True North Book 3 - Finding Now Kate and Sam (10 page)

That day had begun the first of my many stays at the psych unit of San Francisco General Hospital.

When I got back to my apartment I dumped the stuff from the bags onto the bed and stared at them. Just jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of shoes, right? I didn’t think I’d be able to wear them tonight, even though that had been my plan. But just buying them was exhausting, and all of a sudden looking at them was throwing me into an attack.

Doc said it was going to be hard … take some meds and feel it, she’d said. I went to my briefcase and broke an Ativan in quarters and took a piece. That was a good start. I decided to leave them there for now and get some food. I grabbed my briefcase and moved quickly out the front door with my heart slamming in my chest, as if to escape a demon that had come into the room.

Kells was ridiculously packed. Everyone was smashed in like sardines in a can. I weaved my way to the bar and found a couple of empty stools. I was wondering if I could really sit here until my table cleared out. Bella was tending bar. She was the nicest girl who worked here and even talked to me personably when she was waitressing.

I took a few deep breaths and tried to think it through. I felt like I was at a stalemate. Kells was my go to place, but I didn’t think I’d be able to stay with this many people. But what was worse, staying here and trying to get through it, or going home to ghosts?

“Hey, Bella. What’s going on?” I asked before putting in my usual order.

“New band.” She smiled cheerfully and poured me a beer from the tap. “They brought a lot of their own fans. Oh, and wait until you see the hot lead singer! He is seriously to die for.”

She set my beer in front of me and rushed off toward another customer that was calling for her.

Okay, a beer.
I could start with that. If I had to leave, I would. I had some papers to grade anyway and that could distract me. I pulled the stack from my briefcase along with a pen and marker. The note came out with the rest of the stuff:

My Master Goal List:

1. Wear the clothes you used to like

2. Go to three places you’ve never been before in Seattle

3. Get drunk

4. Dance in the rain

5. Go to a movie

6. Get laid

7. Confide in one person even a portion of your story

8. Walk on the sandy beach with no shoes

9. Play your favorite music

10. Ride in a car

11. Drive a car

12. Go after something you’ve always dreamed of… something you tucked away.

You must do one item on the list every two weeks, so you’ll have something to report back to me.

I had read the psych books, I knew this was a recipe for getting one’s life back and putting trauma in the past as you moved on. I had numbered them 1 to 12 from the least hellish to the most hellish. At least I’d gotten halfway through number one.

Absentmindedly, I copied the words onto a separate sheet of paper. I wondered if I could get through them, and how many times I’d want to rip the list to shreds before I conquered what was required of me. I took out some loose-leaf paper and wrote the list on several sheets, until I had it memorized (plus I had back-up copies).

As I started filing the papers away into my briefcase, I heard the music from the stage start up. Usually when musicians started up they did a lot of talking and introducing themselves. This one just jumped into a hard acoustic song that was definitely not Kells’ usual, which would have consisted of mellow folk rock. This was a hot acoustic jam, screaming with sensuality—and the lead singer’s voice … the sound of it was incredible. I craned my neck to get a better look, but I couldn’t see anything from my tucked in position at the far end of the bar.

Halfway through the song, the band slowed the rhythm. “Hey, everyone! We are Chasing North!” a familiar voice boomed through the mic. I sat on my stool, frozen, silent—listening harder as the crowd erupted in rowdy cheers.

No. Way.

“We want to thank our friends and fans who came from all over the Seattle area and the University of Washington”—the crowd’s noise level went up a few more decibels, and the singer had to shout over them, even with his voice booming through the sound system—“for coming out tonight and joining us at Kells! And we want to thank the management for letting us come into their fine establishment. Most of you are used to our hard, pounding sounds, but tonight we’ve scaled down for a completely unplugged acoustic set.” The crowd responded with cheerful clapping and more shouting. “Now we’ll be playing several originals along with a few covers …”

The singer continued, but I wasn’t listening to his words anymore, only to the sound and timbre of his voice. I stood from the bar stool and, as if in a dream, worked my way through the room until I found a break in the crowd.

There was Sam North, standing center stage at the microphone, wearing a pair of jeans and a Ramones t-shirt cut off at the sleeves—his tattoos in full view. He was strumming a honey-colored Taylor acoustic guitar while he spoke and held the audience with his every word.

“You’re probably wondering what Chasing North is doing playing here when our usual venues are places like The Rising, Hell Bent and Fenix Underground.” Their fans yelled. Sam smiled adoringly back then lifted his hand to calm them. “I’ll tell you the truth, Kells’ owner, Jack, only agreed to let us play when he heard my story.” Sam smiled and turned to his bassist and began plucking out some chords.

“What’s the story, Sam?” someone shouted out, and it quickly became a mantra from the crowd.

I was immobilized.

Sam casually came back to the mic, still playing riffs up the neck of his guitar. “So, you want to hear the story?”

Everyone shouted a resounding, “YES!”

“Alright then. Like most stories and songs it all starts with a girl.” Every female in the crowd sent up a shrill scream. Sam laughed and finger plucked a Doors’ tune until they quieted. “I met this
beautiful
girl at school, she’s in one of my classes, but I can’t seem to get her to give me the time of day.”

At that, everyone started up again.

Mesmerized, I took a step backwards and hit a guy who was built like a brick wall.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, only barely turning to look at him before I stepped aside and kept my eyes on Sam.

“I see her every day in class and she has no idea what she does to me. We’ve only ever had one real conversation and now … well now I’m totally addicted and having severe withdrawals.”

The crowd shot out awwws and groans of sympathy, while a few women yelled out things like, “I’ll make you forget her.”

“She won’t come to any of my concerts, won’t have drinks with me, doesn’t return my texts or calls … I’ve asked her out till I was blue in the face—and a few other places.” The crowd laughed. “She keeps saying no like a broken record, so I decided if I couldn’t get her to come out on a date with me, I’d have to bring the date to her.”

He couldn’t possibly be talking about me … no way.

“That’s why we’re playing our unplugged session here tonight, because I know she loves Kells. Now before you think I’m being a stalker, let me assure you that I’m not. I know this girl is into me, I see how she checks me out when she thinks I’m not looking.”

The guys all howled out their approval.

Oh my God, I’m going to die.

“This lady is a class act and I’d do just about anything to get into her heart, even if that means just being her friend.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me. But see she has the most turbulent storm going on in her ocean blue eyes and I’ll never be able to rest until I find out what it is.”

“Dude! Is she here?” someone yelled out.

“Who is she?” another shouted.

“Can’t tell you that now, can I?” Sam’s eyes landed on mine for an instant, taking my breath away, and sending a shot of adrenaline through me. “This entire set is dedicated to this woman and this first song is my open invitation to her.”

He sang Goo Goo Dolls’ “Come To Me,” a beautiful song about love being the deepest kind of friendship, not letting the past hold you down no matter what was in it, and starting again.

I wondered if I blended into the crowd, only because I didn’t want to stick out, as every locked emotion of fear and passion and desire—the longing to be free, to live life, to feel my heart again and follow it—began to bubble up and cause pressure inside of me like lava rising to the surface. I shook my head and bit my lip against it, but it was coming. The tears streaked down my face. My eyes burned from my mascara, and I wiped my eyes haphazardly with the back of my hand.

He was singing it right to me, and if I let go of my fear and dark history for even a moment, I could feel what it would be like to hold his hand and to let him hold mine … even if it was just for now. That’s all I had was now—a moment by moment revolution in time.

Maybe it was his words or the sound of his voice? Maybe it was the way he’d held me up when my world tumbled and didn’t judge me. Maybe it was the words to the song and the music that I had cut myself off from for so long seeping back into my blood and waking me up. Maybe it was everything combined, but I knew in that second—in that very precious and precarious tick of a broken clock that hadn’t kept time for years, that had possessed me, never allowing me to move forward—that I finally felt the beat of my own heart.

I gasped for air as I rushed for the bathroom and locked myself into the stall. I lowered the seat and sat with my head in my hands, letting the emotions wash over me, a beautiful bittersweet tangle of feeling. My eyes burned, my lungs stung behind my ribs, and I could barely control my breath.

I didn’t know how to put one foot in front of the other or move on or let go. But I wanted to feel the strength of him again. The time he helped me into my apartment with his arm around me, I’d experienced it through a haze of fear and medication, and it was more like a dream than anything else. But I remembered the power his presence had lent me and I dared to want it again. How could I tell him I wanted it again? He came here to Kells to tell me he wanted to be my friend. How brave was that?

I blew my nose on some toilet paper. Kate was brave, wild and cocky, but I was so far from her. I was lucky I’d managed to get those clothes today! No, we were nothing like Sam’s brave anymore.

I couldn’t tell how long I’d been in there when I heard the bathroom door squeal open. I quickly made myself as quiet as possible. 

“Hey, Catherine, are you in here? It’s Bella.”

Bella, the bartender. She must have seen my mad dash in here.

“Yeah,” I managed.

“Jack, the owner, wants to see you out on the private rooftop,” she explained.

I slowly opened the stall door, sure I looked like hell.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I assured.

“You’re not okay! You’ve been crying. Here.” She took a cloth from her apron and ran some cool water on it. Next, she dabbed around my eyes and smiled. “Trying not to smudge. Want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “What does Jack want to talk to me for?”

“He didn’t say.” She wore a baffled expression. “Maybe he wants to ask you out?”

“Really?” I doubted it.

She shrugged.

I looked at her, horrified. “Oh shit, I left all of my stuff out back by my seat.”

“I noticed. I pulled your briefcase behind the bar and have the other bartender keeping an eye on it.”

“Thanks.” I was relieved.

“You look better now. Don’t worry, Jack’s cool. And if you don’t report back in ten, I’ll come get ya with a phony phone call, deal?”

“Deal.” That was something a friend did. Could Bella be a friend?

She led me to the stairs. I really didn’t want to
leave
the concert. I also really didn’t want to
go back
to the concert either—I was terrified and excited and figured some fresh evening air might actually help me.

I climbed the back steps and pushed open the heavy door and saw a figure looking out over the lights of the city.

“Jack?”

The figure turned.

“Sam?” My voice cracked.

He moved toward me quickly, concern plastered on his face. “I’m so sorry. I keep fucking everything up! Are you alright?”

“What are you doing …? You were singing …” I stumbled over my words. “Bella said the owner wanted to see me,” I blurted in surprise.

“Are you disappointed I’m not the owner?”

“No,” I answered far too quickly.

“Good. I paid him off.” He lifted his hands as if he were about to touch my arms, but he didn’t and dropped them uncomfortably back to his side. “Are you angry at me? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No,” I answered softly. “I’m not angry at you.”

He smiled a beautiful smile.

I couldn’t say a thing; I just stared at him like I was stupid.

He searched my eyes. “I saw you run into the bathroom four songs ago.”

“That song was for me,” I said, as if in a dream.