Chapter 11
MICHELLE: DON’T STOP BELIEVIN’
By the time I pulled into Tranquil Tides Cemetery, I was too late.
The few cars left in the parking lot were already backing out.
As I made the turn to exit, Scott’s truck caught my eye.
It was parked beneath a leaning eucalyptus tree on the far side of the lot.
He was still here. My pulse skipped as I stopped a good viewing distance away.
Lowering myself into my seat, I watched through the windshield, waiting for him to exit the chapel.
I had no idea why I was suddenly shy. It wasn’t like I’d come here to carry on with him.
This would just be a quick exchange. No need to overthink it.
But when minutes passed with no Scott, I found myself actually…
missing him. The chapel doors opened, and instead of him, the minister stepped out, fumbling with his keys.
Wait, where was he? I straightened back up, craning my neck as I scanned the rows of headstones.
Maybe he was out there, wandering the graves.
Or, more likely, he was leaning against Elmer Guck’s tombstone smoking a joint.
Exiting my car, I went in search of my wayward rocker. Gravel crunched under my sandals as I wove between markers. Then, faintly, a sound that didn’t belong: soft laughter.
There he was.
Not brooding. Not smoking. Not even alone. Scott was kneeling in the grass surrounded by headstones, sunlight slanting across his shoulders. Walking around him with flowers in both hands was a chubby-cheeked toddler, giggling as Scott tried to wrestle them away.
“I give up,” he said, falling onto his back and laughing. “Keep them.”
My breath hitched. Scott had that effect on me, both calming and thrilling. I announced myself with a heavy step. He turned, jaw slack, then shot upright in one abrupt motion.
“Michelle?”
“I… sorry… I didn’t mean to—”
The baby turned toward my voice, flashing an infectious smile that took me by surprise. The familiarity was immediate, unmistakably Scott.
“You’re a father?”
Scott didn’t answer, instead catching the baby as he tried to run past. “Gotcha, you little brat.” He lifted the boy in the air before dropping him back down to attack his neck in kisses. Both were laughing. Only after he’d settled the baby in his lap did Scott address my question.
“Remember when I warned you wouldn’t want me? Well, here is exhibit A.”
“Are you…? Is he…?” Words failed me.
“Yes. He’s mine. Got his mother pregnant in high school.”
“Are you still—”
“Nope.” His voice was clipped. “We’re not together. Haven’t been since high school.”
I ran out of fragmented questions and just stood there.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “How’d you find me?”
“I went to the resort this morning to return your vest.” I tugged on the fabric for proof. “But you weren’t there. Then I found this note in your pocket.”
He smiled. “Well, look at you. A real-life Nancy Drew.”
I shrugged modestly and closed the distance between us. “I’m clever like that.”
“Well, you found me. And my offspring. Bet you weren’t expecting that.”
No, he was right, it was an unexpected turn of events, but not out of character for Scott, who’d done nothing but blow my mind since the moment we met.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“About the kid?” he said. “I was trying to sleep with you. Felt counterproductive.”
I blinked. At least he was honest.
He motioned with his fingers. “Hand it over.”
I slipped off the vest and gave it to him.
He turned it over. “Did you remove the jewels?”
“I did.”
“Fuck.”
“Why? You would’ve pawned them?”
“Hell yeah, I would’ve. I’ve got a guy.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do.” I laughed.
He smiled, his gaze lingering for a moment. The glint I’d seen in him the other night was gone.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” he said, wiping grass off his jeans and standing up. Scott tipped the baby upside-down to a chorus of laughter. “Thanks for bringing my vest. You should probably get back to your castle now.”
I nodded, but didn’t move. Something kept me rooted; the sense that whatever tethered us wasn’t finished.
“What’s his name?”
“Mitchell. But I call him MGM.”
“MGM? Like the movie studio?”
“After his initials, actually. His mother doesn’t like it either. Insists I call him Mitchell, so I do… when she’s around.”
“You rebel,” I teased. “Do you often take your son to the graveyard?”
“As often as I can. It’s way better than the playground. Lots of grass. No bullies. And he learns the fine art of not stepping on someone’s grandma.”
Scott had a way of drawing me in with his offbeat answers.
I was never quite sure what would come out of his mouth, and that, I thought, was his most charming quality.
It made me realize that the way I—and all the kids I’d grown up with—had been raised didn’t allow for much creativity.
We’d been taught to control ourselves, to tamp down our personalities, and to refrain from expressing what we really thought, all under the guise of exceptional manners.
But that approach didn’t produce sharp-witted people like Scott.
I gestured toward MGM. “He’s cute.”
Scott nodded. “Like his father.”
The baby twisted in Scott’s arms and smacked him with a flower… which he’d quite obviously swiped off the burial ground.
“And like his father,” I said, “desecrating graves.”
Scott gently pried the stems from the baby’s grip and bent down to place them back in the vase. My breath caught as recognition hit, and it clicked. The shooting star. The fresh flowers. He wasn’t disturbing this grave. He was visiting it.
Our eyes met, and the sadness in his instantly made my own vision blur.
“Michelle,” he said softly, his voice breaking just a little. “Meet my mom. Joey.”
No words were exchanged after Scott’s introduction.
He settled Mitchell onto his hip and headed for the truck.
I trailed behind, more rattled by the truth about his mother than by the whole surprise baby twist. Honestly, I didn’t know what to think about any of it, but that didn’t stop me from following him out to the parking lot…
or from climbing into the passenger seat of his truck without an invitation.
I sat quietly while Scott strapped Mitchell into his car seat. We drove aimlessly until the baby finally drifted off, and then Scott pulled onto a shady side street and cut the engine. We ended up sitting on the curb.
“Is he always this easy?” I asked.
“Uh… no.” Scott laughed softly. “But he’s being raised by teenagers, so he’s learned to go with the flow.”
“Do you get along with his mom?”
“Barely.”
“So how are you working this all out?”
“April is finishing her senior year. I’m working to pay the bills. Her mother watches him until she’s back from school.”
“That all sounds organized.”
“It is.” He paused. “Until it’s not. What about you? Got any hidden babies you want to confess to?”
“You think my mother would’ve let me live if I did?”
“Your mom would hate me, wouldn’t she? Working-class guy… and a dad.”
“Don’t forget a surfer and a musician.”
“Right.” Scott grinned. “On a scale of one to ten, with ten being your mother boiling me alive, how much would she despise me?”
“You’d be stew.”
We both laughed, breaking some unspoken tension between us.
Scott sobered first, turning to me. “You didn’t come all this way just to return my vest.”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because… I haven’t smiled this much since Journey showed up to play at my Sweet Sixteen party.”
His brows shot up. “Wait—the real band?”
“Of course. You don’t think my daddy would hire a cover band, do you?”
“I… guess not,” he replied, scratching his temple.
“What I’m trying to say is… I think I kind of like you.”
“Just give me a sec. I’m still processing the whole Journey thing.”
“Stop.” I slapped his leg and tried to steady my nerves. “I said I like you.”
He turned his head, staring. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” A flush climbed my neck. “I’m just… drawn to you.”
Scott leaned back, closed his eyes, and tipped his head toward the sky. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at me. My stomach dropped. Oh, god. I’d misread everything.
“You know what?” I rushed. “Forget I said that.”
He smiled, eyes still closed. “No.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m officially taking it back.”
He shook his head, finally sitting up. “Doesn’t work like that.”
“It absolutely does.”
“Can you just… hang on a second?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his face like he was arguing with himself, then looked at me.
“Today sucked. Like, really sucked. And then you showed up with your rich-girl chronicles, and for a minute, I forgot I was having a shitty day. So, yeah…” his grin widened. “I think I might like you too.”
I moved closer until our shoulders touched, my smile impossibly wide.
I felt chosen, despite knowing Scott was the kind of mistake my parents had spent years cautioning me against. I could practically hear their voices.
Boys like that are trouble. Rough manners.
A dead end. The type of boy who’d drag me down just by holding my hand.
And maybe they were right. Maybe he was every terrible thing they’d ever said he would be. But sitting here beside him, hearing him laugh, feeling his shoulder warm against mine, didn’t feel like a mistake. He felt like the first thing in a long time that was right.
“Why are you having a bad day?” I asked. “I’m assuming the funeral.”
“The funeral is only one of many downers today. Last night, April—MGM’s mom—got engaged. Her guy just enlisted in the army, and he’s planning on moving them all out of state. If that happens, I’ll never get to see my son.”
“That doesn’t seem fair. Can they do that?”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“Can you fight it? Don’t you have any rights as his father?”
Scott glanced at me, looking almost surprised that I was on his side. “You know, if I told any one of my buddies that she was moving my kid away, they’d slap me on the back and congratulate me like I’d won the lottery. But he’s my son,” Scott said. “And I want him to know me.”
The tree-lined street was hushed, with the baby’s soft breathing the only sound between us. Scott’s leg nervously jumped, and I placed my hand on his thigh to steady him. I allowed the gravity of the moment to settle before whispering, “MGM’s lucky to have a father who puts him first.”
“That’s the thing, Michelle. How can I put him first if I’m not there? It’s like my worst fear. This is shaping up to be the same story, all over again.”
Although he didn’t clarify, I could only assume his own father hadn’t been there for him.
“Presence isn’t the same as love, Scott. A man can sit at the head of the table every night and still choose himself over his family. MGM won’t remember the miles between you. He’ll remember who fought for him.”
Scott’s jaw flexed, his eyes far away. Then he gave the slightest nod, and when he looked back, there was a softness there that stole my breath.
“Thank you,” he said. “I needed to hear that.”
I squeezed his hand once before letting go.
“Sorry if I’m a bummer,” he added. “I get this way when I visit her.”
His mom. Who would’ve thought the charming stranger at the gas station would have such pain behind his smiling eyes?
“When did she die? Or is that too personal?”
“When I was ten.”
“The name on the gravestone is Heche. How come she doesn’t have your last name?”
“Nothing gets past you, does it?”
“I have an eye for detail.”
“My mom was a free spirit. Didn’t believe in conventional marriage. She and my dad were on and off. Never married.”
“How did she die?” I asked, tentatively. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Scott looked away, grabbed a stick from the gutter, and nudged a pebble through the dirt. I figured that was my answer. I snagged my own stick and stole his pebble.
“Michelle, please. I’m fragile.”
“That makes two of us.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, waiting.
“I told my parents I quit Juilliard.”
“And?”
“And… I’m heading back in the fall for sophomore year.”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “We talked about this.”
“I know,” I said. “But I wasn’t really given an option.”
“So, leave.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Sure, it is.”
“What would I do for money?”
“Get a job, like the rest of us. You think I wasn’t freaking out when April told me she was pregnant? I could barely take care of myself. I figured out a way. You will too.”
It sounded good in theory, but something told me I wasn’t nearly as resourceful as he was.
“Go on,” I said, batting his pebble down the curb with my stick. “Tell me more about your tragic day. I need cheering up.”
“How’s this for tragedy?” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I picked a fight with my mom at her sister’s funeral.”
My eyes widened.
“Not that mom,” he corrected. “My other mom. Sue. She raised me after mine died.”
I gave him a second. “What’d you fight about?”
He exhaled, looking almost remorseful. “I accused her of never being there for me.”
“Was she not?”
“See, that’s the thing. Maybe she was.”
“I don’t understand.”
“After I accused her, she said, Because you never let me. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I did shut her out.”
His gaze drifted, unfocused. “When my mom died, something in me… closed. I didn’t want a replacement. So maybe I blamed Sue for not being enough, when really, I wouldn’t let her be anything at all.”
I reached over and took his hand, our fingers fitting together with unsettling ease.
“The truth is, I never got past my mom’s death. I still see her face. The way she tried to smile for me, whispering It’s okay when it wasn’t. Then the light just… went out.”
Scott sat with the memory for a moment before pushing past it. “That’s why I give it everything I’ve got,” he said. “No one else gets to decide my life.”
His fingers tightened around mine.
“Because tomorrow?” He exhaled. “Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.”
His warning struck a nerve. I thought back to Juilliard, to that moment I’d overheard some classmates whispering that nepotism had bought my place.
Maybe I was good enough, but once that seed had been planted, it had never stopped growing.
And at the root of it all was my mother.
She had her hand in everything. Every choice was stamped with her approval.
Scott said out loud what I’d been avoiding.
Mother was only deciding for me… because I allowed it.
Suddenly, the thought of losing everything didn’t scare me half as much as the idea of growing old, looking back on this moment, and wondering what if?
“Show me,” I said.
He frowned. “Show you what?”
“I’ve got six weeks, Scott.” I met his gaze, my voice steady for once. “Show me what life looks like when you give it everything you’ve got.”