The coffee churned in my stomach again and I barely swallowed it down. Security was there for celebrities. I was the celebrity, and I’d checked out hours ago, leaving instructions for all of Briar’s bills and needs to be put on my card. I didn’t think the media would turn their focus on her in my absence.
After going through the photos, I read the story, my heart rate escalating with each word. She’d been so brave, facing the reporters. I’d left her alone to clean up my mess. And she’d defended me. Offered up an explanation for the inexplicable. For the way I’d left her.
I didn’t even have the decency to look her in the eyes and say goodbye. I’d sent her a text message, cowardly arse that I was, and run away from my deepest fear.
I checked another site, then another, mouth hanging open as I realized just how big this was. First, that I’d been photographed with a woman at all. Second, that I’d left her without even a Dear John ending. But no one pounced on that part. Because Briar kept her mouth shut.
She’d promised me the day we met that she wouldn’t share any details of my life. She’d kept her word even though she had to have read my message by now. Even though she must hate me.
Then one picture caught my attention. In it, her eyes were wider, her mouth hanging open a little as the hurt settled over her face. Definitely pain bleeding into her eyes.
The realization hit me like a hard punch to my gut. She’d learned from a journo that I’d come to the airport. I lacked the balls to tell her myself, and she’d learned from one of the vultures after I walked away. And now I knew, I didn’t leave just her body bruised.
My break from Briar was as big—if not bigger—than the story of my mum’s death. No articles of my mum’s mental illness yet. And they might not learn of it. Not as long as they were focused on Briar. Site after site ripped her apart, saying I never would’ve stuck by her because she wasn’t pretty enough for me. Because she was too old. As if her year and a half on me was equivalent to the thirty-five-year gap between my parents’ ages.
I glared at that comment, wishing I could give the writer a piece of my mind. Briar was gorgeous, and if she read that, I knew she would be crushed.
Another commentator said I’d only marry an Aussie. A famous British gossipmonger said Briar couldn’t be everything I wanted in a woman, not if I dropped her so quickly. That I was just looking for an easy lay, so Briar must be nothing more than a groupie with low morals. The next two said the same: Briar was only a fling, a nobody. Someone to simply while away my mum’s last days with.
They’d gotten it so wrong.
I wanted to wrap my arms around Briar, keep her safe from this. Laugh with her over how wrong the journos were—like always. Kiss my favorite spot under her eye, brush her bangs back from her forehead. Rub my thumb across her plump, wide lower lip.
I dropped my head against my fists. This—the mess I’d made—all stemmed from my mum’s death. I’d let the situation spin out of control.
And the realization hit me, a cricket ball straight to the head. I was uncomfortable because Briar wasn’t with me. I missed the weight of her head against my neck, the scent of her soft hair. I missed the warmth from her body, the curve of her breast and hip snuggled into my side.
But we’d been honest with each other. She knew I wouldn’t stay. Couldn’t stay. It’s just . . . I shouldn’t have left. At least not the way I did.
And I sure as hell shouldn’t have sent her a text message. A lame-arsed one at that.
I was an adult. Time to man up.
I grabbed my phone from the seat and opened my e-mail. I started typing. Not to Briar, not yet. I’d do my best to limit the damage. I owed her that.
No, I owed her much more. I owed the world an explanation for how much she meant to me. I’d give it to her, to the rest of the world. Let them know she’d be joining me. Soon. Like I’d planned since the moment she introduced me to Dan as her boyfriend.
I paused, considering. I should call her. No. I wasn’t ready to hear the hurt in her voice. I’d text her.
“The captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt Sign.” A tinny voice came through the speaker above me. “Please turn off all electrical devices as we begin our descent into Hong Kong.”
Heat seared my gut, moving up into my chest. I typed faster. Harry needed to get this now. I needed to fix as much of this as I could.
“Mr. Crewe, you need to turn that off, please.”
“I’m almost finished.”
“Now, Mr. Crewe.”
I sighed, and shut down my phone. Going ballistic wasn’t going to solve Briar’s current paparazzi issues. Staring out the window, the tension built in my shoulders. I wanted Briar there, gripping my hand. Letting me know I wasn’t alone.
But I feared I was. I’d been afraid of loving her. I’d been afraid she’d reject me once she saw the bruises. But most of all, I’d been afraid I’d hurt her again. So I’d left. I’d made the choice for both of us. Without asking her what she wanted. What she needed from me. She’d given me so much.
I swallowed the thick ball of emotion building in my chest.
I’d really fucked up.
Chapter 26
Briar
“Ah, honey. Where are you?” Lia asked, her voice gentle, like it had been after our mother skipped town for another man, leaving us confused and adrift. She hadn’t needed that voice, with me at least, in years. I cried harder, wishing I hadn’t let Hayden past my normal barrier.
But he’d struggled with his relationship with his mother, too. I’d seen the anger and confusion there, in his lovely brown eyes, unable to resist the urge to comfort him. I’d shared with him, thinking he was a good man.
I curled my legs up to my chest. Because now, I wasn’t sure about anything except that I hurt.
“Bri, breathe, honey.”
Wow. I was upset.
“Briar! I need you to tell me where you are.”
“At Rosie’s.” The words were garbled, but I guess Lia understood enough.
“What’s her address?”
I rattled it off between sniffles.
“Pack a bag. I’ll come get you. You’re staying with me.”
“I have Princess. Rosie’s cat. I can’t leave her. The cat or Rosie. She’s still in hospice.”
“The cat can come, too,” Lia said. “Rosie will understand.”
“You’re allergic to cats. So is Abbi. I can’t leave either of them alone, Lia. Rosie’s family hasn’t come to see her. Well, Ken did. But not because he actually cared. She’s dying, all alone.”
“You’re not staying alone, Briar. I read some of the stories before I got too angry to continue. The media isn’t going to let up, not until someone else screws up their life. We’ll figure the cat situation out together. Asher called his PR team for help. It’ll be faster and easier if we have someone else be the face. Where’s Hayden?” Hesitation laced through her voice. I knew she knew.
“He left.” I took a deep breath. “He was on a flight by the time I woke up.” I said the words, but they didn’t sound like they came from me.
My mind detached, and I returned to the state I’d lived in the entire time I’d dated Ken. How I’d felt since my dad died. Maybe since my mom left us, letting us know we weren’t important enough for her. I didn’t like this place, but it was safe.
The tears stopped like I’d clicked a switch. Maybe I had. I planned to stay here in this bubble.
“Bri, honey, being alone now is a bad idea. Remember how you came to Rathdrum for me? I want to do that for you. We’ll figure out what happened. Maybe there was an emergency . . . ”
Doubt filled her voice. I’d told her, he left me. Discarded like a piece of trash. I closed my swollen eyes.
“I need some time. Bye, Lia.” I ended the call, turned off my phone, and tossed it on the table. Then I sat, dazed, waiting.
Nothing came. Not a thought. Better, no emotion.
Eventually, Princess’s claws kneaded my legs. I didn’t
flinch, not even when she hit the bruises on my inner thigh. Mrroow? Princess nuzzled her head against my chin. So I laid it there, on her back, listening to the cat purr.
Somehow, morning came again. Standing was painful, in part because of the bruises but also because I’d sat for so long, my limbs stiff. A long, hot shower wasn’t an indulgence, it was a necessity.
I dressed with more care today, knowing I’d see reporters again. After blow-drying my hair, I realized I didn’t have my makeup kit. It was still at The Edgewater. I couldn’t even go out of the building like this.
No way I’d let anyone see how devastated I was. That would lead to more rounds of questions, more pictures. My best defense was looking as good as possible, putting up the carefree façade that bored paparazzi and gossip readers.
I dug through Rosie’s drawers until I found some concealer, her blush, eyeshadow and makeup brushes. Lipstick. I spent nearly an hour trying to pull off the look I wanted.
Finishing my cup of coffee, I set the mug in the sink and picked up my phone. I dreaded turning it on, but I couldn’t ignore it. Guilt swirled through me. What if something had happened to Rosie?
I clicked on my phone and fed Princess again. The cat purred, winding through my legs. I made a show of petting her while I waited for my heartbeat to even out.
I wouldn’t be any more ready. Picking up my phone, I glanced at the 1000+ sign on my e-mail.
Later. Voice mail first. Lia left multiple messages that I ignored. After ensuring none of the messages were from the hospice center, I opened my text app. Three hundred messages. I shook my head. I needed a new number.
My finger hovered over the one from Hayden. He’d texted me again? Probably to say he was sorry about the vampiric journo arses. Well, that didn’t fix the actual problem.
I’d spent an hour on my makeup. I wouldn’t cry and let him ruin that, too. I opened the text, careful not to read his words as I typed my message to him. You made your choice when you walked out on me. You don’t get to contact me again. Ever.
Simple. Direct. See? I could handle myself. Princess stared up at me, her wide eyes delving into me.
“Don’t. I don’t want to go there.”
She pressed against my leg, rubbing her jaw up and down. God, I was taking comfort from a cat. I didn’t even like cats.
Calling my service provider, I asked for an unlisted number.
Twenty minutes later, I owned a new number and only Lia, Abbi, and a handful of others knew it.
I pulled my purse over my shoulder and fluffed my hair.
“See you later, Princess. Don’t do anything drastic today. The couch can’t take another round of your claws.”
I opened the door as I settled my sunglasses on top of my head. The reporters were waiting in the lobby, just as I’d anticipated. I walked out, chin high, ignoring their impertinent questions and camera flashes. They wanted a picture of me—they could have it.
I turned at the last moment and gave them a cheeky grin. Deal with that, assholes.
I slid my sunglasses down over my teary eyes once I was out in the thick mist that had settled over the city. Because those vampiric arses, especially Hayden, wouldn’t get to my heart. It no longer existed.
Chapter 27
Hayden
“Hey, mate. Head in the game.”
I offered Ets a rueful smile. “Sorry.”
“After the show, Hayden, you can distract yourself with whatever vice you want. Seven of them at the same time for all I care. Now, though, we’ve got fans waiting to see that pretty face.” He tapped my cheek like he used to. I shoved his hand away. He bloody well irritated me. They all did.
The past two days, all I wanted was to curl up with Briar, tell her what I was feeling.
Not even my keyboard helped. All the notes sounded stiff, my timing off just enough to wind me up further.
“Give me a sec.” I shook out my arms, rolled my head around on my shoulders.
“Right-o. Look,” Ets said. “We get you’re torn up about your mum’s death. But we need you here. Focused. Last night was a disaster. If you don’t pull your head out of your arse, we’re calling Pete back in to play for you.”
I nodded, both in acknowledgment and agreement, though resentment built in my chest. My mates had rescued me from multiple missed cues at last night’s show. I couldn’t keep performing like this. I knew that. But Ets was being a dickhead.
No, Ets was being Ets. I’d always considered him no-nonsense, and he was a good mate because of it. He always got his point across, no bullshit. But I’d been wrong about him. That coldness in his eyes ran deeper since Mila disappeared. His temper spiked quicker. I’d sympathize with the end of his youthful dreams if I didn’t want to punch him right now.
“Got it, mate. Thanks for the sympathy on my mum.”
“You’re getting plenty from the rest of the world. And it’s not like you actually knew her.”
True. Though I wouldn’t tell him why. He might’ve been my band member and the person closest to me, but I didn’t want him to know about my mum’s disease—and the fact I might very well be a ticking time bomb waiting to blow my lid into crazyville. Those bruises on Briar’s skin . . . I’d worked myself up into a frenzy, certain I must have bipolar disorder if I’d willingly hurt Briar.
Thanks to the e-mails Briar sent the afternoon before I left and her blind copying me on all her messages, I’d gotten the names of a few of the psychiatrists at two of the facilities my mum frequented in the years between my return to Melbourne and her sojourn into hospice. Instead of hitting the after-party last night, I’d spoken with the doctor who’d spent the longest period treating my mum—nearly a decade both before and after my dad and I left. He’d gone over some of her basic diagnosis, but with HIPPA—whatever the hell that was—he couldn’t go into any real detail. He’d been winding down the call when I finally built up the courage to ask him my real question.
“I know bipolar disorder runs in families.”
“True,” he said.
“What’s the timeline like for onset?” I asked.
“Hayden, are you asking me if I think you’re bipolar?”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah.”
“I’m assuming you know the list of symptoms.”
“I do. Well. Had a friend in high school with it. I studied up again once my mum told me she suffered from it.”
“I see. So, are you manic? Super into whatever you’re doing?”
“For a while. Music, specifically the piano, that was my escape.”
“I’m talking about barely sleeping, impulsively quitting your job. Maybe going on a shopping spree you can’t afford.”
“No, never,” I admitted.
“Do you have trouble sleeping? Have you been so depressed, so empty you’ve wanted to end your life?”
“Sad and lonely, sure.” Especially now that Briar wasn’t lying next to me.
“But not to the point you quit what you love and thought about suicide?” he asked.
“No.” I sighed in relief.
“Then I think you’re probably okay. Granted, it’d be smart to get a full psychiatric evaluation. But just because your mom struggled with bipolar disorder doesn’t mean you will. And, for the record, she talked about you constantly. You were the reason she was here, the reason she wanted to get well.” He was quiet for a moment, considering his next words. “For some of my patients, wanting to get well isn’t enough to release the illness’s hold over their mind. Unlike other diseases or even a broken arm, we can’t see the problem so sometimes people go weeks, months, years even without a diagnosis or proper care. That makes recovery harder. Not impossible, but much more strenuous.”
“So my mum wanted to get well but couldn’t actually kick the disease? Like a cancer patient who can’t get rid of the entire tumor?”
“Something like that,” he said.
With a quick thank-you, I hung up the phone. I closed my eyes, tension easing from my neck and shou
lders. I might have hurt Briar, and that was wrong—something to apologize for—but I had control over myself, my mind.
“Earth to Hayden. That’s the third time I’ve called you,” Ets snapped. “You’re all over the place, mate. We’ve got important business here. Focus now, then you can flake out all you want later.”
“You’re a dickhead,” I said.
Hurt flashed in his eyes before he flipped me off. He slammed the door. Ets and I had been mates since uni, but this tour opened up many of our insecurities—especially once the story made rounds that I was the creative driver of our band—and we’d grown apart because of it.
For the first time in years, I wished I’d developed a deeper relationship with someone else. I liked my band mates, but I couldn’t talk to them, not like I’d talked to Briar. I ran my fingers through my hair. She dominated my thoughts. She’d replied to the groveling text I’d finally gotten the balls to send.
She hadn’t read it, I’d bet, and her response was terse.
I couldn’t muster the courage to call her, because hearing her voice would slay me, leaving me whimpering like a bub in nappies. And when I’d tried to text her again, my stomach had twisted.
She’d disconnected her number.
I leaned my head back against the wall. I’d hurt her, physically marked her. Of course she didn’t want to talk to me.
I opened my text message app and texted Bill, Asher’s band mate. We’d exchanged numbers at his studio my first night in Seattle, and now he was one of my only connections to Briar. A starting point.
Left 2 fast to finish up my biz in Seattle. Can u put me in touch with Asher?
Now I’d have to wait. Again. The time change kicked my arse. I was exhausted.
I couldn’t sleep. Not that I wanted to. I didn’t. My dreams were a mixture of fading pleasure and remorse. Each time, I dreamt Briar was covered in more bruises. The worst dream focused on her black eyes morphing into my young face.
I checked the American news and gossip sites again, for the millionth time today. Reporters still followed Briar. She’d been photographed with her sister, Asher, and their kids. I couldn’t begin to imagine what Asher thought of me. While that bothered me, the blankness in Briar’s eyes kept me up last night and distracted me at practice today.
Between Breaths (The Seattle Sound Series Book 2) Page 17
