Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition

by Callie Anderson

He locked my hand in his and led me to our hotel room. My hands trembled as I slid the keycard into the door. Once the door was shut with the Please Do Not Disturb sign, Weston strolled towards me, his eyes pitch black.

  The air in the hotel room had vanished.

  Weston’s body towered over me, my back flat against the door. His hands tickled up my thighs until his fingers captured the hem of my shirt and lifted it over my head. His tongue slid across his lower lip and a shiver ran up my spine. Taking my hand in his, he kissed the top of my ring. “I'm going to devour you,” he said in a low, raspy voice. “I promise I will kiss every inch of your body.”

  That night Weston fulfilled every promise.

  Weston’s cell phone was ringing. As he reached across to the nightstand to answer it, I got out of bed and went to wash my face. When I returned from the bathroom, he was sitting on the bed, his phone still glued to his ear.

  “Yeah, that works . . . Sure, we can meet there … Okay, man, I'll see you soon.”

  Weston tossed his phone on the bed and reached for me, a wide smile on his face. “That was Paulie Wright with Wright Management. He heard our original song.” Weston tugged on my arms until I was straddling him. “He wants to meet me for lunch and talk business.”

  A part of me wanted to tell Weston how much of a douche Paulie was, but if Paulie could shift Weston’s career and open doors for him, it was best that I kept my mouth shut.

  “Come with me to lunch?”

  “K,” I whispered.

  Framing my face with his hands to kiss me, the urge to cough climbed up my lungs. I pulled away from him and covered my mouth as I began to hack. I located my cough drops, twisted the wrapper off one, and tossed the candy in my mouth.

  “Are you still sick?”

  “I can't seem to get rid of this cold. When I get back to LA, I need to go to the doctor and ask for stronger pills.”

  “Come here, babe. I’ll take care of you.” He pulled me towards him.

  Weston and I stayed curled up in bed for most of the morning. I didn't want to move from our spot, but eventually we got ready and made our way to the burger spot Paulie had chosen for lunch. On the way there, I decided if Paulie mentioned me to Weston, then I would tell him the truth: he invited me to a party and I said no. A part of me didn’t want to lie, but if I told Weston that Paulie hit on me, he would be reluctant to work with him.

  As we approached, Paulie’s smile changed to a stern look when he noticed my hand was laced with Weston's. When Weston introduced us to one another, he acted as if he’d never met me before.

  Fine by me.

  Paulie got right to business, talking about every other artist he had worked with. The keyword that kept jumping in my head was had. If he was this great manager with so many connections, why had these other people left? Weston described where he saw the direction of the band going once the tour was up. I sat in silence and picked at my food while the guys chatted, never once giving my opinion.

  Before the waiter placed the check on the table, Weston scooted out to use the bathroom. My fingers twirled my ring to avoid making conversation with Paulie, but when he cleared his throat, I looked up from my hands and found him smiling.

  “Don't worry, I won't tell your boyfriend that you were flirting with me.”

  My lips curled with disgust. “You're really full of yourself, you know that?” I stood and walked out of the restaurant. I’d wait for Weston in the car. Fifteen minutes had passed before he joined me. I was playing a game on my phone when he pulled the door open.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I lied. “I began to cough and I didn't want to make a scene in the restaurant.”

  Weston ran his fingers over my cheek and kissed my forehead. “You didn't seem like you had a good time.”

  “I did. I'm just a little tired, that's all.”

  Weston leaned across the car and kissed my cheek softly. “Thank you for coming.”

  Weston and I made it back to our hotel, then hung out with the guys for a bit before it was time for them to set up and have their sound check for the night. It would be my last show before Leslie and I headed back home. Though tomorrow was the Fourth of July, I wanted to get to LA as soon as possible to avoid traffic.

  “We gotta go, babe,” Weston said as he shut the TV off. We had come back to our room so I could grab my bags.

  I was rummaging through my small suitcase. “Hold on, I need to find something.” I couldn't remember the last time I had taken my birth control.

  “What?”

  “Ah! Here it is!” I popped open the pink plastic compact.

  “Did you miss your pills?”

  “Yeah.” I turned the dial and pushed out two pills. Throwing them down the back of my throat, I swallowed them.

  “Aren't you supposed to take those every day?” His voice was laced with concern. He had the right to be. He had his whole future ahead of him.

  “Calm down. I’m not trying to trap you or anything. I don't even want kids.” I zipped up my suitcase.

  “You don't want kids?” Weston rose from the couch and walked towards me.

  “No.”

  “Every girl wants kids.” He enveloped his arms around my lower back.

  “Not this girl. Sorry to burst your bubble.” I gave him a cute pout, trying to make light of the situation. Not only did I not want kids, but it was impossible. I suffered from polycystic ovary syndrome and premature ovary failure, which meant my body didn’t ovulate regularly. Taking birth control merely helped to regulate my periods.

  “Oh, yeah.” He kissed my neck and I giggled from his scruff. “You and I are definitely having a little one.” My smile faded. Definitely was a terrifying word. “A little girl. She’ll have your red hair and she’ll be the most beautiful thing.”

  “I see you've thought this through.” I pulled away from his hold. There was a pinch in my chest. I was told by many doctors that pregnancies were out of the picture, but how could I crush his hope of us someday having a kid?

  “Yep, Lyra Skye Carter.” He spoke her name as though he had spent months imagining it. “Lyra is a constellation and she’ll shine bright in the sky. And I know she’ll look just like you, and then I’ll have everything.”

  Swallowing away the pain, I decided to play along. “With your eyes,” I joked.

  “And she’ll be the only girl I’ll love more than you.” He pulled me into his arms. His lips kissed a soft trail down my neck.

  “Come on, lover boy. We have to go to sound check.” I pushed on Weston’s chest. There were some things I wasn’t ready to talk about. I loved him unconditionally, but we hadn’t been together long enough to open up Pandora’s Box.

  22

  EMILIA

  A few weeks later I’d found myself in bed by seven at night. My body had been drained from work, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep for an endless number of days. With no time to visit my doctor for blood work, I diagnosed myself with anemia. I had all the symptoms, according to Google.

  My phone rang and the screen showed it was Weston calling. If it were anybody else, I would have declined the call. “Hi, baby.”

  “Are you sleeping already?” he asked. I could hear Axel and Harry celebrating in the background.

  “I'm just resting my eyes.”

  “I have some exciting news. Elephant Room has officially signed on with Wright Management.”

  I knew that the guys had been talking about hiring Paulie to be their manager. He promised them a boatload of crap that I hoped he'd deliver on. I wanted to share my doubts with Weston, but who was I to meddle in their business? “That's really great, Weston.”

  “Do you know what's even better? I get to see you in two weeks.” I heard Axel call out for him. “Okay, babe, I have to go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  I was barely able to tell him I loved him before he hung up and sleep overtook my body.

  I’d thought Weston and I would go back to the same routin
e we’d had before he left once the Summer Festival Tour ended. I’d assumed our world would fall back into place and I would spend every moment with him.

  I was wrong.

  Paulie had their schedules packed almost every night. While I was at work during the day, Weston and the guys were in the studio laying down tracks. When I came home from work, he was getting ready to do local gigs. It was like my boyfriend was gone all over again, except this time it was worse because the ghost of Weston haunted me every day. There was a strain building in our relationship and neither of us had the courage to speak up.

  Weston repeatedly told me how much he loved me. He would take my hand and kiss my ring. I knew he was following his dream; I knew how hard it was to catch a break in this world. But I also knew how this was affecting our relationship. It didn't help that I had grown to despise Paulie. Never had I hated someone as much as I hated him. Even remembering our conversation made my blood boil.

  I had missed Weston’s phone call because I was in a meeting, so I called his cell. It rang five times before he picked up.

  “Hello?” I spoke into the phone when there was dead air on the other side.

  “Yeah, what do you want?” Paulie said.

  “I want to speak to Weston.”

  He huffed. “He's kind of busy at the moment.”

  Anger boiled inside of me. “I'm not asking permission to speak to my boyfriend. I'm telling you to give him his phone.”

  “Sorry, doll, he's gonna have to call you later.” Paulie hung up the phone and I didn't get to speak to Weston until the following day because he was in the studio all night.

  Leslie became my therapist, talking me off the ledge. I sat at home and contemplated whether this relationship was worth my anxiety and the uncertainty. I was new to this, but I thought it was safe to assume you were supposed to see each other. She told me I was insane for even thinking of leaving him and that Weston worshiped the ground I walked on. I wanted to believe everything she said; I wanted to believe that our love, the love I had so desperately try to avoid, would conquer all.

  But things only got worse.

  23

  WESTON

  When we’d first hired Paulie as our manager, he talked about getting our demos into the right hands. We knew there was a chance that he was full of shit. Most managers did as little as possible for artists who didn’t have an album out. He couldn’t collect twenty percent of nothing if we didn’t have shit to give him. But, to our surprise, Paulie stuck around. He made sure our demos were perfect and started making calls to every music executive he could in hopes that they’d listen to our songs. Most of the executives recognized our name since we had spent most of the summer on the road with other bigger named musicians, making it easier to get our demos in their hands.

  While Harry and Pete were off with groupies, Axel, Paulie, and I spent every free minute making connections. As a band we were hopeful, and doing everything we could to get our name out there, but I wasn’t holding my breath. There was too much competition saturating the music industry, and I wasn’t convinced we had a fighting chance to be in the big leagues.

  When I woke up Saturday morning to eight missed calls from Paulie, my stomach sank. I knew something had happened. The sleep from my body quickly faded as I hit the callback button. Paulie answered on the first ring.

  “Yo! Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to call you all morning,” he asked in a clipped tone.

  I looked down at the phone and squinted at the time. It was only a quarter to ten. “I’ve been sleeping like the rest of the world.”

  “Well, get the fuck up because your life, my friend, has just changed.” The excitement in his voice caught me off guard.

  I sat on my bed and rubbed a hand down my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “North Records just sent me a contract. They want Elephant Room on a plane to London by the end of next week.”

  And there it was. The moment my dream became a reality.

  A record deal.

  A chance for the world to hear us.

  “Are you fucking with me?” I asked, worried he just filled me with a hope that didn’t exist.

  “I fuck many things,” Paulie chuckled, “but I’m not fucking with you. I’m not kidding, man. We need to have a meeting and get you guys squared away with an itinerary.”

  This was real and about to become our reality. My pulse hammered and I couldn’t hide the smile if I tried. The opportunity had finally knocked on our door.

  “Okay.” I tossed my legs over the bed and stood, ready to get the ball rolling. The guys were gonna flip. “How long are we gone for this time?” I asked.

  “Well…” Paulie paused. “You take into consideration, recording, mastering, and promoting the record, and you’re looking at six months to a year give or take.”

  “All right,” I stated, my head slowly nodding. Knowing what I had to do, I grabbed some clothes from my drawer. “Call the guys and set a meeting up. Text me the time and place, and I’ll meet you there. I have to go tell Emilia.”

  I didn’t wait for Paulie to respond before I ended our call. With a rapid heartbeat, I dialed Emilia’s number. My mind was all over the place, but there was one thing I knew for certain.

  If I was going away for a year, Emilia needed to come with me.

  24

  EMILIA

  The Saturday before Labor Day, my world flipped on its axis. I awoke early that morning and my room was spinning. Though I had slept for eight hours the previous night, my body was exhausted. Something had to give.

  I kicked my comforter off and sat on my empty bed; Weston had worked late the previous night again. Instantly my stomach began to turn, and I darted towards the bathroom. After twenty minutes of dry heaving, I rested my face on the cold tile floor.

  There was a soft tap on the door before Leslie pushed it ajar with an apologetic look on her face. She held a plastic pharmacy bag in her hand.

  “What's that?” I muttered.

  She walked in and sat on the edge of the tub. Her eyes were serious; her face stern with no frown lines. “My period came three weeks ago.”

  Confused, I shook my head. “And?”

  “And since we moved in together, we've been on the same cycle. I was extremely bitchy three weeks ago and you weren’t. You were tired, but your period never came. I think you're pregnant.”

  “You know I can't get pregnant. I’m on birth control, and I have a lazy uterus that doesn't ovulate—”

  “Yes, I know, but you were also sick and you were taking antibiotics which cut the effect of birth control. And though you may have a lazy uterus, it doesn't necessarily mean that it’s impossible to get pregnant.”

  “I'm not pregnant. My period came …” I paused. I took birth control to keep my cycle monthly, so I was due…

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  My body flushed with an even worse heat. “I'm not pregnant. I can't be pregnant. I had a doctor tell me I could never get pregnant. I have ovarian failure!” My heart began to race; nausea crawled up my stomach.

  “There is a high probability that you wouldn’t be able to conceive on your own—”

  “He told me no, that I would never be able to get pregnant on my own! And I take birth control!” My hand rushed to my mouth to stop another round of heaving.

  “Only one way to find out for sure.” Leslie opened her pharmacy bag and pulled out a pregnancy test.

  “You just carry these around?” The cream walls in our tiny bathroom felt as if they were closing in.

  “No,” she retorted. “When you began to get sick and tired I thought maybe. Then when my period came and yours didn't, I thought something was wrong.” I stood and ran cool water onto my hands and patted them behind my neck.

  “See, another sign, looks like morning sickness.” Leslie gave me a kind look and pulled the bathroom door closed.

  With a shaky hand, I peeled open the cardboard box, sat on the toilet
and peed on the stick. My heart raced with each passing second. I couldn’t be pregnant. I’d paid thousands and thousands of dollars for a doctor to tell me I could never have kids. My grandmother died of ovarian cancer, my mother died of ovarian cancer, and my aunt, at the age of twenty-five, had a full hysterectomy because she feared she would also die from cancer. I had a doctor tell me that having a child would be nearly impossible. Impossible.

  After washing my hands, I looked down at the small screen on the plastic stick.

  Pregnant.

  I was fucking pregnant.

  Wrapping the pregnancy test around a tissue, I shoved it in the pocket of my pajamas and stalked towards the living room. Leslie was opening the door to Weston as I made my way in. Well, wasn’t this fucking great?

  “Hey, beautiful.” As he walked towards me, his scent overpowered my senses and I held my breath so I wouldn't puke. “I've been trying to call you all morning. Did you forget to charge your phone?” He leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my cheek. “You okay?” he questioned, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked me up and down.

  No! I’m not okay! “Yeah, I'm fine.”

  “Can we talk?” He looked back at Leslie and then towards the couch.

  “I'll be in my room.” Leslie's eyes lingered on me before she walked out of the room. I understood the question she was silently asking me. The pregnancy stick burned in my pocket. It was a reminder that I had to tell Weston. I wasn’t in this alone.

  I sat on the couch and hugged my pillow over my stomach. Could he tell?

  “Paulie called me this morning.” By the tone of his voice I could tell he had good news. His voice was cheerful, his eyes were bright. Unlike me, who held terrible heart shattering news in my cotton pajama pocket. “North Records has given us a recording deal.”

  My eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, Weston, that's phenomenal!” My arms wrapped around his neck. Hugging him tenderly, he pulled me back. I held hands with him, his fingers twirling around the ring he gave me. The sudden shift in his eyes told me there was also bad news. “They want us in London by the end of next week.”