by Lisa Suzanne
“Why are you arresting me?” I demand as they help me stand and put cuffs on me. Brody and Adam aren’t laughing anymore and everyone looks just as panicked now as Dax did a few minutes ago.
Our ride pulls up just as the cops usher me into the back of their car. I yell, “Do you even know who the hell I am?”
If I wasn’t so drunk, this might actually be scary, but right now, I can’t really think through the consequences. What happened was a simple mistake. They’re not really going to make me stay the night in jail for breaking a window, are they?
But, fuck, arrests are matters of public record, and when I asked Kylie earlier today if we could get arrested tonight, I didn’t think it was actually going to happen.
Once the news gets wind of this...
Oh shit.
It’s going to air on Rock on the Road, isn’t it?
Maybe Kylie won’t be so mad, after all. I certainly just gave her a fuck ton of drama for the new season.
The two cops talk out in front of the police car for a few minutes, and then one comes back toward me. “License?” he says. I pull out my wallet and just hand the whole thing over because fuck if I’m going to try to leaf through it right now to pull out a license, and then he starts filling out some paperwork.
Just my luck, more cameras start to show up. I can’t help but wonder whether our cameramen tipped somebody off. I keep my head down, and the other MFB guys are in the back of our ride, which idles in the alley as we all wait to see what my consequences will be.
And just as the cop opens the back door to talk to me, all the beer catches up with me.
I throw up all over the backseat of his car.
CHAPTER 11: AMBER
I can’t help analyzing my relationship with Will as I drive into work Tuesday morning. It’s just what I do.
He drunk texted me last night at one in the morning when I had to be up at seven for work, at a job where I need to have the proper amount of rest because people’s lives depend on me being awake and aware of the situation.
And I’m sure he doesn’t even realize he did it.
Red flags abound. Sure, he’s starting to help me lighten up and make spontaneous decisions even after just a couple months. And yes, I’m starting to help him narrow his focus and make less selfish choices.
But it’s so early. Is what we’re doing sustainable long term?
Maybe. We’ve known each other a long time even if we never really took the time to know each other. What if that whole time we were dancing around something really special without even knowing it?
And then there’s the fact that he’s immature and he’s generally defensive and he nearly panicked when I mentioned kids and the future.
All those things point to the fact that he isn’t mature enough for a real relationship. Am I prepared for that? Will I be okay getting into something with this guy and finding myself falling hard and fast and then nursing another broken heart in the end after realizing that he wasn’t ready for any of it?
I’m not sure, but I’m also afraid the answer to that will only come with time and either a healthy dose of grief or a whole lot of happiness.
I get into work a half hour early, and my work wife, Janine, rolls into the lounge a minute after me. I set my purse and lunch in my locker, slide my phone into my pocket, grab my empty water bottle, and snap the locker closed.
“Hey babe,” she says, doing all the same things I just did.
“Good morning,” I say. “How was your night?”
“Aiden was up every two hours again,” she says, naming her two year old. “Sleep regression sucks.”
“Did the hubby help?” I collapse in the recliner we’ve both laughed in, cried in, and slept in countless times.
She nods. “We traded shifts since he knew I had an early start today.” Her husband, Oliver, is an anesthesiologist at the same hospital where we work. She met him in the cafeteria of all places on the one day she ran out the door and didn’t have enough time to make a lunch.
That’s sort of the dream, isn’t it? To just meet someone and fall in love and have a baby and have it all work out.
“What’s the latest on you and the boy?” she asks. Her favorite thing to do is live vicariously through my own single life.
“He drunk texted me last night at one in the morning.”
She rolls her eyes. “Men,” she huffs, and I laugh.
“We had a talk about how what we’re doing is more than just sex. And yet...” I trail off. I tell Janine everything, and vice versa. We’re work friends who both have separate lives outside of work. We’ve gotten together a few times for happy hours or wine nights, and I trust her. Plus she’s far enough away from my circle that I feel comfortable confiding in her.
“Yet what?”
“He’s just...kind of a man child.”
“A man child?” she asks, collapsing in the chair next to me. “What do you mean?”
“He still brings his laundry over for his mom to do. And when we were talking about what I do, I mentioned kids and how tough this career is, something I know since I’ve seen how you struggle being away from Aidan, and he had this terrified look in his eyes at the mention of children.”
“So he’s emotionally immature.”
“Yes!” I say with more enthusiasm than is really necessary, sitting up and snapping my finger. “That’s the word for it.”
“I read an article once that said men don’t reach emotional maturity until they’re in their forties. Let me repeat that. Their forties. Women reach it in their thirties. That’s why we’re always looking for sugar daddies.”
I giggle. “I’ve never actually looked for a sugar daddy.”
“Oh, come on. You’re running after a rock star with deep pockets who’s older than you.”
“Three years,” I correct, and she tosses up her hands.
“See what I mean? Sugar daddy.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop projecting your insecurities onto me,” I tease her. “You’re the one who found a sugar daddy.”
“You bet your ass I did. Damn proud of it, too.”
We both giggle, but then she turns serious.
“The truth of the matter is that if he’s a man child, it’s not up to you to change him. He’ll mature when he’s ready to or when life hands him cards that tell him he needs to. For now, it’s up to you to figure out if dealing with that immaturity is something you want long term.”
I nod. “I know. And I would never dream of changing him. Part of his charm is the same thing that will eventually drive me bonkers, and I don’t know if I want that for the long haul.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” She sits up in her chair, too, and we both glance at the clock. We need to get moving soon. “And, just to be clear, even if he wasn’t a man child, he would still find something to do that would drive you bonkers. All men do.”
“Even Oliver?”
“Oh yes,” she says, pursing her lips. “Even Oliver. Especially Oliver.” She rolls her eyes.
“Spill it, sister.” I stand and start moving toward the water dispenser to fill my bottle.
“You know what drives me insane? When he can’t find something. I swear to God, he does this twelve times a day. Where’s my wallet?” she mimics. “Uh, I don’t know, maybe the same damn place it always is on your dresser? Where’s the credit card bill? Um, did you even look on the desk with the pile of bills? Where’s the cheese? It’s in the goddamn cheese drawer, Oliver.”
I laugh as I fill my water. “Sounds like good ole’ Ollie has some maturing to do, too.”
“Or he could just get off his ass and find whatever it is he needs instead of being helpless.” She stands in line behind me, waiting to fill her bottle, too. “And it’s not just looking for things. He calls his sister once a week, and he always calls her right when dinner’s ready. He’s been watching me cook, and it’s like he waits until there’s two minutes left on the timer to make the call.”
I sort of tuned
out after she said his sister.
Sister.
Do I have a sister?
I haven’t told anyone about the letter aside from Will, but I can’t pretend it hasn’t played on my mind over and over since I first received it.
Maybe Janine’s just the person to talk to about it.
I glance at the clock. I need to get my assignment for the day, check in with the nurse who had the shift before me, and review the reports before my shift actually begins.
I don’t have time to talk about it right now.
And maybe that’s why it’s the best time to talk about it. We won’t get into some lengthy conversation but I’ll be able to get it off my chest.
“On a different note,” I blurt as I step aside for Janine to fill her bottle and as I’m about to make the confession about the letter, I find I can’t do it. Instead, I say, “Will and I are taking a road trip.” I open the door and head toward the workstations to get my assignment for the day with Janine following close behind me.
She makes a low whistling sound. “When are you going?”
I make a face. “After my shifts this week. Think Deanna will kill me?” I ask, naming the charge nurse who also makes our weekly schedule.
She nods. “Definitely.”
I laugh, and then it’s time to get to work, so I don’t get the chance to think about my relationship with Will and whether I can deal with him being a man child or about my potential sister.
Until my break rolls around and I check my phone.
Then I’m thinking about Will again.
And as I check my notifications...well, the thoughts I’m having about Will are not good thoughts.
Can I deal with stuff like this long term?
The answer is clear, even though it seems to stifle me.
CHAPTER 12: WILL
The jarring ring of my phone splits my head open.
At least that’s how it feels.
The memory of what happened last night assaults me the second I open my eyes.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself since I’m alone in my bedroom.
My bedroom.
That’s a good thing. I’m at home.
I pick up my phone. It’s Amber, and even though it’s after noon, I’ve only gotten a solid couple hours of sleep.
“Hey,” I answer, my voice hoarse.
“I just got a breaking news email from an entertainment website that you were arrested last night! What the hell happened?” she demands.
“Good morning to you, too,” I say. I sit up a little in bed, a bad idea as the hangover headache pierces my skull.
“I’m at work and I only have fifteen minutes, so start talking.”
I heave out a breath. “I accidentally broke a window and some cops arrested me for vandalism and public intoxication.”
“How did you break a window?” she asks.
“Adam bet me I couldn’t scale a wall.” I wonder if I still owe him a hundred bucks since I only technically got three steps in. He did bet me I could do five, so I guess I lost.
“You’re both idiots.” She sounds mad.
“Well aware of that fact, thanks.”
“So what’s the penalty? Jail time? Am I dating a felon?”
I laugh, but it makes my nauseated stomach feel worse. “I’m not a felon. I’ll have to show up in court and pay a fine and of course I’ll pay to fix the window but it’s not a big deal. It was an accident that happened because of a stupid, drunken bet.”
“So you have a record now?” she demands.
“Yeah,” I admit weakly. “But it’s not like I’m a threat to society.”
“Aren’t you?” she asks, and I feel like shit for a beat.
“No,” I mutter.
“I can’t believe I’m dating someone who got arrested. God, my boss is going to have a field day with this after she saw me on TMZ when my brother drunkenly married Emily.” She sounds a little disgusted, but then she asks, “Are you okay?”
Finally. I was beginning to think she was never going to ask about me in all this. “A little hungover and my back hurts like hell but I’ll live.”
“All right. I need to get back to work.”
After we hang up, I take a shower and still feel like shit, so I head down to the kitchen to find some pain relief, a greasy breakfast, and coffee. When I get down there, Kylie has a laptop open, a tablet next to her, and her phone in her hand. All her devices display different web pages. Dax is beside her, looking as worn down as I feel, and there are papers spread out everywhere.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“TMZ broke it first, naturally,” Dax says. “They had the pictures of you in the cuffs.”
“Shit,” I mutter. I glance at Kylie. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she says, her voice forced. “I’m working on it. I’ve got press releases to the media outlets. Cameras are setting up at Just Desserts now to watch you drop in and offer to pay to fix their window. I called them and offered free publicity on our show and they took it.”
“They took it?” I ask incredulously.
She nods and flashes me a smirk. “Why would they pass up the chance to be on a television show? It’s their back alley window, anyway. It’s not like you broke their display windows. Mark wants to meet with you, so I set up a Skype for two o’clock today. You better get moving so you have time to drop by the bakery before then.”
My heart picks up speed as alarm bells sound in my head. They’re even louder than the real ones that blared at me last night. “Mark wants to talk to me?”
Kylie nods. “He called me early this morning. He’s not too happy with your shenanigans.”
“He wants to talk with just me?” I ask. To be honest, I’m a little terrified of the guy when we meet him as a group. I’ve never had one-on-one time with him. “Because all five of us were there last night.”
“Just you.” She stares pointedly at me, and it’s not fucking fair. This is just as much Adam’s fault as it is mine.
“Whatever,” I mutter petulantly, and then I get up and get ready to start apologizing for something that’s not entirely my fault.
Kylie gives the cameramen and the people from the bakery a heads up that I’m on my way, and when I get there, it’s buzzing with activity. A few random fans greet me and ask for autographs, and I oblige even though I’m here on business. Fans first is sort of a motto I’ve adopted over the last couple years since the band broke out. If we didn’t have people listening to our music or watching our show, we’d still be a garage band lucky enough to play local bars.
When I finally get up to the counter, I ask for the owner. “That’s me!” a chipper, heavyset woman with a pretty face in her mid-thirties says. “Daisy Brown,” she says, sticking out her hand.
“Will Rascowicz,” I say, and we shake. “I’m so sorry about the window. It was a terrible accident and I’m just here to apologize and offer to pay to replace the window. Hell, I’ll replace the whole door if you want.” I glance around at the small crowd gathered and draw in a deep breath. I guess I have to make this look good if I want to make myself look good. “And I’d like to treat everyone in here to a donut.”
Daisy smiles at me. “Really?” she gushes, and I nod, feeling even worse that she’s so bubbly. She looks like the kind of woman who probably sobbed when the police informed her that the window had been broken.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she says, and she clutches my hand in both of hers and shakes it enthusiastically.
I grab her business card. There has to be something else I can do to make up for it aside from paying for a new door and buying a few donuts.
After the bakery, I hop in the car. I’m not really sure where to go for my Skype meeting with Mark Ashton. It’s not like I can sit in the kitchen while the other guys are around to make fun of me. I don’t want to go home for this, but I can’t do it in public, either.
I love living with the MFB guys, but it’s often difficult to find
privacy apart from my bedroom—not exactly the best place to have a conversation with the guy who owns your record label and is one of the biggest stars in the entire world.
Both my parents will be at work, so I head toward their house. I’ll sit in my dad’s office so I at least look semi-professional for the conversation with the man who’s essentially my boss.
As soon as I get to their house, nerves crawl up my spine. I set up my tablet in my dad’s office, and a few minutes later, his secretary connects our call.
And then I’m looking at Mark Ashton, the guy whose career I envy and whose life I want.
Even as I think it, though, I realize his life now is much different from the life I used to want when he’d go out partying all the time and have a different woman in his bed every night.
He has a wife and kids now, but he manages to flawlessly balance his family with owning a record label, making new music with his band, climbing charts and breaking records, touring, and making time to scold idiots like me over Skype. And now that I’ve found Amber, that is the life I want.
Well, minus the kids.
But a wife, and a career, and having interests outside of just playing music...that’s what I want.
“Good afternoon, William,” he greets me, and the formality of hearing my full first name is a little jarring.
“Hello, Mr. Ashton.” My tone is subdued.
“What the fuck was that last night?” He sounds annoyed, and he has every right to be. As a band, we represent his label. He’s basically our boss, and our daily lives are a reflection on him. It’s unfortunate for him, really, but that’s why he’s calling me today.
“A dumb, drunken mistake, and I’m sorry.”
He blows out a breath. “Listen to me carefully. This is strike one, but this isn’t baseball. You get one free strike, and that’s it. I know a thousand people who could play keys for MFB, and if you don’t believe me, try me.”
“I believe you, sir,” I say. “And I’m sorry. You won’t need to give me any more strikes.”
“Fine. Now with that business out of the way, I also need to admit to you that I had my own share of drunken mistakes, and I had calls just like this one from our A and R rep.”
