“Then I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” I try to keep the disappointment and irritation out of my voice, but Rhyson’s sigh on the other end lets me know I fail.
“Bristol, I’m sorry. I’ll see you at Grady’s tonight, okay? And I promise we’ll catch up tomorrow.”
“So you’ll be done tomorrow?” My heart lifts the tiniest bit. I don’t want to sound needy, but he’s the whole reason I’m here. Against my parents’ advice, against my better judgment, I’m seeking him out. I’ve crossed the damn country to try. If I don’t try, who will in what’s left of our family?
“Not sure if everything will be wrapped today or not,” he says. “I’ll send them the tracks, but they may have more tweaks. We’ll see.”
“Sure.” I clip the word. “We’ll see.”
“In the meantime, you’re okay?” Rhyson sounds half in the conversation, like the music is already siren calling him.
I flick a glance Grip’s way. His expression is completely relaxed and impassive, and his eyes are set on the road like I’m not even there, but he doesn’t fool me. There’s this constant alertness that crackles around him, as if he’s been trained to be on guard but is wily enough to let you believe he isn’t. I think he’s always completely aware of everything around him, and this conversation between Rhyson and me is no exception.
“Yeah, we’re on our way to eat.” I fiddle with the strap on my bag. “Since apparently Grady isn’t home either.”
“Yeah.” Guilt drags Rhyson’s one-word reply out. “That was completely unexpected. He—”
“Grip explained,” I insert before he rehashes the story I’ve already heard. “The conference. I know. Things happen.”
It’s quiet for a moment. At first I think I’ve already lost him to whatever song he’s working on.
“Bris.”
Rhyson says my name the way he used to in those rare moments when we were just brother and sister, when we would play I Declare War on rainy days. When he wasn’t closeted away rehearsing for a concert or a tour. When he was just Rhys and I was his sister, and he called me “Bris.”
“I know it looks bad,” he continues. “I know it took a lot for you to come out here like this to see us, to see me. It must feel like we don’t care or we don’t want you here, but we do.”
Another pause.
“I do,” he says. “Just let me get through this project, and we can talk, okay? I’ll be home tonight.”
“When are you getting your own place?” I ask the first question that comes to mind because I’m not sure how else to respond to his unexpected candor. “I’m surprised you’re still under Grady’s roof.”
“Yeah, well after I came back from Full Sail, I just crashed at home and haven’t seen a reason to leave yet. Grady gives me a pretty wide berth. And hey, it’s free.”
Home.
The ease with which he speaks of Grady’s place here in LA as home tells me all I need to know. Rhyson doesn’t need anything “free.” He earned more money before he was fifteen than most will in a lifetime. He just loved it here so much, loved Grady so much, he came back after graduating from the storied production school in Florida.
I try not to resent my uncle for “taking” Rhyson from us. My parents, Mother especially, pour a steady stream of bitterness down my throat about Grady “interfering” with Rhyson. To hear Rhys tell it, which I did in court, Grady saved him. I didn’t know what to believe at the time, and I don’t much care. I love my parents, though even I recognize they’re insane, and I love my brother. I shou
ldn’t have to choose between them, which is why I’m here.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you at Grady’s place … your place … tonight,” I finally say.
“Great. Can I speak to Marlon?”
“Marlon?” I frown, wondering if I really should have been more cautious before getting in the car. “Um … someone named Grip picked me up.”
Rhyson chuckles, and I notice Grip’s mouth hitch to the side, even though he doesn’t turn his head.
“Marlon is his real name. You think his mom named him Grip?”
“How would I know what his mom named him?” I laugh and meet Grip’s eyes briefly, finding them smiling back at me. “Here ya go.”
I proffer my phone.
“For you, Marlon.”