Page 2 of Timeless: Encore

Without LTZ, I feel untethered. Useless. The deep sorrow I’ve held in my heart since Ty’s meltdown never quite subsides. It takes every ounce of my inner strength to snap myself out of it, though. Now that Mia’s legally my child, it’s my honor and duty to be a better father to her than my dad, Carter Pope, was to me.

I’m not going to let her down.

So, when a friend of mine, Hunter Maxwell, a singer-songwriter who got his break on a reality show called February Stars, invited me to play a set at his wife’s family pub in Baltimore, I decided to bring Mia. It was a great distraction. I actually forgot about my personal turmoil and had some normal and enlightening moments.

I didn’t realize Hunter’s in-laws were Sky Mitchell and Teagan Collins of The Universe, a band my dad’s band, Limelight, used to open for when they were a baby band. Hunter’s wife and manager, Ailis, grew up touring with her parents and her sister. The Collins clan, an incredibly tightknit and welcoming group, made Mia and I feel like family.

While Mia was surrounded by dozens of kids her own age, I jammed with Hunter, Sky, and Teagan and a bunch of other local musicians to celebrate the anniversary of the reopening of the pub, which had been destroyed by a fire. I was blown away by how many shared experiences I had with the Collins family. Particularly with Ailis. Not many people grew up with parents as famous as ours are.

“Will we be home soon, Daddy?” Mia squiggles around in my lap and leans her cheek against my chest. “I miss Mommy.”

I take her iPad and set it on the seat beside me and point out the small window. “Well, what do you see?”

Our native city of Seattle is just coming into view. The Space Needle stands proudly against the backdrop of gleaming glass buildings and the Cascade mountain range. Puget Sound sparkles in the sunlight. A ferry chugs from the city over to Bainbridge Island, where LTZ’s drummer Jace lives. It’s a beautiful late-summer day.

I’ve traveled the entire world more than once, and my native Seattle is still the most beautiful city I’ve ever been to. Mia’s little hand is pressed against the glass. She points excitedly. “I see our house.”

“Oh yeah? Show me.” I peer out. My smart girl spotted our huge West Seattle mansion amongst the trees.

“Mr. Rocks, it’s time to buckle up.” Evvie reappears and gestures for us to prepare for landing.

Mia climbs back into her own seat. I click her belt and then my own. “We’ll be home before you know it, Meems.”

God, I wish I felt some sense of joy at returning home. I should be psyched about reuniting with my wife. My heart yearns for Fiona. My Fee. The most beautiful woman who has ever walked the planet. The smartest. The sharpest. The person who knows me better than anyone else.

She’s tried her best to help me navigate my personal shitstorm, but Fee’s in the middle of her own crisis. After what happened, I don’t expect her to drop what she’s doing to help me get my head straight. Not when everything is so fucked up.

God dammit. I want to be a better husband. I want to be the perfect man. The kind of guy who can put my own needs aside to help her pick up the pieces.

I’m trying. I am. God, the guilt I have. I’m actually fantasizing about telling the pilot to turn the jet around. So I can bury myself in music and enmesh myself into someone else’s family.

You’re letting the love of your life down. Just admit it.

I push the thought out of my mind when I hear the landing gear lock in place. I wind my long, unruly hair into a knot at the base of my neck. Pack up Mia’s backpack. By the time the plane touches down, I’ve taken a million cleansing breaths. Focused my mind.

I’m ready. I can do this. I can be a strong, supportive husband and father.

The second the door opens, I’m out of my seat and, with Mia in my arms, I whoosh past Evvie and into the waiting car. The ground crew loads our bags into the trunk. I slide into the backseat and relax against the soft, buttery leather with Mia tucked next to me. Text Fee. She doesn’t text back, but that’s not unusual when she’s cooking.

I focus on my breathing exercises.

Prepare myself.

Not fifteen minutes later, the car drops us off at the house. Fee’s car is out front, so she’s working from home. Mia runs ahead and uses her key code to unlock the front door.

By the time I enter the house, Mia’s yelling, “Mommy! Mommy! Daddy and me are home. Where are you?”

I shut the door behind me. Something about the air in the house feels strange. All the hairs on my arms stand up. A long-buried but familiar slither of panic works its way through my guts. “Fee?” I call out as I cross the living room into the kitchen.

No answer.

Oddly, I’m comforted by the state of our kitchen, which is in its usual state of organized disaster. Fee’s new seasonal recipes, which are in various degrees of preparation, cover all seven countertops and all three islands. Sheet pans, a steak, trays of pastry, ramekins, jars and squeeze bottles filled with sauces, clear containers of garnish.

It smells fucking amazing. Something’s in the oven. The stove is also loaded with several pots of simmering yumminess.

I shake my head, grinning. Blow out a sigh of relief. Fee’s workspace mirrors her soul. Even though every surface in this giant kitchen is being used, the pans, jars, squeeze bottles and plates are neat and spotlessly clean.

“Fee?” I call out as I flip through mail I found on the edge of the counter. Junk. No answer. I notice the sliding door to the garden is open. Aha!

---