by Rica Grayson
I snatch it from him. He read it. I always knew he doesn’t like me, but this is a new kind of low for him.
I wrote everything there. How he was the man of my dreams. How I wanted to meet him one day. How he turned out to be a jerk. Songs I wrote that I liked. Awful ones, too—the ones that shouldn’t ever see the light of day. Pieces of those dreams, delicate and hopeful, and crushing. He’d seen it all.
“Get out,” I find myself saying, a rasp to my voice. This is what I get for thinking he was so dreamy. Ideal man, yeah right.
“Blaire—”
But I don’t listen. I place a hand on his chest, and I shove. Hard. I slam the door, ignoring the look on his stunned face, and I curl up in a ball.
No more delusions. No more singing in front of people. Why did I think my songs were any good, anyway?
Maybe it’s the part of me that always searches for the good in people, always trying to understand them and make excuses for them, but something in me breaks.
Let it all out, I tell myself as the tears fall, unbidden, and then never again. Never because of him. I could put it all to rest, even if it feels like a heavy stone pressing down on my chest, like I can’t breathe.
Out of my sight, and out of my life.
Chapter 1
Ryan
Six years later
There’s nothing money can’t buy.
It’s a fact I’ve long acknowledged. Put gold in front of a gold-digger and she’ll kneel. Toss a little cash on a so-called friend and he’ll spill your every last secret. Become a celebrity and watch as long-lost relatives come out of hiding. The scent of money lures people in, like shark to prey.
“Ryan!” Chris Mendes calls out.
I grin. Scratch that—I guess there are two things money can’t buy—that’s real friendship and a non-dysfunctional family. The first is something that’s earned. The latter you’re stuck with for life.
“Glad you came,” he says when I make it to their table.
“You told me it was important,” I reply. But as I say this, my eyes are drawn to a woman whose hair is pinned half up in a twist. Her white dress hugs her body, dipping down low on her back. Then she turns around, and I freeze.
Blaire. Fucking. Blaire. Chris Mendes’ sister.
Chris nudges me, chattering about how he’s starving.
I seem to have caught Blaire’s eye too. She covers her surprise quickly, but I notice. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and sends me a smirk. I send one back. She then proceeds to ignore me. It’s a game we’ve been playing for years. She, for some reason, can’t stand my ass, while I continue to rile her up at every opportunity.
I know it was my fault, but it had been years ago, and she still can’t let it go. To add to it, she outright refused to listen when I’d tried to explain. I gave up even trying.
My presence had caught her off guard. Good. Satisfaction slides over me. When she’s around other people, she locks up. Goes quiet as a mouse. And yet, knowing that, she never acted that way around me. Even though she turns away from me, I walk over. “Fancy seeing you here,” I drawl.
She blinks, as if the fact that I’m talking to her is unexpected. She looks around innocently, and then back to me. Smartass. She pastes a smile on her face. “Ryan,” she says evenly. “Chris didn’t tell me you were coming.”
I wasn’t sure if I was coming, either. But I received an invitation and was told some announcement was going to be made, and that I shouldn’t miss this dinner. The Mendes family have always treated me like one of theirs and I’ve never taken that for granted.
“Schedule cleared the last minute,” I admit. “Know what this dinner is about?”
She shakes her head. I choose the seat across from her at the table, and I can tell she isn’t happy about that. That’s too bad. I smile wide, knowing it will piss her off.
Her eyes spark with an emotion she quickly masks. Blaire intrigues me. Big, brown eyes and a heart-shaped face. A smile that can knock you over when she gives it to you. I found I like her mind, and as much as she might try to deny it, we both take pleasure in the constant verbal sparring. For whatever reason, around me, she has a short temper. And since she does, I immensely enjoy seeing what could set her off. I make a habit of doing it on a regular basis. At least I know with her around, I’ll never be bored.
It’s just too damn bad she doesn’t like me.
Blaire
There’s only one slice of Wagyu beef left. It’s a stand-off between me and Ryan. I stab it with a fork, with more agility than I thought I possessed.
Gotcha. I hide a triumphant smile. I cut off a piece and eat it slowly, savoring my win. When I open my eyes, I find Ryan’s eyes dropped to my lips, his gaze heated. My eyes widen. I can’t decide if it’s a look that says he wants to steal it from me, or one that says he’ll charm my pants off to get it. Well, he can try. Whatever the look means, it’s positively sinful. My hand hovers over my plate protectively. Unexpectedly, Ryan takes some spare ribs from the next plate instead. My mouth parts in surprise. Ugh. Damn him. The spare ribs were really, really good. And now that plate is empty, too. His lips curve into an arrogant smile.
“That’s him!” my best friend Gretchen squeals next to me. This catches my attention. The game made me oblivious to everyone else around me. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s the same way for him. Distractedly, I look behind me to see who she was talking about.
Clay Lyons. One of the hottest stars in country music. Tall with the greenest eyes, I can understand why my best friend took one look at him and went crazy. He’s a good friend of my brother’s too, and a family friend by extension. She looks at him dreamily. “Oh my gosh. He’ll think I’m a dork if I approach him, won’t he? The last time I spoke to him, I couldn’t even remember the title of my favorite song of his.” That was six months ago.
Now he’s married to his best friend. I went to their wedding two years ago. I give him a small wave at the other end of the dinner table. He smiles back and nods in acknowledgement.
“That’s strange. He’s here too?” Gretchen blurts out.
I think it’s strange he came, too. Why are there so many people today?
I hear our parents bickering again at one end of the table over our dad’s insistence on eating crispy pork belly, with Mom telling him it might increase his blood pressure. I roll my eyes.
All of a sudden, my sister, Shelly, clears her throat. She and her boyfriend, Jordan, share a look. She had been acting a little odd the past week, and I felt like she was stressed out during our phone calls. I know she’s been trying to get my brother to confirm attendance for tonight’s dinner. She looks around the table, beaming at us, her smile radiant.
“We’re getting married in three months,” my sister announces all of a sudden. “And you’re all invited.”
Chapter 2
Blaire
I’ve always hated travel by air. I have this vision in my head that we’re going to crash straight to the ocean. And because I don’t know how to swim, I’d be the first to die—never mind that there are life jackets. I’ve never claimed that it’s a rational fear. I think my dad once told me that the chances of a plane crash happening are pretty low compared to car accidents. I’m still scared of it anyway. Even though the plane had landed roughly an hour ago, I still feel its effects.
“Glad you’re finally here,” my sister tells me when I call. I hear the sound of cutlery from her end. She’s probably about to have breakfast. “Mom and Dad are driving me crazy. How is it they’re more stressed than I am?”
“You know them. They nearly fainted when you said it was in three months,” I say, recalling when she announced her engagement.
“Ha. Can’t wait til it’s your turn,” she throws back.
“Well, I’m not getting married anytime soon,” I declare.
“Hmm. You can never really tell when you’re going to meet the right person. By the way, I hear Ryan’s arrived this morning, too.”
Why is
she bringing him up now, in a marriage discussion of all things?
“Maybe you’ll bump into each other soon,” she says brightly.
“Dear God. I hope not.”
She snorts. “Okay, spoilsport, Jordan is here. I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon,” I reply. “Love you.”
I finally made it to our hotel. I can’t believe she’s getting married in two days. Months ago, after her announcement, Mom had a meltdown. She went on about how it was too soon, and that it was barely enough time to plan. Dad had to calm her down for hours after that. After she got over it, it was all she could talk about.
After checking in at the hotel, I hunt for Room 115. It’s the second to last door in the hallway. I insert my keycard and hear the faint click that tells me it’s unlocked.
I slowly push my luggage in the room and shut the door. A burst of relief fills me. I can finally stretch my legs and rest. I turn around… and almost walk straight into Ryan Carson. Naked, a white towel around his waist.
I gape, my heart stuttering in my chest. For a moment, I stand there, rooted to the spot. I have this stupidly dazed reaction whenever I see him, especially when caught unprepared. My eyes trace his abs, into the happy trail that hides underneath the towel.
I hear the sound of something hit the ground. Oops. I knocked my luggage over. Whatever train of thought I’d had screeches to a halt. Umm.
Come back, brain. This… This can’t be the right room. I pick my luggage back up. “Sorry, I think I’ve got it all...” I glance down at my keycard. Room 115. Nope, the numbers are still the same. What in the world?
“You surprise me, Red.” His voice slides over me, arrogant as ever. I hate it when he calls me that. Ever since I dyed my hair a streaky red in my teens, it stuck. What is he trying this time?
My cheeks turn hot. Well, my sister was right. I did happen to bump into him. It’s hard to deny that he looks good. On the other hand, I didn’t get much sleep on the plane last night. Sleep deprivation. That must be it. I decide it’s doing strange things to my brain. Clearly, I’m not thinking straight.
“Following me all the way to my room,” he continues.
I roll my eyes. What does he think he’s doing? “This isn’t funny.” At least I don’t stumble over my words anymore. I lost those stars in my eyes years ago, and I’m glad.
He only chuckles. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that you broke into my room.”
What? Did he just...? Oh, hell no.
“I—I didn’t break in!” I sputter at his ridiculous statement. “You’re in my room.” I wave my keycard.
He stares at it for a beat before he takes it from me, checking it closely. Then he runs a hand across his face. “You’re fucking joking.”
What does that mean? He answers my questioning look with, “It’s my room, Blaire.” He walks towards a side table and picks up his own keycard. He holds it up for me. “And I wondered why Chris got me this suite,” he says, frowning. “Thought he made a mistake.”
That makes no sense. “This suite?”
He moves aside, and that’s when I finally notice the bed behind him. I stare at it in shock, speechless.
There’s one bed. Just one. It stretches wide, clearly made to fit two people. Instead of a regular hotel room, this is a couple’s suite.
My. Brother. He told me he would sort out the hotel.
Are those flower petals on the bed? I walk closer and scoop some in my palm. They’re deep red and soft as a feather. I tilt my hand and watch as each petal kisses the ground.
“I left the arrangements to him,” Ryan says tightly.
Oh my God. I can’t believe this. “He thinks he’s being funny. A couple’s suite,” I mutter. I can’t believe he tricked me. No wonder he was smiling funny before he told me to “have fun”.
“Never again. Fucking mistake, letting him book everything,” Ryan says, jaw hard.
He turns to look outside the window. Deep burgundy curtains are drawn, offering the view of palm trees and a large outdoor pool that stretches wide, gleaming from the sun. “He comes back, I’m dunking his ass in the pool.”
I hide a grin, and for the first time, I feel an odd sense of solidarity with him. “Me first.” My eyes trace his muscled arms and I clear my throat. “So… Can you get dressed now?”
Seeing my face, he looks thoughtful. “We’ll go sort it out later.”
I only nod in acknowledgement. But he’s slow to move, checking something from his phone, and I’m starting to believe he’s doing it on purpose. My eyes start to narrow, and I snag a pillow and throw it at him. His shoulders shake from suppressed laughter, and when he finally, finally leaves, I hear him laughing all the way to the bathroom.
“What do you mean you can’t fix it?” Ryan growls.
“Today is an important day,” the receptionist explains apologetically. “There’s a fashion show, and they’re having some parade. Our hotel is fully booked. I’m really sorry. If you’d like, we can book you in a branch that’s not far from here.”
I sigh, exhausted. This is turning out to be more complicated than I originally thought. “Ryan. It’s okay,” I try to placate him. “I’ll sort this out with Chris later.”
Just as we’re about to leave, the receptionist clears her throat. “Sorry if this seems kind of ill-timed, but can I get a picture with you?” Wide-eyed and awed, she adds hopefully, “I’m a huge fan.”
She asks for an autograph after the photo, and her voice trembles with excitement as she tells him how his music influenced her since she was fourteen.
And the thing is, I get her. His music resonates with many—me included. He’s always nice and courteous to everyone he meets… Everyone except me.
Ryan smirks when he catches me watching him. He leans to the counter on his side and he spins a pen around his thumb smoothly. “Want one too?” he asks, indicating the piece of paper he’s signing. And there he goes, proving my point.
“Pass,” I deadpan.
“You could stick it on your fridge.”
The nerve. “I’d rather not.”
He laughs, disguising it with a cough.
Five minutes later, we’re back in the room. Tired of pacing back and forth, I drop down at one of the lounge seats next to the window.
“Is my brother answering your calls yet?” I ask, my chin resting on my palm.
“He’s not,” he replies, still holding his phone to his ear, clearly displeased.
“Why would he do this?”
“I don’t know… But, Blaire?” I can already tell what he’s going to say, and dread pools in my stomach. He gives me a long look, and then he declares smugly, “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
Ryan
“When are you coming back home?” my mom asks. Her disappointment is tangible, and it makes me guilty.
“Gonna try for next month,” I admit. The past few months were busy as hell, and I had to take a break after my tour, especially with all the media exposure. It seemed like people had nothing to do with their lives but talk shit and spread rumors. LA had too much people. Too much buildings.
Sometimes, it feels like my life’s been put through a fast-forward button. Everything’s happening too quickly. That’s why this wedding is important—it’s a welcome break, and I need to slow the hell down. One of the ways to do that is to spend time with my closest friends.
“Has Dad called again?” I ask, my body going tense. They split up when I was three, and he had refused to return my mom’s calls or acknowledge my existence, only making himself known after my second album was released. The first thing he asked for? Money. Yeah, I made it without his help, and like hell we needed someone like that in our lives.
“Just last week,” she says slowly. “He’s asking if you can give him a call when you have the time.”
Shit. That means she’s asking me too.
“Enough about your dad. You remember Maria?” Her voice perks up. “Our old neighbor’s daughter
. Pretty girl. She says maybe you could catch up when you come back home.”
Oh I remember Maria. She followed me all the way to the studio this one time and made a scene, bursting into tears, when I told her she couldn’t come inside with me. That’s what I don’t get—why go that far? I can tell where this is going. I’m not going to be set up.
Understanding my silence, she releases a long sigh. “All right, I get it. You travel too much. And don’t forget to rest—I don’t think you really have for the past two years.”
She’s right. The pressure of wanting to do better is starting to get to me.
“Natalie?” I ask. My sister. She’s on her third year of college doing Accounting. “Can I talk to her?”
“Natalie!” I hear my mom call out over the speaker. “Natalie Iris.” I can almost imagine her shaking her head. “She says she’s studying for her exams,” she adds apologetically.
Ah, hell. My eyes shut. “I see.”
I fucked up again. She really isn’t going to talk to me. The last time I visited, she accused me of not having time for them. It looks like she’s still keeping her distance. Her way of letting me know she’s mad. This is what it’s turned into—traveling and doing what you love, but in the meantime, everybody’s growing up, and you start to realize they’re growing up without you. I need to try calling her again later.
My eyes snag on someone outside by the pool area. My heart stops when I recognize who it is sitting by the pool. Blaire.
What the hell is she doing down there? She can’t swim. She’s sitting down by the edge, swinging her legs in the water. Earlier, she told me she was going to walk around and check out the scenery. You ask me, it was just an excuse to not be in the same room. Not that I could blame her. Well played, Chris. Well fucking played.
“Mom?” I loosen the tight grip on the phone I didn’t realize I had. “I have to go.”
