I shifted uncomfortably, bracing myself against the wave of heartache I felt swelling in my chest.
“Can we make it earlier? Seven?”
Another million dollar smile. Perfect. Handsome. “I’ll be there.”
* * * * *
HEATH
The knock on my front door didn’t rouse a response. I remained on the couch, unmoving, my hands behind my head as I stared up at the ceiling. It was how I’d been for days. At one with the couch.
Karma had won and I was all out of fight.
I just wanted to be left alone.
Now that the album was done, I was chasing some serious time out. Which apparently meant not shaving, showering, eating or functioning like a normal human being. Which was just fine by me. Vengeance would be heading off to promote the album in a few weeks and I’d be stuck on the road with my bandmates with little privacy between us. So, until then, I just wanted everyone to leave me the fuck alone.
The next round of knocking on the front door rattled the glass in the living room window. Whoever they were, they were persistent.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes, then scuffed across the floor to the front door ready to tell whoever it was to fuck off.
But then I opened the door and saw her standing there in all her blonde beauty and mid-western innocence.
“Kelsey?”
She fixed those big baby blues on me but her smile faded at the sight of me. Almost a month had passed since she’d last seen me—at Armie’s funeral—and she probably wasn’t expecting the wreck of a man standing before her.
Yeah, I looked like shit. I had a week’s worth of stubble. And I wasn’t sure when I’d showered last. Yesterday maybe? The day before?
I would’ve hugged her if I wasn’t afraid of offending her with my current lack of personal care.
She shook her head and sighed. “I wasn’t sure about coming here today. But now that I’m here, I can see it was the right decision.”
The closed-lipped smile she gave me was sad.
“How about you invite me in and I’ll fix us a pot of coffee?” The bright blue of her eyes found mine. “I’ve got something to show you and I think it’s something you’re going to want to see.”
As I watched Kelsey make coffee I was reminded that the last time she been in my house she was with Armie, and a whole new world of hurt went through me.
While she poured cream into our coffee, I quickly sprayed deodorant to mask the stale smell of … self-pity.
We took our coffee back to the lounge room and sat on the couch.
“Armie kept a journal,” she said opening her large handbag. “Quite a comprehensive one.”
“Armie kept a journal?” I was surprised. But then, thinking about it, it made sense. He was our lyric master. Always scribbling down ideas on paper napkins, coasters, whatever he could get his hands on. Writing was an outlet for him, so I guess it was only natural for him to keep a personal journal.
“His mom found it when she packed up his room,” she said softly and the mental image of Armie’s mom having to pack up his things made my chest heavy with grief.
“She said she flicked through it but couldn’t bring herself to read it. Said she saw my name. Figured I was the best person to have it. To read, when I was ready.” Kelsey pulled a thick bundle of paper out of her bag. “Apparently I was ready yesterday.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she handed me the reams of paper. They were held together with a large binder clip.
“It’s not all of it. Just some of the entries I think you need to see.” She was fighting back her tears and swallowed hard. “I photocopied them so you could read them when you’re ready.”
“Are you sure?” I asked quietly.
She nodded. “He’d want you to see them.”
My eyes dropped to Armie’s familiar scribble and I nodded. My grief was a weighted stone around my heart and I had to inhale deeply to catch my breath.
As I looked up, Kelsey rose from the couch. Tears slid down her cheeks.
“And Heath …”
“Yeah?”
“He’d want you to act on them.”
She leaned down and kissed me quickly on the cheek, and then she was gone.
Leaving me alone.
Just me and Armie’s thoughts.
I pushed the photocopies off my lap and leaned forward, my fingers steepled against my lips. Was I ready to read what was in those pages?
I stood up and crossed the room, leaning my elbows on the mantle as I rubbed my hands down my face. My head was in a pretty bad place. Did I want to read it? Could I handle reading it?
I swung around to look at the pages lying my couch and ran a hand through my hair.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Growling, I crossed the room and picked up the journal.
One thing I knew for sure, I wasn’t going to read Armie’s journal sober. No fucking way. So I hopped on the Harley and rode down to the beach and picked up a fifth of Bourbon from the liquor store near the boardwalk.
It was dusk when I arrived home and the air was cool and heavy with the comforting scents of a Californian fall. I sat in Nikki’s wicker egg-chair on the porch and sipped bourbon straight from the bottle. The pages of Armie’s journal lay unread on my knees while I tried to work up enough courage to pick them up and read them.
Apparently courage came after swallowing the neck of the bourbon bottle. Feeling the warm haze of alcohol in my brain, I started to read.
A lot of it was about his time with the band. About writing songs. About his own observations of what went on around him. About his hopes for our second album and what the future might hold for the band. He had scribbled little pictures over the paper and I traced them with my fingertips. It was so fucking hard to believe he was gone. I’d seen him almost every day for the past twelve years.
By the time night fell, the fifth of bourbon was half finished. My head was in a strange place. Full of Armie and Harlow. Of happier days when life was good.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. On the day before he died, he’d scribbled down the lyrics to a song he’d written.
Where do you go to, when you’re gone
Where do you go to, when I’m all alone
Without you here, I’m broken apart
With you gone, I’m torn and I’m scarred
I wish I knew where to Go To
So I could leave here and go get you
I climbed off the wicker egg-chair and walked on unsteady legs to the porch steps. Using the handrail to steady myself I slumped down on the top step. The night was bright with moonlight and as I tilted my head back to stare at the milky orb my mind replayed Armie’s words and the lyrics to his unfinished song, Go To.
I stared up into the massive white light of the moon. It seemed so far away. Yet Armie seemed even further. Being with him again wasn’t going to happen until my time here was done.
But Harlow.
Now, that was one thing I could do something about.
As the fog lifted, I knew what I had to do. Things couldn’t have been clearer if Armie had actually walked down from heaven and said, “Dude, seriously, what the fuck are you waiting for?”
I smiled. But it was bittersweet. I missed him so much. I wish I knew where to Go To; so I could leave here and go get you …
I nodded. There was also no denying it. Even from so far away, Armie was so much fucking smarter than me.
* * * * *
HARLOW
“So what happened?”
“Happened?” I echoed.
“Between you and the summer fling?”
Colton and I were sitting on the branch of a great big oak tree. As kids we’d spent a lot of time climbing it, or sitting on the branch amongst the buntings of Spanish moss. Now it was festooned in fairy lights from a previous garden party, like the others that lined the grand driveway leading up to the main house.