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“Yeah. My parents decided they wanted to live there. Until they didn’t. So it’s big and empty. We might sell it, unless you’d rather live there than here.”
“I can’t imagine why we’d want to move. Except the cost of living in Georgia is probably a lot less expensive than here.”
“It is, but I don’t know that I want to be so far away from my friends and a lot of the music industry. That’s all here.”
“Then we can stay. Let’s sell the house in Atlanta and re-invest the money in something more practical, like a retirement account or whatever.”
“That was my thought too. But not now.” He put down his fork. “I just want to be… me. Us. For a while. You know? Husband and father. Not Big Z the rockstar. His life is fucking exhausting.”
“Then don’t be him. You’ve been battling two worlds for so long, it’s no wonder you’re tired of it.”
“Yeah.” His eyes met mine. “You going to be happy here, Sunny? I have plenty of money, so we don’t have to worry about that, and I have a feeling the new album will sell well. I’ll be getting royalties for the rest of my life, in case you’re wondering about the future.”
“I’m not,” I said softly. “As long as I have you and Jeremy and Aunt Meg, I don’t need anything else.”
“I love you, Mrs. Zerkesian.”
“I love you too, Mr. Zerkesian.”
We smiled at each other.
Life was so fucking good.
EPILOGUE
Zeke
Presley’s article about Carter came out at the end of June. Her website had so many hits it crashed, and I had to hire a software specialist to help us get it back up. The fallout, for lack of a better word, was incredible. As we’d expected, there was quite a bit of speculation about my wife being the one to publish Carter’s last official interview, but there was even more love and support. For her writing, the way she’d portrayed Carter and his struggles, and her ability to bring the man beneath the rockstar to life.
It was pretty cool to watch her flourish and essentially come into her own, right before my eyes. I loved her regardless, but seeing her succeed felt good. I’d given her an opportunity, but then she’d taken it and run. Not only was she working on the next issue, but she’d also contacted her old advisor and he’d arranged for her to re-take her final class. The one she needed to graduate. It had gotten to a point where I was pretty sure it was more important to me than it was to her, but that was okay. I wanted her to have everything.
We were planning a formal wedding and reception that we’d have right here in the yard, and I was enjoying her excitement even though it wasn’t that big of a deal to me. She and Aunt Meg and my mother giggled a lot—a whole lot—and that made me smile every single time I saw it happen.
Mom and I were getting along a thousand times better these days. After Carter’s death she’d apologized to me for all the spending and insanity that had been going on. She’d admitted to a feeling of entitlement but also one of loss. Despite living in my house and seeing me in the media, she’d said she had never felt more distance between us. The more she spent, the more she felt a connection to me. It was a little twisted, but I understood it a lot more now and worked hard to make time for family. Not just Presley and Jeremy—who were always my priority—but also my parents and grandmother and siblings.
And it felt right.
The band had also moved up the release date of the album, and it had gone live at midnight last night. It was selling like crazy and number one on all the charts we had access to. It was a double-edged sword because the excitement somehow felt hollow without Carter, especially when the words ‘Love, Carter’ were all over the media. The band was coming over for dinner in a little while because we’d decided we were stronger together, but it was hard to think about being with the guys without Carter.
“Kingston is here,” Presley said, sticking her head in the door of my den. I spent a lot of time in here lately, though she was often with me. I didn’t want to shut her out again, and she wasn’t going to allow it anyway.
“I’ll be right out,” I told her.
“What’s that?” she asked, noting the folded papers in my hand.
“Carter’s letter.”
“You read it.” She came over to me and sat on my lap. “Are you okay?”
I nodded.
“I hate that he had to die, but I kind of get it now. He was so unhappy, Presley.” I shook my head. “But you know what’s cool?”
“What?”
“You and Meg and Jeremy made him happy towards the end.”
Her eyes puddled with tears. “Oh, hell, Zeke.” She swiped at her eyes.
