Off Beat (Forgotten Flounders Series Book 1) Read online

  He was the reason I signed on the dotted line. The thought of ending up like him—bitter and jaded—made it all too easy to pick up that pen.

  Of course, he didn’t exactly take the news well. And fists flew. Then I did.

  I’d planned on telling her I was leaving, but thanks to the genetic fuck up in my brain, my busted lip couldn’t get the words out to explain it…why I needed to do what I needed to do. My dad’s words ricocheted around in my head until I’d choked on them.

  I tried to write her a letter on the plane, but I couldn’t make the words take shape on paper. All that I got out was a measly I’m sorry, and I knew it wasn’t enough.

  My reasons didn’t matter, not when the result was the same. I left. I was gone. I couldn’t tell her I was suffocating, that I couldn’t breathe here, and leaving was my best chance at liberty. She’d take it as she wasn’t enough, which wasn’t true. I wasn’t enough.

  I knew she’d hate me for leaving, but at the time, I’d wanted her to—needed her to. Harper would find a way to erase the stain I’d inflicted on her heart. She’d find someone better, someone who could put her first in all the ways I couldn’t.

  But no matter how hard I tried to drown out that truth, it remained. After I’d thrown myself into music, into all the perks that came with stardom...I realized I couldn’t chase it away. I played the part, anyway, keeping my two best friends fooled because I couldn’t let them see the price I’d really paid for signing on to this life. I didn’t want them to feel guilty about it; it was my choice to leave the way I left, the coward’s way. It was my choice to stay gone, too.

  Gramps could always see right through the bullshit. He knew how much I cared about Harper—how much leaving had destroyed me—and he used to call me up once a week, just to tell me what an idiot I was. Not for chasing my dreams, no…Gramps had always believed in my talent as a musician. He scolded me for leaving her behind to do it, for letting music cause a division between the people I cared about and me.

  He said it was the mistake of a lifetime, and he wasn’t wrong about that.

  Shifting in my first-class seat, I slid my earbuds in, leaned back, closed my eyes. I allowed the onslaught of thoughts and regrets to flow in a steady stream, music playing loudly to drown out any would-be conversationalists around me.

  Calum

  Looking up at the house with a deep sense of foreboding, I swallowed. Hard.

  I was about to knock on a door I had not seen since I’d slammed it behind me nine years ago. I hesitated before it; the heaviness in my chest compressing my lungs before I drew in a forceful breath and pushed on, raising my fist.

  The door swung in abruptly before my knuckles had even touched the wood, and my father scowled at me.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said, my voice wavering. I cleared my throat, letting my arm fall to my side.

  Harper wasn’t the only thing that had kept me from coming back.

  My father crossed his arms, his cerulean eyes narrowing with disdain—like I was the last person on earth he wanted to see. I probably was.

  We hadn’t parted on good terms, and that bridge was never mended.

  I was weeks away from starting college when our self-released EP went viral, and we scored the recording deal with a major Canadian Label, Maple Records. I was eighteen, didn’t need his permission, didn’t ask for it, and it sure as hell pissed him off when I bailed on college to tour around the country with my band.

  He honestly thought he had the upper hand. He thought I wouldn’t leave Harper when I was wrapped up in her and had been for the better part of a year. We both underestimated my narcissistic, self-sabotaging nature—and the high of having everything I’d ever dreamed of within my reach.

  My dad stared at me for several moments, the hard look in his eyes never once softening. Not that I expected it to.

  It was the first time either of us had stood face to face since the night I left. Nine years of holidays I’d missed. Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of him in the background when I FaceTimed with Mom, but he would never look at the iPad, and he never said a word. He’d shake his head and grumble, audibly slamming doors, cabinets, or whatever he could find to make his displeasure known. Mom always claimed he didn’t like technology; that he wanted to see me face to face, but I knew it was bullshit.

  It was clear he hadn’t forgotten, either. Fuck him, I thought, meeting his gaze resolutely and clenching my jaw with controlled aggravation. I didn’t come back for him, or his approval. I came back to my mom and my little sister.

  Finally, he grunted, stepping aside to reluctantly let me in. I had his jaw, nose, dark hair, and his stormy, changeable blue eyes. I also had his inability to express emotions adequately. As a teenager, I hadn’t known what he was thinking any more than he knew what I was thinking. With our tempers, it made for an explosive reaction when our anger collided—which was often.

  “Michael? Who is it?” I turned my head at the sound of my mother’s voice, watching as she walked down the stairs. She froze when she saw me standing in the hallway. “Calum!”

  “Hey, Ma,” I said, smiling at her. The reason I came back made it a challenge.

  Mom walked the rest of the way down the stairs. I set my guitar case down and dropped the duffle bag I was carrying, straightening just in time to wrap my arms around her. She hugged me back tightly. “You’re here.”

  “Of course, I am.”

  “A little late, don’t you think?” Dad’s voice was as hard as his gaze had been, and I stiffened in my mother’s arms.

  My eyes narrowed at him, anger bitter on my tongue. I could have come home more, that was true. But it went both ways—he could have supported me in any capacity other than shunning me, but he hadn’t.

  “Not now, Michael,” Mom snapped, lifting her head to scowl at him. “I don’t want to listen to the two of you bickering when I’d do anything to give my dad one last hug. You both have got to stop this hostility. We’re a family, and right now, we’re hurting—so let’s not add to it.”

  Dad had the decency to look chided, so I let it go. For my mom, for Gramps, and for myself. Maybe even a little for him, too.

  Nodding stiffly, my father retreated to the living room. The silence was safer.

  “Mom, look…I—“

  As always, I couldn’t seem to get the words to arrange in harmony. My tongue felt thick and heavy in my mouth. Mom seemed to know. She squeezed me tighter before releasing me.

  My mother had never faulted me for leaving, but I knew she missed me, and I knew the rift between the two of us hurt her a great deal. But my father and I were cut from the same cloth; built of sheer bullheaded stubbornness and stony silences before explosive collisions. Apologizing didn’t come easy to either of us, especially when it came to one another.

  “Are you hungry? I could make you a sandwich.” She said, stepping back and wiping her damp cheeks with the back of her hand.

  “Thanks, but I’m okay. I ate earlier. I’m pretty exhausted though. I’ll probably crash for a bit. If that’s all right.”

  “That’s fine, honey,” she replied, smiling softly and holding my gaze as if she was afraid that I’d disappear again if she looked away. “Gramps left you a letter. I put it on the desk in your bedroom.”

  I froze, eyes prickling. Blinking slowly to clear them, I nodded. My hands shook as I bent to pick my duffle bag and guitar case up. “All right. I’ll uh, go have a look.”

  She nodded, her hand reaching out to gently squeeze mine. “We’re glad you are home, Cal.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, cocking a brow toward my father. He was sitting in his armchair with a permanent scowl on his weathered face, can of beer in his hand. The urge to snort my disbelief was strong, but I fought it, not wanting to upset her any further.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, shouldering my bag and picking up my guitar. I pressed a kiss to her forehead and climbed up the stairs, pausing in the hallway at the top of the landing.

  Light spilled
from my little sister’s bedroom. Her door was open, and she was lying on her bed, headphones on as she read from a textbook. Her music was loud enough that I could hear it from the hallway, and she was oblivious to my arrival. She was singing softly. Like our grandmother and mother before her, my little sister had talent, although she kept hers locked up tight.

  I stopped at her door, setting my things against the wall before knocking loudly on the frame. My body cast a shadow on her floor and Connor looked up, her eyes widening with surprise to see me there.

  “Calum!” she exclaimed as she tugged off her headphones.

  “Hey, sis.”

  She let out a little squeak and jumped off her bed, crossing her room to the doorway, where I stood. Her eyes began to water as she hugged me. “I can’t believe you’re back here!” she said, her voice cracking as she stepped back.

  “Me either,” I replied, my throat tight with emotion. I cleared it, forcing my lips into a smile as I looked at her.

  Connor was just fourteen when I left home, but she’d been my shadow when I was here. She was twenty-two now, and the fact that she wasn’t that gaped-tooth ginger kid I’d affectionately called Pippy still surprised me each time I saw her, which wasn’t often enough.

  A couple of times a year, she’d fly out to visit me. Sometimes with Mom and Gramps, sometimes with her friends, sometimes alone. We spoke daily over text, and I called her regularly to check-in.

  Like Gramps, Connor had been trying to get me home for years now, but I always had a ready excuse with work. I offered VIP tickets to all my shows to make up for my avoidance and paid for all her flights to visit me to make up for it.

  Last August, Connor, Mom, and Gramps had driven out to Halifax for one of our closer shows. The three of them had watched from backstage, away from the jostling crowds. It was the last time I’d seen Gramps alive. My heart twisted with regret I could barely swallow.

  Connor took a shaky breath, pulling it together the best she could and turning her wise eyes on me, her expression softening. “How long are you staying?”

  “A few days. I’ve got to head back after the funeral.” I replied, gaze flitting to the stairwell as my hands dropped to my sides.

  I didn’t have to explain why I was leaving so soon—she got it. Connor had witnessed many arguments between Dad and me, and she understood that we couldn’t be under the same roof for long without exchanging harsh words. Sometimes, fists even. Like the night I’d left.

  Connor’s relationship with our father was significantly easier. She was his little girl, his princess, and he didn’t feel the need to come down on her as hard as he had come down on me. He could be soft with her, and for some reason—he couldn’t be soft with me.

  Growing up, nothing I did was right. Connor could do no wrong. Not that I blamed her. She really could do no wrong. She was sweet and studious, and she was on a path he approved of, even if it focused on music. She was in her last year of university, studying for her Bachelor of Music Therapy.

  Like me, Connor had grown up with a childhood infused with music, all thanks to my mother’s side of the family. She took piano lessons from the time she was five and had a beautiful singing voice. She sounded as angelic and harmonious as my mother and grandmother before her.

  She did a lot of recitals when she was younger, and she was a damn lyrical genius; she’d offered suggestions on more than one of our hit songs over the years, and I had no doubt her tweaks were the cause of their popularity. But Connor’s end goal was to work with children with disabilities, not live a life in the public eye, like me. She had a massive heart; she was the good one, the problem solver, the peacekeeper. I was the tension and discord—the problem creator, the bringer of chaos.

  My father could support Connor’s career choices because it was a sensible career. He had made no secret of his contempt over the fame that had come with the band’s success, and I knew my little sister carried that. He was proud of Connor though, and so was I. That was one thing we could both agree upon without a fight.

  “Oh,” the soft smile she’d had faded, and she nodded, calculating the time. The funeral was in two days, and tomorrow was the visitation. I had my flight booked for the day after.

  “It’s best if I’m not here for too long. Besides, I have a show coming up.” I replied tightly. She nodded, her shoulders dropping with disappointment. “What about you? How long are you back for?”

  “I took the week off,” she replied, tucking her red hair—the identical shade of our mother’s—behind her ear. “I felt like I should be home right now.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Are Dare and Evan coming to the funeral?”

  “If they can,” I told her. Disappointment flickered in her irises before she nodded, looking away. “I’m pretty jet-lagged. I’m gonna go crash but let’s do lunch tomorrow,” I added, ruffling her auburn hair, like I used to do when she was a kid.

  She wasn’t a kid anymore, and she wrinkled her nose with slight irritation, her hands going to her hair to smooth it down. She’d always be my little sister, though, and old habits were hard to kick. “All right, see you tomorrow. Night, Calum.” She answered, looking distracted, and disappeared back into her room, closing the door behind her.

  I picked up my bag and guitar before crossing the hall to my bedroom, toeing open the door. Flicking on a light, I glanced around, setting my guitar case down gently while letting my duffle bag thump heavily to the floor.

  My room hadn’t changed at all in the years it had been since I last slept there.

  The same dark blue comforter was on the double bed, and the walls were still a light gray. My desk was tidier than I’d left it, but that too was the same. It was almost surprising, as I had expected my father to throw out my stuff after I left. Guess Mom wouldn’t let him touch this space, and she’d kept it the same for when I returned.

  Nostalgia washed over me, crushed by regret. Letting a breath out, I approached the desk.

  The stark white envelope stood out crisply against the black surface of my desk. My name was scrawled out in Gramps’ signature slanted penmanship.

  I touched the corner of the envelope with my fingertips and drew in a fortifying breath before picking it up. It smelled faintly of him, of cigars and Old Spice. I could picture him hunched over, writing letters to each of us. It was something he’d always done. Something he’d passed on to me.

  I wrote letters, too—but I was never brave enough to send them. Instead, I drenched those letters in whiskey and burned once I’d sealed them.

  My hands trembled as I opened it and pulled the neatly folded note out.

  Dear Calum,

  If you’re reading this letter, that means I’m not here anymore. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was dying. I figured it was a moot point—I’m pushing ninety-three, I’ve been dying for a decade already. Never thought I’d make it this far, never thought I’d outlive your Nan, and I did. I’ve missed her every day over the past sixteen years.

  But I’ll tell you something…my years with Mary were the best years of my life. The ones without her, they were good because I had my family, a family I had because of my love with her. Your mom, you, and your sister are the music, just as Mary was. I want you to experience that because all the platinum records and music awards in the world can’t fill up the hole in your heart.

  It’s not too late, you know. It’s not too late to track her down and tell her you regret it. In fact, I’m making that my last request of you. I know you regret it, and I know you’d take it back if you could.

  Tell her, even if it changes nothing.

  Tell her because it might change everything.

  Never forget how fleeting life is. You don’t have an infinite amount of time, so learn how to forgive. Forgiveness lessens the load you have to carry in this world and frees up your hands to catch and hold on to the good things.

  Remember to forgive yourself, too.

  Love always,

  Gramps


  I sat heavily down on my mattress, the note still in hand. The page was cold and smooth between my fingers, and a loaded sigh escaped my lips as I fell backward onto my bed.

  My grandfather’s last written words were similar to what he had said many times to me over the last several years, so they didn’t come as a surprise. However, the fact that I wasn’t tuning them out or shutting them down was shocking.

  It’s difficult to argue with the dead.

  I glanced at his handwriting once more, deliberating. His words had awoken something restless in me, something I’d been trying to tromp down for so long. Something I’d grown tired of fighting.

  I pulled out my phone from my pocket, holding it with my free hand while I clenched Gramps’ note in the other.

  Unlocking it, I realized I had several missed texts from the guys. I quickly replied to the group text, telling them I’d made it safely, before opening my gallery.

  I found the album where I stored old cell phone snaps. It seemed like another life, so far out of my reach, yet I was never able to delete them. I’d transferred them onto every new phone I got, saving them in a locked album.

  Usually, I only pulled these pictures up after a heavy drinking night, when I wanted to torment myself. I was stone-cold sober tonight—although the urge to torture myself was still acutely present.

  I typed in the password and clicked on the last photo. It was of the two of us lying in my bed—this bed. I stared at it for a hell of a lot longer than I should have, letting it take me back to that night.

  Harper’s lips were so swollen from my kisses, and her smile as she ardently gazed at me still rocked me. She’d always been too authentic to hide her feelings, and that was one of the things that had captivated me so completely about her. Her wholesome transparency, the way she wore her feelings for me with every smile, it held me fast—no matter how far I ran.

  With Gramps’ penned words still fresh in my mind, I clicked out of the gallery and opened the search engine. With clumsy thumbs, I typed in her name.

  It had been years since I’d last Googled her. My brow creased when several new hits came up. I clicked on the first one, my eyes hungrily lapping up the article.