Chapter Twenty-Four

Maren

Seven years ago

"So, are you a musician or something?"

I looked up from my guitar to regard the handyman in the kitchen. He's sipping the soda I just gave him, and I have been trying my hardest to keep my eyes from wandering over the tight fit of his jeans against his groin.

Damn dry spell. This was not a good mix when the maintenance guy was this hot. Focus, Maren.

"Something like that," I muttered, then went back to my strumming. I'd been working on a song for a few weeks, and the lyrics weren't coming to me. And the fact that this guy, Mitchel or Malcolm or whatever, was still here, distracting me from my mission was irritating the hell out of me. I had my first gig in a week at an outdoor bar and restaurant called Hillside, and I still needed to come up with a few more songs to make a full set list so that it didn't sound like a bad karaoke show of covers. I didn't have time for maintenance issues, even if I was anxious for him to fix that damn egg smell coming out of my faucet.

"What do you mean, what do you mean, what do mean…" I sang quietly from the couch, feeling shy because I hadn't really played for anyone else before, but had no choice if I wanted to be ready for the show.

"You're good," he said, and I looked up to see him right behind me.

The compliment hit me just right, soothing my inner critic that had been in rare form all morning.

"Thanks," I said. A strand of hair fell in my face as I ducked my head, and I tucked it behind my ear before going back to my strumming. The guy moved around my apartment as I continued to play with lyrics. He kept shining a flashlight in different areas, his smooth-shaven face furrowed in concentration.

"Hey, these dark spots up here need a professional to look at them," he said.

"Isn't that what you are?" I asked, then grinned at him with angelic eyes.

"Hardy-Har-Har. I'm going to mention it to the manager, but you need to fill out a request, and then keep on your landlord until he brings a specialist out. Promise me you will."

I nodded, already forgetting what he said. "You make me want to believe," I sang under my breath. "But your…" I hummed a few bars, ignoring him as I finally settled on a melody I liked, even as I struggled with the lyrics.

"Your mouth tells two different tales," the handyman murmured.

I stopped playing and looked at him. "What?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. I was just…forget it."

"No, what did you say?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning. I think his cheeks are getting pink. "Your mouth tells two different tales. You know, like the person is talking out both sides of their mouth. He's telling you things you want to believe, but it's not the truth."

I nod slowly, then pluck the chords and begin again, this time using his words to fill in the missing piece.

When you say these things to me

You make me want to believe

But your mouth tells two different tales

What do you mean, what do you mean, what do you mean?

My face broke into a wide grin. "Thank you! I've been messing with this for weeks, and it was like this huge block was in the way." I was suddenly glad I had an issue this guy could fix. "I'm Maren, by the way."

"Malcolm," he replied. He looked around my apartment, but instead of focusing on maintenance issues, his gaze settled on the posters of my idols on the wall. "So, tell me about these ladies with guitars."

* * *

Today

"Thank you so much for coming." I strum a few bars on the guitar, then look back out at the Hillside crowd. It's hard to believe I've been doing this for seven years now, and while I still haven't found the fame and fortune I've been hoping for all my life, I realize just how much this stage means to me, and the crowd that comes with it.

In front of me are a group of locals that come to almost every show to sing along, making me feel like I'm a much bigger musician than I am. At a table in the back are a few of my music students and their parents, forcing me to keep this show clean and free of any "F" bombs, which is not that easy to do.

Then there's the table off to the side, always reserved for my people. My family. Claire and her son Finn, plus her fiancé and owner of this bar, Ethan. My former coworker and roommate, Nina, sporting a lovely shade of pink hair.

And Mac, his tan arms crossed in front of him as he watches me with a smile in his eyes. That man is going to be the end of me, I know.

Ever since the day in his office, we've been inseparable to the point that he asked me to move in with him just last week.

"No," I told him, not even hesitating. Even though he has an endless view of the ocean and a kitchen built for a chef, I love having my own place, where I can control the environment and how I live. I can play music until two in the morning and sleep in until ten—as all my lessons are in the afternoon and I no longer need to wake up early to make the residents of Sunset Bay their morning lattes.

That said, I did splurge on my own espresso machine for my house, because good coffee is non-negotiable.

Also, just because I have my own place does not mean I actually sleep alone. If Mac isn't sleeping over at my house, I'm sleeping at his.

And every morning after his run, he treats me to a bare-chested stroll through the neighborhood, the coffee I make him in his hand, and a shit eating grin on his face as I watch him from the window, ready to race him back to bed once he's done .

I pluck at a few chords, then my fingers move into a familiar rhythm. "This next song was written a few years back with the help of someone really special to me. It was originally written as a song about a lying sack of…." I pause, looking at Finn, whose French fry-stuffed mouth is hanging in a grin. "Someone who speaks out both sides of their mouth," I finish, winking at the kid, "But I've recently discovered there are many different sides to a story. Sometimes a lie is because the truth is too painful. Sometimes it's to protect the people we love." I look at Mac, offering him a crooked smile. "And sometimes it leads us to something better that we might have missed out on if we knew the truth too early."

Mac tilts his head at me, and I know he's wondering what I'm up to. I've been practicing this song for the past few weeks whenever he's been away at the office, so he has no idea what's coming.

"At any rate, this new song isn't about any of that, though that was its origin. Now, it's something a lot more fitting about how I feel about this special someone."

I wink at Mac, then I close my eyes, letting the music take over me.

I was a broken fool when you came to me

A vacant pool of despondency.

You were uncharted waters, an endless se a

That captured my heart in spite of me.

Your words are ones I've never heard

Born from places broken and blurred

But full of hope despite the pain

You unravel the lies I'm quick to claim.

You tell me I'm wanted, that no one compares

And you undo the hurts I've suffered for years

My heart has been crushed time and again

But I see a beginning where I once saw the end.

You tell me I'm wanted, that I'm not a mistake

You kiss my hurts and mend my heartache

All the ways that they broke me and tore me in two

You pull me together; you make everything new.

When you say these things to me

You make me want to believe

But the daggers pointed at me

Have become the end of me

When you say these things to me,

You shield me from their harm

Your mouth tells beautiful tales

I believe, I believe, I believe.

I end the song looking at Mac, fighting the tears brimming my eyes. He touches his heart, then his lips, and then points to me. I do the same for him before swiping at my moist eyes.

"I'll be back in five," I say quickly into the mic, then set my guitar on the stand. He's there at the bottom of the stairs to the stage and engulfs me in a hug once I reach him.

"I think I remember that one a little differently," he laughs in my hair. It was only a few short months ago that I spat those lyrics from the stage, but a much more spiteful version.

"I think you've ruined the coldhearted bitch part of me." I press my lips to his, lingering before pulling back to look at him—at his crinkling blue eyes, the curve of his smile, his delicious long beard that I love running my fingers through. I do this now, but he captures my hand in his.

"Oh, she still exists," Mac says, "I have to punish her out of you."

"Promises, promises." I offer him a wicked grin before lightly biting his lip.

"Uh, Maren?"

The soft, familiar voice jolts me back to reality, and I turn to find Lydia—and behind my sister, my parents.

I move from Mac's arms to face them, and I find comfort in the way he touches my back, letting me know he's here. But still, a seed of unease grows inside me now that I'm facing my parents again. The last time I saw my father, he was pointing a gun at me, accusing me of being a thief.

The look on his face is different now. Humbled. He rests a hand on my sister's shoulder, and I recognize that he's depending on her strength in this moment.

"Hi Dad, hi Mom," I say. My mother's face crumbles, and she rushes forward, engulfing me in a hug.

"Mi amor," she says, "My Maren."

The ice melts in my heart, something breaking inside me as I'm shown the first form of love from her in years. But my arms stay at my sides, and I remain aware of Mac's touch still at my back. I'm here, it says, I will always be here.

"Isabella," my father murmurs, and my mom releases me with a shower of apologies. She looks to my dad, and he nods at me.

"Maren, you look good," he says.

I could take this moment to point out that I look no different than I have for years, he's just refused to see me. I could point out all the ways he hurt me. How they refused to let me come home. How they couldn't see that I'd changed. How they once told me they loved me, but proved their love was conditional.

"Thank you," I say, "You do, too."

I'm lying; they both look tired. Older. Full of remorse. I wonder if they had as many sleepless nights as I have over the years.

"Your music, your singing, you're quite good," he continues, "But you always have been. I told your mother when you were young, that girl has talent. And look at you now."

I laugh, in spite of the heaviness that surrounds us. "Hardly. But the tips and free soda don't hurt."

My father looks at Lydia, then back to me. He squeezes her shoulder.

"I told him everything, Mare," my sister says. I offer a confused look. "About that night you saved me," she continues, "You were right about my so-called friends."

I jolt with alarm. "Did they—"

"No," she says quickly, "but this other girl at school wasn't so lucky. Ended up in the hospital. Her family pressed charges, and three guys I thought were my friends are now in juvie." She ducked her head. "I testified at the trial," she says, "I tried to think of what you would do, and I did it."

I fold my sister into a hug, clutching her tightly as my heart bursts with pride. In this moment, I know my love for her has never stopped. She's no longer the sweet adolescent I left behind, but she's a young woman who has a better path in store for her than I did at her age. And for that, I am so grateful .

"I told Dad he was wrong about you, too," she says, pulling away from me. She glances at our father. He closes his eyes briefly, but then speaks.

"Lydia says you've been clean for years."

I nod, my hands finding their way in front of me as I fiddle with my fingers. I've dreamed of this day for so long, but now that it's here, I don't know how to act. In my fantasies of this moment, I tell my father exactly what a bastard I think he is. But now in reality, I see the man who raised me, who had stern ways but also treated me with tenderness in my younger years. I see a man who was dealt a hand he didn't have the tools for. I realize now how human my parents are, and that while I was making mistakes, they were making their own. I say as much to them, knowing it's an olive branch I don't need to offer.

"We were afraid," my father returns, "It's no excuse. We should have sought help, put you in a program, done whatever we could to help you. I've always said, family comes first. But when faced with the ultimate test, I failed. I thought I needed to bar you from our home to keep us safe. But I failed to keep you safe in the process, and for that, I will forever be sorry."

My father is crying. I have never seen this man show weakness in his life, unless masked with anger. But now, his vulnerability reaches for me, pleads with me, and I answer the call. I move from Mac's reassuring touch and enter the uncertainty of my father's arms.

This isn't fixed. I know this, even as I pull away and smile at both my parents through my tears. Even as I tug Lydia to me again and she leans into me, her arm around my waist. This is a moment, a steppingstone toward healing. But we have a long way to go before any of this is mended completely. Maybe it will never be completely mended. Maybe it will just be different than before, more cautious. After all, I've changed—and they have too.

We have years and years to get to know each other and build a new kind of family.

I step back and take Mac's hand. "Mac, you know Lydia." I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes, probably thinking about how she puked by the side of his car. "And these are my parents, Manny and Isabella Huerta. Dad, Mom, this is Mac, my…" I pause, looking at him. I'm brought back to the night of the concert, when Mac told me I was his and he was mine, and it was as simple as that. Months later, here we are, and it's as simple as that.

"Mac is mine, and I am his," I finish, looking at him. He squeezes my hand, his eyes softening toward me before he turns to my father.

"It's nice to meet you under better circumstances this time." Mac's voice is tight, and I know it will take him a while to trust my dad. I don't even trust my dad. But in Mac's face, I see his vow to keep me safe, and this is something I can believe in.

If I was fooling myself before, I can't now. I'm falling for him, this man who doesn't mince words, who has my back, who would move mountains for me.

"All right, all right, schmooze fest over," Nina says as she approaches, towing Claire and Finn behind her, followed by a woman I've never met before. "I'm sure you all have a lot of catching up to do, but this family reunion needs to wait. Maren, I'd like you to meet Phaedra Collins." My brassy ex-roommate gives a dramatic pause, eyebrows raised meaningfully. "A record producer with Starboard Sounds."

It takes everything in me to not melt into a pile of goo as I shake Phaedra's hand and offer a stumbling greeting. I'm very familiar with Starboard Sounds, and I recognize Phaedra Collins's name. Truth be told, Starboard is kind of a dream producer for me, but I've never sent them any samples. I told myself I was waiting until I'd recorded more songs and had more experience, but truthfully, I was afraid of blowing my shot too soon and never getting another chance. It was safer to never contact them than to seek their representation and be denied.

Now, Phaedra Collins stands before me, her business card extended in her hand.

"You know Lacey Tanner, right?" she asks as I take her card. I glance at it, just to make sure it's real. It is .

"Dylan's mom, right?" I look toward the table in the back, spotting Lacey talking with a few of the other music moms. She looks toward me and breaks into a wide grin, then gives a thumbs up.

"Right. Dylan is my nephew, and Lacey is my sister-in-law. She told me how you've been giving Dylan music lessons, and I'm impressed with what he's learned in such a short time."

"Dylan makes it easy," I say, "The talent is all his, I just help him tap into it."

"Well, whatever you're doing, it's working. And what you're doing on stage, that's more than incredible. You write your own songs and music?"

I nod. "I play covers too. It helps the crowd to know a few songs to get them warmed up."

"I can't believe I haven't heard you before. But Lacey gave me your sample, and I've been playing it on repeat ever since. I don't know where you're at with your music, but if you want to take it further, I'd love to be the one in your corner."

I look to Nina, whose beaming smile is as bright as the afternoon sun. I look at Mac, who appears to be waiting for my answer.

"Hija," my mother breathes, and I'm more than grateful my family is here for this. They missed so much of my life, but now they get to see a brand-new beginning, one that could change everything.

"Are you asking me to sign with you?" I ask, just to be sure.

"Well, there's a lot of paperwork before we make it official, but yes. I want you to be a part of Starboard Sounds, and I personally want to be the one that helps steer your music career into the spotlight, where it deserves to be. Maren, you're a star."

Inside, I'm dying. Literally dying. Like, my heart could fall out of my chest at any moment, it's beating so fast. But on the outside, I rein it in with a smile and try not to gush too much as I shake her hand.

"Yes. Absolutely," I say, and laugh as everyone around me cheers. My people. Everyone who means something to me.

"You did it, baby," Mac says, once everyone has gone back to their seats and I'm back at the stage. I've taken a much longer break than anticipated, definitely longer than five minutes. But under the circumstances, it's fine. It's more than fine.

Mac presses his lips to mine. "I'm so proud of you, and it's so much more than record labels and stage presence and even how you handled your father. I'm proud of who you are and how you make me feel being around you and how fucking strong you are." He pauses, taking my face in his hands as he looks into my eyes. " Maren Huerta, I love you. I think I've always loved you. But in this moment, I love you more than ever, and though it's hard to imagine, I know I'll love you more every day you let me love you."

I place my hands over his, the emotion in his eyes and in his words mirrored in my own heart. Those three words are so little compared to what I'm feeling now, but I say them anyway. "I love you, too. Once we can finally get out of here, I plan to show you how much I love you all night long."

Mac growls, then nips my lip with his teeth. If we didn't have a whole crowd watching us, I know he'd smack my butt. But he restrains himself. I on the other hand, do not, and land my hand firmly on the stiff denim covering his fine ass. "Later, gator," I say, and he shakes his head at me.

"What the fuck am I going to do with you?" he asks.

Months ago, on a rooftop bar under a maroon sky, Mac held my face and asked me the same question, and I never got the chance to give him an answer. This time is different.

"Love me," I say.

"Forever."

On stage, I look out at the crowd. Night has fallen, but the place is lit up by stringed lights like we're at a country barn dance. Everything looks different now, and I realize this could be one of my last shows here on this tiny stage. Once I sign with Starboard Sounds, anything could happen. I could be in the recording studio instead of freezing my ass off playing for a local outdoor bar. I could be on tour, singing for tens of thousands instead of mere dozens.

But for now, I'm singing for my people. My family. For Sunset Bay.

"Growing up, all my heroes were female rock stars—Hayley Williams from Paramore, Shirley Manson from Garbage, Chrissie Hyde from The Pretenders, and Stevie Knicks from a little band called Fleetwood Mac. I'd like to start this next set with one of my favorite Fleetwood Mac songs, as it holds special meaning for me, especially tonight. If you know the song, I'd love if you sang along.

I launch into "Landslide," looking at my father who is now sitting next to Mac as I sing about a daughter growing up and spreading her wings, preparing to leave her family.

I never got to experience a traditional way of leaving the nest. But like the song, time made me bolder, allowing me the strength I needed for each step of the mountain I was climbing.

My father mouths the words with me, tears forming tiny rivers down his cheeks. All the love I have for him, along with all the love I know we'll recover, shines out as we sing together.

My father is my past, and now he's my present. But then I look to Mac, who is my future—and as the song comes to a close, I know this man is my forever. My love, my burly man, my beautiful Naked Coffee Guy.

And no landslide could ever bring us down.