by Daisy Allen
“Hmm, it’s time to break up the flirt fest, I think, give the guys a rest,” Hailey tells us before she squeezes herself through the crowd to the signing table.
“Everyone? Can I have your attention please? We’re going to have a half-hour break so the guys can grab a bite to eat. You guys can grab a number and come back at 1 p.m. That’ll save you from lining up. See you all again soon, and thank you, it’s been a great day so far!”
There’s a loud collective groan as the crowd watches the guys stand up and give them all a wave. Hailey walks over to them, handing out fresh bottles of cold water, instructing them on the day’s schedule. I watch as Brad asks her a question and she points over to me. He jumps over the table and I realize he’s heading my way. He’s been so busy this morning I haven’t spoken to him other than a quick good morning on the ride over, and so far, it’s been better that way. I’ll eventually have to tell him I’m leaving, but not before I get to spend these last few hours with him. And then I’ll tell him. But that time isn’t now.
“Um, I’m just going to run off and grab everyone some sandwiches. The guys must be starved,” I tell Cadence.
“Someone else can do that! That’s what their assistants are for, babe.”
“Nah, I don’t mind. I feel like a quick walk anyway,” I insist.
She smiles and squeezes my arm.
Grabbing my purse, I almost race out of the music store just as I hear Brad calling my name.
I pretend not to hear and take off on a slow trot toward the food court. I can still hear him calling me. I can’t start running; that’d be too obvious. I can only hope that he gives up. Something sour is leeching into my mouth at the thought that I’m going to have to say goodbye to him, and I’m afraid that I won’t be able to hold it in if he catches up with me now.
The sound of footsteps grows louder and then his hand is on my arm.
“Hey!” He pulls me to a stop, breathing heavy. “Butter, you didn’t hear me?”
I take a beat before I face him, trying not to look like I wasn’t running away from him. “Oh, no. Did you call me?”
“Yeah, you were practically sprinting away,” he pants, his arms on his hips as he draws long deep breaths.
“Oh, sorry, I just wanted to get to the sandwich shop and back before your break was over.”
He knows better than to believe me. There’s a question mark growing in his pupils as he holds my gaze. His chest heaves, slowing as his eyes pierce mine.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” he asks.
“What? Yeah, of course, I mean, I have a bit of a hangover. I’m not a pro like you guys.” I give a little shrug, hoping he’ll buy it.
“You sure? You haven’t said a word to me all morning…I mean, there was a time I would’ve done anything for that.” He winks at his references to our friendship.
I know he means it as a joke but it feels anything but jocular. It’s a reminder. One I’d rather not have.
“Nah, just have a headache, I’m fine.” I wave his concern away.
“Butter…come on. It’s me,” he presses gently.
Exactly. It’s you, you asshole. Why can’t I not feel anything when I’m around you?!
“I told you, Brad, it’s nothing.” I can feel my jaw tense. I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend that everything’s okay.
“But I can tell…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Just leave me alone and go flirt with your fans! Or Felicity or whatever her name is. Just leave me alone! I don’t need you hounding me all the fucking time!”
My outburst catches the attention of everyone around me, which is the last thing we need—to be recognized. I glare back at everyone, hoping to shame them into looking away. But Brad’s been doing this for longer than I have. He grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into a quiet clothing store.
“Can I…help…you?” the sales assistant asks, clearly recognizing him halfway through her sentence.
“Er, yes, I want one of all your current season’s shirts, please. Medium. Wrap them up, take your time. We’ll be over here in the fitting rooms, if you don’t mind,” he says to her over his shoulder. We pass a few open-mouthed customers as he marches me into an empty fitting room lining the back wall and pushes me into it, squeezing in behind me and pulling the curtain closed.
“What was that?” he asks me. He’s so close, we’re inhaling each other’s breath and it’s just too hard to brush away his questions. Truth is, by now I’ve had time to calm down and I can’t help asking myself the same question. What came over me?
“I don’t…” I start, then trail off.
“Did I do something?” he asks, the crinkles at the sides of his eyes showing his concern.
“No! I just…I told you I was tired and you just kept haranguing me.”
He opens his mouth, and seems to change his mind on what he wants to say.
“Do you…do you want me to just keep my distance? Because I can’t tell, Butter. I can’t tell what you want. Do you want me to just not talk to you at all? Because I don’t want that. But if it’ll make things easier for you, I will. But you have to know it’s not what I want.”
The fitting room is too small to be having this conversation. I can’t think with his body pressed against me. His breath, warm and sweet like the orange Tic Tacs that he still insists on eating even though he’s an adult now. His fingers inadvertently touch me every time he makes a gesture, I know he’s not deliberately meaning to caress me, but each time it feels like he’s trying to manipulate my thoughts into wanting to touch him back, caress him back, pull his shirt so his chest curves against every curve of mine.
This fitting room is both heaven and hell at once.
He moves the side of his index finger to brush down the side of my face, and it takes everything I have not to stretch up on my tiptoes and kiss him. Press my lips against his and tell him how much I’ve missed him. How I wish we could always be this way, locked away from the world with nothing but our thoughts to dictate what we do. But I can’t forget what he did, and I can’t let myself be hurt like that by him again. This time I have too much to lose.
“Brad… I…I just can’t…”
“Why? Not why eight years ago. I want to know why not now?”
“Because it’s just too hard. You wouldn’t want the kind of life you’d have to have if we were together.”
“Oh, Butter, oh sweet girl, you are so wrong about that.”
He pulls me hard against him, his legs slightly bending to bring his face down closer to mine.
“I want you so bad I can’t even function. It’s a good thing that breathing happens automatically. My brain is so completely saturated by you, there’s no room for anything else. Not even the simplest of things. My day is filled with thoughts of making you laugh, making you smile. My nights are spent dreaming of making you moan, of making you come.”
I close my eyes, and for a moment, let myself enjoy his words. The sudden sexual nature of them makes my mouth water. He reaches for my hand and I keep my eyes closed, wondering what he’s doing. My fingers curl against his mouth, and suddenly I feel his lips close around my index finger, and the inside of his mouth is warm and soft. I feel the pit of my stomach burst alight and my entire body feels … wet. Fluid. Like honey.
“Wha… what are you doing?” I stammer.
“I wanted to taste you. All of you. From your lips, to your nipples, to your stomach, to your sweet little clit. But I don’t know what you want yet, so I thought I’d start with your finger.”
“My finger?”
“This is the finger you use to play with your pussy, isn’t it?”
The use of such an intimate word blindsides me, and my eyes fly open, along with my mouth. He takes the opportunity of my shock and presses his mouth down hard against mine.
Suddenly, his tongue is in my mouth, and that Tic Tac taste is exploding like sweet orange Fanta bombs in my own mouth. His arms are around my waist, fingers digging into my ba
ck as he pulls me closer and closer. My hips are crushed against his, and there’s no question that he wants me. At least his body wants me. And it thrills me to feel him so aroused and know I’m the reason, and makes me want him. Want him even more than he wants me. Want more than just to have my finger in his mouth. More than the kiss that we’re having. I want him and everything that he has to give me.
“Oh Brad…” I moan as he pulls his mouth away purely out of need for breath. He looks at me as he pants, his hands coming up to hold my face between them.
“God, baby, can’t you see what you do to me? Can’t you feel it? Can you really say that it’s one-sided?”
I lay a hand on his chest, watching it rise and fall with his fast breaths. “Brad, I…no, it’s not one-sided, it’s…”
BRRRRRINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!
A loud phone ringtone echoes off the walls of the small fitting room, making us both jump.
“Shit,” I curse, reaching into my bag.
“Is that you?”
“Yes…sorry, I have to see who it is.”
“It’s fine.” He lets go of me as I pull the phone from my pocket.
I stare down at it for a moment, not recognizing the number.
“Hello?” I ask, wondering who it could be.
“Hello, is this Ms. Emily Butter?”
“Yes, it is. Who is this?”
“My name is Sandra, I’m calling from King’s College Hospital. It’s about Ben.”
And then everything goes black.
Chapter Seventeen
Brad
She’s just seen a ghost.
Or is listening to one.
Whatever is being said over the phone is making her turn deathly pale. I don’t know whether to give her her privacy or stay there in case she needs me.
“Oh my God. Is he o-o-o-kay?” she stammers into the phone, backing up against the fitting room mirror, leaning against it for support.
I reach out and she wraps her hand around my forearm, and I instantly grip my hand over hers.
“I’m not leaving,” I mouth to her, but it’s like she doesn’t even see me.
She’s nodding along to the long ramble coming through the phone earpiece, but I can’t quite make out the words. I’ll just have to wait.
“Okay, thank you. I…um, I’ll be there as soon as I can. I don’t know how, but I will. Please...please tell him I love him.”
She hangs up the phone and just holds it in her hand for a moment, as if she’s waiting for the phone to spring to life and tell her that it was all a dream.
Then she looks up at me, “I have to…I have to GO!” she suddenly yells and tries to push past me in the fitting room.
I’m too big and she’s rooted to the spot, her eyes dashing around, not focusing on anything, as if what’s going on in her brain is too much for her to form into words.
“Let me go! I have to go!” she yells again, dropping the phone in her panic.
She starts to bend over to pick it up, but I stop her, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze, letting her know I’m there.
“Go where, honey?” I ask, my voice soft, hoping to help calm her down enough for her to tell me what’s happening.
She yanks her hand away and presses it to her chest, a sob threatening to break out of it. “Back to London! I have to go back to LONDON NOW!”
I grab her by the shoulder and force her to look directly at me.
“Stop! Take a deep breath. You can’t help anyone if you’re freaking out. Now, what’s happened? Tell me so I can help you, Butter.”
For the first time since her phone call, I think she hears me. She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath before speaking. “He’s…he’s in the hospital. He…he was in an accident and they’re prepping him for surgery.”
“Who, baby, who?”
“Ben!” She yells at me, her hand coming up to slam against my chest, the frustration building again.
I hold her hands against me with my left hand and reach around her back with my right, pulling her against me.
“Who’s Ben, Butter?”
Her voice is muffled as her lips graze against my chest, but I can still hear her. “My baby. Ben is my son.”
***
“Dennis!” I call out as soon as I see him near the entrance of the record store. I’m holding Butter’s hand as she follows me, face ashen with worry.
“Where have you guys been? We’re about to start the signing again,” he says, ushering me toward the table.
“I can’t, I mean, we can’t…Just come over here.” I point to a quiet corner with my head. “We’ve got to go to London. Now,” I tell him.
“What, why?” my manager asks.
“Emily’s had some bad news from home and she needs to go right away.”
“What bad news?” There’s an immediate sense of concern for her in his voice, and he looks at her, her hand still clasped in mine.
“Someone in her family’s been in an accident and they’re in the hospital and she has to be there. Now,” I say, knowing he’ll understand.
“Who?”
“Her son.”
He pauses for a moment. The way I’ve seen him do a thousand times before when he’s making the chaos make sense and how he can control it.
“Go.” The relief is instant. I’m going to owe him big time after this. “The car will be here for you in a few minutes. Go outside and wait. I’ll call you with further details on how to get to London. Just go.”
“Thank you.” I nod to him and he knows how much I mean it.
He grabs my bicep and directs me toward the exit behind the CD stacks. “Go out the back entrance.”
We start to move toward the door.
“Emily?” Dennis calls out to her, and we stop as he runs up to us.
“I hope everything works out,” he offers.
She smiles at him gratefully and lets him squeeze her arm.
“Come on, let’s go.”
***
“Do you want some water?” I hand the bottle to her but she just shakes her head. “Juice?”
She shakes her head again.
“Wine? Champagne? Valium?”
“No. No. Maybe?” She gives me a little smile and I breathe a little easier.
We’re in the elevator going down to the surgical ward at King’s College Hospital from the roof’s helipad. She didn’t say a word in the car on the way to the helicopter in Cambridge, and it was too noisy on the flight to talk anyway. But I want to keep her engaged, scared she’ll disappear into herself again.
“So, what did your mother say?”
“Not much, she’s a bit of a wreck, not the greatest in a crisis. I guess I get that from her.” We move in closer as the elevator opens to let some patients on.
“We’ll be there soon. Then you’ll know everything for yourself. You can talk directly with the doctors,” I whisper, slinging my arm over her slim shoulders.
“He’s…he’s probably so scared.” Her bottom lip quivers and I realize, for all the panic, she actually hasn’t cried yet. “He’s…he’s just so little. He should have had his mother there when he went into surgery.”
“You’ll be there when he gets up.” I try to comfort her, my arm rubbing up and down her back.
“But I should’ve been there before. This wouldn’t have happened!” Her voice rises.
“What did happen? Do you want to tell me?”
“He…he was staying with my mother. She’s been taking care of him while I’m away on this assignment. He loves the postman so I guess he was waiting for the postman to come in his truck. He rode out to meet him on his bike, but the postman didn’t see him, and he backed into him. Backed into my little boy!” She looks at me with horror in her eyes, picturing the scene. “And now…”
“And now, we’ll wait to see what happens and get him whatever he needs to get better. But we’re not going to worry, because that’s not going to get us anywhere. Okay?”
She doesn’t respond, just stands there wringing her hands, and I reach over and take them in mine.
“Okay?” I repeat.
“But he’s so little,” she whimpers.
“How little is he?”
“He’s turning six in a few months.”
“And we’re going to throw him the biggest fucking party a six-year-old’s ever seen,” I tell her.
Somehow that seems to calm her and her hands lie still in mine.
The elevator dings announcing our floor. I watch her as she takes a long, deep breath. As shaken as she is now, I know, I just know once it’s time, she’ll be the best mother a little wounded boy could ask for. She lets me take her hand and we head toward the nurse’s station.
“Oh my gosh. Emily! Brad!” Emily’s mother greets us, getting up from her chair in the waiting room as we walk past.
“Hi, Mrs. Butter,” I say as I let her hug me.
“What—” she starts, but Butter cuts her off.
“How is he, Mom?”
“The doctor just came out and he said they’ve just taken him out of surgery and into recovery. They’ll bring him back here when he’s up. He should be fine. They just had to put him under so they could set his arm. It, um, it broke in three places, and it would’ve been easier on the little one to put him under.” Somehow she gets through it without bursting into tears.
“And what else?” Butter asks, desperate for information.
“That’s it. Just his arm. A few scrapes and bruises, but nothing he can’t show off to his friends and be proud of. Nothing internal showed up in the x-rays, and he was wearing his helmet and there wasn’t any damage to it at all.”
“So, he’s going to be okay?” Butter asks, for the first time sounding hopeful.
“So they say,” her mom replies.
“Oh my God.” Emily sinks into the nearest chair, her head falling into her hands. Her mother follows and they hug. Hug like they haven’t seen each other in years. I step back and let them have their moment, let them comfort each other, let them be there for one another.
