Page 101 of Hinder
Leighton
Being firedfrom Three Ugly Guys wrecks me, and it definitely fucks with my self-confidence. I didn’t only lose the best job in the world, I lost the best woman, too. Going back to LA wasn’t what I planned, but since I didn’t know what to do next, it seemed the best choice. I took a cab to the airport, booked the redeye, then balked at the flight cost and the subsequent drop in my bank account balance. Adulting sucks.
When I show up on my parents’ doorstep early the next morning, they don’t dive into a lecture. However, their pinched stares sayI told you soclearer than any words.
I’m the golden child. The one who goes after what he wants, and gets it. This sting of failure is foreign, and instead of fighting it, I allow myself to wallow.
For two weeks I mope around my parents’ mansion. Everyday tasks like taking a shower or remembering to eat take a concerted effort. The only joy I find is when I sneak into the basement at night to pound all my anger, sadness, and frustration out on my drum set. But even that reminds me of Opal, and how I fucked up.
It’s during one of my late night jams, when I’ve beaten everything onto those skins and my own hands ache from playing, that I’m hit with a moment of utter clarity.What the hell am I doing?
Why I am accepting defeat?
I’m not a quitter. I don’t give up. This is the only time in my life when I have, and it’s when it matters most.
Not anymore. Today I take back my independence. The pity party ends now. I want a life I’m proud of. One Opal would approve of if she were in it. And there’s no better time to start than now. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I jog upstairs. Outside the windows, the sun breaks over the horizon, the faint light of day brightening the cloudy morning sky.
My parents won’t be up for another hour, but I can’t wait. An idea strikes and I push inside my mother’s office, going straight for the bookshelf that holds dozens and dozens of photo albums. I’m thankful for her precise organization because it only takes a few minutes to locate the book from my graduation day.
I sit on the floor, then flip through the book, scouring each photograph. I need to find the missing piece. To understand why my uncle couldn’t get caught getting sucked off by the woman at my party.Why I was able to leverage that for a place in the band?
A good start would be discovering who she even is. If I could go back in time, I’d stay in the pool house long enough to get a good look at her face. But since I can’t, I hold out hope I’ll find her here.
“Son, what in God’s name are you doing?” My mother wraps her silk robe around her waist and takes in the disarray of open photo albums.
“Are these all the photos from my graduation? And the party after?”
She sighs and rubs her temples. “Why? Did you want me to have a set printed? I can have a second book made.”
“These are all of them, though? There’s no more? None at all?” This search is hopeless.
“Well, no.” She picks up the book and places it back on the shelf. “I went through the proofs. Practically all were garbage. I swear, Vincent’s gotten lazy in his old age. He shot half of them from his perch near the open bar.”
Wait. That’s good. Really good. I perk up with the sliver of hope, though it’s a long shot. “Do you still have them? The proofs?”
“I don’t know. Maybe in my email somewhere. I might be able to find it. If the link didn’t expire.” She rolls her eyes and turns to leave. By her flippant attitude she’s not in the mood for my wild treasure hunt.
I scramble from the floor and block the doorway before she leaves. “I need to see those photos.” The level of anxiety in my tone makes me sound desperate, but it catches her attention.
She narrows her gaze. “Why is this so important?”
“It just is.”
My mother sighs and makes a show of walking over to her computer. She isn’t thrilled, but to her benefit she does find the email and pulls up the proofs. “Here. Though I don’t know why you care about unflattering photos. I hope there’s a point to all this.”
I hope so, too. My eyes bug at the screen. “Three thousand photos!”
“I told you Vincent’s gone rogue.” She waltzes over to the bar.
While she mixes her breakfast cocktail, I get busy clicking through photos. I jump ahead to the party, praying there’s one of the woman or that I’ll even recognize her. An hour later I’m still on the hunt. My mother has come and gone, peering over my shoulder but not interrupting my search. It’s probably useless. Completely asinine. But I can’t make myself stop until I’ve gone through every single proof.
“Nothing. Fucking nothing.” I lean back into the soft leather chair, not knowing where to go from here.
“Find what you’re looking for?” My mother peeks her head in the room.
“No.” I shake my head, shut the laptop, then spin the chair to meet her gaze. “There was someone at the party, and I’m trying to find who she is. I was hoping a photo would jog my memory.”
She lifts her brows. “What did she look like?”
