I dream that night.

I dream that I manage to write twelve songs, each one better than the next and that Stay Tuned records their debut album. It releases at the top of the charts and stays there, skyrocketing the band to an unfathomable level. And then, all of a sudden the rest of the world knows my little secret about how incredible Finn is.

The playful nature of his personality becomes magnified under the intense spotlight and it draws people to him like moth to flame. He's a natural. This is what he was meant to do with his life. In my dream, I am nothing more than a face in the crowd, another fangirl groupie vying for his undivided attention.  

I wake with a start, irritated about the insecurities that lurk deep within my subconsciousness and creep into my brain when I am sleeping and defenceless against them. I sit straight up in the bed, my heart racing and palms sweaty until I feel his arms snake around my waist.

"You alright, pretty girl?" he asks in a sleepy voice.

I swallow the lump in my throat and exhale. "Yes," I say. "Just having weird dreams."

His fingers begins a slow ascent up my spine. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," I say. "It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then come here," he tugs at me, pulling my weight back down on the bed and rather than turn away from him, I position myself so we are face to face.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you'll ever forget about me?"

His brow draws together. "What? Never." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Why would you ask me that?"

"I don't know," I say. "Stupid insecurities."

"Insecurities are like ninjas, huh? They just appear out of nowhere and attack."  

I laugh. "Do you have them?"

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip and nods. "Yeah, of course."

"About what?"

"Mostly about the future."

This makes perfect sense but it's hard to picture Finn worry about anything. He's all about living in and for the moment. He's so calm and controlled and together...or is that a facade?

"About the band?"

"About the band, about the record deal. I mean I can't say I don't worry about what would happen if we failed."

"You won't," I say with absolute certainty.

His fingers rake through my hair. "I worry about us."

That particular choice of words makes me cringe. "About what?"

"Well," he says. "I don't want you to freak out and leave."

"Why on earth would I do that?"

He takes a sharp intake of air. "I'm afraid that I'm not enough."

"Of course you're enough. Don't be ridiculous."

"Says the one who thinks I could possibly forget about her. It's just...Lilah...It's a long story but an important one and it's better to tell you when I have more of a chance to explain things."

I managed to accept that I want to do this with him. To throw caution to the wind and surge forward after all those things we desired so long ago. He wasn't going to scare me away with his Lilah cryptic voodoo talk. Everyone had a history, didn't they? Stories we kept deep within our closets, until it's time to pull them out and dust them off.

It was none of my business to question the tale of Finn and Lilah. My goal is only to write our own story, our song, our future.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you until forever, maybe even longer than that," I say simply.

He grabs my face in his hands and plants a trail of soft kisses on my eyelids and then my nose. "Thanks pretty girl. I will love you for at least that long too."

We fall asleep and by morning, the conversation is tucked away but it's nagging at me enough that while he's brushing his teeth, curiosity gets the best of me. If he thinks I might run at the first sign of Lilah, it must be something serious. I decide to text Brittney on the off chance she may know.

Me: Do you know about a girl named Lilah?

Britt: No, should I?

Me: Finn has some kind of past with her. He's worried when I find out what it is, that I'll run.

Britt: I didn't really keep in touch with Finn after you moved, sorry. Will you?

Me: Will I what? Keep in touch with Finn? You make no sense.

Britt: OMG. Not keep in touch with him! Run away from the one guy who loves you enough to track you down and beg you to come back to him?

Me: No. Probably not.

Britt: Then who cares about the sordid details? When will you be here?

Me: 12 hours or so.

Britt: Sushi, tomorrow night at Grotto?

Me: Wouldn't miss it.

Britt: Cool. And Delany?

Me: What?

Britt: Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not that bad.

Me: I hope you're right.

Britt: See you soon babe.

Me: Later

Well that conversation solved absolutely nothing. It did prove to me that whatever Finn is hiding probably won't be enough to push me away. He emerges from the bathroom looking like he belongs on a freaking calendar rather than in the doorframe of the Super 8's bathroom.

"You look like you're thinking pretty hard about something," he says.

"Just that I still need to write a few more songs."

The lie comes easier than it should which I find unsettling. I don't want to lie to him, but I don't want to press him for information he isn't ready to share with me. He'd already said that he would tell me about it when we got back to L.A. I know he'll make good on his word.

***

The closer we get to Los Angeles, the more my stomach begins to churn. The last time I was anywhere near this place was when I left him behind on our kitchen floor in Riverside.

On arrival, the traffic is congested so the car is moving at a crawl. I take the opportunity to peek my head out the side of the window and turn my face skyward. Oh, how I'd missed the palm trees! When he stops at the grocery store, I stand outside to admire them.

He returns with a brown paper bag and as he is placing it in the trunk, I ask. "Can you drive me to Riverside tomorrow? I told Brittney I'd meet her for sushi."

He makes a face and I know it's because he doesn't like seafood on a good day, never-mind seafood that hasn't actually been cooked. "Yeah, of course. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

"Thanks."

We turn off the interstate and butterflies take flight in my stomach. Closer to home equals closer to knowing his secret. "Are we almost there?"

He laughs. "You're like a little kid," he teases. "Are we there yet?"

"I could really use a cold glass of water."

He cranks the wheel to the right and we head into an underground parking garage. "Your wish is my command," he says. "We're here."

"Just like that?"

"Just. Like. That." He parks the car and gets out, popping the trunk to collect both my suitcase and his. "That was the best roadtrip I've ever been on."

"You probably say that to all the girls."

Finn places his small bag on top of my bigger one and raises the handle before wrapping his arm around my shoulder. "Not all of them," he says. "Only the loves of my life."

He's in apartment 704 and as he pushes the button and waits for the elevator, he grins. "I've always wanted to hit the emergency stop inside and well...Aerosmith said it best, Love in an Elevator." He gives me a sly look, but we aren't going there.

"Really?" I ask. "Didn't they also say something along the lines of Dream On?"

"Touche," he says, shaking his head. "They did. Well played, Aerosmith, well played."

His hand hovers over the emergency stop and he makes like he's going to hit it so by the time we reach the seventh floor, he's rubbing his shoulder where I've belted him at least ten times. We proceed down a long hallway to apartment 704 and Finn unlocks the bolt and pushes the door open. He sets his car keys on a bowl that rests on a side table in the front foyer.

"Welcome," he says, "mi casa, sous casa," he says. "Come in, hang your coat, stay a while."

I loop the tag of my coat through the hook on the wall while Finn sets the plain brown paper bag on the counter. He holds his arms out to the sides, "This is my place but I want you to feel like it's yours too so feel free to give yourself a tour or lounge on the couch or just help yourself to anything."

"Thanks, Finn."

His apartment is a newer build. I can tell because it's an open concept, with hardwood that alternates light and dark with a pattern of tiger stripes. The cabinets are dark cherry wood and the countertops are granite.

From the front foyer area the eye is drawn to the kitchen which Finn is currently standing in. It's small but functional with stainless steel appliances and a countertop that doubles as a breakfast bar. Three barstools sit opposite a fruit bowl in the middle of the counter that is empty until he sets a bunch of bananas in the centre.

The eating area lends itself as an leeway into the living room where a single wall boasts exposed brick and black leather couches face each other flanking opposite sides of a stark white shaggy rug that begs me to run my bare feet across it. On the couches are pillows the deepest shade of crimson.

Finn's taste in decor was well suited to his personal style. Sleek and smooth with a pop of color.

I kick my shoes off and wrestle with my socks, removing them too before walking on the carpet, shuffling my feet in its softness and heading toward the couch. I perch myself on the very end and watch as Finn proceeds to remove items from his grocery bag. Noodles, cheese, heavy cream, bread crumbs. He removes a pot from the cupboard, fills it with water and sets that on the stove to boil.

"Geez," I say nodding to the contents of the bag. "Are you trying to fatten me up or something?"

"Mmm," he says absentmindedly, "meal by special request only. It's my famous mac and cheese."

I don't recall Finn cooking, let alone being famous for any meal at all. He spins around and swings the fridge door open peering inside at its contents. "There's no butter, Laney," he says. "This is tragic."

"Do you have margarine? You could substitute."

He shakes his head. "No. No substitutes. It won't taste right."

"It's just mac and cheese."

He extends a pointer finger. "Shoosh with your nonsense. It must be butter. Everything is better with butter."

He walks to the door and slips his shoes back on. "There's a small grocery store half a block away. Can you make sure the house doesn't burn down while I'm gone?"

I grin. "I think I can manage."

He pauses for a moment before saying. "Oh, one more thing."

"What's that?"

He walks over to a closet in the hallway off the kitchen and pulls a large tupperware tub from inside. He slides it over to me and pulls the lid off while I look inside. The entire thing is jam packed with letters. I pick up one that was postmarked four years ago. My dad's unmistakable handwriting spans across the front: Return to Sender.

"I thought about you every second of every minute of every hour of everyday," Finn says. He spins around on his feet toward the door, giving me a look over his shoulder. "I still do."