Chapter Twenty-One
I opened my eyes and found Grady standing in front of Carrington’s set. Everyone was waiting. The band. The stadium.
Everyone.
This was the worst song.
To this day, I still loved the song but it was hard to listen to. It was an apology and a gift. Every time I’d hear the first strumming cords, I’d be taken back to the night at Fifty-Third when he first played it. I remembered how I begged and begged for him to learn it and his insistence that the song wasn’t the right one for the band to play.
“I don’t like playing it.”
I hugged his arm. “Why?”
His hand wrapped around my leg and pulled me closer. “Because it reminds me of things I’d rather not think about.” He kissed my forehead. “Let’s not talk about this, ok?”
Watching him now, I knew his reasoning was still valid. The song was still painful reminder of the promises he hadn’t made.
He let out a breath and walked down-stage, stopping next to Hush who started to play.
Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow realized what you gotta do
I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now
Grady’s voice melted through the air, curling, swirling, enchanting. Butler patted me on the shoulder before following the tape around the back of the stage to the other side, leaving me to myself.
Their performance of the song was flawless, even better than the first time at the bar. The emotion put into it was undeniable and by the time it would end, no face in the house would be dry.
Mine wasn’t.
I didn’t want to stay where I was but barging out on stage wasn’t the right thing to do. Yet.
Stage left was where I was supposed to be, so that’s where I stayed.
Someone nudged me forward. I glanced back and found Karen standing there, not surprised to see me. Go she mouthed.
I shook my head I can’t.
She nodded and nudged me again Can.
Going out there wasn’t my thing. I hung in the background and waited. That was always my role, one among many supporting characters. She shrugged and went the way Butler had.
By the beginning of the last verse, he was back to struggling and he still had the piano bit to get through. He was rocking it out the best way he knew how without it becoming a mournful mess. The crowd was swaying and clapping along with the hits of the tambourine.
Ever the performer, he left them to emulate the tambourine so he could finish.
Something went wrong, however. He kept playing the same notes after the guys finished, when the song officially ended. After going through it maybe twice, he began banging on the keys. It made a horrible sound and hinted at the breaking dam inside.
He was done. They wouldn’t be able to get anything else out of him.
That’s when I knew.
It was time.
Emory had unhooked his bass and was about to take it off when I rounded the riser of the upstage. He saw me and stopped. Hush stood there like always, but acknowledged my presence by nodding. They were leaving this to me.
None of us could hear anything beyond the incessant pounding, the screaming of piano notes. And I was thankful for that. For when I reached him, it wasn’t just the piano that was screaming. It was him too. He couldn’t hide it anymore.
“Grady.” He kept hammering at the keys, unable to hear me. I went around to his left and put my hand on his back. “Grady. Grady, stop.”
He stopped and rested his torso on the keys. That’s when everyone could hear what I was seeing. Like last night, Grady was sobbing and making that awful noise. It came from deep within his chest, his very being. Everything he was feeling was coming out and I knew there was no way to stop it or move him. Not yet.
I was able to curl around him from his left. “It’s ok.”
Though I whispered it, my voice carried through the sound system and out to the audience. I didn’t care. I didn’t care who saw or heard me. This was where I needed to be.
“Grady—”
“I’m sorry,” he keened. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know, I know.”
He turned into me, soft notes coming from the piano as it gave up his weight for me to hold. “I’m sorry.” His arms wrapped around me and his hands gripped the back of my shirt. “I’m sorry, Page. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”
The words echoed through the coliseum for everyone to hear.
~
Grady
We went back to the hotel. Page came with us. That was the most important thing. Page. Came. With. Us. Everyone was lingering about as the doctor took a look at his hands but he didn’t care. Page is here. Page came with us. Page is here. Page came with us.
She was sitting on one of the stools at the island with Butler standing next to her. They were talking quietly and Page refused to look anywhere but at Grady. There were ghosts in her eyes again and now he understood some of them.
“Badly bruised,” the doctor commented. “Rest them. Use ice and Motrin to manage pain and swelling. You won’t be able to play for a few days.”
Grady nodded. “Ok.”
The doctor frowned. “You got lucky, son. Don’t downplay my words. You’ve dealt a trauma to your hands. You could’ve given yourself hairline fractures or broken one of your fingers. You’re lucky your muscles and ligaments took the damage.”
He wasn’t lucky. “Ok.”
What the doctor didn’t seem to realize was Grady didn’t give a rat’s ass what he could’ve done to himself. It’s what he’d already done that was upsetting. The doctor looked disapproving as he took one last look at Grady’s hands.
“Can someone bring some ice?”
Emory jumped to do that, only there was no ice in the freezer. So his friend took drinks out of the complementary bowl on the island and brought the thing over. “Here ya go.”
The doctor looked from Grady’s hands to the bowl and then up to Emory. “Towel?”
“Right. Keep forgetting that part.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Grady hissed. “Just give me the fucking bowl.”
Emory handed it to him and the doctor sat back as Grady buried his left hand in ice. The room sank into silence, everyone afraid to speak in case it set him off.
Until the one person he could always count on not to be afraid to say something to him.
“Better?” Hush snarked.
Grady winced. “Not really.”
“That’s what you get for banging on pianos. Next time break a guitar. Less damage to you, more to the instrument.”
Grady glared at him. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who punched a brick wall for over an hour. You don’t get to lecture me.”
Hush held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “We were younger then. Didn’t you ever hear as we get older our bones get more brittle?”
Grady looked back down at his hands. “Yeah, well—”
“I’m still recommending an x-ray.”
“If the swelling gets worse, I’ll get one,” Grady told the doc. “But for now we’ll play it by ear.”
“Grady.”
The sound of her voice made him flinch. Then his words hit like a sledge hammer. Play it by ear.
“I’m fine.” He glanced up at her, trying to be reassuring. “I know what broken feels like. This isn’t it.”
He could see it in her eyes. I’m surprised you know what anything feels like right now.
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Butler compromised. “We’ll call if there are any problems.”
The doctor got up. “Rest those hands. Understand?”
Grady glared up at him, fully intending to let out some of the bluster, but Page answered for him. “He understands.”
How did she still know how to do that? Why was he even surprised?
She was standing behind the couch now, right behind him. Like a guard dog or a momma bear. He’d like to think it was the latter but was ok with the first just as much as the second. She was acting protective of him. Definite turnaround from this morning when she was walking away, leaving him to deal with it on his own.
The doctor nodded and left.
Grady had a headache, his hands hurt, and all he really wanted to do was sleep. So whatever Butler was gearing up to talk about, he wanted it to wait.
“We need to talk about what happened,” Butler started. “Grady—”
“Can’t do anything about it now, brother. It’s done and over with and quite frankly, I don’t want to discuss it.”
“We need to. I know it’s the last thing you want, but we need to.”
“Why?” Carrington asked. “What’s so important it can’t wait ‘til morning? We’re all tired, emotionally drained, and discussing this further tonight will only make it worse. We’ve got a couple days before the next show. This’ll keep.”
Grady sat back against the couch and swished his hand around in the ice. He’d do each for fifteen minute intervals, for maybe an hour, and then—
A hand came to rest on his shoulder, shutting off his current line of thinking. He reached up on instinct and wrapped his around hers.
“Today has sucked beyond measure but Butler’s right,” she said. “This band is your job and as much as you’ve tried to keep your personal lives private—tonight sort of demolished the concept. You need to discuss what comes next.”
Grady squeezed Page’s hand, ignoring the painful pulling of ligaments.
“Label having an issue?” he muttered. “Is that what this is about?”
“We’re fielding calls from media outlets concerning what happened tonight. Since the execs already know what’s going on, they’re ok. For now. However, they want to know if it’s going to be a continuous problem. If it’ll happen again.”
Page slipped her thumb under his collar and rubbed his skin, calming the brewing storm he wanted to unleash. Everyone was looking to him for an answer and he gave it, honestly. “I don’t know.”
Butler nodded. “The contract allows you up to two cancelled shows for personal reasons. Since there wasn’t—” he paused but Grady knew what he was going to say and his body tensed because of it “—since there was no present death, we can’t cancel the rest of the tour.”
Grady looked up from the ice and stared at him. Those weren’t Butler’s words, they were the record company’s. He was just the messenger and his mother had always taught him, don’t shoot the messenger. But this was one of those moments where his mother’s advice failed him. Everything failed to prepare him for this.
“How present would they like that death to be?”
“Grady.”
He felt ashamed and dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s fine,” Butler reasoned. “I know this is—it’s not a normal situation. They’re willing to work with you. That’s the important part.”
“I’m so happy they’re willing to work with me as I deal with—”
Page slipped her hand out from under his, leaving him grasping at air. He was falling again, or at least that’s what it felt like. His heart started to frantically flutter in his chest and he turned to look for her. For a brief second he thought she was leaving again. After all, the subject they were discussing had the ability to hurt her worse than anyone else in the room.
But she wasn’t leaving. She came around the couch and held out her hand for him to take. Without question, he took it. If there was anyone else in the world who felt the way he did right now, it was her. And he’d go anywhere with her if she asked.
“Excuse us for a second,” she said to everyone else, a calm civility he only saw in her when she was unhappy about something. Grady clamored to his feet, leaving the ice bowl on the coffee table. “We’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” Butler said.
Shit. She was going to yell. Was she going to yell? He couldn’t tell. Why couldn’t he tell?
Page led the way into the bedroom and then closed the door.
Shit.
“I know this is hard,” she started off. “But you need to try not snapping at people.”
“I wasn’t snapping.”
She looked at him with those all-knowing eyes. “Grady, you only found out about Gage last night. Course you’re snapping.” She came over and cupped his cheek. It felt nice. “You’re hurt and you’re in pain. You’re going to snap at people, you’re going to be short tempered. You’re going to be moody and agitated. It’s going to happen whether you want it to or not. So don’t start lying now.” He wrapped an arm around her and rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. “You’re grieving, Grady. This is what grief looks and feels like. Don’t lie about it. Be honest.”
Be honest. She’d always told him that and it took him a while, all those years before, to be open and honest with her. Then he’d left, shut her down, froze her out, and built up defenses to guard against it happening again. She had too but here she was, opening up and waiting.
Again.
He had to give her the truth. She wouldn’t take anything less.
“I want him back,” he croaked. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’ve never laid eyes on him, but I know I want—”
Her thumb brushed over his cheek. “I know.” She tilted her head a little and her smile was small and sad. “I know you want him. I do too but we can’t. This—” she lifted her hands and placed them on his chest “—this is what we’ve got.”
“Which is nothing. We’ve got nothing.”
He kissed her roughly on the forehead and then let go, moving away. Withdrawing.
“We’ve got more than nothing, Grady. He’s gone, we can’t get him back, and I know it’s not enough but you’ve got me.”
Grady stopped his retreat and slowly turned to face her. “Do I? Really? Do I have you, Page? Because it doesn’t feel like it.”
~
Page
I was losing him all over again. I could feel it. And I could see it. A loss like this was undeniable. Drowning. He was letting himself sink and all I could do was watch.
There was one last thing I wanted him to know before he made this decision. Because what he was doing was self-preservation. He was coping the only way he knew how and I could respect it. Hell, this reaction was the same one I’d had.
“On your last self-produced album, you recorded a version of ‘What a Wonderful World’. Remember?”
He swallowed and looked down at his hands, hiding the rain. “Yes.”
“In the reading material they gave me it said at nineteen weeks babies began to hear. I’d been talking to him forever by then but nineteen weeks was the goal. I had the date circled on my calendar so I wouldn’t forget. So I would know.”
“Know what?”
“That he could finally hear you, your voice. Never mind mine because he’d hear that for the rest of his life but—I wanted, from the very second he could perceive sound, for him to hear you like I heard you. I made a playlist of all your songs and had it set up. Sterling got me these insulated earphones so I could do it. I couldn’t handle hearing you sing anymore and with the earphones, I wouldn’t have to but—I had it all set up and I let him listen. Every night I fell asleep to him listening to you. On last night, the plug came out of the computer and ‘What a Wonderful World’, as sung by you, blared out of my speakers. Scared the living shit out of me, you have no idea, but—it was the last time I heard you sing. It was the last song of yours I played and listened to.”
I walked over and he let me take a hold of his hands.
“So I get it. You don’t want anyone here, questioning how you’re dealing with this. Or maybe it’s just me you don’t want around but you need to understand something. You’re not alone in this and you have more than nothing. You’re angry and you want to lash out, you have every right, but you have more than nothing.”
“How can you stand to be in the same room as me?”
It wasn’t a malicious question. Just a sad one. A question I’d asked myself countless times when we were apart and the answer was rather simple. It was also something I didn’t understand until long after Gage was gone.
“The same way I handled him being inside of me when you were gone. He was half you, Grady, and I wouldn’t have given that up for the world. And even though you’d left me alone, I wasn’t. Not really. It took me a while to figure it out but I had a piece of you with me. I’ll always have a piece of you because I’m his mother and you are his father. That’s how I can handle being in the same room with you.”
I thought he was going to push me away, ask me to leave. Tell me the same thing I’d told Dr. Kofi the first time he’d talked me around to that point. Back then, in my mind, I wasn’t currently Gage’s mother. I’d been his mother. And then he’d died. But the thing was I’d always be his mother. No matter how much time passed.
Grady understood that better than I had when the psychiatrist spoke those words to me.
He wrapped an arm around me, holding me tight, and kissed me. I thought, at first, it was goodbye but it was something else. Almost like a claim or a promise. A tether being tied so he wouldn’t fly away. It was the same promise he’d made before but this one gave me hope there would be a different outcome. I kissed him back, harder, going up on my tip toes so I could reach him better. It took minutes, maybe hours, but when the kiss ended and Grady opened his eyes, the rain was less. Not gone but—less.
I wasn’t going to lose him after all.
“I’m his father.”
I smiled but I could feel the tears in my eyes. “Yeah. You are.”
He nodded and cupped my face. “And you’re his mother.”
“Yeah. I am. And I carry him with me like I do Brett and Harlow. Never always but forever.”
His smile chased away the last bit of the rain. “Don’t you know, baby? Never always means always. And never always is better than forever.”
THE END