Stand Close 3 (Stand Close New Adult Romance Series) (4 page)

F
lying
commercial airlines is never any fun for me. The fact is I’m spoiled. Not by the luxury of private planes, but by the anonymity of them. I’m struggling with what happened in the hospital. Or, hell, what happened in Ibiza in general. The last thing I want to be dealing with right now is smiling for the camera or being nice to people I don’t know. If my mother were here, I’d have a hard time talking to her, too.

All I want to do is crawl in my cave and hole up until I can figure out what to do.

But that’s not possible for me, not anymore. I try never to be ungrateful. Playing music is a great gift. I don’t take credit for my talent or even the prose or melody I write onto the page. I believe in the Muse. That I am a conduit for something outside of me to speak through me. For some unknown reason, my soul or someone outside of it, signed me up to be a musician and there is nothing I can do but play. It’s in my blood. When I’m inspired, the words come when I’m holding a beautiful woman in my arms, or sitting on a toilet. It doesn’t matter where I am. She whispers into my mind like they’re my own thoughts, but I know they’re not mine because when I want to ignore her and rest for a change, she nags at me until I get them down on paper, or on my phone, or on a napkin. I can believe it that J.K. Rowling wrote most or all of the first Harry Potter on a napkin… because she really didn’t have a choice. The Muse
will
be heard and you
must
listen. If you don’t, you’ll pay the price, whatever that price is for you. Addiction. Overeating. Sex. Infidelity. Violence. Lethargy. Those are only several. It comes in all forms. If you don’t do what you’re meant to, what drives your soul to rise up and sing, metaphorically speaking, then you will succumb to your baser instincts because you’re not following your purpose. When we’re not following our purpose, life, like a pair of pants we grew out of, never quite fits.

I get it. Believe me, I fucking get it. I know what music does to people, so my gift is particularly beguiling. I can’t blame people for wanting to touch it through me. I can’t blame them at all. I’m like that with the bands I love. But today, I’ve been flying for fifteen hours. We had to stop down in Miami. The last five hours to Los Angeles felt like the longest of my life. All I want to do is be alone.

De-boarding the plane, I force myself to thank the flight attendants and pilots for a safe flight. They all stand stationed to wish us a goodbye, and they tip heads to me with smiles they really mean. “You have a good visit!” “Thank you for choosing United.”

Heading to baggage claim, I tuck my head under my Irish cap and keep my sunglasses on, trying to blend into the crowd. But of course my trademark jeans, white t-shirt, leather bracelets, and walk, all give me away. Gritting my teeth, I force a smile at two teenage girls who squeal when they see me, crying out as they run up, “Oh my God! You’re ALIVE!”

Taken aback by such an odd statement, I frown. “Yeah. Walking and breathing, ladies. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”

The brunette one with the blue eyes grabs my arm and says something I can’t grasp the meaning of: “You weren’t on the plane!”

Growing impatient, I assert myself, taking her hand off my arm and releasing it back to her possession. “Yes, I was. I just got off the plane. Now I really have to get my luggage. If you’ll excuse me.”

They look at each other in a silent exchange, and the blonde’s clear braces flash briefly into view as she explains, “No… the plane with Sean and Jack! We thought for sure you would be with them when it went down, because you’re always with them, but you’re here! You’re alive!”

Someone just kicked me in the chest with a steel-toed boot. I reach out and grab the blonde’s shoulders. “What did you just say?”

She stutters under my grip. “Their plane went d-down in the-the OCEAN!”

Almost yelling, the brunette adds, “They can’t find them anywhere!”

I take off running, leaping around passengers and over rolling suitcases that block my way. A sports bar is ahead on my left and I race straight up to the bar, shouting at the female bartender, “Turn on the news!”

She cocks her head back, appalled. “Who are you?”

Of all the times, now is when I don’t get recognized. “Just turn on the fucking news!”

She grimaces like she’s about to throw me out. I search for the remote and almost jump over the bar to grab it, but a younger male, a fan, intervenes. “He’s Alec Gabriel. The Stone Brother’s best friend.”

Recognition lights her eyes and others in the bar turn to stare at me. From their somber looks and the hush that falls over the room, they already heard the news.

They know before I do. That is so fucking wrong, I can’t even get my head around it.

As the bartender grabs the remote, my anger melts into denial.

Their plane can’t have gone down.

All four of them gone, just like that.

It’s not fucking possible.

Why wasn’t I with them?!

“Someone tell me this isn’t happening,” I mutter under my breath, so gone I don’t even know I said it. On CNN, an anchorman appears center shot. Embedded is a square at the top left of the screen with a two-shot of Sean and Jack, split down the middle. “There! There!” I yell. She stops, gulps, and lays the remote on the bar. The guy who recognized me picks it up and turns up the sound before I even have to ask. The anchorman’s voice rises as he says, “It seems the pilot called in the emergency landing but since then, there’s been no communication with the plane. The report from satellite had them located somewhere off the coast of Florida. The search party is looking for the Stone brothers now and we’ll keep you informed as we learn more. In other news…”

No mention of Rue and Jenna. They didn’t mention the pilot or co-pilot either. The brothers of course would get the airtime since the whole world has watched them grow up. “I was supposed to be on that plane,” I mumble, staring miles away.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know.”

“He said he was supposed to be on the plane.”

“No! He was? Oh my God, can you imagine?”

“Shhhh!”

Numb, I walk toward the exit without looking back, drifting in with the people who are coming and going to their flights, their luggage, their friends, their families, their loves.

Tears hover in my eyes. When people spot me, they move out of the way. The sea of nameless bodies parts, creating a passageway for me to trudge through. I have never known this much pain. I have never felt this separate from my body as it simultaneously wracks with agony from its core.

When the electric doors slide open, I walk outside, and the familiar smell of Los Angeles hits me. Home. Our home. I fall, boneless, to my knees on the mat as confused doors slide open and closed behind me. Staring ahead, I unlock my jaw and howl. I crumble with my hands over my face, sobbing. Strangers rush at me, trying to help. But I’m not able to tell the difference between help and attack, so I fight them off, yelling at the top of my lungs a guttural wail I’ve never heard before. A large, soft woman grabs onto me from where she’s fallen to her knees, too, squeezing me hard in a bear hug and cooing in my ear, “Shhh. There now. It’s going to be okay.” She rocks me and says it one more time. “It’s going to be okay, child.”

Bending my head into her neck, I croak, “No. It’s not.”

B
anging
on the giant front door of the Stone Mansion, I yell, “Mrs. Stone?! Please open the door!”

There’s a pause and then the muffled scream, “No! Go Away!”

My face is caked with dried tears, the skin so tight and dry. “Please, Mrs. Stone! Please!” A fresh wave of salt-water fills my tear ducts and I whimper against the door with my fingertips and forehead resting on it. “I want to help you through this.”

Jenna and I heard the news at the airport when we arrived. Since their plane went down in Florida, by the time we got to Los Angeles the broadcast had been airing for hours. Jenna had to hold me up so I could walk out of the airport. I sat on the dirty floor by a wall as she waited for our baggage, while concerned and helpless eyes flitted to me from everywhere around us. In the cab ride home, I took turns sobbing and staring out the window at the 405, then the 101, then at Camarillo Street where I live. The cabbie asked if I was sick like he didn’t want to catch my disease. He was two seconds away from pulling over and kicking us to the curb when Jenna leaned in and reproached him. “She’s just lost her brothers. Give her a break. Haven’t you ever lost anyone you loved?”

Loved?
The word was jarring to me in my haze.
Do I love them?
I had to ask myself that. Can you love people that quickly? Some would argue no… and I feel sorry for them.

“Just as soon as I’d wished for them gone, they went,” I whispered to Jenna as she hugged me on my doorstep.

“I know. I’m going to stay here with you.”

“No.” I’d said, shaking my head. “It’s okay, Jenna-bean. I want to be alone.”

But as soon as I went in the house, I pictured Connie Stone. All alone now. Just like me. And though I was probably the last person she wanted to see, I wanted to go to her and see if I could help. “Jenna!” I’d shouted out my door. She came running around the corner, not having made it yet to her car. “Can you drive me to the Stone mansion?”

In hindsight, I probably should have had her wait for me.

“Mrs. Stone! Please open the door. I know I don’t have the right…”

The door opens and she stares at me, mascara running down papery cheeks, her silver hair askew. “That’s right! You don’t have the right!” she croaks, furious.

But I can see the pain behind the rage. With my face dripping, I take her into my arms and embrace her. She doesn’t fight me like I thought she would. She goes limp and leans into me, crying, too. I rub her back gently up and down. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Stone. I’m so sorry for everything.”

For the first time, I understand what my mother did to her. The tragedy of loss has torn to shreds my ego and defiance. Human being to human being–woman to woman–I understand now how much pain she must have felt. And now she’s lost her boys, too.

“Why can’t they find them? Why haven’t I heard anything?” she weeps into my shoulder, clutching onto me.

“I don’t know. But I want to be here with you while we wait. Is that okay?”

Abruptly, she pulls away from me, her reddened eyes flashing. “No! It’s not okay.” She straightens her jacket, pulling it down hard, the flash of red nails garish against such pale skin. “You’re the reason they’re dead,” she hisses.

Stunned, I squeak, “What?”

“They wouldn’t have been in Ibiza if it wasn’t for you!” I stare at her in horror because in my grief this hadn’t dawned on me yet. “I invited you here to my home! But no! You were all the way across the country spending my husband’s money on booze! And then when Jack told me he’d gone to Ibiza, I told him to forget you. You’re not worth the trouble. You’re just the bastard child of a nanny. Trash!” My head turns slowly left to right as I try to block out the hatred. With her hand and voice shaking, she reaches for the door. “You should never have been born, Rue Calliwell. Now get off my doorstep before I call the police.”

SLAM!

I stare at the door for a very long time, words stolen from my speech. A car racing up the driveway doesn’t pierce the fog at first. I don’t notice it until I hear my name frantically called. The urgency in Alec’s voice reaches into my wounded psyche and pulls me into focus. Car tires screeching to a halt turn me around. He leaps out of a Cadillac and runs up the steps to me, shouting with his eyes wide, “Oh my God! You’re alive!” He mashes me into his body and squeezes me in a desperate embrace. I cocoon myself against the hurt, burrowing into him as he kisses the top of my head.

“I wasn’t on the plane. Oh, Alec. It’s so awful. Why did this happen!” I sob into his neck. He shakes his head, holding me. Pulling back so he can look at me, he’s astounded to see me alive. His skin is blotchy and his hazel eyes are bloodshot, the pain still dancing on their surface.

“I don’t know,” he whispers hoarsely, repeating again, “I don’t know.” He grabs the back of my head and kisses my forehead hard, crushing me to him again and rocking me. We hold each other like this for a long time, finding comfort.

Against his soggy white t-shirt, I ask in a muffled whisper, “Are you here to see Mrs. Stone? She’s really upset.” I can feel him nod, his chin tapping the top of my head once.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he groans, his vocal chords shot.

Mine sound the same. “I didn’t have your number. I only knew where they lived because Sean’s assistant left her card with me after the salon day.”

He chuckles at the realization, but it’s not a happy sound at all. “Oh. Right. Of course. God, I can’t believe you’re okay. But why weren’t you on the plane?”

In his arms, I stumble through the story. He listens and I leave out what Mrs. Stone said to me just now. After I’m done, he sighs and releases me. “I have to see how Connie’s doing.”

He finds it locked, but pulls out his keys and fumbles for the right one, opening the door as though he lives here, too. This simple act hurts me for him, a sorrowful reminder of how close they were and how much he’s lost. He motions to me to follow him and we walk into the grand foyer, a huge chandelier glittering in the recessed lighting above us. Alec lays his keys down in a bowl on a marble antique table. I glance to it, and despite its obvious value, I don’ t like it. In fact, looking around, most of this home looks like it should be in a museum, rather than lived in by a family.

I follow him toward a long hallway to the right, but my mind is caught by my imagination. I keep seeing my mother padding around these spotless tiles with a bottle in her hands as she goes to the nursery. I blanch as an image of my father watching her, sneaks into my head. I just don’t want to know about that. I’ve always hated cheating, and here I am, the spawn of it. I’ve never felt so guilty in my whole life. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t choose this.

“Alec, I don’t think I should be here,” I say, reaching forward to grab his hand.

He glances back to me and realizes who I am to her. He pauses, thinking about it before he shrugs and says under his breath, “She needs all the support she can get. Let’s go.”

“
O
h
, Alec!” Mrs. Stone drops the white prescription bottle she was holding. Pills spill onto the kitchen counter as she rushes into his arms. “My boys!”

Hugging myself, I stand awkwardly watching them, glancing to the exit and planning my escape. This place is enormous, surely they won’t notice if I just sneak by the kitchen island that’s as big as my car and slip out the door. Glancing nervously back to them, I see out the window a backyard as large as a football field with a dark-bottomed pool its central focal point. Jacuzzi, too, of course, but what affects me is the slide embedded in boulders. An image of the boys playing there as children, gives me pause. I can just see Jack racing to beat Sean and gleefully winning every time. For a split second, a younger me joins them, eagerly calling to Jack,
You’re not going to beat me this time!
as I race to the top to dive in on my stomach, head first.

My mind is so preoccupied with this fantasy that the wind is knocked out of me as thin arms embrace me, imprisoning my arms at my sides. “Rue! I’m so glad you came back. The moment you left, I felt terrible.” Apparently a couple pills spilled into her mouth. She holds me at arm’s length, her eyes a little drugged. I stare at her, thinking that I didn’t leave so much as have the door slammed in my face with a police call threat. Her lips flatten as she stares at my slackened jaw and wide eyes. “I shouldn’t have said those awful things!”

“You were just being honest,” I admit, quietly.

She releases me and walks away, almost talking to herself. “I was. But I’m just so pissed at Max I could just kill him, if he weren’t already dead. Did you know he killed himself after your mother died? He did it because of her.”

I stare at her. Alec looks at me. “What?” I ask her, unable to understand how she would know that.

She nods, staring out at the backyard with her back to us. “He left me a note. The motherfucker said he never loved me. What a fucking liar. He loved me! It just… faded over time. You’re
lucky
you never met him,” she spits over her shoulder, locking eyes with me. “He was a real sonofabitch, my husband.” She begins to weep. Alec goes to her and pulls her into his arms, casting a concerned glance my way. I nod to him that I’m okay. She looks very fragile crumbled there against him, so unlike I’ve ever known her to be from all of the interviews and photos.

So my father killed himself after my mother died. And my mom would never see him. I have to admit that I can’t blame her. Right now, he’s not looking like someone I’d want to know, either. And yet, he left me this money. But really–if he truly cared, wouldn’t he have tried harder? What’s throwing money at a problem going to help it when your children are involved?

“I’m going to do something with the money, Mrs. Stone,” I promise her, but she can’t hear me. Alec meets my eyes as he pets her head, smoothing down the frazzled hair. “Let’s get you upstairs, Connie.” His tone is soothing as he adds, “Rue and I will stay here until we hear more news.”

She doesn’t seem to hear him, her body wracking with sobs, but she allows herself to be picked up and her arms go around his neck limply like noodles, her face buried in his shoulder.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells me quietly as they pass.

“Okay.” I watch until they’re gone, glad I didn’t leave.