Punk 57 (49 page)

“Did you ask her why she left?”

“No.” I sit against the wall in Annie’s room with Ryen resting against me between my legs.

“You’re not curious about her reasoning?” she presses. “How she would justify it?”

“I used to wonder. But now I… I don’t know.” It’s not that that I don’t care, but…“If someone doesn’t want us, we need to stop wanting them. I used to tell myself that, and now I believe it,” I tell her. “It’s not so hard, facing her and walking away. If she wanted to explain, she would’ve. If she could’ve, she would’ve. She didn’t chase after me. She knows how to find me if she wants to.”

Ryen smoothes her hands down Annie’s blue scarf. “So that’s why you were in Falcon’s Well.”

“Yeah. She had the watch. An heirloom gifted by my father’s father for her and my dad at their wedding,” I say, burying my nose in her hair. “Family tradition dictates it goes to the first-born son. She took it when she left—maybe to spite my dad or pawn it for money if she needed—but somehow she ended up giving it to Trey.”

“You must’ve hated her for that.”

“I already hated her,” I shoot back. “That hurt, though. She’d already abandoned us. How could she steal one more thing—especially something that rightfully belonged to me?”

She was selfish and spiteful, and maybe she isn’t the same person now that she was then, but I’m not waiting for her like Annie did. I hug Ryen close. This, right here, is everything. I can’t wait to live all the days I’m going to live with her. We’re going to have a hell of a lot of fun.

Especially since I no longer have to worry about that cocksucker at school with her for the rest of the year. She got a text from Ten earlier, saying he heard that the superintendent stepped in and forbade Trey from stepping foot on school grounds until everything clears up. And since a few students are pressing charges, for the photos and various assaults, it looks like the next several months of Trey’s life will be spent in court.

Ryen stands and pulls me up, both of us trailing out of the room. I’d come in here to put Annie’s locket and photo album back. There had also been letters with the album in the envelope I’d taken from our mother’s office, too. Annie didn’t tell me she’d written her, just that she’d sent her a photo album of her pics and stuff. She made sure to leave photos of me out of it, though. She knew I wouldn’t have liked that.

Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the album and letters. After our mother never showed up to the funeral, though, I just didn’t want her to have anything of Annie’s.

But Annie gave them to her, I guess. It was her wish our mother have those things.

If she wants the envelope back, she can have it. But she has to come and ask.

I close the door quietly behind me and walk into my room, seeing Ryen sitting on the bed, reading a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she asks.

I look down at the white paper. “It’s a letter.”

She folds it up and sets it down. “Well, I didn’t read it or anything, but it could be an offer to talk about a recording contract.” She smirks. “And there’s several more there.” She points to the bedside table. “I didn’t read those, either, but I was wondering if maybe they could be letters of interest, too. I’ll bet some well-connected dudes have seen Cipher Core’s YouTube videos and want to talk.”

They don’t want Cipher Core. They want me, and I don’t want to leave my band.

I plop down on the bed and pull her back, tickling her. “The only things I want to do are things that won’t take me away from you. Understand?”

She laughs, squirming and trying to stop me.

“Well, college isn’t far off!” she giggles, slapping my hands away. “I’ll be leaving. And I looked at your band’s Facebook page. They have tour dates up for this summer.”

“It’s just bullshit dives and fairs and festivals.” I climb on top of her, straddling her and pulling her arms up over her head.

“But that sounds amazing.”

I stick my tongue out and lean down, trying to touch her nose.

“Are you five?” she squeals, flopping her body and attempting to buck me off.

I dart in, licking the tip of her nose. She winces and shakes her head rapidly so I won’t get a second shot in.

I chuckle, releasing her hands. “Honestly, I don’t know why Dane still has that shit up. I told him I wasn’t going.”

“Yes, you are.”

I climb off her. “Ryen, I—”

“Stop,” she says. “It’s not forever. You have to go. Just follow this and see where it leads.”

Right now, I couldn’t want anything less. The idea of leaving her makes me really fucking unhappy.

“You and I have had a long distance relationship for seven years,” she goes on. “I think we’ve withstood the test of time and distance. No one has ever come close to meaning to me in person what you mean to me in your letters. And now that we’ve met, and I love you,” she says, climbing into my lap and wrapping her legs around me. “I don’t doubt this. You need to go.”

“I just got you.”

“And I don’t want you holding back because of me.”

I slide my hands up the back of her shirt, savoring her warm, smooth skin.

“We’re going to have everything we want,” she tells me, laying down the law. “That’s the only way I want this with you. If you go, and you don’t like it, come home. If you do like it, I’ll be waiting when you’re done.”

I can feel my nerves firing, and I don’t know how to deal with this. I’d rather not think about it today at all.

Would I like to drive around in an old rented bus and play some music this summer? Maybe. That was the plan up until February.

But now I have Ryen, and I can’t imagine not seeing her every day. I don’t see the goddamn point of wasting a minute without her in it. I won’t be happier just because I have the music.

But she’s right. She’s going off to college, and although I can, too, it won’t be the same school. I could go with her, but…I can’t follow her. We both need our own work someday, a way to be fulfilled.

“If you don’t try,” she says, “you’ll wonder later if you should’ve. Don’t put that guilt on me.”

I give a weak laugh. Geez, punch me in the nuts, why don’t you?

“If I do this, I have a condition of my own,” I tell her, looking up into her eyes. “I want you to write a letter.”

She breaks out in a gigantic smile. “A letter? I’ll write you more than one while you’re gone.”

“Not to me.” I shake my head. “Delilah.”

Her face instantly falls. I can tell the prospect of facing that demon unnerves her.

“She left Falcon’s Well in sixth grade. I wouldn’t even know where she is now.”

“I’m sure she’s just a Google search away.” Which she knows. She’s just looking for an excuse to not face it.

She turns her head away, biding time, but I nudge her chin back to me again.

“What if she doesn’t even remember me?” she asks. “What if it was no big deal to her, and she thinks I’m an idiot for still dwelling on it?”

I hood my eyes. “Any more excuses or are you done?”

“Okay,” she bursts out like a child. “I’ll do it. You’re right.”

“Good.” And I flip her over onto her back and pin her down again. “Now get undressed. I need to make up for lost time while I’m away.”

“What?” she argues as I pull her shirt over her head. “You make up for lost time when you get back!”

“Yeah. We can do that, too.”

Five Years Later…

“Ryen!” I hear my name being called. “Ryen, come on!”

I shake my head, amused as I step up onto the curb in front my apartment building. Delcour’s doorman is already poised with the door open for me to make my escape.

“No, Bill,” I say to the reporter from the
Times
as he and a few photographers rush up to me, cutting into my space.

I try to veer around them, but they’re everywhere. I push through them.

“An Oscar nomination for Best Original Song?” Bill Winthrop holds up a recorder in front of me. “You have to be pleased. He has to have something to say! Come on.”

“He’s in the writing cave,” I say, making my way to the door. “I told you that before.”

I turn around, giving him and the other guys who’ve been camped out here forever a bored look. “Really, you’ve been out here for months. Take the night off. Go get a date.”

Some of the reporters and photographers laugh, and shots from their cameras go off around me.

“Yes, it’s been months since anyone’s seen him,” Bill chides. “How do we know he’s still alive?”

I cock my head and put my hands on my hips, making my now-visible pregnant belly more apparent. Obviously, Misha is well enough to do this, right?

I hear laughter break out again.

“You know Misha likes his privacy,” I point out.

“Will he be at the awards?”

“Not if he can help it.” And I turn, heading into the building.

“You’re impossible!” I hear Bill’s frustrated shout and don’t even bother to hide my smile.

“I love you, too!” I call over my shoulder.

Really, that has to be the most tedious job. Waiting around to see if Misha leaves to go get coffee or pick out a new pair of shoes. It won’t last forever, but my husband would rather avoid attention at all costs. I guess that just makes him more alluring and mysterious, though. I think they even created an app,
Spot Misha Lare
, like it’s frickin’
Pokemon Go
or something.

I can understand the desire for him, though. He ended up joining me at Cornell for college after his summer tour, saying that his opportunities could wait. We had one life, and he refused to do anything more without me at his side. He’d wait.

I’d been worried he’d miss out on some big chance, but Misha knows who he is and what he wants.

And he was right. It wasn’t long after college before he reformed Cipher Core, all the original members back, and they began racking up the awards and tour dates.

It’s been a hell of a ride, and it’s just starting.

I walk through the lobby, spotting Rika passing by the front desk.

“Hey, how are you?” she asks, carrying a duffel bag.

I take in her leggings, knee-high black boots, and oversized sweater, and here I am, feeling like a planet. When is she going to get pregnant anyway?

Michael Crist’s wife—who’s from Thunder Bay, as well—and I have become very close, and since her mom and Misha’s dad are suddenly
very
close, we’ll all probably be family eventually.

I can’t complain. Their whole crew of friends is interesting, to say the least, but they’re loyal.

I look at her apologetically, gesturing to the reporters behind me. “I’m sorry about all this.”

But she just waves me off. “It’s happened with Michael when he makes the play-offs, just not quite like that.” She laughs. “I think he’s jealous, actually. But, hey, a basketball player is a basketball player. A rock star is a rock star.”

“Don’t remind me.”

She adjusts the bag on her shoulder and keeps walking. “Well, I’m off to the dojo and then Thunder Bay for the weekend. See you Monday, and tell my future step-brother I said hi,” she jokes.