“Just ’cause you’re too drunk to feel it. Do me a favour, take a warm shower before you hit the hay. You’re gonna get frostbite on your balls.”
“S’not like I need them anymore,” I mumble, but despite the doona cover and the eight layers of clothing, my balls really are cold.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. In ten years you’ll want kids, and you’ll have to ask Zed or Coop to be your sperm donor.”
“Nah, you’d do it for me.”
His face turns serious. Ash is always serious, but he’s never been sad or forlorn a day in his life, not since I’ve known him—but there’s something not right with the way he’s looking at me. Then again, maybe I’m just so fucked up I’m seeing things.
“What’s wrong with you?” I slur, but he’s already at the balcony door and probably too far away to make sense of my incoherent words.
“I’m going to bed. Don’t freeze to death out here.”
“Can’t make any promises.” I can’t feel my face. I can’t feel anything. I’m numb, and I fucking love it. I may just sleep out here. Pitch a little duvet tent, crawl inside, and never come out. At least then I wouldn’t have to hear Ali and Coop fucking.
“You sure that’s such a good idea,” Ash says, and I roll my eyes back inside my head wondering what the fuck he’s going on about.
A snow fort is exactly what I need.
“I just wanna talk to him.” Red. My insides twist up in knots. My Red. Only she’s not mine. She never was. “I’m not going to hurt him.”
Ash laughs, and it’s a humourless, empty sound. “You just being in the same room hurts him, Ali. Fuck! You being halfway across the world tears him apart—”
“I didn’t come here to hurt him.”
“And yet it did anyway.”
“Ash,” I grumble. “Leave her alone.”
“Whatever.” He sighs, and I turn my head to see him leave; it makes me dizzy. I stare at the falling snow as it blankets the city. The door closes softly behind Ali, and I can’t help it. I stare at her, because when she’s around, I can’t look away.
“You look really good, Red.”
She sighs. “You’ve told me that already. You look like shit, Levi.”
“You told me that already too.” I grin and bring the bottle of tequila to my mouth, taking a hearty swig and wincing as it burns the ever-living fuck out of my oesophagus. Ali places her hand over mine and pulls the bottle from my lips. She takes it from me, but not without a struggle first.
“I know this is hard for you.”
“Well, not yet, but shove your hand down my pants, and it won’t be long.” I pause. “Actually, we both know that’s not true. My cock is huge.”
“Yes, it is,” she says quietly. “But you know I’m not talking about your penis. Not everything is about your penis, Levi.”
“Sure, it is.”
“Look.” Ali sighs. “I can leave if this is too hard.”
“I thought we weren’t talking about my cock?”
“Levi.”
“What do you want me to say, Red?” I ask. “Yeah, it’s hard. Seeing you here, having you sit right next to me and being unable to touch you, fucking sucks, but I’ll get over it. Eventually.”
“I don’t like to see you hurt.”
“But you like to see him hurt even less.”
“That isn’t it.”
“You chose him, Red. You chose the man you couldn’t live without. Of course, I think you’re wrong, but what the hell do I know?”
“You’re going to make some other girl really happy one day. You just need to find the right one.”
“I already did,” I murmur. “She’s marrying someone else.”
She straightens, but her brows crease with confusion. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say with a sigh. I get to my feet, kiss the top of her head and stagger inside.
“Levi—”
“Goodnight, Red.”
CHAPTER FOUR
A HOMELESS MAN’S COAT
LEVI
I wake to squeals and sit bolt upright in bed. I check the clock and decide I officially hate Prague as I try to make sense of the bright green digits telling me it’s just past six and way too early to be woken by people fucking on the other side of the wall. I throw the pillow over my head and groan. My brain aches. I attempt to get up, but realise I’m still drunk so standing isn’t really an option right now.
“Yes!” Ali shouts. “Yes.”
She doesn’t sound like she’s in the throes of ecstasy. That’s a sound I know well, so I know this isn’t that. And then it dawns on me, yesterday, when Coop and I went on our little errand. Today is Christmas. He just asked her to marry him, and those screams of “yes” aren’t her crying out with orgasm, they’re the woman I love, saying yes to being another man’s wife.
Fuck!
I scream this inside my head, because I can’t very well do it out loud, not with them just a few feet away behind a thin sheet of drywall. I grab the half-empty bottle from the nightstand and unscrew the cap, downing a huge gulp. My throat burns with the booze and my eyes burn with tears, and then as if on autopilot, I throw the bottle against the dresser and watch as clear liquid runs down the furniture to drip on the plush carpet. A hush falls over the room next door, but it’s short lived because a few seconds later, their quiet murmurs turn into the rhythmic beat of the headboard hitting the wall. Fuck me. I glance at the mess. I’ll probably cut my feet when I try to get up, but who really gives a shit? Not Ali, certainly not Coop, and me? I don’t give a fuck what happens to me anymore. I don’t give a single shit. Except that now I have no booze, and as I lay back on the bed, I wish I hadn’t wasted it on the dresser.
Later, I’ll venture out into the apartment and raid whatever stash of liquor we have left, but right now, I can’t stomach seeing either one, maybe not at all today.
Merry fucking Christmas.
WELL IF THIS ISN’T awkward as fuck, I don’t know what is. I would have been content to just lie in bed all day, but everyone insisted I join them for Christmas lunch, and here we are.
Ali sits across the table from me, beside Cooper. Ash has the seat next to me, and Zed sits across from him alongside Deb. It’s just one big happy fucking family. Try as I might, I can’t help staring at the ring on Ali’s finger. The way the black diamond catches the light and the smaller diamonds twinkle around it, mocking me. There’s takeout from room service on the table, and wine. As if we’re people who drink wine. As if I haven’t been in a state of perma-drunk since she left. I raise my glass and down half in one go. It tastes like shit. Zed probably ordered it. I wish I could just crawl back to my room, but in the spirit of giving, I’m trying to give a fuck.
I can’t tell if it’s working or not.
“Levi, can you pass the wine, please?” Ali asks. It’s a fair question to ask of me, because even though it tastes like shit, I’m hoarding it.
“Sure,” I grab the neck of the bottle and hand it to her. It sloshes on the pristine white tablecloth. Ali attempts to mop it up and that big shiny rock winks in the light as if it’s taunting me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, man?”
I laugh without humour. “I don’t know, Ryan. Whatever could be the matter?”
I stare at the ring on her finger. Ali’s hand disappears inside her sleeve, hiding from the world. From me. Did she think I wouldn’t notice? “I guess congratulations are in order, huh?” I grab my glass and raise it in a toast to the happy couple. “To Red and Ryan, may you never know the absolute fucking torture of losing one another.”
I gulp down my wine and throw the glass as I walk out. My coat is nowhere to be found. I don’t have time to look for it, I don't even know where I’m going, and I don’t care.
“Levi,” Ali calls, but the door slams behind me, effectively cutting off her words. I don’t come across a single soul as I make my way past the bar and through the lobby. A woman is working the front desk, but she a
ppears too flustered to even look up from the phones that are ringing off the hook. Cold air howls past the entrance to the hotel and the bellman opens the door. He says something in Czech, but I’ll be damned if I know what the fuck it is. Icy air blasts my face, and for a bit, I think about staying within the warmth of the hotel and parking my arse on a stool by the bar, but if I stay here, sure enough, Ali or Zed, Ash or even Coop will come looking. Okay, maybe not Cooper, but someone is bound to come looking, and right now, I don’t want to be found. So I push out onto the street and bunch my hands into fists as the air is stolen from my lungs by the cold.
AN HOUR LATER, I’M holding a little baggy of E, and shivering under a bridge in a homeless man’s coat. I paid him three hundred dollars in cash. I’m a shitty fucking person. I’m the worst, and it’s no wonder Ali is marrying Cooper fucking Ryan, the golden boy of rock. I stare at the packet for so long I’m not sure I’m going to even take it. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. It’s not like any of this is a surprise. Wasn’t it me who just yesterday told Ryan that it was a given Red would say yes? Even so, I can’t breathe knowing that I was right.
She said yes.
I knew there was no chance for us. I knew that from the second she left us, but I guess a part of me still held out hope ... right up until the moment I saw that shiny rock on her finger. A part of me was still secretly hoping she would tell him no, and tell me that she’d made a mistake. Stupid. So fucking stupid. I stare at the cellophane packet and open it, shaking one of the little pills out into the palm of my hand. And then I swallow it down with a sip of whisky, and ten minutes later, I forget all about how Ali Jones is soon to become Ryan’s girl forever.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT’S CALLED TACT, ARSEHAT
LEVI
When I wake, it’s to bright lights overhead, an uncomfortable bed, and a white room that reeks of disinfectant. My stomach turns, and my throat feels like a bunch of razorblades threw a fucking kegger. I glance around and see Ali’s worried face, and Coop’s pissed off one.
“Jesus, who died?” I rasp, though it hurts like a son of a bitch to talk.
“You arsehole,” Ali snaps. Tears form in her eyes, but she blinks them back and her expression is lit with fury. “You almost died.”
Coop puts his arms around her, pulling her into his side, and that hurts worse than the pain coursing through my body right now.
“They pumped your stomach,” Coop says. “Vanessa is pissed. It’s a PR fucking nightmare. You’re on goddam TMZ walking naked through the snow in Prague.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit is right. As soon as your arse is up out of bed, Guidelli wants a video conference call. They’ve cancelled the last five shows of the tour, refunded thousands of dollars in ticket sales—again—and they’re giving us three months to sort out our shit.”
My brows shoot up in surprise, and even that hurts. “We get three months off?”
“No, fuckface. We get three months to clean up our shit, or we’re dropped from the label. Personally, I think it’s kind of fucked that all of our careers are in jeopardy, instead of just yours, but hey, Ash and Zed won’t play without you, so it is what it is.”
Ali’s shoulders sag in defeat and she glares at her new fiancé. “Coop.”
“So that’s your plan, just to kick me out of the band?”
“It’s not something I’ve ever wanted, not even when things were ...” He glances at Ali. “Difficult with the three of us, but I won’t lie, Levi. We’ve all had enough of your bullshit. Either you can deal with this, or you can’t. Which is it, because Ali and I are using these three months to get married—”
“Jesus, Coop.” Ali shakes her head. “Really? You said you’d let me handle it.”
“What?” he demands of his future wife. “It’s not like he doesn’t know you said yes.”
“It’s called tact, arsehat.” Ali laughs humourlessly and then turns her gaze on me. She flops heavily in the chair beside my bed, takes my hand, and squeezes. Even as she holds my hand and prepares to feed me some bullshit line about this getting easier, her ring feels like a brand as the platinum band rests against my skin. “I know it hurts, and I know right now Coop and I must seem kind of cunty—”
I scoff. “Kind of?”
“The last thing either of us want is to hurt you.”
“Then don’t fucking marry him!” My voice breaks and I swallow down the lump in my throat as I glare at her.
“Fuck me, I’m done with this conversation. Ali, I’ll meet you downstairs,” Ryan says, shaking his head, and then without another word, he yanks open the hospital room door and leaves, slamming it behind him.
“Don’t marry him, Red,” I beg, squeezing her hand in both of mine. I know I sound pathetic, probably look it too, but I have to try. “Please, please don’t marry him.”
Tears spill over both of our faces, and I don’t care if it emasculates me completely. I don’t give a shit. All I care about is her.
All I want is her.
“I’m marrying him, Levi, and I know asking this of you makes me an arsehole, but it would mean a lot to me—and to him—if you would be there.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re asking. If you did, if you had even the slightest inclination, you wouldn’t ask me to do this,” I say through my teeth.
“I do—”
“No. Get the fuck out!”
“Levi, please ...” She sniffles and wipes away her tears as she climbs to her feet. I want to pull her on top of me. I wanna kiss the shit out of her, even now, even when she’s gutting me this way. I want to grab her hands and run them through the blood that surely must be pouring from the hole in my chest where my heart used to be, but I don’t.
I don’t say a fucking word.
I don’t do a fucking thing, and Ali walks out of my hospital room, and out of my life, probably, for the last time.
CHAPTER SIX
OFF WITH HER HEAD
BRIELLE
I put the spoon back in the bowl and wipe the drool from my father’s chin. The doctor’s said his motor function should improve, but it’s been months since his stroke. The doctors can kiss my arse, because clearly they know nothing. The corner of his once proud mouth tips up in what the world might see as a grimace, but what I know is a smile. I smile back, and hope that none of the sadness in my heart is reflected in my eyes. Touma Kagawa was once a revered business man. Nothing held him back or got in the way of what he wanted, not boarders or foreign languages, or the word no. Now his mind and body both hold him back. And all because of a tiny blood clot in his brain.
My father purses his lips, as if he wants to tell me something but doesn’t know how to form the words. “What is it, Père?”
He pats the side of my face, and his eyes light up. Then he points to my mother who stands on tiptoes scrubbing the kitchen as she hums one of my original pieces. His mouth twists with his unusual smile when he looks at her.
“Maman?”
He nods resolutely, and I glance between my parents in confusion as he points to her and then to my face again. “I look like Maman?”
He smiles and rests his head back on the pillow, exhausted from his efforts to communicate.
“Merci, Père. Maman is very beautiful. If I shared only half her grace, I would consider myself a very lucky woman.”
He nods again, and I take the cloth and wipe away the drool on his chin, something that needs to be done constantly, or else his bedclothes will be soaked through.
“Get some rest now.” I lean forward and kiss his temple. “I’ll be back tomorrow to see you.”
Another resolute nod and he closes his eyes, but as I get up to leave, his hand brushes mine and I turn to look at him. He gives me a weak squeeze of my fingers and I squeeze his gently back, trying to hide how my heart plummets when I feel his frail, hollow-boned hand in mine.
I grab the half-eaten bowl of soup and join my mother in the kitchen.
“Sit
down and eat, mon petit chou.”
“Non. I am not hungry, Maman.”
“At least take some home with you. I know you have no food in that tiny apartment.”
“I’m okay.”
“Brielle.”
“Fine. I will eat.” I don’t want to sit and eat my mother and father’s food, not because it isn’t good—Maman makes the best Tourin in all of France—but money is tighter here than it is for me. I give them as much as I can after my rent is taken out, but since Bastien had me fired from the orchestra, I no longer have a steady pay cheque. I have my students whom I teach, but those lessons are hardly enough to live on. Nowhere in this city will hire me, not without a lot of grovelling. And I refuse to get on my knees for a man who broke my heart.
I take the spoon Maman offers and dip it into the soup. The strong flavour of garlic rolls over my tongue and I smile because it’s just as I remembered from my grand-mère. “It’s good.”
“Of course it’s good. It’s mine.” She shrugs and chuckles at herself. I laugh too. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I set my spoon down and glance at it.
“Brielle, what is our rule at the table?”
“I know, Maman. It’ll just be a moment. I’m waiting to hear from Piaf.”
My mother grimaces and nods as if giving her approval.
“Please tell me you have good news,” I say in French, because even though my father insisted we speak English in his home, I still consider French my first language.
“I have the best news, but first, I want to know when you’re next buying me dinner?”
“That depends on when you’re getting me my next big break?”
“How about next month?”
“For dinner, or a job?”
“A job. Not just any job, the job.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, because I often find myself confused when talking to Piaf. She may be my closest friend and my booking agent, but most of our exchanges leave me with a headache. “Did Bastien get fired? Oh my God, am I back in the orchestra?”
TAINTED: THE COMPLETE DUET Page 32
