JENNIE
"Ha! Look at that." Dad shifted a box aside and peeled away a tarp to wheel out a tricycle that was buried in the disaster that was Nan's
garage.
Mom had called it. The house had been Nan's domain, organized and easy to sort through, but this garage might take months.
"Was that yours?" I asked Dad, abandoning a box I'd just opened.
"Can you believe they saved this?" He crouched to run his hand over the handlebars. It was dirty, but the red trike was free of rust and nearly unscratched. "I remember pedaling this around the driveway. I used to have a wagon too, but—" Dad pulled at the tarp, feeling through the cluttered mess.
Brown boxes coated with a layer of dust were stacked to the ceiling. Tarps covered some items while others were left clustered together. There was a clear aisle that circled Nan's Subaru Outback like a walking trail through a dense forest. But otherwise, the space was packed.
Nan had told me all about the car, the first she'd ever bought brand-new. She'd only driven it for two months before deciding, even with shiny new wheels, driving wasn't for her anymore. Traffic was horrendous, she'd explained on a Monday call.
So the Subaru had been safely parked away a few years ago, and any free storage space she'd since filled up with forgotten keepsakes. They were probably items from the house she hadn't wanted to organize.
Or maybe she'd known that this would be like a treasure hunt for Dad. "Found it." He grinned as he unearthed a wagon, steering it into the aisle beside the trike.
"Keep pile?" I asked.
"Definitely." He carried the wagon as I steered the tricycle through the maze to the yard where we'd been making piles. Or should have been making piles. So far, everything we'd come across was a keeper.
"Is that all for donation?" Mom asked as she came through the front door, a garbage bag in hand.
Dad and I shared a look. "Uh . . ."
"Oh, no." Mom wagged a finger. "I know that look, Bradley."
"What?" He feigned innocence. "These are great finds."
Her mouth pursed in a thin line and I fought a smile. Mom would huff about this, but she'd let him take all of this home and turn their own garage into a slightly more organized version of Nan's.
"Here." Mom walked up to me and took a spare garbage bag that she'd stuffed in her jeans pocket. "Sneak some stuff into the donation pile when he's not looking."
"Okay, Mom." I giggled. When she turned away, I caught Dad's eyes and mouthed, "Never."
He beamed.
It had been nine years coming, but the rift between me and my father was beginning to heal.
Dad and I returned to the garage, working in separate corners. I did my best to take away the obvious trash. Dad had no interest in keeping yard rakes and shovels and Nan's gardening tools so those went into the charity pile. The photos and scrapbooks she'd put in clear tubs were immediately loaded in his truck to take home. The crates of bottles she'd kept Dad wanted to try to sell online.
"How did this get here?" Dad took the lid off a gray plastic tote.
"What is it?"
He waved me over. "See for yourself."
My mouth dropped when I looked into the tub. It was my stuff. The decor I'd had in my room as a teenager. The books and CDs I'd left behind.
"This must have gotten mixed up with some of Nan's other things because I thought this was at home in the crawl space."
At least they hadn't thrown it away.
I lifted out a poster, rolled into a tube, and slipped off the rubber band and unrolled the paper. "Aww. My Neil Peart poster."
The famous drummer from Rush had died recently. I'd been lucky enough to meet him once and as I'd shaken his hand, I'd remembered this poster, wishing I'd had it along for him to sign.
"Here." Dad handed me the tote.
"Thanks." I set it on the concrete floor and kneeled down, taking a few moments to pick through it all. Another poster was rolled up inside and as I opened it, I cringed. This band had been my favorite and the poster had been tacked to my ceiling.
Then I'd met them about five years ago. Hush Melodies was growing, but we weren't at the level where we were now. We'd been newcomers, opening acts with a few hits. Every member of that band had made me feel like a pretender. A leech.
Assholes. "I can't believe I liked you."
Rip. I smiled as the paper tore easily. I crunched it up in a tight ball, both halves destined for Mom's trash bag. Then I replaced the lid to the tub and hefted it from the floor, planning on taking it home to dig through later.
"Your mom wants to take Lisa her chair today," Dad said as I walked past.
"Oh." I stumbled but regained my footing. "Okay."
"Would you like to come along?"
I didn't answer as I walked outside, squinting in the bright sunlight.
Since Lisa had dropped me off last night, she'd constantly been on my mind. Sleeping alone in my bed had been miserable and lonely. But ending it had been the right decision.
She didn't want my lifestyle and I couldn't blame her. What would my fame do to Louis? Neither of them needed that kind of attention. They didn't need to worry about the creeps on social media sending them inappropriate messages or the tabloids publishing a picture with a misleading caption.
And my focus needed to be on the band and this next album. Harvey didn't want us to lose any momentum and he was right. If we lost our focus, we'd never make it to the next level.
I was finally, finally writing music again. The letters Nan had given me were the inspiration I'd been missing. My grandfather's song was finished and I was in the middle of three others.
They were good. They were fresh, different from the music on our last album. One of them had a bite, a darker edge we hadn't done before. My grandfather's song was sweet and soulful. The other two were classic Hush Melodies and I had no doubts that Kai's lyrics would fit in seamlessly.
Those songs would appease our die-hard fans and the label, because they were what people had come to love about our music. But the others were a stretch and would show the world our versatility.
They'd ink us on the map. Permanently.
I had an obligation to Kai and Bambam. I had an obligation to Hush Melodies, and that meant staying in Montana was impossible. It was time to return to work. And this was my dream, right? This life was what I'd been chasing. Just because Lisa and I had found each other again didn't mean I could just give it up.
No matter how badly I wanted Lisa.
The idea of leaving tomorrow was excruciating. Spending one night away from her had been terrible. I'd cried for an hour, then tossed and turned through the night. It felt like I was eighteen and losing her all over again.
Maybe after a few months apart, it wouldn't hurt as badly. Maybe when I came home for Christmas, we could navigate to something like friendship.
But not today. Today it hurt. So today, Dad would have to deliver the chair alone.
"I think it would be better if you took the chair to Lisa's later," I told him as I returned to the garage. "Without me."
"Okay." He was gracious enough not to ask why.
We worked for hours, organizing and sorting, until the piles on the lawn were more equally divided. Dad and I loaded up the items to donate and made our first trip to Goodwill. The manager came out personally to give his thanks before we waved goodbye with the promise to return with more.
"It's hard to let go, isn't it?" Dad asked, glancing in the rearview mirror. "I'm sorry you lost her."
"Me too." He reached across the cab and put his hand on my shoulder. "But it's not forever. We'll see her on the other side."
"It still hurts saying goodbye."
"Yes, it does. But I've always thought goodbyes were a part of the healing process. Until you acknowledge something is in the past, you can't look to the future."
Was that why I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye to Lisa? Because I didn't want to see a future without her?
Lisa was no longer the girl from my youth. She was a woman—a good one.
The one I'd always known she would become.
She was responsible and an amazing parent, which was insanely sexy. And she was down to earth, rooted and steady. She was the towering oak tree, planted firmly in the earth. I was the bird, flying in the sky above, and the wind had carried me too far to turn back now.
Maybe I'd write a song about goodbyes since I couldn't speak the words.
The next morning, as promised, Bambam returned to Bozeman with my airplane. And for the second time in a decade, I left home.
And though I'd told my family I'd return, maybe it would be easier for us all if I stayed away.
--
"WHAT?" I snapped as I flung open the door to my penthouse.
"Ahh. There she is." Bambam strolled past me wearing a pair of sunglasses, jeans and a rumpled shirt—last night's clothes. The stench of booze and a sweaty club wafted in my face, making me gag. "You were so nice in Montana that I was worried your trip home had dulled that delightful, bitchy sass."
"It's four o'clock in the morning." I slammed the door. "Of course, I'm bitchy. And you stink."
He shrugged and pulled off his sunglasses. His eyes were bloodshot. His hands were shaky and his skin pale.
My irritation subsided as worry took its place. Bam was coming down from a high.
At least he'd come here to crash instead of another friend's house who'd only get him high again as soon as he woke up.
"Come in." I walked past him, leading the way to the kitchen. "Are you hungry? I ordered Chinese last night and have some leftovers." I'd been missing Lisa and Louis so I'd gone for sweet and sour pork.
"Nah. Mind if I crash for a while?"
"Shower first."
"Yes, dear." He chuckled, tossing his sunglasses on the counter before striding away toward the guest bedroom suite.
I sighed and trudged to the coffee maker, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I made a cup.
Bam might sleep all day, but now that I was up, I wouldn't be able to go back to bed. I'd only toss and turn, like I had last night, wondering why that sense of home I had in my apartment was missing.
The coffee dripped and I closed my eyes, searching for that sense of peace.
Nothing. Just as it had been since I'd walked through the door.
The penthouse was clean and smelled like roses. I'd come home to a bouquet in the dining room, another in the living room and another in my bedroom. Jimin's touch, no doubt. He was clearly bored, not having us on tour to babysit.
With my coffee in hand, I padded into the living room, sinking into my favorite charcoal leather chair.
My interior decorator had gone for dark and cozy. The walls in the living room were painted a deep taupe. The black curtains made it so I could block out any light from outside. The floors were a chocolate wood with thick rugs placed strategically to break up the open concept and add warmth.
It had always felt more bachelor than female. But then, she hadn't asked me about my style. She'd decorated my place at the same time she'd done Bambam's and must have assumed that as a drummer, I wanted the same vibe. It hadn't been the first time I'd been lumped in with the guys and it wouldn't be the last.
The decor hadn't bothered me much until yesterday. I'd sat in this same chair, staring at my dark furnishings and abundance of space and wished to be sitting in a charming home instead. One with an outdated kitchen, bright bedrooms and two person who were stuck on my mind.
Where had Lisa put that plaid chair? By her fireplace in the living room? Or in the basement? That chair would probably become her football chair. I could picture her sitting there, grumbling about the lime green, drinking a beer watching the game on a Sunday evening. Louis would race around until he was older and got interested in football. Someday, there'd probably be a woman curled in Lisa's lap.
"Ugh." Just the thought made my stomach churn.
What was wrong with me? Did I want her to be happy? Obviously. But in my heart, Lisa would always be mine.
Seattle's city lights shimmered through the windows as I sipped my coffee and the sun began to rise. Dad was probably already at church, preparing for his service. Mom would be cleaning. And everyone else would be waking up and getting ready for a Sunday.
We'd had a Kims-only family dinner on Friday night before I'd left. Hanbin and Mindy had brought over fried chicken. Brooklyn and Pete had brought cookies from a local bakery. The adults had visited. The kids had played, and Maya had even called me Aunt Jennie.
My sister hadn't snarled or glared as we'd worked together to set the table. Mindy had been fascinated by the recording process and had asked me question after question over the meal. After dinner and dessert, we'd said our goodbyes and then . . . the next day I came home.
To my sanctuary.
That was oddly uncomfortable and not-so-serene.
There wasn't a sound coming from the guest room. Bambam had showered and was probably snoring, so with my coffee refilled, I went to my master suite and took a shower of my own. I didn't bother blow-drying my hair or putting on makeup. I had no plans to leave the penthouse today. The refrigerator was empty, but anything I wanted would be delivered with a single call.
I put on a pair of sweats, a camisole and a Black Sabbath hoodie—one of the few items in my closet I'd actually purchased myself—then retreated to my music room and flipped on the lights.
I paid the owners of the building extra for this room. Rather, I paid to rent the apartment below this room. The last thing I needed when I was working out some stress on my drum kit was downstairs neighbors bitching about the noise. So I had nice buffer between me on floor eighteen and whoever lived on sixteen. The piano beckoned and I sat down, running my hands over the surface.
How long had it been since I'd been home? Two months. It felt like a lifetime.
The glossy black surface of my Sauter concert grand gleamed. Whether I was here or not, I hired a crew to clean the penthouse weekly and they had a special polish for the instruments in this room, my treasures.
My fingers skimmed the keys, and I set my mug on the floor to not risk a coffee ring. Then I closed my eyes and played, not worrying about Bambam on the other end of the apartment who was likely passed out.
Song after song, I let the music seep into the empty voids. It soaked into my heart, and when the notes shifted to the new song, my grandfather's song, tears streamed down my face.
Everything was wrong. Why? I was here, wasn't I? Living in the penthouse I'd always adored and had always thought suited me perfectly. I was finally working on the album and the music held so much promise.
"So why the fuck am I crying?" I wiped furiously at my eyes. "Because things are changing."
My heart leaped into my throat as I gasped, spinning around to find Bambam leaning against the door. "You scared me."
"Sorry." He walked across the room, his hands in his pockets.
His hair was damp and he'd changed into sweats of his own. The guest suite was stocked with extras because there'd been plenty of nights when Kai, Bam and I would be messing around and it would get late so the guys would crash here. I had my own clothes at each of their places too.
As Bam sat beside me on the bench, I gave him an exaggerated sniff. "Much better."
He laughed and splayed his hands on the keys. He wasn't as good on the piano as I was, he mostly worked on his guitar, but he could hammer his way through a song if necessary. "What were you playing?"
"Something new," I told him, then launched into the story of Nan's letters and my grandfather's song.
"Sing it for me," he said, standing from the bench to grab the acoustic from the corner. I kept that guitar here for him and Kai. Keys and drums were no problem, but I'd given up mastering the guitar a long time ago.
As I began playing, Bam took a seat on one of the room's stools, and at the second chorus, he joined in, playing until the last note echoed in the room.
I held his gaze, my heart in my throat, hoping that he liked it. "Well?"
"Well, damn. That was awesome."
Thank God. If Bam liked it, he'd help me sell it. "Lyrics are Kai's thing, but I want to pitch this to him and Harvey."
"They'll go for it. No question."
"You think?"
He nodded. "Especially when you agree to sing it."
"What? No. Kai can sing it."
"It's your song, Jennie. Part of what makes it so powerful is you."
Could I sing this? A thrill of possibility raced through my veins. "Would it throw the album off to add female vocals?"
Bambam grinned. "Not if we build the album around it."
I ran my hand down the keys, filling the room with a random string of notes as I sighed. "I have three others penciled that I'm really liking at the moment. You?"
"One." He stood and put the guitar aside, then stalked to the windows. "And it's shit."
I stood and joined him beside the glass, watching the street below as people bustled along the sidewalks and cars navigated the streets. Bambam, like me, had never had a block when it came to the music. "What's wrong? What can I do?"
"Nothing. I'll be fine."
"Will you?"
"Will you?"
"We're not talking about me, Bam."
He lifted his chin. "Maybe we should talk about you. Why are you here What are you doing?"
"Um . . . I live here."
"You know what I mean." He arched an eyebrow, and my stomach dropped. Yeah, I knew what he meant. "I saw you with Lisa. You look at her in a way that makes the rest of us wish we had something half as strong. So what happened?"
I sighed. "We ended it. She doesn't want this lifestyle and I-I'm not quitting the band. So we're done. It's for the best."
"Wow." He scoffed. "Harsh. You cut the poor guy out before she had a chance."
"Excuse me?" I glared, shoving at his shoulder. "I didn't cut her out. We agreed on it. Together. She has a son. This lifestyle—the travel, the schedules— it's not steady. They have a good thing going and don't need me complicating it."
"So now you're a martyr. That's a new look for you."
"What is your problem?" I barked.
"I gave you an extra week to figure it out and you still didn't see it. So let me spell it out. I liked Montana Jennie. She was happy."
Montana Jennie? "There's only one Jennie. Me. And I am happy."
"No, you're not. You love her. You miss your family. And if you'd finally stop being so damn stubborn, you'd see that you're shutting them out, using us, the band, as an excuse because you're afraid of getting your heart broken again."
"I—" Fuck. He'd hit that one straight on. "How would it work? I look at Krystal and Vivi and how they can go with Kai. I don't see that happening with Lisa."
"You haven't given her the time to figure it out."
"Ugh." I walked to the piano. "I hate when you're right."
"Doesn't happen much." He chuckled. "Better write it down."
"So I just go to Montana and, what, live there? How will that work?"
"It just will." He shrugged. "We're rock stars."