A watery laugh burst from my lips. “Parker has a thing for five a.m. wake-up calls. Not that I mind.” Last year I’d stayed at their house for the weekend—just a quiet weekend at home with them. We’d grilled. The kids had run around on the slip-and-slide and we’d all hung out together being normal. With my regular schedule calling for five a.m. wake-up calls, Parker and I became dawn buddies, reading, making pancakes for everyone, and goofing off.
“I’m sorry, Mark.” The tears burned in the corners of my eyes.
“I know, Bay.” His voice brimmed with understanding, which only made it worse.
Ending the call, I collapsed into the chair and launched my phone across the room like it was the collection of glass and metal’s fault. Bending at the waist, I wrapped my arms around myself and buried my face in my knees.
If I cried too loudly, Holden or Emily would hear and then they’d come bursting in trying to fix things. I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t get to my best friend’s birthday party. I couldn’t even guarantee I’d see my mom for Thanksgiving.
Going back into the bathroom, I washed my face again, this time using the hotel washcloth. I stared at myself in the mirror.
I had all the fame in the world. All the money I could ever want. And I was all alone in my hotel room.
I sat on the end of my bed and rummaged through my bag until my fingers brushed against the tattered and worn notebook. Less than a few months old, it felt a lot like the ones that had taken me years to fill.
Pulling it out, I grabbed a pen and uncapped it with my teeth.
I scribbled down the title on top of the page. “lost.”
After writing until my head throbbed, I retrieved my phone from the floor and curled up in bed.
Maybe it made me a narcissistic asshole, but I pulled up YouTube, typed in my name followed by ‘covers’. It was a reminder to me of why I did this, why I loved making music. Why I couldn’t stop.
The results popped up in the hundreds of thousands. Needing to hear someone else sing the words, I typed in a song that had been playing louder in my head recently. Dare.
I nearly dropped my phone when one of the top results popped up. Spencer from only a few nights ago at a show.
Scrambling up, I sat with my back against the headboard.
“I’ve got a song for you tonight that some of you might know.” He had a fun and commanding stage presence. His guitar was slung across his shoulder. The venue looked standing room only. Even out of focus with a little shaky cam, his joy up on stage was magnetic. “It’s an older one, a deep track off an album I’ve loved since the day it came out, and I wanted to play it for you tonight.”
His was an acoustic version of the song, a lot like the one I’d sung in front of all of Greenwood High, but so much better, and nothing like the version recorded for the album.
In a few solid notes, his voice rumbled and rolled, sending goosebumps prickling my skin.
As people in the crowd realized what song it was a few whistled and others clapped.
He hit the high notes in his octave and his fingers flew across the strings of the guitar. He brought my song to life, making it his own. He added his own stamp, his own voice to the lyrics and story, making them all new.
By the time he’d sung the last note I’d forgotten it had ever been mine.
I went to my messages.
Me: Can I interest you in a pirate party?
I’d almost drifted off to sleep when the reply rolled in.
Spencer: Bay?
I forgot he probably didn’t even have my new number.
Me: Yes! Unless you’re regularly being invited to pirate parties nowadays.
Spencer: LOL! Not too often. How are you doing?
Me: Not too bad. Awesome cover of Dare! That was insane.
The crowd had eaten it up. The lyrics with his vocal tone gave the whole song a different vibe. More hopeful. Maybe that’s why I’d liked it so much.
Spencer: Oh shit. How’d you know? Not that I’m trying to be shady or anything. Do I have a cease and desist coming my way?
That he felt even a hint of worry about it, further reinforced how terrible of a friend I’d been. He used to sing all the time in the studio, trying to get me to belt it out along with him.
Me: No! Of course not. I saw it on YouTube.
Spencer: You’re cool with me singing it?
His hesitancy hurt.
I needed to be a better friend, anyway I could.
Me: Of course. It was phenomenal! I loved what you did with the chorus.
Spencer: I didn’t want to be a blatant song thief.
Me: You’re not. I loved it. You’re still touring. Where are you now?
Spencer: Right now, sitting in the back of the van between a couple amps on the way to the motel. Just finished breaking down all the gear from my show.
Part of me wished I hadn’t skipped over those moments, the messy, fueled-by-adrenaline late nights into early days. I’d been on tour buses from the beginning. And the stage had only gotten bigger, ready to zero in on any mistakes or missteps.
Me: Are you on the East Coast?
Spencer: Headed that way. Is that where you are?
Me: In Philly for a few more weeks off and on, then headed to Europe for the last leg of my tour
Spencer: Awesome, Bay! I’m in Philly soon, I think. After my shows in Richmond and DC. Schedules get crazy sometimes.
I’d have to ask Holden to check his schedule. Maybe if he was passing through we could meet up. Familiar faces were hard to come by.
Me: Tell me about it
Spencer: I’m sure yours involves a lot more than a broken-down van and selling merch after shows until 2am
Me: You know none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t told Walter about Without Grey
Spencer: No, he was interested even before that. I just knew you wouldn’t jump up on the console and shout about it like I would’ve. We’re at the motel. I need to unload this stuff onto the trailer. It was nice hearing from you
Me: Sorry, I’ve been MIA
Spencer: I get it. You’re busy. Don’t worry about it
Me: Night
The nostalgia train had pulled into the station and it wasn’t leaving. I grabbed my notebook again and went back to those late nights in the cramped studio with almost no ventilation where we’d listened to squawking for hours upon hours.
I remembered the times he’d snuck in a whole tub of ice cream under his sweatshirt in the middle of May.
Those had been simpler times. Being an adult had turned out a lot different than I’d thought back when I dreaded being stuck in a cubicle working on spreadsheets for the rest of my life.
Now, this was all I knew. It was the only life I’d ever lived. What could I even do other than sing and perform? I certainly couldn’t head back to the accounting firm to sweat it through profit and loss statements. Sitting around for the next fifty years doing nothing didn’t hold any appeal, but neither did pulling a Mick Jagger and trying to keep up the same pace for the next five decades.
The complications had only grown since that fateful summer when my life had changed irrevocably. The biggest change was the man I’d be seeing in two days.
Knowing I’d be seeing Keyton again had kicked all those memories into high gear. So much of our time apart was still colored by our time together.
Now it wouldn’t be a shock when I saw him next. I had a date and time. Anticipation crept under my skin and infiltrated my brain.