take the suggestion.
Alana doesn’t seem like she’s the kind of woman who likes orders.
But I sneak back in and kiss her shoulder until she stirs.
She gives me a sleepy smile, and this is how I want to wake up every morning until I die.
When she’s fully awake but still snuggly, I ask her, “Do you want to talk to Amanda today?”
She freezes in my arms and then lets out a long exhale. All snuggles vanish as she huffs. “Might as well get this over with.”
While I get up and feed the cat, she trudges to the bathroom.
I’m searching for two mugs after finding the only food staples Alana has in abundance—coffee, cream and sugar.
She enters the room wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans.
Her lips are a deep, brownish purple that hint at danger.
She looks beautiful, but she’s focused on every detail, hyperalert.
“Has Amanda ever said anything about me over the years?” Alana spent the whole cab ride staring out the window, her knee bouncing. I think it over.
“No, honestly, I think she forgot about you.”
“Ouch.” She says and leans her head against the window.
“What’s wrong?”
“Amanda and I didn’t really part on the best terms,” she says, without elaborating. I could say Amanda’s cool, don’t worry. Or that she’s calmed down a lot since being with Craig, but I’m not sure Alana is even listening.
When we arrive at Amanda’s house, she’s still silent, watching as I knock on the door.
A shouted ‘we’re in here’ echoes out, so I twist the knob to let us in.
I’ve walked into this house countless times, but it feels different.
There’s an ominous cloud in the place. The open concept plan feels smaller with everyone occupying the space waiting for us.
Amanda, in a hoodie and jeans, sits in her armchair.
Craig mirrors her on the other side. CJ scowls and paces, picking up Amanda’s Juno Award and setting it back down, restless.
Lena lounges on the white couch in leather pants and a tank top, like she could be performance-ready or media-ready at any second.
All eyes focus on us.
Alana pulls her hand from mine and jams it into her back pocket.
The movement is clocked by everyone in the room.
The loss of physical contact shouldn’t matter, but it does.
The message is clear—she’d rather do this alone or at least without me.
She says nothing. She walks in, chin high, and sits next to Lena.
My heart stops when I see Lance standing in the kitchen.
What is he doing here? I recognize the professional stance, he’s working, but he’s not on Amanda’s team.
He must be here for Lena. Lance doesn’t smile at me, not that I would expect him to.
No hello. Nothing but the stare that studies me like a student the night before a final exam.
Alana looks at Lance first. “What time did your flight land?”
“Two hours ago.” He huffs and crosses his arms, and his gaze drifts between Alana and Lena. “Getting on the clock seconds after wheels down wasn’t exactly my plan.” I’m about to ask him about his honeymoon and congratulate him, but he sneers at me and turns away.
Whatever this meeting is about, I'm the only one who doesn't know the agenda. “What’s up?” I ask.
Amanda is solely focused on Alana. They’re both wearing expressions I’m not fluent in. Are they mad? Confused? Angry at each other? Angry at me? Cautiously optimistic? Cautious and terrified?
My best friend takes a tiny gray bundle of yarn out and places it on the coffee table across from Alana. She swallows and twists her fingers like she does when she’s uncomfortable. “Um… Grae said you have a cat.”
Alana picks up the yarn cat with stubby legs and gives it a half smile. “Thank you.” It’s a peace offering. Amanda’s acting like there’s a baby honey badger in her house. Excited, but deeply concerned about the damage it might cause.
“Which one?” Craig approaches holding a bottle of water and a glass of whiskey.
“It’s 10 a.m. Water.” And I don’t drink. This whole thing is weird. He hands me the water—and the whiskey. “Just in case.” Then he looks at Alana.
“Red or white wine?”
“White. An unopened bottle, please.” She specifies, and his eyebrow lifts. “I don’t drink something unless I’ve opened it myself.” Alana puts the yarn cat on her lap and pours the wine until the glass is full. Then she puts the glass to the side and grabs the bottle and takes a swig.
Lena shifts on the couch for the third time in five minutes. At first, I think she's bored, but then her jaw tightens, and she presses a fist into the small of her back. Lance notices immediately.
He disappears into the kitchen without a word and returns with a glass of water and a bag of ice wrapped in a dish towel.
The tension between him and Alana fractures for half a second.
Whatever is going on between them is put on pause with a new problem to solve.
Alana takes the ice from him before he reaches the couch.
"Left hip?" she asks quietly. Lena gives the smallest nod. Alana opens her purse but doesn't even look while her fingers search the inside of the bag, still watching Lena's face for signs of worsening pain.
“Are you getting a flare-up?” I ask. Lena has nerve damage from years of dancing and injuries. She’s had these as long as I can remember.
“You still haven’t gotten that fixed?” CJ shoots his ex a glare.
“She had surgery scheduled a few years ago.” Alana answers for her, matching his venom. “But something came up.”
CJ flinches, “Bitch.”
“This is going to be fun,” Craig mutters.
He returns to his seat and reaches for Amanda’s hand.
A quick glance. A gentle squeeze. Two deep breaths.
“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Craig interjects into the mounting tension, bringing us back to the point before it can escalate.
“Before we move forward, I think it’s a good idea to talk so we’re all on the same page.
I feel like Alana is further ahead in the story.
Grae and I are on chapter four, and CJ’s reading a completely different book. ”
He stands and walks to the hutch I’ve never seen open before.
There’s nothing interesting in it, a box and a few remotes.
But Craig removes a green, locked box, ornate with gold swirls like it’s something holy.
Something about it tugs at my memory, but all my brain shows me is a corrupted file error.
He places the box on the coffee table and sits again.
“Alana, we have questions. We thought it would be best if you answered them in front of everyone. That way nothing gets lost in translation.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, looking between Craig and Alana.
Alana takes a chug of the wine. “And if I don’t want to answer the questions?”
Amanda speaks, “Then we won’t open the box.”
In his worst Brad Pitt impression, CJ asks, “What’s in the box?”
Amanda and Craig exchange a look. “Grae’s journal,” Amanda says. “And his cellphone from twelve years ago.”
What?