by Tracey Ward
“I will. See you soon.”
I let him hang up. I want to make sure he has nothing else to say. That I don’t miss a word, because they’re painfully perfect. Even the nothings. I love the sound of his voice. I love the timber of his laugh. I love… I love everything about him. He’s more than I thought he’d be. Deeper and darker. More difficult and more intense than I imagined, but it suits him. And I think I need it; to see someone look at life the way he does, with that kind of aggression, rose-colored glasses thrown off and eyes fixed steadily on the bare-bulb of reality. Unflinching and unafraid. It doesn’t scare him to do that; to see the ugly. To look past the silver linings into the shadows and accept them for what they really are. It’s inspiring to see. He makes me feel brave. He makes me feel bold, and I like it.
I think I’m beginning to fall in love with it.
***
Landing is just as bad as taking off. I’m amazed that I’m able to fill another air sick bag considering what I did on the way up, but my body is an angry, vengeful beast that makes due with whatever it has.
The second the seatbelt light is off, I’m up out of my seat and rushing for the front of the plane. No one gets in my way.
Being on the ground helps with the stomach shit, but my head is still pounding. I’m leaning against Cam as we wait for our luggage to come around the carousel. People asked me if I was okay initially but after a while, they accept that, no, I’m not. And I probably won’t be any time soon. All I can think about is finding a cool room with a soft bed and a big glass of ice water. I’m drooling just imagining it.
When we have our bags, a driver finds us by the doors leading out. He has a van that will take us on the hour and a half long drive from SeaTac to Emerson. It doesn’t sound that bad because I’ve never had a problem with being in cars before, but I’ve also never been in one for more than twenty minutes at a time. And never after a flight that flipped my stomach inside out and upside down.
I lean heavily on Cam in the bench seat in the back of the van, my head resting on his shoulder, and his warm hand large and steady on my hair.
“I apologized to Samantha,” he tells me.
“How’d that go?”
“She told a crowded street that I like a finger in my ass during sex.”
My eyes snap open, my body going rigid. “Your own finger? Like the one in my hair right now?
“I wash my hands, Greer.”
“Shit!” I cry, swatting him away from my head. “What the hell, Cam?”
“I feel guilty.”
“You should. You put Juicy Fruit fingers in my hair.”
“Not about that. And, no, not my own finger.”
“I asked but I wish I hadn’t.”
Cam ignores me. “I feel bad about sleeping with… you know who.”
“Well, it was a dumb fucking thing to do.”
“I know. I knew when I did it.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
“Because my head and my dick don’t always agree,” he grumbles unhappily.
I snort quietly. “It doesn’t sound like they’re even speaking the same language.”
He grunts in agreement, threading his fingers through my hair. I wish I could enjoy it, but I just keep thinking about what he said about—
“I don’t know if she’s going to forgive me,” he complains.
“There’s nothing you can do but keep trying. Keep telling her how sorry you are. See if it does you any good.”
“For how long?”
“I think that depends on how much you love her.”
Cam laughs uncomfortably. “I’m not in love with her.”
“Yes, you are,” Naomi calls back from the front seat. “You’re unhappy because you’ve been bumping uglies with Samantha thinking it was just sex but you screwed up with her and now you miss her, now you know you love her, and you want to make it all go away but you can’t. You can’t undo what you did or how you feel, and all you can do is go forward with things the way they are and try to make the best of it being honest and open.” She looks back over her shoulder at him. “We all see it. All of us except for you.”
Cam stares at her, slack jawed and stunned. “Was I talking loud?”
“So loud,” I tell him sadly. “You were practically yelling.”
“My fucking ears haven’t popped from the plane,” he growls, opening and closing his mouth dramatically.
Naomi turns back around in her seat. “Don’t sweat it. No one will tell her how you feel.”
“Because no one cares,” Tyler mutters.
“No,” I correct adamantly. “Because he has to tell her. He has to be honest.”
“He has to keep his mouth shut, is what he has to do. Bury that shit deep.”
“That could work,” Cam muses.
“Yeah,” I agree sarcastically. “If you’re an emotionally stunted asshat. Are you an emotionally stunted asshat, Cam? Or are you a man who can own up to how he feels?”
He doesn’t answer me. The interior of the van falls silent, a sound we carry with us for the rest of the ride. People fall asleep, people snore, people put on headphones. People contemplate their Tom Fuckery.
People count the minutes and miles until they see the man they’re quickly becoming addicted to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jace
This hotel is tiny. It’s the newest, largest one in Emerson, but it’s the smallest one I’ve ever been in. The room is their Executive Jacuzzi Suite with a big tub in the corner, a King size bed, a small, dark desk, and two striped club chairs by the window. It’s nice but it’s nothing I’m used to. You could fit this entire room inside the sitting area at The Plaza. Grant offered to get me a better room in a place in Tacoma, but I told him to forget it. If we’re coming to Emerson for a hometown experience, we better do it all the way. No half-assing. You gotta commit to a role or no one will ever believe it.
Turns out it doesn’t really matter. I called it from the start – none of this is working.
“It’s not that it’s not working,” Grant explains. He pours himself a water from the carafe Sarah had sent up. The one she refuses to touch because she’s convinced it’s tap water. Sarah doesn’t do tap water. “It’s too early to tell.”
Sarah snaps her notebook shut. “It’s working. Just not as quickly as you boys would like. You want this fixed yesterday but the problem is, people don’t forget so easily. Concert venues are still cancelling here in the States, but they’re calling us overseas. Italy is still a go. Paris wants you. Frankfurt wants you. Give the U.S. time. Go out of the country for a while, get some good press, release that new album, and we’ll be back on top before New Year’s.”
“Maybe we forget about the album.”
Sarah and I both stare at Grant in amazement.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sarah demands.
Grant takes a sip of his water, making us wait as he considers his words carefully. “I think the album is the least of our worries at this point. Let’s tell the label to back burner it.”
“Why don’t we tell them to scrap it entirely?”
“I know you’re being sarcastic, but that might not be the worst idea.”
“You’ve been on me about that album for months,” I remind Grant slowly. “And now, all of the sudden, you want to forget about it?”
“Are you in a place where you can finish it?”
I hesitate, taking his question seriously. No one has asked me that before. It’s always ‘When can it be ready?’ or ‘What do you need from us to make it happen?’. No one has ever even considered whether or not I can make it happen. Not even me.
I shrug, feeling a strange fear in my gut. “I don’t know.”
“That’s what I mean. If you’re not ready to write it, we can’t keep demanding it from you. It’ll never happen or it’ll be shit when it does. It’ll be Internal and you’ll hate every word of it. We can’t take it on tour if you can’t stand it. So, we scrap it
for now. Or forever. I don’t know. But I do know we can’t keep doing what we’re doing. It’s not working for you. We need to find something that does. We gotta get your feet under you again and go from there.”
“You mean that?”
He nods seriously. “I do. We’ve been pushing you too hard. We’ve been letting the label treat you like a factory that’s not producing. You’re an artist, Jace. You need the right environment and headspace to work. You’ve been such a pro about all of this since you were a kid, I think we all forgot that. We forgot that an album takes more than time.”
I stare at Grant, honestly stunned. And more than a little relieved. The idea of bailing on the album is tempting as shit. No part of me wants to work on it. I don’t even know where to start with it.
“So, what do we do instead?” I ask Grant.
“That’s up to you.”
“Tell him about Rendezvous,” Sarah tells Grant.
He frowns at her mildly. “We agreed to wait.”
“We also agreed to keep him focused on the album, but it looks like that’s out the window.”
“He needs to figure out what he wants to do. Not what everyone else needs him to do.”
“Yeah, well, maybe this is what he wants to do.”
“How about we tell him what the fuck we’re talking about and stop pretending he isn’t in the room,” I snap at them both.
Grant casts one last look at Sarah before relenting. “We’ve had an offer. It’s from Rendezvous.”
“What kind of offer?”
“They want you to take the lead.”
I laugh. The idea is too wild, I can’t help it. “They want me to play the lead in a Broadway production?”
“A failed one,” Sarah inserts.
“Yeah, I thought they were shutting down soon.”
“They think you can revive it,” Grant explains. “Your name and talent would put asses in the seats. It pays next to nothing compared to what you’re used to, but it’s a paycheck. If you can breathe wind into its sails again, it’s a steady one. You could use that right now.”
I shake my head. “That’s crazy. I can’t do theater.”
“Why not? You started out as an actor. You can obviously sing. You can dance.”
“I’d have to be on stage, what? Five nights a week?”
“Six.”
I grimace. “Fuck no. I can barely stand it twice a week.”
“It’s something to consider. That’s all. No one is telling you to do it.”
“Definitely not me,” Sarah chimes.
I pace the room, my hands rubbing together rigidly. “I’d stay in New York?”
“They’d need you six nights a week. We’d have to rent you an apartment.”
“How long do they want me?”
“As long as they can get you.”
“What about Cam?”
Grant shrugs. “I didn’t ask. I assume he’d go to the chorus. He’d probably be your understudy.”
“And the other lead? The girl?”
“Don’t know. I think if they could, they’d swap her out. If you sign on, we can probably get their previous leading lady back. Eve something.”
I stop, turning to face him. “What about Greer?”
Grant hesitates. “What about her?”
“She has the talent for the job. We’ve all seen it.”
“We can ask them. If you decide to do this, it’s something we can talk about. But I want you to give it some time and some serious thought. That’s a big shift in gears. We’d stop touring, halt production on the album, move from L.A. to New York. Your schedule would be completely different. Your whole life would change. It’s not something to decide flippantly.”
“Go to Rome,” Sarah commands. “Finish this show, do your concert in Italy, and then decide if you’re ready to give up the world for New York.”
Grant nods solemnly. “She’s right. Let’s give it until Rome at least. See what other offers come up. I have feelers out there and I can send out more.”
“Feelers for what?” I ask.
“A couple of TV shows. A movie with Anne Hathaway. A Christmas album with Skrillex. None of which you’d have time to do if you were committed to a Broadway show.”
I nod slowly, pumping the breaks on my racing brain. “Alright, yeah. I’ll think about it.”
“We’ll hold off on scheduling any other tour dates until you make your choice. If you decide to give us the greenlight, though, we can have at least six European shows set up immediately. And if that’s not what you want to do, we can schedule something else. You’re not dead in the water, Jace, but we can’t keep treading it either. We gotta pick a direction and go full steam ahead.”
“I got it,” I agree, eager to end the conversation. I check my phone for the time. “It’s getting late. I’m gonna go down and hit the gym, then go to bed.”
“Do you need anything?”
“Nah, I’m solid. I’ll wear myself out on the weights. No booze. No pills. I promise.”
“No women.”
“Just because that’s how you live your life, man,” I joke, dodging the issue.
Sarah stands, smoothing her black pencil skirt over her thighs. “Give him a break, Grant. Where’s he gonna get a piece of ass in this place? There’s a guy running the front desk and every room is swarming with long haul truckers as far as I can tell.”
Grant looks at me warily. Like he knows me, because he does. “He likes to have his women delivered. Like pizza.”
“Let him be. Walk me to my room so I don’t get taken advantage of.”
“I’ll walk you to your room, but it’s to protect the truckers. Not you.”
Sarah laughs as she leads him out. They say goodnight before letting the thick door bang shut behind them. Then I’m alone.
I hate it instantly. I’m jittery. Oddly anxious in a way I can’t explain. I think it’s this town. I’ve felt off ever since we pulled through the city limits. Everything looks the same as it did when I was a kid. This hotel is pretty much the only thing new. The storefronts on the main drag all look exactly the way I remembered but tried to forget. Even the ancient Dairy Queen on the corner is the same. Faded and slouching, the roof covered in a blanket of green moss. I bet it still smells like vinegar in there. Vinegar and vanilla. Just like it did back when my mom and I would go in for sundaes on hot summer nights. We’d sit in the big red booths, our legs sticking to the vinyl, and watch the cars pass through town. She’d kick my ass at Slug Bug then let me win at the license plate game. She’d tell me what city Dad was in. She’d tell me he’d be home soon, but he hardly ever was. I’d hold the door open for her when we left, then I’d walk her home. Three blocks from where we drove into town, to a tiny two bedroom house with a light that always flickered in the bathroom, no matter how new the bulb.
It makes me dizzy just thinking about it.
I didn’t know how it would feel to come home. I dreaded it because I knew I’d be sad about my mom, but this is something else. This is uglier somehow. It’s a mind-fuck I can’t get past. I’ve gotta move. I’ve gotta get it out of my system, one way or another.
I strip down naked in the center of my room, leaving my clothes in a puddle on the floor at my feet. My workout clothes are folded in a neat stack on the dresser, Grant’s way of encouraging me to get right the right way. I throw them on, grab my room key, and hurry out of my hotel room.
The benefit of the place being small is that it’s quiet. There’s no one in the hall when I head for the elevator. Not a sound comes from a single room as I pass them. They’re either empty or people are passed out inside. It’s barely ten, but people go to bed early in this town. There’s not much else to do.
When I push the call button, it only takes the elevator a second to ding discordantly. I’ve stopped it on its way somewhere. The door slides open with effort.
Inside the silver box is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I sigh with relief. Greer is standing there
in comfy sweats, her green eyes wide with surprise. Her pink, pert mouth turning up in a small smile when she sees me. A real smile.
The sight of her alone in the elevator sends a jolt to my blood. One full of heat and knowledge and thirst, fueled by memories and fantasies that merge and meld to one grand symphony of excitement in my mind. Fuck the gym. This is how I’m getting my head straight. I’m wrapping it around her, wrapping her body around mine, and tasting her until the sunrise.
She opens her mouth to say something, but I silence her with a kiss. A long, lingering, explorative kiss with my hands on her hips holding her close. She gasps, startled. Her mouth unresponsive. I’m surprised when she pushes against my shoulders, forcing me back.
I look down at her with a frown, confused. She’s never reacted to me like that before.
She gives me a weak grin before pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?” I look around the empty elevator. “We’re alone. No one saw.”
“I’ve been throwing up all day.”
My lip curls in disgust. “Eh.”
“Yeah.”
“You taste like ginger ale.”
“I feel like dog shit.” Her brow creases, her eyes going unfocused. She burps quietly into the back of her hand. “And sick. I still feel sick.”
I release her, backing away a few steps to give her room. The elevator door tries to close on my ass. I catch it with my hand, holding it open for her. “Is your room on this floor?”
“No. Next one up.”
“Are you gonna make it that far?”
She winces, shaking her head quickly. “I don’t think so,” she breathes.
Quickly, I grab her hand and the handle on her suitcase, pulling them both out of the elevator. She rushes down the hall with me to my door. I kick it open so I can usher her inside. Greer immediately disappears into the bathroom.
“I’m so sorry!” she shouts from inside.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your—” She wretches loudly, the sound quickly followed by a distinctive splat! “Fuck. Okay.”
I pull her bag farther into the room, giving her as much privacy as I can. Her suitcase looks small compared to mine. It’s brand new. Not a scratch on it. I wonder if she bought it just for this trip. She said she’s never left the city before, so this is her first trip anywhere.
