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“I’m not giving up. I’m using logic and reason.”
“How is your heart not in shambles?” Travis is furious.
“It is.”
“Not if you can still think. I’m done with you and this fucking band. I’ll do whatever it takes to be with her.”
“I’m not thinking of us. I’m thinking of her. She wants to work with kids. How will she get people to trust her with their children if she’s fucking her four brothers? Can you engage your brain enough to process that?”
“How can you feel—” Big D steps too close to me and I shove him back.
“This feels like absolute shit. She didn’t even want us talking to Mom and Dad. She wanted to do it her own way because we always fuck things up for her. Let’s all keep our dicks in our pants and not fuck her career up any more than we already have.”
Eighteen
Travis
Calvin’stryingtodothe right thing, but the arrogant prick is still missing the point.
I say, “You guys are forgetting something pretty damn important.”
Everybody looks at me.
“She wants to be heard and seen. She wants to be acknowledged for herself. Let her make the decision.”
Our phones all buzz at the same time. Please let it be Aurora. We’ve texted her but gotten nothing back.
It’s Mom:Aurora left. Please let me know if she reaches out to you. I need to know that she’s safe.
At least there’s a tinge of humanity in that woman.
None of us bother texting back. It would just open the door to criticism.
I usually sit back and let Calvin run the show. Sometimes Jack leads us on crazy adventures, or Doug charms us into shit. But this time it’s too important. “We have to find her.”
Jack volunteers, “I’ll check her apartment.”
Doug’s on his phone. “I’m checking social media.”
Calvin says, “I’ll track down her friends.”
We all head our different directions.
Aurora would be pissed that I use my celebrity to get into the otherwise closed children’s theater. At least my intent is good. The second the door opens, the haunting words of my own song float around me. Some of the pronunciations are wrong, but it’s unmistakable.
Have I lost my mind? I haven’t shared that song with anyone.
I rush inside and stop short. I’m not hallucinating. It’s Aurora.
I watch and listen from the back of the stage. A single spotlight shines on her. She’s front and center, singing to a dark, empty auditorium, reading the music from her phone.
She’s bringing it to life, tapping the drum beat on her thigh. Does she understand the words she’s singing? The meaning? It’s about devoting your entire soul to a person, your entire existence to serving that person. The person that you would travel to the ends of the earth for.
I text my brothers and let them know where she is. I don’t disturb her. It’s a little self-serving, hearing her sing my song. My fingers join her in tapping the drumbeats.
Aurora’s singing has always been beautiful, but she might have perfect pitch. As the piece continues, I hum the baseline and I’m stoked over how haunting it sounds, how perfect we blend.
“Hey, Travis, I thought Aurora came alone,” a man’s voice says from my side. Dammit, there’s where my celebrity gets me in trouble. It’s a stagehand who’s carrying a bundle of cables. I wave and he moves on.
