by Lisa Suzanne
“Hey everyone,” I say awkwardly. I take a sip of my cold coffee and wish once again it was hotter.
“Your concert tonight at the XL Center has been sold out for months,” John says. “What can fans expect?”
“We’ve got the talented Maci Dane opening for us. After her set, we’ll come on for around two and a half hours with a mix of our classics and a few newer songs thrown in.”
“Speaking of Maci,” Jackie says, glancing down at the tablet in front of her, “rumors abound linking the two of you romantically.” Her eyes laser-focus in on mine with a glare. “Any truth to the rumors?”
“The rumors you hear about me are probably as true as the ones I hear about you,” I say with a wry smile—my go-to response when addressing gossip. It’s a non-answer, but I’m not sure I have a real answer to give. I’m no longer sure if we are linked romantically—especially after last night, after she told me we’re an isn’t.
“Have you heard much about me?” Jackie asks. Her eyes still glare, though her tone is light for the radio audience.
I chuckle uncomfortably and take the honest route. “No, I haven’t.”
She doesn’t glance away from me—doesn’t look down at her tablet, which tells me she’s already abandoned the list of interview questions they prepared. And that sends a dart of dread through me. “You and Maci were photographed in New Orleans outside of a strip club, and you accompanied her to an appearance in Dallas where you two performed her song ‘Another Shot’ together.”
“Is there a question somewhere in there?” I ask, refusing to back down.
It’s too goddamn early for this shit.
She opens her mouth to answer me, but thankfully John steps in and attempts to smooth things over. “You two have certainly piqued the curiosity of your fans. How’s the tour been so far?”
I shoot him a thankful look. “It’s been an amazing ride. Hard to believe we’re all the way across the country from home and we’re almost halfway through this tour.”
“You’re in New York after Connecticut?” John asks.
“Yes, two nights at the Garden.”
“Do you travel with the other members of Vail?” John asks. Clearly he’s taken over the interview now, which is fine with me.
“We actually each have our own buses.”
“Why’s that?” Jackie asks. I catch a hint of scorn in her voice.
“Mark and I used to share a bus before he got married. I figured the newlyweds would want alone time. Plus if I have my own bus, I don’t have to sleep in a tiny bunk.”
“Do you ever stay in hotels?” John asks. He waves at Jackie and gives her a meaningful look before pointing down toward her tablet.
“Yeah, if we’re in a city for more than a night or we aren’t traveling overnight, we do.”
“What’s your favorite song to play live?” Jackie asks, reading from the tablet.
I pretend to mull it over, but now we’ve fallen to the standard questions as far as interviews go. “‘One for the Road’ always just has this incredible vibe to it. I love how it sets the audience on fire.”
“Will Maci Dane be joining you for that one tonight?” Jackie asks.
Great, more Maci questions. Just what I wanted. “More than likely.”
John shakes his head at her and shoots me an apologetic smile. “And what’s your least favorite song to play?” he asks.
“‘A Little Like Destiny.’ I love the song, but Mark does this a cappella version now so there’s no drums.”
John laughs at that, but Jackie doesn’t.
“What’s one piece of advice you’d give aspiring musicians?” John asks.
“If this life is truly what you want, don’t give up on it. At the same time, though, you always have to be realistic. Set goals. Start small. Chip away at small chunks, and always be on the lookout for what could become your lucky break. If you’d have told seventeen-year-old Ethan this would be my life, I’d have said you’re fucking crazy.” I cover my mouth. “Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
John taps a few buttons, clearly editing my accidental curse words, and then he laughs.
“If you could go back in time to give your seventeen-year-old self advice, what would you tell him?” John asks.
I think of seventeen-year-old Ethan, the boy who still had a mother, no matter how fucked up she was, and who still had a chance with the only girl who ever made him feel like he was worth a damn. My chest aches as I murmur my answer without thinking it through. “I’d tell him to stop being so stupid and to go after the girl he loved.”
There’s an awkward beat of silence before John says, “Thanks for joining us today, Ethan. We look forward to seeing Vail tonight at the XL Center.” He cuts to commercial, we head into the hallway to snap some more photographs for their website, and that’s it. I’m free to go.
“Thanks, man,” John says. He waits for Jackie to say something to me, too, but she doesn’t, and I don’t really care anyway.
On our way back to the buses, I stare out the window at a cold January morning in Connecticut as our driver battles rush hour traffic. I’m cold and tired, but I’m awake now as I think about the questions they asked me—especially that final one. I wish Maci would’ve heard that answer. I wish I could tell her the girl I thought I loved back then was her and it would be enough to allow us to move forward together.
It isn’t until we’re almost back that I pull my phone out of my pocket. I have a new text from Maci.
Maci: Thanks for dodging her questions about us. I’m not sure how I would’ve answered.
Me: You listened?
It takes her a while to respond. By the time the text comes through, we’re pulling into the bus lot.
Maci: Yes. The girl you mentioned at the end, the one you loved when you were a teenager. Who was she?
I don’t text back. Instead, I get out of the car and head right for her bus.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MACI
He doesn’t text me back, not right away, and I’m scared what that could mean. He’s dropped too many hints, though, and I’m starting to question whether the girl he fell for when he was a teenager was someone I knew, too. Someone I knew well. Someone who died a long time ago.
There’s a knock at my door. It’s early—so early that I haven’t even gotten up to pop in my colored lenses yet, but I assume it’s Griffin anyway. “Come in,” I call out. I clear my throat, and my mouth forms a surprised O when Ethan appears in my doorway.
“Good morning,” he says. He closes the door and kicks off his shoes like I’ve just invited him to stay a while.
“What are you doing here?” I finally manage to ask.
“You asked me a question, and I came here to answer.” He stalks toward the bed.
“Oh.”
He flips the covers, and a rush of cold air hits my legs beneath the comforter. He lays his head on the pillow beside me then turns to face me, reminiscent of the night we traveled to Dallas.
“So what’s your answer, then?” I ask once he’s settled in.
His eyes study mine. He’s searching them, and I know he sees the flecks of gold in them. I know he sees they’re not blue. But it’s too late to try to hide it anymore.
“Are you feeling any better?” he asks.
“That’s not an answer,” I say, dodging his question—because no, I’m not really feeling better. There’s too much at stake to feel good even if I wasn’t dealing with constant nausea.
He closes his eyes for a beat then sighs as his eyes meet mine again. “Her name was Daniella Mayne. She went by Dani. She had kind whiskey eyes and tempting coral lips.” He traces my bottom lip with his forefinger, and my chest tightens as I wait for more of his words. “She somehow mixed innocence with seduction, like she was playing the part of a sweet girl but there was this badass inside she wasn’t quite ready to unleash.”
The emotions rattle around inside me. This is my chance to confess. He’s opening the door for me, making it easy.<
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But I still contend that telling him everything will only hurt him in the long run.
A tear drops from my eye, and he brushes it away with his fingertip. “What’s wrong, Mace?” he whispers.
“Did you really love her?” I ask. “Did you even know her?”
He lifts the shoulder he’s not lying on. “I don’t know. I know I had strong feelings for her. I know she incited feelings in me no one else has ever been able to. Until I met you.”
I’m surprised by his answer. I expected him to say without a doubt, that girl was the love of his life.
When that’s not what he says, I wonder how she could’ve left such a lasting impact on him.
He glances over my shoulder, avoiding eye contact. “I was taught from a young age that love doesn’t exist.”
My heart cracks for the seventeen-year-old Ethan. “That’s a cynical way to go through life.”
“Is it?” His eyes find mine again. “Or is it an easier way?”
He has a point, I suppose. Life would be easier without it sometimes. If I hadn’t felt so strongly about him back then, his words wouldn’t have had the lasting impact they’ve had on me. They wouldn’t have meant anything at all.
But I can’t pretend like love doesn’t exist. I’m not even sure I can fully comprehend that. “What do you mean?”
“Love’s messy, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” His words are dismissive, like it wouldn’t be worth the time to invest in something raw, real, and beautiful. But I’m here to set him straight.
“Messy, maybe, but worth it. Always worth it.”
“How do you know?” he asks.
Anger roils through me for a beat. “Because I don’t have a man in my life right now you assume I don’t know what love is?”
“No, that’s not at all what I meant.” He draws in a breath as he chooses his next words carefully. “Look, you’re divorced, right? Was being married to him worth it? Is it a good memory?”
I shrug as I think of Kai. I wish we’d never gotten married. I wish that wasn’t a part of my history. The times we shared before that were amazing, but once we made that impulsive decision, he turned from a pleasure to a regret. “I guess I’d call it my biggest regret.”
“Did you love him?” He doesn’t look me in the eye when he asks.
“I thought I did, but there’s a fine line between thinking you know the truth and actually knowing it.” I’m obviously steering this conversation a different way, and he looks confused for a second.
“I think I know something about you, but you ran away from me when I asked.”
I blink my gaze away from him. “I think I know things about you, too, and I don’t like them.”
“What things?” he asks. I don’t answer right away, and his hand comes under my chin as he forces my gaze to meet his. “What things?”
“There’s always women...” I say, but it sounds so jealous and petty. I don’t know how else to ask whether he’s been with other women since we met. I haven’t been with anybody else, but we also never labeled this as exclusive.
“I’ve declined left and right, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You’ve declined?” My heart jumps in surprise. It was what I was hoping for, but not what I’d expected.
He nods.
“Why?” I ask.
“I couldn’t have sex with some other woman when I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice is a raspy whisper, like it’s hard for him to say the words.
“Because of me?”
“Because of you,” he confirms.
“Sounds like a song,” I say, and then I giggle.
His eyes light up when I laugh, and he reaches out to take a strand of my hair between his thumb and forefinger. He rolls it around, and I’m carried back twenty years to a high school hallway. He tucks it behind my ear and runs his fingertips along the curve of my neck. I close my eyes and sigh automatically because this is where I feel the most content in the world. Right here, beside Ethan, his hands soft on my skin. His lips brush mine, and my eyes pop open. I halt him with a hand on his chest.
I want this, I do...but it’s too soon. “I don’t know...” I say, trailing off.
“Good thing I do, then,” he says, and then he shifts so he’s hovering over me, resting his weight on one arm as the other hand runs down my torso. I close my eyes and let out a low moan when he thrusts his pelvis against mine. He rocks into me a few times, and as much as I want this, I can’t do it with the secrets.
Maybe it’s time to tell him one.
“I’m not ready, Ethan,” I say.
He blows out a frustrated breath as he dismounts, settling onto his back with his head on the pillow. He stares up at the ceiling, and I draw in a deep breath as my heart races and little black dots start to cloud my vision.
It’s now or never.
It’s time to admit one of the truths. Time to confess one of the secrets.
Time to change this man’s life forever.
“I have something to tell you,” I whisper.
“What?” he asks, scrubbing a hand down his cheek and along his jaw. His tone is forceful and frustrated at the same time, and I lose my nerve.
“Never mind,” I say. I turn and face the wall away from him. It’s not the right time.
I feel the bed shift beside me and he tugs on my shoulder until I’m on my back and looking up into Ethan’s eyes.
“Tell me,” he says, his voice gentler.
I exhale a long, shaky breath, and then I finally say, “I’m pregnant.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ETHAN
The world stops around me as I’m transported to the very first time those words cut into my consciousness and changed my world forever—though certainly not the last time it happened to me.
My mom had spoken them to the guy I’d found naked on top of her a few days earlier.
I was eight and terrified as he slapped my mother across the face. They didn’t know I was peering into the kitchen from around the corner. I was supposed to be sleeping, but instead my heart pounded as I watched a scene unfold before me no eight-year-old should ever bear witness to.
“Get rid of it,” he’d hissed at her through gritted teeth.
“I can’t,” she’d responded.
“It’s not mine,” he’d told her. “I’ll deny it’s mine.”
I remember watching as he lunged for her, his hand locked in a fist, and pummeled that fist into her stomach. I hurried as quietly as I could back to my bedroom and cried myself to sleep. It didn’t occur to me until much later that she never swelled with a child. I didn’t know if his fists took care of what he deemed a real problem that day, if she aborted it, or if she lost it later on. I never asked, either. She died thinking she’d kept her secret.
I replay the first time the words were spoken to me. I was fifteen and in high school, and while my response hadn’t been anything like the man my mother was seeing when I was eight, it still wasn’t appropriate. Shana and I were too young to have kids. It was only supposed to be the two of us fooling around. I didn’t want a baby with her and I wasn’t in a position to provide support. I didn’t have a family unit I could rely on to help, either. I’d told Shana that, too.
In the end, it turned out it wasn’t mine, anyway. Instead of feeling sadness or regret over that, though, I simply felt relief.
I lost count of how many times I’ve been on the receiving end of those exact words since our first album went platinum. Lots of women seem to think they’ll get a piece of my pie if they produce my spawn. Condoms only work some of the time, they’d tell me. Not a single one of those claims has ever turned out to be true, much to my utter relief.
I think of my own completely unstable childhood. I think of how physically I’m able to father a child, but I’m not cut out to be a dad.
I have the means to hire other people to do it, but I’m an asshole who’s full of himself.
Who’s full of fear.
I want to handle this correctly. I want to step up and be the man she expects me to be. I want to do right by her, to love her, to prove to her that whatever’s happened can be a tragic part of our history but we can move forward now into a new place we both deserve.
But despite all those wants that barrel through my scrambled mind, my true nature emerges first. My immediate thought is that it can’t be mine. The broken condom wasn’t that long ago. It’s too soon for her to know these things. Isn’t it?
“How do you know?” I ask carefully.
“I’ve been getting sick a lot. Griff took me to the ER and they ran some tests.”
I exhale as I try to take all this in, but I find I can’t. I’m lost. I have no idea how to deal with this, and instead of handling it properly, instead of stepping up and doing right by her, instead of somehow showing some sensitivity, I say, “Whose is it?”
Her face crumbles, and a shot of regret pierces right through to my heart. “It’s yours,” she whispers.
I hate myself as the words fall as naturally as breathing right out of my mouth. “Prove it.”
She doesn’t have to. Before the words even leave my lips, I’m certain it’s mine. We were both there when I dipped in, both there when the condom broke. It’s early, but science doesn’t lie. If she’s pregnant, it’s because of what we’ve done. This shouldn’t be a surprise to either of us, yet it’s an outrageous blow that has me stumbling.
Her brows knit together in anger. “Prove it?” she repeats, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
No, that’s not what I meant. Those are the words I should say to her, the ones I want to say to her, but I can’t form them correctly, can’t make them come out of my mouth in my panic. “This isn’t the first time someone’s told me this, and it’s never once been mine,” I say instead.
Despite being careful, accidents happen, and I lost count of how many times a woman told me she was pregnant with my child only to find out she was just after my money. It’s sickening what people will do for a few dollars, but I don’t peg Maci as the gold digging type.
