Page 5 of For Puck's Sake

She stands and addresses the room, as if she can’t bear to sit down and talk normally. “Your new album is called, Humble Beginnings. What better way to pay homage to that than the place where your music career began. I mean, am I right?” She gestures around the room, jazz hands, actual jazz hands on full display. Commence eye-roll. Every member of my newly created team of music executives nods along with her. I get it, I do, but I haven’t been in Lark Bay for almost five years. I left to follow my dreams, and Ridley, of course, and never looked back.

I try to keep the condescension out of my voice when I say, “I hardly meant humble beginnings when it comes to my upbringing, Kara. I may have come from a small town, butanyone who is anyone in the state of Washington knows the Brookes family. The title of my album is a nod to my personal journey as a musician. I didn’t use my family’s money or the influence of my ex-fiancé to get to where I am. I started from the floor and worked my way up like everyone else who has struggled in this business. I don’t want the meaning to come off as trivial in any way. It wouldn’t go over well with my fans, considering they all know my familial background and how I walked away from all of it.”

Kara looks nervously around the room, as I’ve just shot down her idea. Everyone else at the table—including Dean, whose eyes widen a fraction as if to tell me to calm down—turns to me and then back to her. I keep my expression neutral. I’m not having a diva moment. What I am stating is fact. I want the people who work with me to understand why I do what I do and my reasons for everything I put out into the world. There is little room for misunderstandings, hearsay or miscommunication in this business. I want us all to be on the same page. She nods in understanding, giving me a sympathetic smile and clears her throat. “I assure you, Brea, I didn’t mean it to assume that?—”

“It’s a brilliant idea, Kara,” Damien Greer, the CEO of Solstice Record, chimes in from the speaker phone in the middle of the table. I’ve only met the man once when I went to Los Angeles after the New Year to sign my name on the dotted line of my shiny new record deal. If he thinks this is the way for me to go, then I need to be amenable. For two years I’ve been doing it on my own. I got my own gigs through word of mouth, performing around Seattle and making a name for myself. I produced my own music, and through social media, my fan base grew. I made it to radio without the help of a record label. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to relinquish control over this aspect of my life. Record deal or not, my past traumas rear their ugly head at the thought of someone planning my life outlike this. Giving me no choice in the matter, because despite what I’ve just said, I know they’ve already made plans for me to return to Lark Bay. Whether I like it or not, I have to allow someone else to do the heavy lifting and extra leg work. I can focus on my music. Spending six weeks in Lark Bay presents me with the opportunity to make amends with my mother, to walk away from my family this time without the scorn and resentment of being a disappointment weighing on my back.

I sit up and smile reassuringly at Kara, then eye every person in the room. “Okay, I agree. Full disclosure though, I’m not a fan of surprises. After the last-minute Stanley Cup Final performance a few weeks ago, I’m still a little unsettled about not being in the loop,” I say, again keeping the bite out of my tone. I was proud of the Vipers, Ridley, Tor, Devan, and Bast for making it to the Cup final. I had planned to watch the game from the comfort of my apartment. Once I got over the initial shock of performing the National Anthem in an arena full of hockey fans, ignoring Ridley’s weighted stare, I enjoyed myself and even stayed for the game. I couldn’t walk away without witnessing Ridley’s dreams come to fruition. He had been there for me, we had once supported each other, being there felt right. I can’t deny that.

“Excellent, then that’s settled. Brea, I will make sure the team is more transparent with you in the future. Our goal is to keep our artist happy. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave the logistics to the rest of you,” Damien chimes in through the speaker, his deep voice echoing around the room. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

The phone falls silent as he disconnects the call, and the room erupts once again with mentions of plans, dates, interviews, and appearance opportunities. I don’t interrupt after the news of me starting my tour with a six-week residency in the one place I vowed to never return to. No, my thoughts turnto Lark Bay and everything returning home entails. Although I have nothing to prove to anybody, I’ve carved out my own success and I’m happy.

I am happy, right?

“Thank you, Tor,” I reply as I keep my eyes on the road ahead of me. A heavy sigh follows, and I know he wants to say more. I can hear Alexis mumbling in the background before his voice chimes through the speakers.

“I’m happy for you, Brea. You are more than welcome to stay at my place while you’re home. I know things are not as they were between us, but you are still family. Rid?—”

“No need,” I desperately cut him off not wanting to discuss Ridley right now. I’d been doing just fine without the mention of his name, but like always, fucking tears sting the back of my eyes. “I need somewhere neutral, and a Bed and Breakfast or returning to my parents after all this time isn’t happening. Plus, I don’t want my record label drawing more attention to me than necessary.” I clear my throat, determined to get my emotions in check as I continue. “It’s only for a few weeks, then I’m officially on tour,” I say cheerfully, genuinely looking forward to the cities, towns, and fans.

“I get it. You don’t want to talk about him. Regardless, I’m here for you. So are Lia and Devan. Bast, well you know the big guy only talks in grunts.” He chuckles and continues, “I just don’t want you to think you’ve lost our friendship.” He pauses, but I don’t have anything to say. They are my friends, I know, but keeping ties with them means binding me to him. I don’t know if I can continue down this road but I am grateful all thesame. “Well, the hockey camp starts in a week, Alexis and I will be there, so we will definitely catch a show,” Tor says as Alexis shouts in the background. “Brea, I’m your biggest fan!”

I laugh at her excitement, and I almost want to shout my own praises for her in return. I love Jaz’s books and I’m looking forward to reading the one she wrote about her and Tor during my down time these next few weeks. I mean, she actually wrote their love story down for the world to read. I admire her for being so free with her words. A woman after my own heart. “Well, I will see you soon, then,” I say as my car rounds the bend and my hometown comes into view.

“Yes, see you soon,” Tor replies as he laughs down the line. I narrow my eyes suspiciously at the mischievousness in his voice but quickly ignore it as Alexis laughs in the background. My heart clenches, the memories of my own happiness, how it felt to have someone share your joy, makes me swallow back a lump of longing.

“Thanks again,” I say as I hang up the phone and turn my attention back to the road. I am home, after all this time. Lark Bay opens its arms and welcomes me. Whether I want it to or not, this is happening.

Lark Bay is the quintessential tale of two cities. A small town nestled within a crescent-shaped cove a few miles north of Seattle. Originally a small fishing town, sleepy and isolated from the hustle and bustle of the major cities surrounding it. It quickly became a go-to place where the affluent flocked to spread their growing wealth. In my opinion, it’s just another example of those with money taking something untouched and beautiful, encroaching on the land, consuming to excess, and generally spoiling it. Okay, so yeah, it’s not all bad, but I reserve the right to be a bit bitter when I think about the place I once called home. It’s not the place per se, but some of the people who live in it, I muse with a sigh.

Leaning over the steering wheel I let my eyes drink it all in. The breathtaking view of the ocean in the distance, the mountains against the bright blue summer sky, I can’t help but appreciate my hometown as I drive my jeep around the winding road that curves along the water’s edge. Black rocky outcrops build a protective wall to the left of the road, while the cove lets in the waters of the Pacific Ocean, calm and tranquil at this early hour. Seagulls fly high above the bobbing fishing boats making their way out to sea, as they eagerly try to get their fill of the morning catch. The sight is familiar and comforting. The sun slowly rises on the horizon, the town before me wakes up right along with it, coming to life as I make my way toward it.

On the opposite side of the cove, built high into the climbing mountain range, mansions of various sizes peek out from amongst the towering trees. A gated community sits in judgement of those who live below them in the valley. If I lean over and squint up into the distance, I can almost see my family’s home looming the highest. Two halves of a whole, the rich and the impoverished sharing the same space, joined in a somewhat peaceful harmony by the town’s Main Street.

Entering the main drag, I drive past the Welcome to Lark Bay sign, and smile. It’s been five years but the lark flying over the cove engraving is freshly painted, pristine as always. Nothing has changed, the businesses on either side of the road are exactly the same as they were when I left. Charlie’s Cackling Coffee has me salivating at the thought of her signature lavender iced lattes. Dulce’s bakery, owned by an old high school friend of mine who trained as a pastry chef for a few years, only to return home to open her own place. I spot Tasha but don’t stop as she flips the open sign on the door to the Flying Saucer, family owned and the best diner outside of Seattle. I dare anyone to tell me otherwise. Damn it, now I want pancakes. Later, Brea. Of course, you have the local grocery stores, clothing boutiques,and knick-knack shops, hardware stores, the works. Main Street is the beating heart of the town, where everyone congregates regardless of how much money they make or inherited. When there’s only one shop to get your milk and eggs, you have no choice but to mingle. But that doesn’t mean the divide between the two sides isn’t evident as you travel down the roads that take you either up into the mountains or further inland where the majority of the townsfolk live from paycheck to paycheck. It’s for this reason that famous hockey players like Tor Bailey hold charity hockey camps in this very town. Why he reaches out to the local schools in search of boys and girls who are interested in hockey but don’t have the funds or the opportunity to play the sport. The community center here holds a month-long hockey camp sponsored by Tor, and it is the highlight of the summer. It’s how I met Ridley all those years ago as he sat drinking a beer one night while I played in public for the first time.

“Welcome to Solo Red’s. I’m Red.” The crowd around the tiny round stage in the corner of the two-story dive bar cheered raucously for its owner, Red, as she stood at the single mic. The spotlight shone down on her from above, bar towel slung over her shoulder, curly afro held back by a green bandana. She sported a Solo Red’s t-shirt with worn jeans and bright red combat boots.

“Sing for us, Red!” Someone shouted from one of the tables and I held Bessie tighter in anticipation as I stood behind the makeshift curtain shielding me from view. I bit back a laugh, Red singing, in my wildest ear-splitting dreams.

“I carry drinks better than I can a tune.” Red laughed as the crowd cheered, because yeah, Red was the queen of cocktails, not harmonies. She waved her hands in the air to get the room to quiet down as she continued. “No. No. Tonight I have something special for you all. This is the first official open mic night, and let it be known that history will be made heretonight. Mark my words.” She clapped her hands. “Or better yet, lets place bets at this bar, because this woman coming to the stage is, well, I’ll let you decide for yourselves. Performing for the first time at Solo Red’s is the brilliant, talented, and my best friend, Brea Brookes.”

The crowd cheered, and Red glanced my way, encouraging me to put one foot in front of the other. I was used to performing for a room full of people. I was classically trained, my full ride to Puget Sound School of Music still sat open on my desk back home. My parents’ dreams for me fading fast, I stepped out onto the stage, my focus on the mic in front of a stool in the middle of it. Red clapped and the audience followed suit as she stepped down and retreated from the spotlight into the shadows of the bar beyond.

The cheers died down and everyone in the room turned their eyes in my direction. A thrill ran through me, my adrenaline spiked, making my heart beat wildly in my chest. The need to play had my fingers twitching as I smiled at the people in front of me.

“Hey, I’m Brea Brookes,” I leaned into the mic to introduce myself as I let my voice and my hands take over while I played a dialed-back slower version of ‘Something’ by The Beatles. It was one of my warmup songs. My arrangement was sultry and haunting as Bessie’s cords lingered in the air and I let my voice undulate around the familiar lyrics. As I improvised near the end of the song, repeating the title over and over again, my eyes instinctively lifted, and that’s when I saw him. Bright blue eyes, disheveled short black hair, tall, broad and muscular, with his beer lifted to his lips as he stood behind tables of onlookers. He was beautiful. Could I even use such a word to describe this man? Handsome, distracting, captivating were more worthy words as I stopped singing to the room. No, suddenly I was singing to him. An audience of one.

I blink away the memory as I swing my jeep into the parking lot in front of Solo Red’s. My hands tremble slightly, nervous energy flowing through my veins at the sight of the two-story red brick bar with its outdoor balcony and mural of Bessie Smith crooning against the side wall in black and white graffiti.This place truly feels like coming home. The place that started it all, where my best friend took a chance on me and gave me an outlet to be the artist I am today. I watch her now through the large double French doors as she moves from task to task, preparing for the bar to open in a few hours. Glasses fresh from the dishwasher are stacked neatly before her as she dries them until they shine, placing them on the counter behind her. Crates of lemons, limes, oranges, and cherries sit on the opposite side of her workstation, straight from the local farmer to be cut and dished up for drink prep and garnishes. Once she’s accomplished all of that alone, because she’s superwoman and doesn’t trust anyone’s help but her own, she will sweep and mop the floors, and wipe down every table. It’s been years but Red’s routine is still the same. We haven’t kept in touch as much as I would have liked over the years, and that’s all on me. I let life in Seattle, life with Ridley, his hockey career, sweep me into a tide of games, media attention, and being the perfect woman at his side, distract me from my own goals. Goals it took me much longer to achieve than I’d anticipated when I walked away from this place years ago. But here I am, right where I need to be, full circle and in a matter of weeks my dream of touring the country, then the world?—

“Brea.”

The sound of my name startles me. My head snaps left, my eyes widen in surprise as I see Red standing outside my driver’s side door. I look back at where she’d been only seconds ago then back to where she stands now with her hands crossed over her chest, her lips pursed at my reaction. Yeah, I still have the samevivid imagination I had as a child, and yep, I am conjuring up quite the story in my head. Either I’ve been staring into space longer than I thought, or Red has somehow developed vampire speed, given how fast she must have moved.

I roll my window down to voice my thoughts, but she beats me to it and confirms I was indeed staring into space.

“So, are you going to come in or have you secretly become a stalker?” She laughs and steps back as I open the door and throw my arms around her waist.

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