More Than Anything Read online

  More Than Anything

  R. E. Blake

  Smashwords edition. Copyright © 2014 by R. E. Blake. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact:

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  * D P G R O U P . O R G *

  Contents

  From the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  About the Author

  From the Author

  I’ve always loved coming-of-age novels as well as road books. Some of my favorites have been novels that combine both elements – a main character who’s on the road, in difficult circumstances, and through the journey discovers important lessons about herself and the world around her.

  More Than Anything, book II in the “Less Than Nothing” trilogy, continues the romance between Sage and Derek, but it’s also an adventure, the story of two people growing into their own skins as their relationship develops further. Love stories involving big changes, seismic shifts for the characters, sacrifices and compromises, and difficult choices, are the ones I find the most satisfying as a reader. More Than anything is that kind of book. I hope you enjoy it.

  Chapter 1

  San Francisco International Airport’s quiet when we land at 2:15 a.m. I join Melody and my dad at the baggage carousel, and it hits me how much my life’s changed in just a few short weeks. Last time I was in the Bay Area I was sleeping in the park and playing on the streets for spare change.

  “How cool is this? You’re returning home a hero,” Melody says.

  “It still hasn’t sunk in. I’m just tired.”

  I spent the entire flight alternating worrying about my mom in the hospital and thinking about Derek, imagining him with me, remembering the feel of his lips on mine, the surge of heat when he took me in his arms. Everything changed at that moment, and ever since I’ve been nonstop wishing he had come by my place sooner, explained everything, and done something besides leave me hanging as I ran for a plane.

  That he signed a record deal is amazingly great – and makes sense. Millions of people saw him over the course of the show, many of whom would buy his music and pay to see him live. Of course a company wants to capitalize on that. I’m just stoked we’re going to be in New York together while we’re recording. The promise of that last kiss was unmistakable, and every minute apart now seems like wasted time.

  We snag our bags and head for the taxi stand. After some discussion we’d agreed I would crash at Melody’s – my dad seems embarrassed by his apartment, and Melody’s mom has no problem with me staying with them now that I’m no longer homeless. Doesn’t exactly seem to hurt that I’m now a celebrity, too.

  The whole thing’s surreal. It hasn’t really sunk in that I’m now rich and famous. Or at least, rich by my standards. The half-million prize is paid out over ten years, so every year I get fifty thousand bucks. Talk about a difference from twenty dollars a day!

  And if my record company gets its way, that’ll be just the start. I’m supposed to talk to several management companies this week, all of which want to represent me. I have no idea what to expect, but from the sound of it, I’ll be able to rake it in for as long as the public remembers me.

  All of which sounds great, but right now I want eight hours of solid sleep. I hug my dad at the taxi line, and he promises to call me tomorrow. He gets into the first car, and Melody and I take the second, tossing our stuff in the trunk.

  The driver’s wearing a turban and listening to something on the radio that sounds like a cat fight. Melody leans forward and gives him her address, and then sits back and takes my hand.

  “How does it feel to be America’s sweetheart?” she asks, her voice bubbly in spite of the hour.

  “About the same as it did yesterday.”

  She frowns. “Party pooper.”

  “I…I didn’t want to tell you in front of my dad, but I saw Derek tonight. Outside Jeremy’s, when I was leaving for the airport,” I start.

  Melody inches closer. “Yeah?”

  “We…we sort of made up.”

  “What does that mean, ‘sort of made up’?”

  I tell her about the record deal and the kiss. When I’m done, she’s nodding.

  “You need to make sure you put this one to bed. Close the deal. Lock him in. No more of your hot and cold thing. The fish is on the line – you already set the hook.”

  “How many metaphors can you cram into one breath?”

  “Don’t get all literate on me. It won’t work. You know what you need to do. Confucius say, let Melody be your guide in this.”

  “That’s the worst fake Chinese accent ever.”

  “Don’t be a hater. You’ve got the hottest guy in the world waiting in the rain to do the nasty with you. I won’t let you blow this.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Although that isn’t a bad place to start.”

  “Melody–”

  “Fortunately, you have the voice of reason to show you the way. Which I will. It’s the least I can do now that you’re the biggest thing in music.”

  “Hardly.”

  “You will be. No doubt about it. This is only the beginning.”

  “A lot of the winners of these shows go on to do nothing.”

  “And some become superstars. You’ll be one of those. Bet you ten bucks.”

  “I hope you’re right. Right now I can’t think.”

  “About anything but Derek, I’ll bet.”

  Guilty. I sigh. “It’s been a rough few weeks. I really thought…I thought we were through.”

  “You can’t keep true love apart. Or at least true lust.”

  I consider her words. Love. A serious word. I’m not sure I can even say it out loud right now. Melody seems to sense the opening and goes for the jugular.

  “It is love, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know, Melody. Just a few hours before, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.”

  “Is he all you can think about?”

  I nod. “Right now he is.”

  “And before?”

  I nod again. “But it seemed hopeless.”

  “Never mind how it seemed. Does your heart race when he’s around? Do you get hot flashes?”

  I look away. “Yes to all.”

  “Well, that’s at least lust, which is promising. Start with that and let the rest sort itself out.”

  “Your advice is always the same, you know that?”

  She shrugs. “It works. Don’t argue with success.”

  She has a point.

  It takes us
a half hour to get to her house, and when we arrive the windows are dark. Melody hoists our bags out of the trunk and fishes in her pocket for her key as I pay the driver.

  She approaches me and whispers, “Mom likes her sleep. Keep it down once we’re inside or incur the wrath of the Kraken.”

  “It’s really cool of your mom to let me stay.”

  “I have a lot of pull. That, and there’s bragging rights to having America’s top singer using your pad as a flophouse.”

  “You’re not going to sell photo ops to the paparazzi, are you?”

  “Depends.”

  “Because I totally want a cut.”

  “Now you’re thinking, Miss Moneybags.”

  We tiptoe into the flat and make our quiet way to Melody’s room. The irony of having a free place to stay once I don’t need it is huge, but I’m too beat to share my thoughts with Melody.

  After brushing our teeth and changing, we climb into her bed, and I’m reminded of the slumber parties I used to go to before Ralph shut my childhood down. As I drift off to sleep, my stomach’s churning with dread at what awaits in Clear Lake – a place I risked everything to escape and that I’m now going back to, my mom in critical condition, with nobody sure how long she has to live.

  Chapter 2

  Melody and I roll out of bed late. After a quick shower and Melody’s endless primping, we walk down the main drag in the Haight and have coffee at Peaches & Cream, in honor of my first cup with Derek. All night long I dreamed of him, his flashing emerald eyes, tanned face, chiseled features, incredible body – I’ll admit that most of what’s at the forefront of my thoughts today is our kiss and my one stolen glimpse of him in the shower.

  We’re settling in, me in my knit cap and sunglasses – my incognito disguise, as I think of it – when my phone rings. I peer at the number and punch the line to life.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Morning, Sage. You ready to roll?”

  “Just getting coffee. Where are you?”

  “I rented a car. I should be up in your neck of the woods in twenty minutes or so.”

  Crap. Less time than I’d hoped for. “Um, okay. You have Melody’s address?”

  “She gave it to me. See you in a few.”

  I hang up and eye Melody, who’s flirting with the barista working the cash register. Melody’s got no off button when it comes to males, and views every hunky example as an opportunity to hone her skills. If nothing else, I have to admire her determination and energy.

  When she returns to the table with our coffee, I tell her we have to take it to go, and she shrugs. “Lead the way. I already packed a bag.”

  That stops me. We hadn’t discussed her going with me.

  “You don’t have to come, Melody.”

  “Bull. I’m here for moral support. Besides, I’d just be sitting around the apartment gorging on chocolate and burning myself out on reality TV. And I don’t want America’s Top Model or Honey Boo Boo to lose their luster.”

  “I still can’t believe you watch that crap.”

  “Don’t judge. It’s like watching a car wreck. I can’t turn away.”

  “Seriously, though. We may be up there for a few days.”

  “More time to check out the local talent. I’ve got a thing for flannel shirts and cowboy boots.”

  I laugh. “Clear Lake isn’t that much of a hick town.”

  “Don’t ruin this for me.”

  We make it back with a few minutes to spare. Melody announces to her mom that she’s going with me, and her mom doesn’t bat an eye. She’s acting all starstruck, and it’s making me nervous. I’m not used to people being so nice.

  A honk from downstairs saves me from trying to rally any small talk, and we troop down the steps to where a red Ford Festiva is waiting at the curb. Melody gives me a skeptical look, which I ignore. It was probably the cheapest option. There’s no shame in being frugal.

  My dad turns the engine off and gets out of the car to give me a big hug. You’d think he hadn’t seen me in seven years or something. We stow our stuff and climb in, me in the passenger seat, Melody in back, and he doesn’t question her presence.

  The fog’s burning off as we cross the Golden Gate Bridge and enter Marin County, which is all green hills and expensive houses. Dad and I aren’t talkative, both of us dreading the ordeal to come, so Melody fills the dead air with an ongoing description of her time in New York – the totally hot dudes she met, her impressions of big-city life, and a synopsis of every reality show on television.

  Eventually my dad joins the discussion. “So, Melody, what are you going to do when you graduate? College?”

  There’s no faster way to shut Melody up than to ask her what she’s planning to do in the real world once school’s over.

  “I’m still thinking that through,” she says.

  “No firm plans?” my dad continues. “It’ll be here sooner than you think.”

  “I was hoping to be Sage’s road manager. Deal with all her groupies. Somebody’s got to do it.”

  “So far, that’s just your mom,” I say.

  “Gotta start somewhere,” Melody agrees.

  We pull off the freeway and take the winding mountain road that leads from civilization to Clear Lake. By the time we pull into town, Melody’s an impressive shade of green.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Let’s just say I’m not in a hurry to grab lunch.”

  We check into a moderately priced hotel on the edge of town and get two rooms. My dad calls the hospital and confirms that visiting hours are until six that evening. After unpacking, we walk down the main road to a café that’s famous for its oversized pancakes and hearty country fare. Melody’s normally healthy appetite hasn’t returned, but I remember the restaurant’s trademark chocolate chip pancakes and order them for lunch, ignoring my father’s look. Melody gets a fruit plate, and my dad selects the burger, which when it arrives is the size of my head.

  “I have to return the car tomorrow by five o’clock. We should plan on getting out of here by two,” he says between mouthfuls.

  Not a problem. I swore I’d never return to this place, so I can’t get out of town fast enough. Melody seems unimpressed by the local studs sitting at the counter, which is a first as far as I can remember. Her car sickness must have thrown her off her game. She picks at her fruit while I scoop a heaping mouthful of chocolate chip pancake into my mouth, savoring the melted chips with each bite.

  The hospital lot’s mostly empty when we roll in and park near the main entrance. My nose crinkles when we’re inside – it has that institutional antiseptic smell, a combination of bleach and something sour that seems to coat us with a film as we take the elevator up to the critical care floor where my mom’s staying.

  The head nurse at the central station is rude when we ask for my mom’s room. She snaps at us as though we’ve interrupted something important, which apparently involves her texting on her cell.

  “Room 310. Down that hall. You kin?” she demands suspiciously. We nod. After a final glare at my dad, she loses interest and waves us away.

  The door’s open, and I can see two beds, one empty and my mom lying on the other. An IV is hooked up to her arm, its vital signs monitors blinking and pulsing beside her. She’s pale as a ghost and looks like she’s lost twenty pounds since the last time I saw her, which means she’s barely more than skin hanging from bone. Her eyelids flicker open as we enter. She peers at us with unfocused eyes and then closes them again, her curiosity exhausted.

  “Mom?” I try as I near her bedside. Melody hangs back by the door, and I don’t blame her. The room stinks of death and decay.

  No response. My dad approaches and stands next to me. He swallows hard and reaches out and touches her hand, delicate as a hummingbird’s claw, the skin sallow and yellowish. She’s still in her thirties, but looks sixty from alcohol abuse.

  Her eyes flutter and open again, and she tries a smile, which winds up looking more like a grimace of pai
n. “You come to bury me?” she croaks in a faint voice.

  “Just in the neighborhood and decided to stop by. Look who’s with me. Sage,” he says.

  Her gaze wanders to where I’m standing. I can tell she recognizes me, but her face doesn’t change.

  “I thought you were gone for good,” she says, her words barely distinguishable. I realize that she must be on something really strong.

  “Forever’s a long time,” I say, wishing I hadn’t come.

  She doesn’t say anything more. The silence is broken by a voice from the door I’ll never forget, even though I’ve spent enough time trying.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Ralph demands, glaring at my dad and me.

  “Ralph, nice to see you. We thought we’d stop in and see how she’s doing,” my father says, his tone neutral.

  “Well, you’ve seen her. Now you can leave.” Ralph advances into the room, brushing past Melody, whose alarmed expression speaks volumes.

  My dad turns to face him, and when he speaks, his voice is even, no trace of stress in it. “Ralph, ratchet it down a few notches, would you? Sage and I are here to spend time with her mother. My wife, in case you forgot.”

  “The wife you deserted. How can I forget that?” He glares at me. “I had to take care of both of them.”

  My dad’s gaze returns to my mom. “Looks like you’ve done a fine job of it.”

  Bam! Totally below the belt, but I’m glad he said it. Without an enabler like Ralph, my mom wouldn’t have deteriorated as quickly. At least that’s what I’ve always told myself. Maybe it’s true, maybe not, but it’s a lot easier to blame someone else rather than accept a loved one’s decision to destroy themselves.

  “I want you gone,” Ralph snarls, his fingers curling into fists.

  “Or what, Ralph? You going to take a swing at me? Or better yet, try to beat my daughter up? I have a feeling you’d do a lot better against a defenseless girl than someone who spent enough time in the joint to wipe the walls with you and not break a sweat,” my dad says. His tone is calm, like he’s discussing the weather.