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Grayson awoke to a splash of freezing water on his fake. He sat up in a split second, feeling lightheaded from the motion, and looked around wildly for the culprit.
There was no culprit, but the evidence all pointed to a single brother. Set up along the walls of his room was a Rube Goldberg machine that seemed to have an intended purpose of popping a water balloon over his head. When he looked over to his alarm clock, he noticed it was the exact time he’d set his alarm for—but instead of his alarm going off, he’d gotten this. A note on the clock read, in Xander’s handwriting:
Alarm clocks are boring. Get one with a cooler ringtone or suffer my more creative methods. P.S. have a good concert
Right. His concert. That was why he’d set this alarm—and, begrudgingly, Grayson could admit it was considerate of Xander to pull a prank on him that involved dousing him in water rather than a sticky paste or lime juice or another Xander Hawthorne classic. He knew the things that mattered.
Grayson pulled himself out of bed—or tried to, anyway. He felt a little dizzy, probably from having sat up so fast when he woke up. And his nose was clogged with something—he’d say it was the water from Xander’s “creative methods.” And he didn’t… feel great…
He doubled over coughing. Uh-oh. That was not good.
The worst thing about coughing was that it was an impulse he couldn’t control. Lacking control meant you could never have the upper hand in whatever was happening. What if Grayson, in only a few hours, stood on stage with perfect posture and a violin on his shoulder, only to suddenly collapse into a coughing fit?
He was really dizzy. He… really must have sat up… too fast…
If he just layed back down again… for a few seconds… to clear his head…
—
“Are we all seriously ready for Grayson’s concert before Grayson is?” Jameson snorted. “I cannot wait to hold this over his head for the rest of our lives.”
“Maybe he forgot to set his alarm clock?” Nash wondered, looking slightly worried.
“No, he set it all right,” Xander said. Then, in a lower tone, he confided, “I may have changed things up a little bit though. You know, a more creative way of waking him up.”
Jameson snickered, but Nash looked disapproving. “That’s probably where he is, then—still cleaning up from your mess.”
“Mess? It was only water,” Xander defended. “I know not to interfere with Grayson’s concerts. We all have our things we have to show the old man and I wouldn’t anybody messing with mine.”
“Of course. Sorry. But then…” Nash was back to looking worried. “Is he okay? This really isn’t like him.”
“Relax, you guys, he’s probably just picking over every last note of his concerto to make sure it’s more perfect than anyone will be able to tell it is,” Jameson joked, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. He was just as worried as they were.
“I’m going to check on him,” Nash decided. “We’re beyond the point where he can be mad at us for wondering where he is.”
But when Nash found Grayson, he was lying diagonally on his bed, his pillow still damp from the popped water balloon that still dangled above him. Nash surveyed the room, allowing himself a few moments to appreciate his youngest brother’s genius before he turned back to Grayson.
“Grayson?” Nash rushed over to him, not bothering to ask if he was okay—it was clear that he wasn’t. Nash shook his shoulders a little bit, but his eyes barely fluttered. He hummed a little bit, as if making an attempt to tell Nash he was fine and utterly failing.
He looked worse for wear, his nose read and his skin somewhat clammy. When Nash raised his hand to Grayson’s forehead, he became absolutely convinced he had a terrible fever.
Nash had been in this situation before, of course, and it was part of the reason he was growing to resent his family’s name. He knew what it was like to have perfection expected of you and be utterly incapable of always living up to it. Nash had simply stopped trying, but he knew what it meant to Grayson to make the old man proud—or at least, not disappointed. (Sometimes that was all that could be accomplished.)
Nash dialed his other brothers’ numbers as quickly as possible. Both of them picked up. “Too far to walk?” Jameson teased.
“He has a fever, and a bad one. He’s not been taking care of himself, and I think he’s really sick,” Nash said, cutting to the chase. “Which one of you wants to help me gaslight the old man, and which one wants to help me take care of Grayson?”
“Don’t… need…” Grayson murmured, his coughing cutting off the two words.
Nash raised an eyebrow. “Yeah right,” he said to Grayson.
“I’ll do the gaslighting,” Jameson volunteered immediately. “What do you need?”
“I need you to go online and change every single website and social media posting made about Grayson Hawthorne’s concert today and change the date to next week. Then, destroy the physical evidence… I’ll start with Xander’s note here,” he said, noticing the P.S. have a great concert atop Grayson’s alarm clock. “All of us have to look like we’re dressed for a normal day and not for a concert, alright?”
“Got it,” Jameson said, hanging up to fulfill his task.
“I’ll change,” Xander agreed. “And what do you need me to do?”
“I want a thermometer to test his fever, a cold wet cloth, and tea.” He didn’t have to specify what kind of tea. Hawthorne brothers simply knew. “Fever reducing medication of some sort. And something for his cough.”
“On it.” Xander hung up the phone.
Nash put his phone away. “Grayson, do not worry about your concert. It isn’t even today.”
Grayson murmured something that sounded like “Liar.”
“Well, it isn’t now. You’re going to make yourself sicker unless you let yourself rest.” Nash ran his fingers through his little brother’s hair. “Let yourself rest.”
Tobias Hawthorne never once questioned whether he’d mistaken the date of Grayson’s concert. Even the physical calendars, marked up in permanent marker, somehow now read that the concert was next week. When he called the hall in which Grayson was to perform, even they said the concert was next week. He couldn’t find a single mistake, and yet, he still couldn’t be fooled. He knew Grayson was meant to perform today.
But, effectively, the entire event had been pushed back a full week. His grandsons had certainly been thorough.
It was true that the old man always wanted the best from his grandsons, and normally that would consist of not attempting to gaslight him to put off a performance. But at this moment, this was the best from his grandsons. He could hardly bring himself to disapprove.
He wasn’t sure what game they were playing or why, but they’d won. And so, he left it the way it was.
After a few days of being nearly immobilized on his bed, Grayson was able to get his bearings. Taking enough medication to bring him to a place where he could act normal, Grayson pulled himself out of bed, cleaned himself up, and tried to remember most of what had happened the last few days.
He knew at this point he had to admit that he’d been sick. But he was disturbed by how much of the time he’d spent asleep. He remembered Xander giving him tea and medicine, and Nash insisting on taking care of him, and some kind of conversation between Nash and Jameson…
He steeled himself in front of his grandfather, preparing himself for the lecture he knew was coming. Hawthornes don’t get sick. Other people can afford to take sick days, but not you. You push through, no matter what.
“I apologize that I missed my violin concert,” Grayson said stiffly. “I promise that the concerto was completed and I fully intended—”
“What on earth could you possibly be talking about?” His grandfather asked him, cutting him off. “Your concert is next week. You didn’t miss anything.”
What?
Had Xander’s machine and note been a dream as well? Was it truly a whole week before he’d thought it was? Was he really that out of it?
But in the corner of the room stood Jameson, and when he met his eyes, he winked.
Grayson had to fight a smile. Of course his brothers had found a way to alter the course of time in the universe just to allow him to rest.
“Well then, that’s my mistake,” Grayson said coolly, his spirits lifted. “I suppose I should continue to practice my concerto in the meantime.”
“Yes, you should.” And that was the end of that.