Chapter 2
Milton
Everything was white.
Every wall, the vaulted ceilings, the fucking fireplace, the banister leading up the grand staircase in the entryway, the countertops and cabinetry in the kitchen, as well as all seven bathrooms. Even the carpet and wood flooring in my new house were void of any color or warmth.
My realtor had told me some hotshot surgeon had lived here before I bought it but spent most of her time in New York.
I couldn’t blame the woman. I wouldn’t want to be here either, unless they found similar comfort in the pristine, sterile walls of a hospital.
The view was what really had sold me on this place.
That and the fact that I could add some life into it with a little paint and style.
I just hadn’t had the time yet. Okay, maybe I’d had some time, but I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do with it yet.
It was a blank canvas I’d been staring at every damn day for the last couple of months with no idea where to start.
I walked through the living room, hearing every movement I made echo throughout the house—from my socks pressing and lifting on the floor to the shifting of my sweatshirt over my torso.
It didn’t help that I didn’t have much of anything to decorate the house with yet.
Sure, I had the basics, but that was only enough to fill my bedroom in the basement of the place my bandmates and I had shared before this, not a five-thousand-square-foot house in Beverly Hills.
And this was considered small in comparison to the kind of real estate the rest of the band had invested in once we moved down here from Stanford, California.
Danny, our guitarist, and his fiancée, Logan, had kept their house in Stanford for when they went back to visit Logan’s family, but they’d also bought a house just a mile down the road from me.
Complete with an indoor and outdoor pool, a movie theater that got put to very good use by their daughter, Violet, nearly every night, and a huge dark room for Logan’s photography.
Their new home was large, but with their family of three growing to four this year, Logan’s parents visiting often, and the rest of the band coming over to spend time with the little ones, the space had its moments of feeling almost too small for it all.
Our lead singer, Liam, and his wife, Avery, had situated themselves just outside of Beverly Hills.
The location right on the beach made me jealous of their place the most, but I liked that mine was closer to the studio and had a killer view of the valley out back.
It wasn’t over the top or flashy by any means, unlike our bassist, Lexie’s, house.
I wasn’t sure what she needed with a ten-thousand-square-foot house and six-car garage as a single woman without a driver’s license who was rarely ever at home, but we all knew better than to try to rationalize practicality with her.
Lexie knew what Lexie wanted, and she’d go out of her way to prove her point on just how much she didn’t care what we thought of her choices.
One time, Danny had told her she had too many wigs, so she went out and bought ten more in spite of him.
Lexie hadn’t come from a lot of money, growing up, so I thought now that she had a lot of it to spend, she wasn’t hesitating.
But we were all at a place we’d never thought we’d see financially.
Whatever she wanted to spend her money on was none of my goddamn business anymore anyway.
Living separately had its pros and cons, though I had expected the pros to outweigh the cons significantly more than they currently did.
I didn’t have to worry about anyone eating my food, wait for the washer and dryer to be available, or be concerned that the hot water would run out when it was my turn to use the bathroom.
But I wasn’t used to having three times the amount of space with three less people to share it with.
Between making music and recording it in the studio, touring around the country, and just grabbing drinks at a bar, I saw my bandmates nearly every single day, so it wasn’t like I was lonely. Living alone was just … quiet.
So fucking quiet.
It made everything in my head that much louder.
Turning my speakers on full blast, I fetched the ingredients for chicken risotto from the refrigerator and then pushed open the back sliding door to let a breeze in.
Dinner for one. Again. Woo-fucking-hoo.
But what a view I had.
The sunset hit the valley behind my house in all the right ways, giving the hills and trees a golden hue as the sky painted itself in pink and orange watercolors. I wished the colors would spill onto the walls of my new home—if only it were that easy to add some life into this place.
I looked back at the vacant white abyss behind me—aka my humble abode—and smiled to myself as I recalled the stern talk Avery had had with me, warning me not to try to paint this place on my own.
She had heard my complaints and saw me mapping out what I could do to it when she and Liam came to see it for the first time.
As much as I loved the idea of putting my own personal touch on it, I knew it would be best to hire some painters to come in and do it for me, both with how high the vaulted ceilings were and how time-consuming it would be.
Though the paints in my art studio upstairs were becoming more and more tempting every day.
Tapping the tongs on the pan for where the high hats would hit and then using the heel of my hand against the countertop for the downbeat, I kept tempo with the music echoing throughout the kitchen.
I hadn’t realized how loud I’d been playing until I heard my name shouted from somewhere. Grabbing the remote, I turned it down just in time to hear Danny’s voice boast from the foyer when the house cut to silence.
“Aye, Tic!” He was so loud that I nearly flinched.
I tilted my head over from the stove far enough to see him taking his shoes off and Violet snickering at his side. “No need to shout, bro,” I said, chuckling.
“Yeah, okay, man,” he muttered with a smile. “Just took me screaming at you five fucking times for you to hear me.”
Violet pointed up at Danny before I could reprimand him myself. “Language, Daddy!”
Danny held his hands up, shoulders falling. “My bad, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
She fought back a laugh, hiding her smile behind her hand. She’d heard almost every curse word in the book by now, but never tired of calling each one of us out whenever we slipped up. I was still shocked that I hadn’t heard her let a curse word fly by now, even by accident.
Freeing up my hands from the cooking utensils, I waved at Violet. “Hey, cutie! I didn’t know you were coming over to surprise me!”
“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if we told you we were coming,” she replied, giggling some more. She came frolicking through the front entryway into the kitchen, demanding a big hug when she reached me.
I picked her up and swung her in a circle, hearing her laugh, which was now a barely noticeable octave lower than last year. She was taller too, a couple of inches at least.
“I don’t know if I’m okay with how big you’re getting so fast,” I told her.
She scrunched her nose when she laughed. “It’s not like I can help it.”
Danny joined us in the kitchen with a grin and circles under his eyes. “Someone went a little crazy, baking cookies today, and there’s no way we can eat them all, so we’re making our rounds.”
“In other words, Logan put the little guy down and wanted a quiet house to nap?” I questioned, knowing how much energy Violet could have and how little sleep their five-month-old got.
Danny sighed and nodded, then held out a bag full of cookies. “Pumpkin snickerdoodle.”
I tousled Violet’s hair as I set her down and took the bag from Danny, diving my hand in and eating one immediately. The cozy flavors melted in my mouth, and I hummed.
“Pretty good, huh?” Violet asked, eyes sparkling with pride.
I shoved the rest of the cookie into my mouth and took another out of the plastic bag, impatiently chewing the rest of the first. “This is the best cookie I think I’ve ever had,” I said, mouth still full of sugary, pumpkin goodness.
Violet sighed and flipped her long brunette hair over her shoulders. “Well, I am an amazing baker. What can I say?”
Danny threw his head back, amused. “Vi, baby, as true as that is, you should still say thank you.”
“Oh, right.” Her shoulders slumped in embarrassment. “Thanks, Uncle Milton!”
Danny shrugged and looked over at me. “We’re working on humility.”
“It’s called confidence, Daddy.” Her back was to Danny, so he couldn’t see the giant eye roll she gave him as she spoke.
I swore she was four and a half years old, going on fourteen.
I let it slide and booped her on the nose. “That’s right. And don’t you ever lose that.”
“We’re running over to Avery and Liam’s next,” Danny said, nodding over his shoulder. “Want to come with us?”
“I don’t know. I was just about to make some dinner, man,” I said, dismissing their invite because I knew I should.
“Ah, no worries. We’ll get out of your way then,” he replied, ushering Violet over. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get going before traffic gets too bad. Say bye to Uncle Tic.”
My chest sank as they retreated from the kitchen, waving.
“Yeah, thanks for stopping by, guys,” I called out, shoulders slumping. “And for the cookies.”
I needed to get used to doing things on my own now that we all lived separately. We’d spent nearly six years together in that last house. Saying it’d been an adjustment since then was an understatement.
I had never truly lived on my own until now, and the emptiness of life in these white walls was depressing, cold, and driving me absolutely crazy.
Going to the gym, taking my motorcycle out, and trying new recipes in my spare time were fine, sure.
But I couldn’t help but think that maybe there were just certain people in life who weren’t built for being alone.
I wouldn’t call myself a social butterfly, but I liked being around people.
People that I knew anyway. The idea of saying I was just irrevocably codependent on others seemed like a cop-out.
A weakness. One thing I was sure I could change about myself with the right amount of willpower and time.
“Bye, Uncle Milton!” Violet called one last time as she hopped down the steps outside.
“Bye, Vi!” I shouted back.
Danny gave me a nod and closed the door behind him.
My fingers tapped along the kitchen island to a nonexistent beat while my eyes remained trained on the back of my white front door. My foot took over, increasing in rhythm as I dug my hand into the cookie bag and shoved another whole one into my mouth.
Begrudgingly, I grabbed the remote to my stereo, turned my music back on, and returned to the stove, staring blankly out into the sunset like an ungrateful prick.