Page 3 of Broken Strings

I guess she probably understands the ins and outs of grief like this better than anyone. She works with the families of veterans at a nonprofit in San Diego. Her husband is a veteran himself.

"Black pit of loss would be more fitting," I mutter, only partially kidding. It is a big black pit…and I've been swimming in it for six years. Ever since Grayson flew to Mexico and disappeared.

I spent the first year praying for a miracle, hoping against hope that he'd come back. That he was being held hostage somewhere and that he'd materialize. I spent the next year harassing every official in Mexico City for information, trying to piece togetherwhere he went when he got off that plane and what happened to him.

All anyone could tell me was what we already knew—they found his rental wrecked with blood all over it. They dug around for a little while and then wrote him off as a lost cause, killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It wasn't good enough for me. I needed answers.

I looked for them everywhere, but no one could tell me anything. Eventually, I had to accept that he wasn't coming back. Grayson died in Mexico…and part of me died, too.

I'm not sure that I'll ever be ready to move on.

He was the love of my life.

He's the father of my child.

And he never even got to meet our daughter. Never even knew I was pregnant, actually. I found out about Brinley a week after he went missing. I thought it was just exhaustion and stress causing a stomach virus to linger. But it was Grayson's little girl growing in my belly.

It took four months before I could even tell anyone because I couldn't say the words out loud without feeling like I was going to splinter apart. I just kept clinging to hope that he'd come back and I could tell him first.

He never did.

I gave birth alone. I raised her alone. Every milestone, every birthday, every challenge I've faced alone. Because my husband vanished in Mexico.

If there's a guidebook that helps you heal from that, I haven't read it yet. And I've read a whole lot of books trying to navigate this grief.

"It would be more fitting," Theia agrees. "But you know therapists prefer fancy-pants words.Big black pitis not fancy pants enough."

"True." I smile despite myself. "Speaking of fancy pants…"

"If you're going somewhere glamorous right now in the back of a limo, we might not be friends anymore," she says, teasing me.

"I am, actually," I laugh quietly and then groan. "This is so bizarre."

"What?"

"I just inherited a law firm I don't want," I mutter. "Now, instead of doing school drop-offs and drinking cheap wine from the bottle, I have backstage passes to the biggest music festival in Nashville because I'm supposed to be meeting and greeting famous people who now kinda rely on me?"

My dad died six weeks ago, leaving his company to me. We weren't even on speaking terms and hadn't been since…well, since Grayson disappeared, honestly. He was the reason Grayson was in Mexico in the first place. Him and his need to control my life. If he'd just left us alone, Grayson would still be here. Brinley would have her dad. My life wouldn't be shattered to pieces.

But he couldn't do that. He hated that I chose a man like Grayson instead of a man like him. Grayson was good enough to use but not good enough for me to marry. So, my dad did everything he could to keep us apart. And in the end, he got exactly what he wanted because Grayson is gone.

I've never been able to forget that. I was never able to forgive my dad for it, either. He tried to make amends. He did everything he could to help me look for Grayson. But it was too little too late.

Because of him, my daughter will never meet her father. She'll never hug Grayson. She'll never look into his eyes. She'll never hear his laugh or see his smile.

If leaving me a law firm I never wanted is supposed to be some big, final apology, it feels more like one final ploy to control my life. Because now I have to figure out what to do with the damnthing. Sell it? Give it away? Run it into the freaking ground? Actually try to run it right?

The petty part of me wants to dismantle it brick by brick as a great big middle finger to my dad.

Six years ago, I probably would have burned the damn thing to the ground without hesitation. But my rage has cooled since then. And I've matured. It won't hurt him if his company falls apart. He's gone.

The only people who suffer if I drive it into the ground are the bands and artists who rely on the company to look after their interests. I can't blow up entire careers because I'm still mad at my dad.

"My bestie is a big wig in Nashville," Theia teases before sobering. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"I have no idea." I huff a breath, leaning back in the seat with my eyes closed. I've been in town for almost weeks, and I still don't have my feet beneath me. "Any chance you know anyone who wants to run a multi-million-dollar entertainment law firm that has a full roster of rich and famous clientele?"

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