Authors: Melodie Murray
To Ben,
Thanks for sharing your room with me, little buddy. I hope this gift will make you happy. Let it be a reminder that you can do anything you set your mind to.
Your biggest fan,
Ethan
When he was finished, he laid his gift on the edge of Ben’s bed, placed the note on top of it, and exited the room, unable to bear even one more look.
Ted awaited him at the bottom of the stairs, fully packed duffel bag in tow. When Ethan reached the landing, Ted gave him a slight nod, gathered Ethan’s things, and took off toward the car. Granny Mae stood in the doorway with something in her hands. As Ethan approached, she swept him up in the most heartfelt hug he’d ever received and he returned it with everything he had in him. When she finally pulled away, moisture pooled in her eyes.
“I love you, lil’ E.” she said with a sniff.
“I love you, too, Granny Mae.”
She pulled it together quickly and offered a slight smile. “Don’t you dare wait five years before your next visit.”
“I won’t, Granny.”
She reached out and took hold of Ethan’s hand and turned it over, palm facing up, and placed the object she’d been holding onto it. “I want you to have this.”
Ethan’s ran a finger over the smooth leather cover. “But . . . this was Grandpa’s.”
She nodded. “Yes, and it’s yours now. I know you have a lot of questions right now, lil’ E, and this book has every answer you’ll ever need. In fact, when you get ready to start looking, I suggest you start with the spot I’ve bookmarked for you. You might find it . . . refreshing.”
Ethan tightened his grip on the book and embraced his grandmother in one last hug before turning to join Ted in the rental.
As Ted pulled away from the quaint two story house from Ethan’s childhood, Ethan couldn’t help but feel as though his life was about to change. He was a new person and he was going to be different. Even if Alaina never allowed him the chance to show her he was different, he was going to show himself.
The trip back to New York was long and allowed Ethan way too much time to think. It seemed as though Ted had suddenly become silent once more, having said hardly anything since they’d left the house—which left Ethan to do nothing but be still and listen to the voices inside his head.
Some told him he was the biggest idiot jerk-face that ever walked the planet. Some reassured him that everything would turn out fine. Some hummed lyrics that he’d been working on all week. And some schemed up ways that Ethan could somehow make things up to Alaina despite the fact that he was thousands of miles away and she technically didn’t even want to see him. In the end, the combination of all the voices just aided in the further increase of his headache.
The flight home from Birmingham to the LaGuardia Airport turned out to be just as entertaining as the flight that brought him to Alabama. This time, not even bothering to suggest first class seats to Ted, Ethan willingly purchased his coach seats. His hair color disguise held up until a fanatic fan recognized him about halfway through the flight. So he hugged every wanting passenger and signed every autograph, all the while plastering on an exhausting grin that hid the pain he truly felt. And the closer he got to home, the worse things got. He knew he was going to have to face his mother, and he felt so . . . ashamed. He’d broken her trust and then gotten insolent when she’d tried to correct him for it, as though he didn’t deserve his entire punishment and more.
As Ethan entered the code into the security system of his Upper East Side apartment building, he took a moment to try and gather his emotions. Everything he’d been keeping bottled up for so long was bubbling over the surface of his control and he knew he was about to lose it. He reached for the knob, but it turned before he could touch it. The door swung open and before him was the face that cracked Ethan’s control.
At the site of his mom, Ethan’s guilt, and sadness, and remorse, and every other emotion that was swimming around in his system, made its way straight to his eyes. He shot a quick glance at his mother, waiting for her to yell at him some more, all the while unsuccessfully containing the moisture in his eyes.
But she didn’t yell. She grabbed him and pulled him in, laying his head on her shoulder and running her fingers through his hair. He lost it. All of the anger he felt over the "what ifs" of his drunken excursion; all of the guilt he felt for lying to Alaina; all of the fear he held for Ben’s future; and all of the sadness he felt over the loss of his first love came spilling out, all in one rush.
He tried to speak, to somehow find a way to explain why he was acting like such a sissy, when his mother had never seen him so much as shed a tear since the age of five, but only three words came out.
“I’m sorry mom.”
The rest of the afternoon was a blur. Ethan had no one left to talk to. No one left to seek guidance from, so he told his mother everything. He admitted to all of the bad stuff that he’d been getting into before the accident. He told her all about how he’d acted toward Ted and Ben and Granny Mae when he first arrived in Fairhope. He told her about Alaina—every little detail down to the scent of her shampoo. He told her about Ben. And he told her about God and how He’d found him in the little quiet town on the beach.
Finally, when Ethan had nothing left to tell, he gathered his things and headed for his bedroom. When he got there, he closed his door, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him. Despite his honesty session, he still felt something plaguing his mind. He felt better about admitting everything to his mom. She’d hugged him about a thousand times and told him how much she loved him and how she was sorry it took such drastic measures for him to realize how special he was. And it had all been great . . . but something was missing.
That’s when he thought of Granny Mae. She said that when he needed answers, all he had to do was go to the book. It had all the answers he would ever need.
Feeling he had nothing left to lose, Ethan retrieved his grandfather’s old Bible from his duffel bag and opened it to the page bookmarked about three-quarters of the way through.
The top right corner of the page read Colossians 1. And about midways down the page, highlighted in bright yellow was one tiny passage. Verse 21. Ethan read.
"Once you were alienated from God, enemies in your mind because of your evil behavior. But now he has reconciled you by Christ’s physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, free from blemish, and without accusation."
It was at that moment that Ethan first felt it. He finally got it.
God loved him.
He’d felt it for the last couple of weeks and had ignored it, not wanting to admit to himself that it could be possible after everything he’d done. But it was possible. He, Ethan Carter, could be holy, without blemish, and without accusation despite all the things he’d messed up and done wrong. Despite all of the bad decisions. Despite all of the times he’d denied Him. Because of Jesus’ sacrifice, God still loved him.
All of the emotions Ethan felt he’d already finished releasing resurfaced, but this time in a different way entirely. This time they were emotions of gratitude and astonishment. And Ethan did the only thing that felt right—and it would be the first time of many to come.
He hit his knees and prayed.
To Forget Would Be To Die
“
I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death. Where, O death are your plagues? Where, O grave is your destruction?"
Hosea 13:14
Ethan
Six months and forty-nine concerts down—only one to go.
It had been a long and life-changing journey, but Ethan had done it. And now, it all came down to this night. The last show on his tour, taking place in New York City. Home at last.
Sound checks were over, the stage was built. The voice coach had just exited the dressing room. All there was for Ethan to do now was to sit back and relish the fact that he was finally finished with singing the same songs and performing the same dance routines three nights a week, week in and week out. Not that he didn’t love it. He did. And he loved the fans, but eventually, even he got tired of hearing his own voice.
Ethan was different now. These past few months had changed him in ways he’d never expected. After his moment of surrender upon arriving home from Fairhope, Ethan had never looked back. He’d talked to his mom about his decision and she supported him whole heartedly. In fact, after time, she eventually gave up on the ghosts and pains of her past and jumped onboard with Ethan. Their relationship was better than ever. They spent daily time together in God’s word, learning and growing stronger together, and Ethan couldn’t be happier with his new life. He felt as if he finally had things figured out.
But there was still a gaping hole that Ethan couldn’t quite figure out how to fill. He missed Alaina. He’d tried to forget her—to focus on his music and his new relationship with God and just forget about ever having met her in the first place. But that was a completely useless attempt from the very beginning. He couldn’t forget her. She was a part of him and he hadn’t even so much as gotten a text from her since he’d left Fairhope. It was as if he loved this thought of a person that he’d never truly met. As if his entire time spent with her was just some sick dream that continued to haunt his sleep over and over.
Ethan had thought about calling her. Probably more times than he could physically count, in fact. If nothing more, just to find out how Ben was doing. But something always stopped him. Things with he and Ali had ended badly and he wanted to be one hundred percent certain that if he ever had the opportunity to see her again, he would be everything he knew she deserved. He just hoped that if ever given the opportunity, it wouldn’t be too late.
Ethan glanced up at the clock that hung above the mirrored vanity table in his white walled dressing room. Fifteen minutes to show time. Normally, everyone would’ve been running around, frantically trying to make sure everything was ready to go for the show, but they’d done this so many times by now that the routines ran like clockwork. All Ethan had to do was meet up with the tour crew in the narrow hallway beneath the stage, say a quick prayer (a tradition he’d also started upon his return from Fairhope), and then hit the stage. He was rising from the black leather couch when Bruce came bustling through the door, decked out in Armani from head to toe, glasses firmly in place over his eyes, and grasping his iPad.
“There’s my rock star!” he said. “I just needed to go over a couple of things with you before the show because it’s probably going to get pretty crazy when it’s over.”
“What kind of things?” Ethan asked.
“Well, first of all, I’ve scheduled you a press conference directly after the show. The entertainment magazines all want to get quotes from you in person on your opinion of the tour’s success. A conference is the easiest way to get it over with all at one time.”
Ethan nodded. “Good idea.”
“Also,” Bruce went on, never once looking up from the digital datebook screen, “we hit the studio day after tomorrow to start recording rehearsal sessions on your new album. We’re looking at possibly upping the release date by a couple of months. We don’t want too much time to pass between the tour and the album.” He smirked. “Can’t let you become old news can we, kid.”
Ethan had actually been putting a lot of thought into his new album recently and figured there was no better time than the present to tell Bruce exactly what was on his mind.
“Actually, Bruce, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the new album.”
Bruce’s eyes stilled never veered. “Oh yeah, you got ideas?”
“Uh yeah,” Ethan paused. “I don’t think I want to do it.”
Bruce's finger froze in place on the iPad screen. His eyes bolted up from the rim of his dark sunglasses. “Excuse me?”
Ethan quickly tried to explain. “It’s not that I don’t want to do the album, it’s just that I don’t think I want to do those songs. They’re not really . . . for me . . . I don’t think.”
“Hmm.” Bruce didn’t look cooperative. “And what exactly is . . . for you?”
Ethan turned and grabbed the little black notebook off of the table beside the couch. “Well, I know we’ve talked about this before, but I’ve written some new songs and I’d like to maybe replace a few of the songs on the album with some of these. If you’ll just look at them, they’re pretty good, I think.”
Bruce’s left brow raised. “I’m sure they are,” he muttered. Ethan eyed him with hopeful eyes and finally he broke. “Okay, fine, show me what you got.”
Ethan handed over the notebook and Bruce flipped through the pages so quickly there’s no way he could have possibly read more than a few words on each page. After about thirty seconds, he passed the book back to Ethan.
“No can do, kid.”
“Why not?” Ethan stood firm. He’d had his own songs rejected before, but he knew he had talent and his songs deserved to be played. The problem was that his lyrics didn’t match up with the perfect haired girl-heartthrob pop star they’d turned him into. He awaited an explanation.
“We can’t record these. They’ll never sell.”
“Again . . . why not?”
Bruce gave an impatient sigh and removed his glasses, looking Ethan directly in the eye. “Look kid, I know you’ve been on this new religious kick ever since your near death experience, but it’s just not you, okay. I can handle the prayers before the shows, but I’m afraid that’s as far as it’s going to go. There’s no way I can take America’s hottest boy toy and let him sing songs with the words 'God' and 'Jesus' in them. Who are you trying to fool, superstar? It’ll be the end of your career.”
“But Bruce,” Ethan stammered, “I know I can make these songs work for me. I know that’s not the platform I started with, but I think we can incorporate it in. My fans will respond positively.” Ethan didn’t want to say that he knew that if he followed his heart and was obedient to God in his music, then his career would be blessed. He knew Bruce would never understand that one.