CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
GRIFFIN

I checked my tie in the mirror before I left, but I can’t stop adjusting it on my way to London’s bus.

Yes, I wore a damn tie.

Tonight has to go according to plan, or this entire summer might as well go in a dumpster fire. We played our last show last night, and if tonight doesn’t go well then I’ve officially played my last show with London James. My heart stutters behind my rib cage.

Breathe.

Her bus is only one over from mine, but it’s been eight weeks since I’ve stood in front of her door. Carter’s voice carries over the sound of traffic passing on the main road. I find them on the other side of the bus. London looks amazing as always. It’s late summer, so the weather is tricky. She’s in a white top and leopard print sweater that hits her mid-thigh, just below the hem of her cut-off denim shorts. The black chunky biker boots are hot as hell. I tell myself to pull it together. This is your last effing chance.

“I don’t want a new one,” Carter sobs. “I want this one.” He’s leaning against the bike to hold it upright.

She looks up apologetically when she realizes I’m standing there. “I’m sorry, I—”

I take my tie off and stuff it in my back pocket. “What’s wrong with your bike, buddy?”

“The brakes aren’t working.”

I roll up my sleeves, pushing them past my elbow. “You know, when I was a kid, I had two things to keep me busy.”

Carter stops sobbing long enough to look up at me with confusion clear on his face.

“I had my guitar and my bike. I got really good at fixing both.”

“Really?” The hopeful smile returns to his face, just like it did when I helped him fix Issy.

I nod. “Do you mind?” I ask London as I reach for the bike.

“You don’t have to do that. I can take him into town and get him a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one, Mom.” Carter stomps his foot as his lips begin to quiver in a full-on pout. “I want my red one.”

She sighs and closes her eyes like she’s already regretting her words before she even says them. “Thank you,” she says, finally opening her eyes to look at me.

I missed her eyes.

I especially missed them looking at me.

“No problem.” I squeeze Carter’s shoulder. “I’m going to need some help. Do you have a tool kit?”

He nods and disappears inside the bus.

“I’m really sorry, I—”

I grab her hand, holding it between mine. “Please, don’t apologize to me again. You have literally nothing to be sorry for.”

Carter bounces back out of the bus with a toolkit in his hand. “Will this work?”

“Looks good to me.” I take the kit he offers and rummage through the different tools pulling out the ones we’ll need. I name each one off as I set it down. London once told me this process helps him to focus and since I plan on asking him for help, so he can learn how to fix his bike, I hope I’m doing it right. She’s smiling, so that’s a good sign.

“Mom, can I have a root beer?” Carter asks while studying the tools I have spread out on the stoop.

She nods. “Two root beers coming right up.”

knockAbout an hour, at least five grease stains on my white dress shirt, and a few broken parts later, we have ourselves a working bicycle. Carter’s riding it around the bus pen and giggling the whole time. London’s perched on the step watching him but looks a million miles away. I sit beside her, hoping she doesn’t mind. This moment reminds me of the first night we met and how I felt sliding into the booth next to her at the after party. Being close enough to smell her perfume again is all it takes to send my brain into spasms. I suck in a deep breath, relishing the moment since I’m not sure how long it will last. It kind of feels like I’m inside a bubble that could burst at any moment sending me plummeting back down to the ground in a deafening thud.

“Staying for dinner?” she asks.

I almost choke for no reason—at all. “I’d like to.”

“You’re making the sauce.”

I nod. “You got it.” I don’t fight the smile spreading across my face. For the first time in two months, I have a glimmer of hope.

---

“Dinner was amazing,” I say, taking the last bite of my spaghetti.

“Well, you made the sauce. I guess you should tell yourself thank you,” she laughs.

I shake my head and pop another crouton in my mouth. “The salad, the breadsticks, the pasta…” I remind her.

Carter lets out a yawn that forces me to follow with my own.

She ruffles his hair. “All right, I think we need to get you ready for bed.”

“But Mom—”

“C’mon,” she says, leading him toward the bathroom. “Brush your teeth and get changed. Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll tuck you in.”

He grumbles but goes into the bathroom and shuts the door.

She starts to grab the dishes off the table. I jump up from my seat. “Let me handle this. You’ve got enough to take care of.”

Her eyebrows go straight down as her face transforms into a partial frown. “I can—”

“I know you can, but I want to.”

She nods and releases the plate back to the table and turns back toward the bedroom area. “I have some wine in the mini-fridge,” she says over her shoulder. “It’s a box. It probably tastes terrible, and I don’t know how long it’ll take me to tuck him in, but if you’d like to stay…” She interrupts herself. “I’d like you to stay if you want to.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I swipe the screen and send a message in the band chat.

Griffin: We’re on for tomorrow.

Adair: Good. I’m sick of you moping around the bus.

Griffin: Thanks for the support @Adair. *fist emoji*

Nash: I’m happy for you, brother.

Griffin: Thanks. 

Adair: @Griffin are you sure you want @Travis in charge of directing Ridge on how to set the stage?

Griffin: No. No, I am not.

Travis: I resent that.Griffin: Do NOT screw this up @Travis. You’ve got one job, dude.