Page 21 of Pretty When It Burns (When The Lights Go Down #1)

Chapter eighteen

"Atlas Hands" - Benjamin Francis Leftwich

Grayson

I’ve noticed a change in my sister since I returned from Dallas.

When I asked her for help with the Hollywood sign project for Mia, she seemed so much softer and calmer, unlike her usual high-strung, overwhelming presence.

We’re all seated in the living room, waiting for Rylee and Mia to join us.

Johanna sits in one of the loveseats by herself, and instead of her usual attire of all designer clothing, she wears simple black leggings, an oversized gray t-shirt, and her hair is tied up in a ponytail.

If she’d been standing, she would’ve been her normal height, rather than towering over me in the heels she usually sports.

She looks more like one of us now.

It’s a side of her I don’t think I’ve seen since she was in college, and it’s refreshing. It’s what made me decide she should join us on our tour.

Once Mia and Rylee arrive, we announce the upcoming shows in San Francisco and New York. I’ve always loved being on the road, but this time it’ll be even more special because Mia will be with us. I can’t think of a better way to introduce her to what life is like with me than to take her on tour.

After making sure everyone’s on board, we pack everything up and hand our instruments and performance equipment off to our road crew. While they drive everything up to San Francisco, we’ll be flying so we can get there in time to do all of the meet-and-greets and pre-show festivities.

As we sit on the plane to San Francisco the next day, I glance at Mia beside me. The plane begins to move and she tenses, her eyes closing tightly. She’d done it the last time we’d flown together, too.

“Not a fan of flying?” I ask her, a small smile on my face.

“I just haven’t done a lot of it,” she admits. “My mother didn’t like to travel, so we didn’t go anywhere that we couldn’t drive to growing up.”

I can’t help but think about my own mother after Mia mentions hers.

So much has been going on with getting my divorce papers signed, then going after Mia.

That’s where my focus has been. I thought everything would be better once Mia and I were together, but there’s still the issue of my mother’s illness that I haven’t allowed myself to fully come to terms with.

“Are you okay?” Mia asks, pulling me out of my daze.

I debate not telling her, keeping everything to myself, but that’s what I did with Lily.

I don’t want anything about how I am with Mia to be anything like how things were with Lily.

She needs to know about this.

“It’s my mom,” I say. “Johanna hasn’t been here because of a job.

She came here to tell me our mom has terminal cancer.

She says it’s so bad she couldn’t watch it anymore, so that’s why she’s here.

I told you I haven’t talked to my mom since I left home when I was eighteen.

I don’t know what to do, or how I’m supposed to feel. ”

Mia’s eyes soften. “Gray…”

“Tell me how I’m supposed to feel about this,” I beg her. “Because I really don’t know. I only feel the guilt eating at me for not feeling anything at all.”

“You are feeling something,” she says. “Guilt is better than truly not feeling anything at all. Feel the guilt in its entirety; it’s the only way you’ll be able to accept it and move through it.”

I know she’s right. The guilt is there for a reason, and I need to figure out what I’m going to do with it.

“Thank you, beautiful,” I murmur.

Mia squeezes my hand. “Whatever you need, I’ll be right here.”

I run off the stage after our soundcheck and eagerly grab one of the bottles of water that the crew has waiting for us.

For the first time in what seems like so long, I’m feeling amped up and excited for a show.

I high-five each of the guys as they grab their own waters and head towards the dressing room to catch up with the rest of the group and do our pre-show rituals.

As soon as I put my guitar away, my phone starts ringing in my pocket.

I pull it out and the screen flashes with a phone number I don’t recognize with a Maine area code.

By the time I make the connection, I’ve already answered the phone; there’s only one person from Maine who’s information I don’t have that would be calling me.

“This is Grayson Harris,” I murmur into the phone, wandering out of the dressing room so I can deal with this by myself.

“Hi, baby,” the voice on the other end says.

It sounds weak and strained. The pangs of guilt in my chest keep me from hanging up. This has been a long time coming, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for it.

“Hi, Mom,” I reply. “It’s been a long time.”

Trying to get my voice not to waiver is harder than I expect it to be. It’s been twelve years since I’ve talked to her. It’s more like talking to a stranger who I definitely shouldn’t be calling Mom.

“You sound so grown up,” she says.

I can hear in her voice that she’s crying now.

“Joey sent me a picture of you two together. I’d forgotten how much she looks like you, Grayson. You’re both so grown up now.”

I know the picture she’s talking about.

Johanna had made me take a picture with her and posted it the day before on her Instagram. She’d captioned it ‘twins or nah?’—because Mom isn’t wrong, we really are the spitting image of each other with our identical dark blue eyes and dark hair.

“What else did you talk to Joey about?” I ask her, aware that she knows more than what I would have wanted her to, as usual.

There’s no way that, even though she left home, Johanna completely cut ties with her.

“She told me you all are coming to New York soon,” Mom admits.

Of course, Johanna told her about the tour.

I understand why Mom is calling now, and I can’t help but wonder if Johanna planned it this way.

“You want me to come visit you.”

The irritation in my voice is clear no matter how hard I try to hold it back.

“I know Johanna told you about my… situation,” she says. “I also know I haven’t tried to change how things have been between us, but please, Grayson, tell me you’ll think about it before you write it off.”

I agree that I’ll take some time to think about it, and we hang up.

I stand in the hallway, staring at my phone in my hand, conflicted and even more unsure of how I feel than ever.

The obvious next step is to go see her and say, what, goodbye?

How can I say goodbye to someone I don’t really know?

I need more time than what I’m being given, but I know I don’t have that.

“She said she was going to call you,” Johanna’s voice says from behind me. “Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

She walks over to me quickly and wraps her arms around me.

Feeling like I’m going to fall apart at any second, my sister’s embrace is the only thing keeping me together.

But at this very moment, thousands of people are piling into the venue expecting me to put on a spectacular show, and I can’t give them anything less. Breaking down will just have to wait.

“You need to see her, Gray,” Johanna whispers.

“I’m not saying this because I’m trying to get you and Mom to reconnect or because I have my own agenda.

I’m saying it because I know you will regret not going for the rest of your life.

I see it already starting to eat at you, so don’t let it get any worse. You are strong enough.”

I know in my gut she’s right, that going home is the right thing to do.

“Do you want me to get Mia?” Johanna asks, her arms still wrapped around me and my chin resting on the top of her head.

“No,” I say. “I’ll tell her everything later, once I’ve figured out what I’m going to do. Just keep standing here with me for a second, okay?”

“Okay. Hey,” she murmurs into my chest. “I love you.”

“I know, Joey,” I breathe. “I love you, too.”

It’s fifteen minutes before we’re due to go on stage when the headlines break with a picture of Johanna and me backstage and all of the dirty details of our conversation.

Grayson Harris (@catastrophically_gray), front man of Catastrophically Charismatic, and sister Johanna (@johannaraeharris) share an emotional moment backstage in San Francisco over news about dying mother—will estranged son Grayson return home to say goodbye?

Of all of the things I could’ve been worried about after reading it, the one thing I’m the most grateful for is that Mia already knows.

There’s a definite part of me hating that the choice of the rest of who knows has been taken away from me, because there isn’t a soul in the world who doesn't know now.

“Have you seen this?” Mia asks, rushing over to me with her phone in hand. “Who am I kidding? Of course you have, or your face wouldn’t look like that.”

I’m always forgetting how well this woman can read me.

“Yeah,” I say. “They’ve made me out to be a fucking monster, Mia.”

When Catastrophically Charismatic first hit the music scene, front man Grayson Harris always thanked his father, the late guitarist Jonah Harris, for his musical success.

Up until now, there has been little mention of Grayson Harris’ mother and her role in the rock star’s life. An anonymous source reveals a conversation between Harris and his sister, model Johanna Harris (pictured above), proves rumors that Grayson and his mother are, in fact, estranged.

Apparently, it will take more than a terminal cancer diagnosis to get Harris to return to his hometown of Cumberland, Maine, even when asked. This leaves long-time Catastrophically Charismatic fans questioning Harris and his character.

The biggest question: will he or won’t he return home to say his goodbyes?

The article paints me in a light that I know isn’t who I really am, but my recent thoughts and actions seem to reflect exactly what the article is saying.

“You’re not a monster,” Mia says confidently, holding both of my hands in hers. “The people who wrote this? They don’t know you. You’ll make the right choice for you, and that’s what matters.”

“You’re going to have to remind me of that,” I tell her. “A lot.”

“I’ll tell you every day if I have to,” she assures me. “Now, please, go play your show and be amazing like I know you are.”

She presses a kiss to my lips before handing me my guitar and sending me off in the direction of the stage.

“You good?” Eric asks, putting his hand on my shoulder and looking me directly in the eye to make sure I’m not lying to him. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” I say firmly. “Let’s fucking go.”