Founded on Goodbye: A Rockstar Romance
Page 24
We haven’t spoken a word since our night together on my last night of the tour. It was a night that left my head—and my heart—spinning for weeks. I wish I could’ve convinced him of my feelings for him, but his pain was too fresh to see past my deceit. I can’t blame him for walking away; it was the plan all along. I just hadn’t expected it to hurt the way it did, that final goodbye making things worse.
It’s awkward while Riley and I eat dinner. She knows how anxious I am about this performance. I twirl the noodles around on my plate, too nervous to eat. My stomach is in knots. The two of us sit on our couch, both anxiously waiting for the announcement of when he’ll be on. Right as they make an announcement that he’ll be performing after the break, I panic.
“I can’t do this,” I tell Riley, hiding my face behind a pillow.
Her hand rubs my shoulder. “You don’t have to watch it, Nora. We could turn it off.”
Pulling the pillow down slightly, I meet her eyes. “I can’t not watch it.”
She nods, biting at one of her nails. The TV plays a trailer for a movie releasing next month, but all I can think about is what Nash will sing about. What will he say about me in his lyrics?
“I broke his heart, the least I could do is listen to the songs he created because of that.”
Before I’m ready, the logo for the award shows pop up on the screen. It’s time for him to perform, and a million little anxious butterflies take flight in my stomach.
My eyes are glued to the TV as I watch his face pop up onto the screen. There’s a ping in my heart when I see his face, remembering all the times I feathered kisses over his skin. I want to die when I take in his outfit, remembering a time when the man on the screen was mine. He looks incredibly sexy. He wears a suit as black as night. There’s a leather strap going down both arms, adding a bit of edge to it. As if he wasn’t alluring enough, he’s got nothing on underneath the suit jacket. His chiseled chest and tattoos peek out, and it’s devastatingly hot. He has so much sex appeal. I think the only times he’s looked better is when he was naked in bed with me. When the camera pans out, I notice a pair of black biker boots covering his feet, adding his own personal touch to the outfit.
Dancers I came to know so well from tour stand behind him on stage. All of them decked out in red and black. The screen behind him is as dark as his suit.
I hold my breath, waiting for the song to begin. Troy beats on the drum behind him, getting the song started, and then I feel the sting of regret for what I’ve done to Nash all over again.
Was I a pawn in your game of chess?
At this point, I’d expect nothing less
I tried to hate you, you know it's true
But the only thing I hate is how much I love you
You think you could’ve given me a better goodbye?
Now I’m left chasing that high
Oh Rose,
We were doomed from the start
You were sent to destroy me
Why couldn’t you fall?
Oh Rose,
I’ve tried hating you
But all it did is make me love you
But how can we love with no trust?
I want love for the both of us
You want nothing from me at all
I told you I didn’t want to fall
You’re beautiful, Rose
Your thorns sure do stab
Blood running down my hand
I find myself still wishing I was your man
Oh Rose,
We were doomed from the starting gate
You were sent to destroy me
Why couldn’t you fall?
Oh Rose,
I’ve tried hating you
But all it did is make me love you
But how can we love with no trust?
Can I love you enough for the two of us?
You want nothing from me at all
I told you I didn’t want to fall
I didn’t know my heart was flammable, baby
Thought you were sent to save me
Turns out you came holding kerosene
Lighting up the fragile part of what was left of me
We burn, burn, burn, baby
We’re done, done, done, baby
Tears stream down my face as the red rose on the screen behind Nash wilts, all the petals falling to the ground. The screen goes black, only one stage light still illuminating Nash. He runs a hand through the curls at the top of his head, staring straight at the camera. My stomach lurches, feeling like he’s looking straight into my soul. There’s no doubt that song was about me. I’m not shocked. He told me to my face he had written songs about me, I just wasn’t fully prepared to hear them for the first time. I wasn’t ready to hear the pain etched in every one of his lyrics.
“Okay, well, that was…” Riley says next to me. I feel her watching me carefully, but I can’t do anything but continue to stare at Nash on the screen. He gives the crowd an apprehensive smile as numerous famous people give him a standing ovation.
I thought my stomach had dropped as low as it could get, but when a gorgeous woman, an actress I think, comes up next to Nash, I feel sick all over again. The way she smiles at him, it makes it seem like they’re familiar with each other. She easily leans her body toward his, fanning herself with her hand as she interacts with the crowd.
I don’t hear a thing she says, my head still rushing with the lyrics he just sang. I’m busy analyzing each and every word when the words from the woman on the screen catch my attention.
“Catch Nash’s new album, Founded on Goodbye, this fall!” Throwing her blonde hair over her shoulder, she looks toward Nash. “And if that song Rose is any indication of what that album will sound like, I’m sold.”
Nash nods, murmuring a “thank you” into his microphone. All too soon, he’s gone from our screen, the show moving onto the next award.
Riley scoots on the couch until she’s pressed up against me. Her arm comes to wrap around me, pulling me into her chest as the tears really begin to fall. “Aww, Nora,” she coos, rubbing my hair for comfort.
“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” I say into her hair. “I knew what I was getting into, I wasn’t the one who was blindsided.”
She continues to play with the strands of my hair. I used to pay her and my sister to brush my hair when we were kids, loving the feeling of someone playing with my hair. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you too. You did something shitty, but you also fell in love. It’s okay to be sad about it. It’s okay to miss him.”
Her words send me over the edge, a waterfall of tears breaking through my chest. It’s been a while since I cried about Nash, my sobs now making up for lost time. I’ve known for months I hurt Nash but hearing it in a song makes it more real. Knowing that people love the song only makes it worse, which is something I feel bad about. I just hate that it took all of us betraying him for him to write something people appreciate again.
“I miss him so much, Riley.” It’s true. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t wish I could call him and tell him about my day or ask him a random fact about himself. I miss watching him joke around with Sebastian and his bandmates, some of the only moments where he’s at ease enough to really laugh. I miss tracing each one of his tattoos, pestering him with questions about what they mean. I miss late nights with him, getting lost in each other.
I miss so many things about him that it overwhelms me. And it’s hard to know that if I didn’t hurt him, if I just told him the truth the second we became friends, that maybe I wouldn’t have to be missing him at all.
It all fucking hurts. And I feel guilty that I knew it was bound to happen all along.
“We need tacos,” Riley declares, getting up from the couch. She stands in front of me, motioning for me to get up.
I groan, settling myself deeper into the couch. “I can’t! I’m too busy crying.”
Moving her head from left to right, she thinks through my response. She reaches
down and grabs me by the wrist, pulling me off the couch. “Yeah, well, if we’re going to cry, we’re going to do it into a pitcher of margaritas.”
I try and escape her grasp, but she’s too strong and I don’t have it in me to fight with her. I let her drag me to our favorite place, quite literally crying into my margarita while there.
When I climb into bed hours later, I finally get brave enough to check my phone. I’ve been avoiding it all night, knowing once I open it, I won’t be able to stop myself from listening to his new song over and over until I’ve cried myself to sleep.
I have to blink a few times, making sure it isn’t the alcohol in my brain playing tricks on me when I see a missed text from Nash.
Nash: People love the new song. Tell me, was it worth it?
My heart pounds against my chest as I wonder if I should respond to him. He told me he wanted nothing to do with me, but clearly, he’s wanting something. I just don’t know what he wants from me. Does he want me to say it was? Because it wasn’t, and I’m over telling lies.
Nora: Never.
Nash: I wish I could forget you. I wish I could hate you. But all I seem to be doing is loving you.
I don’t respond at first, racking my brain with what I could say to him to ease his pain. My brain is fuzzy from the tequila, making it harder to think of something to say. I don’t get the chance however, because a text comes in as I try to come up with some sort of answer.
Nash: You take the memories; I’ll keep the heartbreak. I just don’t want to remember you. To remember us. Goodbye, Rose.
Putting my phone down, I fall into my pillows, wishing things were different, wishing I hadn’t hurt him, and wishing I could just be there for him again, showing him how amazing of a person he is.
But I can’t change anything, no matter how much I want to. All I can do is hope that he gets better, that he forgives me one day.
I hope our goodbye isn’t what ruins him when it was supposed to be the thing that rebuilt him.
Six Months Later
I wipe my clammy hands on the denim of my jeans for what feels like the hundredth time. Sitting on the hood of my rental car, the sun beats down on the exposed skin at the nape of my neck. I spent at least an hour perfecting my hair into beachy waves this morning, but after waiting in the parking lot for thirty minutes, I had to put my hair up in fear I’d sweat right through the outfit I spent hours picking out.
When ordering the rental, I got the news that I only had two choices for a vehicle. I could take a mammoth sized truck or a minivan. I opted for the minivan. About two minutes into the drive, I began to wonder if I should’ve gone with the truck when I realized the air conditioning was only blowing hot air. The circulating Arizona air did nothing to help cool me the hour drive it took me to get here. I hadn’t thought about what I’d do when I reached my destination. After getting off the phone with Monica, I booked a red-eye flight and ended up in the middle of nowhere, Arizona.
I’ve been sitting on the hood of the minivan for hours, where I’m currently listening to my sister rattle on about a new friend she made at a Zumba class, when the large gates of the facility open.
“Len, it’s happening,” I say, panicked.
“Do you see him?” she asks from the other line.
“I can’t do this,” I tell her, sliding off the car.
“You’ve got this, Nora,” she says. “Call later with updates!” The line goes dead, and I’m left watching Nash get closer and closer to where I stand.
I’ve pictured this exact moment in my head for almost a year, but now with Nash standing in front of me, I’m utterly speechless. The last time I saw him in person, he was walking out of my hotel room. I had stayed in bed, so many things running through my mind. I wanted to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, to tell my side, but I knew all of it would be futile. What I did was something we couldn’t come back from. If there was any chance of hope that Nash would look at me again and not see betrayal, I had to give him space first. So even though it broke my heart to stay quiet, even as he kissed my forehead, whispering that he’d always love me, I’d done it. For him. Because I didn’t deserve him then. I know I don’t deserve him now. But there’s been enough time and space between us now, that I just want to be able to tell him how sorry I am for everything.
It takes him a moment to notice me. He’s too busy thumbing through his phone to really pay attention to the world surrounding him. A nurse in a pair of sage green scrubs captures the rest of his attention. They speak and it seems friendly, an easy conversation being held between the two of them. I miss when the conversations between me and him were easy. Now, they’re filled with angst and regret. I absentmindedly wonder if anything has transpired between the two of them in the six months he’s been at this facility, but I soon realize that’s none of my business.
He’s in the middle of saying something to her when he looks up, his eyes crashing with mine.
Oh my god. I forgot what it was like to have his attention on me. Those blue eyes are relentless, tracing a line from the top of my head and all the way down my body. He doesn’t look surprised to see me. In fact, he shows no emotion at all. I’m desperately trying to read his face, his body language, to gauge his reaction to me being here, but I can’t get any kind of read on him.
Whispering something to the nurse, and to my jealous disappointment, he gives her a hug. The hug looks strictly platonic, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt just a little, watching him wrap those arms around somebody else.
She retreats toward the brown building, the gates closing shortly after her.
Nash takes a deep breath before walking my way and stopping in front of me. “It seems my countless hours of therapy are being put to the test before I even leave the property,” he says, putting both his hands in his pockets. His hair is shorter than the last time I saw him. It’s cropped closer to his head, his hair at the top barely long enough to be able to curl.
Taking a deep breath, I try to gain my composure, the apology I rehearsed in my head the whole way here completely forgotten now that he’s in front of me.
He rocks back on his heels, looking around the parking lot. “Tell me, Nora, was there no one else available to pick me up from rehab?”
“Wellness Center,” I correct, thinking of all the tabloid headlines about Nash in the last six months. To put it lightly, he had a very bad spiral after everything transpired between us. He performed every show clearly under the influence until one day he fell off the stage completely, landing himself in the emergency room with a concussion. He was able to finish the last couple of shows he had left, but the second the tour ended, there were reports of him checking himself into an unknown treatment center somewhere.
I tried calling Monica for months, trying to figure out where he was so I could send a letter, but she was tight lipped. Eventually I annoyed her enough to convince her to tell me when he’d be leaving a center, that way I could apologize then.
Which leads to this moment right now.
Nash is about to speak, but I cut him off, needing to get these words off my chest before I lose my nerve.
“Nash, I’m sorry,” I say. My heart now hammers against my chest and I can feel the sweat gathering on my neck. “What I did to you, there will never be enough words to describe how incredibly sorry I am for it. I got lost in the appeal of finally following the dream I had for myself, for my sister, that I lost all sense of my morals. And I hate it. I hate what I did to you so much, because you didn’t deserve it. You needed someone to show you all the good in this industry and instead, I showed you every dirty, ugly thing about it. And I’m sorry. So. Freaking. Sorry.” My voice cracks even though I’m trying like hell to keep it together.
I look up from my shoes, meeting his eyes once again. “There were countless times I wanted to come clean and tell you, but honestly, I was scared to. I was a chicken. I didn’t want to lose the way you looked at me. For the first time in so long, I felt safe with a man, an
d to my shock, I was falling for someone. I was falling for you.”
My eyes roam his face, taking in what’s familiar and what’s changed. I take a second to gather my words, not knowing how long he’ll give me to explain myself. “I got lost in the lie, and in the process, I began lying to myself. I’d pretend I got on your tour the way everyone else did, by talent, and that by some miracle, you’d developed feelings for me. I got so lost in my feelings for you that by the time I remembered all the deception it took to get me there; I was too afraid of losing you. I know that isn’t any excuse, and I’m not even trying to make an excuse for myself. There is none. What I did to you was such a shitty thing to do and I’m so sorry for it. If I could take it back, I would. Even though it would mean that I wouldn’t have met you or loved you, I’d take it back because knowing that I knowingly hurt you, it’s awful.”
He shakes his head, his eyes scanning over me. I’d give anything to know what he was thinking, to know what comes to mind when he looks at me. He runs a finger over his lip. “You came all this way to say that?”
I laugh nervously, realizing how crazy it seems. I push a few stray hairs out of my face, making sure I can see him. “Yes. I didn’t know if I’d ever get another chance. I jumped on a red-eye plane to apologize again. I just needed you to know that I’m so sorry for hurting you, and that even though I hurt you, I did have feelings for you. I fell for you so hard that I became selfish. I couldn’t lose you and, in those feelings, I didn’t come clean. I’d do anything to take it back, to be with you again. But in the time we’ve been apart, I’ve realized that sometimes no matter how much you love someone; it doesn’t make you right for them. I understand that, so I know our ship has sailed. I just needed you to know everything was real—and that I’m sorry for what I did.”
Nash looks like he’s about to say something, but the scraping of tires on asphalt has us both turning our heads. A large black SUV pulls up, Sebastian opening the door of the passenger side.