On the Rocks

by Jade C. Jamison

  I popped over to my profile and saw that I had the same reactions, but there was no change in my relationship status, which caused people to second guess the information. It didn’t help that I was nowhere around to confirm or deny.

  Whatever the case…the cat was most definitely out of the bag. Anything I said at this point would be meaningless. It was true and I couldn’t deny it.

  I shook my head and sighed again. He sat up and I handed him the phone. “You’re pissed.”

  I couldn’t look at him, not right now. “No, I’m not pissed.”

  “Bullshit, Kyle. You forget I was your friend before I was your husband. I know when you’re mad.”

  “Yeah, okay, so I am. But I also realize it’s stupid of me to be.”

  “Look,” he said, and I could feel his eyes on me, so I turned my head to see him. “Ideal? No, but it’s done, whether I meant for it to be or not. Just…the more I thought about it, the cooler I thought it was. I married one of the hottest fucking women alive, and definitely the hottest woman in metal. I started thinking about how cool that was, that I’m with one of the awesomest women alive.” I couldn’t help but smile and shake my head at his contagious enthusiasm. “So I bumbled it, okay? I didn’t send out an organized press release from both of us. I just thought it was fucking cool and I changed my status.” I was half smiling now, and he touched the bottom of my chin with his finger. “Sorry about that. If that’s the worst thing I ever do to you, I just hope you understand that it came from a place that had no intentions of hurting you, Kyle.”

  I started to nod and say something, but he brought his mouth to mine and kissed me. Yeah, it was another amazing kiss, but it still wasn’t enough to shove CJ completely out of my head…and it wasn’t enough to stop me from thinking that we’d made a monumental fucking mistake.

  Chapter Twenty

  THE NEXT MONTH was equally strange. Brian and I decided to stay in Vegas a couple more days and, before I could even call my parents, they called me. My mom in particular was upset that not only I hadn’t told them but that I hadn’t invited them to our “wedding.” “Mom, we just did it on a whim. There was no lacy white dress, no best man or maid of honor, no giant cake. I don’t even have a ring yet.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Is he a good man?”

  I looked over at him. We were eating burgers in the Hard Rock Café and Brian had been telling me about his antics on the road with Last Five Seconds during their tour two years earlier when she’d called. I’d said, “Oh, it’s my mom. I need to get this,” and he was all ears.

  I smiled. “Yeah, mom, he is.” Brian raised his eyebrows, wondering what I was saying about him. “Do you want to talk to him?”

  “I can.”

  Brian cocked his head as I asked, “Wanna say hi to my mom?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I handed him the phone. He said, “Hi, Mrs. Summers. Thank you for giving the world such a beautiful, wonderful woman. I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.” Jesus. He was laying it on thick. He grinned at whatever the hell it was my mom said on the other line. It was a bit before I realized I wasn’t getting the phone back anytime soon.

  Let’s just say Brian won my mom and dad over easily, and we made plans to visit Hawaii for a week in December when we both had time off during our tours.

  I also spent that week fielding questions from my friends…and then there was the press, and we confirmed—through spokespeople, mind you—that, yes, we’d gotten married. The headlines were funny. We’d thrown most everyone for a loop, although there were some “unnamed sources” who’d supposedly “seen it coming.” I’d like to know how the hell they had, when Brian and I hadn’t.

  Maybe that shit sold magazines.

  Multiple times, I considered texting or messaging CJ just to get his thoughts or apologize or…I have no fucking idea. But I also knew that it would be kind of inappropriate. If Brian and I were really going to try having a real marriage, then CJ was off limits—in any and all versions, live and in person or via cell phone.

  By the time Brian and I had to go back to our bands and to different tours, we’d actually picked out wedding rings and had them on our ring fingers. They were simple gold bands. I didn’t want a huge fucking rock, and I certainly didn’t want a tattoo on my finger.

  No.

  As much as I loved my friend Brian, I was still not head over heels. He felt too much like a friend. I had to admit that the sex had grown hotter over the course of that week as we learned more about each other’s bodies and hot spots, but…

  He still wasn’t CJ.

  You’re probably banging your head against the wall now, wondering how I’d been able to fuck all those guys on tour in the past without getting hung up on the memory of CJ. Well, I questioned that myself and I think I figured out why. It’s because CJ would always come back home. All those guys were just a distraction until I could get home and wrap my body around the guy I considered my man. He’d always be there waiting for me.

  He wouldn’t be now.

  No, now it was Brian and me for life. There was no CJ to return to, no CJ to wonder about, to hope for, to yearn to be with.

  So, when I thought about CJ, missed him terribly and yearned for him in my heart, it hurt…and made me feel guilty as hell.

  I tried. Believe me—I tried. I knew it was necessary. Brian deserved it. Hell, I deserved it.

  And, once I let go, I realized that it was kind of nice to be cherished and worshipped. The whole time my band wase on tour, Brian would tag me at least once a day on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram…he’d have a picture of me as his “beautiful wife” or “this spectacular metal babe I married.”

  The metal mags began referring to us as a “power couple.” What the fuck did that even mean?

  But I do have to say one thing—I think being married to Brian thrust my band even more into the limelight. Touring with LFS had gotten us all kinds of exposure already. Our album had started climbing the charts and our singles started getting more airplay. So I knew already that touring with them had been a solid move, but being married to Brian kind of kept me on the radar.

  Maybe I’m not giving myself enough credit, though, because some of the reviews began saying that the album was my best work yet.

  So, at the end of my two-year tour to support the album, I was definitely ready to unwind. LFS was about done too, and so then it was time for reality to set in. Yeah, Brian and I had spent hours over the year on Skype or spending a day or two together here and there, but we hadn’t had weeks or months on end together.

  I knew what was expected of me…but…

  I didn’t want to move into Brian’s cruddy little apartment. It was fine to visit, but I couldn’t live there. After much debate, we decided to get a house together in Parker, a city on the southeast end of the Denver Metro area.

  The problem? Aside from a marriage that didn’t feel right, it was also a house that felt wrong. It was too stiff and formal. It was too expensive, too rich, too…not me. Or Brian. But we refused to admit it for a long time.

  I could tell that he felt the same way too. My first clue was how much time he spent away—with Clay or Dane or even Sam…and they weren’t even working on an album.

  I myself fell into a deep depression that I tried to hide from him, but it manifested itself just the same. I slept a lot more than I ever had before and was barely eating. Nothing in my life had the zest or zeal it had, and I didn’t want to blame Brian. He continued to be a good guy, a good friend…and I had to find a way to make it work.

  So, one afternoon, I forced my ass out of our bed. I took a long shower and made an effort to put on makeup and straighten my hair—blonde still but with roots that needed some serious touch up. And then I went grocery shopping and did my best to put together a nice dinner—spaghetti, salad, garlic bread, red wine, and tall red candles on our sterile solid oak dining room table.

  I wore a short black lacy dress, one that Brian had once told me he loved because it sho
wed off my “sexy legs” that I rarely bared in public. I texted him earlier that day and asked him to be home in time for dinner—and part of me hoped he wouldn’t so that I could either listlessly bury my head in my pillow again or I could rage and tell him to fuck off because our relationship obviously didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me (utter bullshit, mind you, but my head was in a bad place).

  He promised he would be there and he was. On time, as usual.

  He walked in the front door and said, loud enough that I could hear it in the kitchen, “Holy crap. You cooking, Kyle?” Yeah, that was a rarity, especially since I’d become laden in feeling sorry for myself.

  “I’m in the kitchen!”

  I was stirring the pasta, waiting for it to become that perfect al dente texture, testing it every thirty seconds or so as it got close, when he came in. “Hot damn,” he said as he walked near. I turned my head, smiling. He looked good enough to eat. Yes, my husband was very hot—he just wasn’t the guy for me. He looked so appreciative and happy…and I decided right then that, in spite of the talk I had planned to have with him, if he loved me like a real husband loved his wife, if he desperately wanted and needed me in his life, if he’d pictured us growing old together…or any romantic shit like that, I’d stay. I’d stay and find a way to feel about him the way I’d always felt about CJ. I’d give it my all—or I’d die trying. I owed him that much.

  But I looked at the guy who was my best friend and wondered how I could find that inside me. It wasn’t organic, and I was killing myself trying to fake it. I really was—I’d been so damn down, I hadn’t written anything in months. I hadn’t even checked in with my band—or my fans. I’d just been plugging along, reading books, watching movies, spending time with Brian…and sleeping. A lot…finding ways of ignoring what was really the problem.

  He came up behind me and I gave him a quick kiss before turning back to the pasta. He wrapped his arms around my waist and hugged me to himself. It was because of gestures like that that made me feel like the lack of love was one sided.

  Still…I had to know for sure.

  “Damn…you went to a lot of trouble,” he said, looking at the table I’d set, using some of our finest china and silverware. “I’m gonna wash up. Be right back.”

  He’d been playing basketball—so I figured it would take him a while—but he showered and joined me again in less than ten minutes. I’d poured the sauce over the noodles, dished it up onto our plates, and added garlic bread on the side—in addition to bowls of salad—and placed them on the table and was uncorking the wine when he came in, wearing a plain black t-shirt and new jeans but barefooted. Cute.

  “Want me to get that?” he asked.

  “Sure.” In a few minutes, we were seated at the table and he was pouring dressing on his salad. The meal smelled so good, but I had no appetite.

  “What’s the special occasion? Our anniversary’s not till next month.”

  Yeah, about that… I took a deep breath, poking at the lettuce leaves with my fork. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Yeah?”

  He looked at me through his beautiful blue eyes, so sweet—always sweet. “Brian…” I set my fork down. “I need to ask you a question…and I want you to be completely honest with me. No pulling any punches. Okay?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

  “How do you feel about us, our marriage?”

  I steeled myself. I had no idea what to expect, but I felt like I was prepared either way. He took a deep breath and finished chewing the salad in his mouth, then pursed his lips shut and looked down. He returned his eyes to me, looking pained. Oh, shit. I’d hurt him—hurt him badly. I was such an asshole. But he asked, “How do you feel, Kyle?”

  Oh, God, why did my stomach ache? Why was this so damn hard? I shook my head. “No, you first. I asked first.”

  He sighed and set down his fork before grabbing his glass of wine and drinking half of it. Then he took one of my hands in his and said, “Kyle, you are a beautiful woman, inside and out. And you’re also one of the best friends I’ve ever had. You understand me like a lot of people never will.” He let go of my hand and swirled the wine around his glass, staring at it.

  He was having a hard time getting to the point, so I wanted to help him along. “Do you love me, Brian?”

  He blinked and set the glass down. “Well…yeah.” My heart sunk. Jesus, I was an asshole. “I’ve loved you since the first night we went out drinking together. We’re compatible, Kyle.” I nodded, trying to lose that feeling of being winded. He looked down at the stem of the wine glass that he was pinching between his index finger and thumb as though it were a bug he was squishing. “But…” He gnawed on his bottom lip a little bit. “I don’t want to hurt you, Kyle, but I don’t love you the way I should love you.”

  My heart fluttered like butterfly wings were attached to it. That was wrong, but there was no stopping it. “Meaning?”

  He let out a breath and looked at me. “Nope. I’ve said enough. Your turn.”

  It felt a little easier now, a little more possible. My voice was softer and quieter than I meant for it to be. “I think we might feel the same way. Brian…you are my best friend ever but…I love you like a brother.” So I’d never had siblings, but I had a feeling I knew what having a brother would feel like.

  He managed a grin, in spite of the fact that I think it was painful for us, even if it shouldn’t have been. “That’s kinda creepy, Kyle. Did you always want a brother to hit on? Incest is best; put your brother to the test.”

  I smiled. Oh, Brian…just one of the things I do love about you—your insanely silly sense of humor. I reached out and touched his hand. “I’m so sorry.” A tear dropped down my cheek. Where the fuck was that coming from?

  “God, Kyle, don’t be sorry. I can’t believe we did it in the first place. And we gave it our best shot…didn’t we?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  He scooted his chair out from the table and dragged it over the few inches so he was right next to me and pulled me into his arms, my head on his chest, and I wept. I wondered where the hell this was coming from, if maybe I really did love him, and then I realized it was all the months and months of numbness and inability to feel like myself that was finally finding its way outside of me. So I let it out while he stroked my hair and my back without saying a word.

  I finally lifted up my head and grabbed my napkin off the table, wiping my cheeks and nose. “I have no idea where that came from.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  His eyes searched mine. “Kyle, your turn to be honest. Do you love me more than you said?”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t know why I had that stupid outburst. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop saying that.” He stroked my cheek with a finger. “It’s okay.” He slowly inhaled before adding, “There’s no one else I’d rather have this conversation with.” He smiled.

  “Should we get a divorce?”

  He licked his lips before picking up his wine and drinking what was left in the glass. “Should we sleep on it—make sure that’s what we really want to do?”

  I nodded. That made sense. “Yeah, okay.”

  So we finished out our meal and then we decided to make love—just to make sure we really thought we should go our separate ways. It was beautiful and amazing…and almost made me reconsider. When I fell asleep in his arms that night, it almost felt right…but I knew it was the lightness I was feeling, the freeness I was experiencing for the first time in months, the knowledge that I didn’t have to pretend anymore that made my entire world feel right.

  And I slept like the dead.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ALL MY FUCKING adult life, the music had always been there for me, even when nothing else was. After Brian and I had officially filed the paperwork and made the requisite press release, we helped each other pack and move and sold all the shit (including the giant house) that we didn’t want or need
. Brian was moving into a nicer apartment but still refused to buy a house, and I couldn’t say anything about it, because I planned to move into an apartment too.

  The stupid media had a heyday. Our divorce was blamed on incompatibility and infidelity. They had no fucking clue, and no one ever asked us. They credited “sources close to the couple” who “confirmed” details. Jesus. I was going to call them on the carpet and then figured it was none of their damn business anyway…and I remembered Mollie telling me that there was no such thing as bad publicity.

  I moved back to Colorado Springs but at an address as far away from CJ as I could. Hell, I didn’t even know if he still lived in his old apartment, but I wasn’t going to drive by to find out…even though part of me was tempted to. Nope. No way. Because, now that I was out of my funk and rebounding, I’d actually looked him up online. And then I plugged back into the music scene and started writing music again, and, along with that, I’d had to see what CJ was up to.

  I was considering calling him.

  That was, until I saw he was very publicly dating an actress, a woman a few years older than CJ, some blonde named Natalia Burke. Two things struck me—she looked like an older version of me but, more than that, she had some of the fakest boobs I’d ever seen.

  Guess CJ liked phony.

  Ugh. That was just my catty, bitchy, jealous self, and what had I expected? I’d been a married woman (hell, I still was—the paperwork would take another couple of months to finalize) for close to two years…and we’d been apart for months before that. Why the hell would he have waited for me?

  Still…it hurt. Badly. Probably because CJ was the only guy I’d ever wanted to keep around. Hell, he was the reason why my marriage never stood a chance.