by Abby Brooks
Like it or not, I'm going to renovate the hell out of her kitchen. That woman—my woman—has no idea what's in store for her. She'll come home one day to marble countertops and gleaming appliances. To new plates and silverware and glasses. She’ll have plenty of space to work and bake and cook. And when I’m done with the kitchen, I’ll get to work on the bathroom. Shit! I’ll even get a second one added on. When I’m done with this house, there will be so little of her parents left here, she won’t have a reason to be sad anymore.
I grab my iPad and start pacing the kitchen, Googling ideas and trying to figure out where in the hell I need to start. It would be easier to call a contractor and let the professionals do everything, but I want to do this myself. I want to prove to her that I have worth. That there's more to me than a pretty face. More than a brand. That I'm more than a name. That the person buried deep under years of PR and branding is worth a damn.
This stupid kitchen is too dark. Is there room for a skylight up there? As I twist to look at the ceiling, movement catches my eye in the backyard. My jaw tenses. My iPad hits the counter with a clatter as I put both hands on the laminate and lean in towards the window, twisting open the blinds just a little more to get a better view of who’s out there.
It's a woman. Or a girl, really. Someone right on the line between childhood and adulthood. She's got her cell phone out, ready to take a picture at a moment’s notice as she creeps forward on tiny, catlike steps towards the window in the den.
She hasn't seen me yet. Her focus is split between the window and her phone. She stops every few steps to tap out a text, giggling at the screen. With a sigh, I crank the blinds closed and take a seat at the kitchen table. I can’t believe she’s out here in the daylight. The upended trash cans were one thing. Suspecting that people were out there in the dark somehow felt less threatening, less real. No matter how much I assumed people were snooping around, there was always a part of me that wondered if maybe it was a family of raccoons. But now? Seeing that girl out in the middle of the day? There’s no running away from reality with her right in front of my face.
There’s only one reason she’s here and that reason is me. And that sucks because enough time has passed between our little performance at Smitty’s and now that I had actually begun to believe my fans would leave us alone. That as idiotic and counter-intuitive as the idea had sounded, it had worked. I should have known better, but every time I called Brent, he kept telling me not to worry. I guess I just wanted everything to work out so badly that I let myself believe it had.
But people being here? That’s just not okay. The last thing Bailey needs is to have her life upended by crazy fans snooping around her house and digging through her trash. She doesn’t need the paparazzi crowding her as she leaves for work, snapping pictures when she least expects it. I’ve got to put a stop to this before it becomes a real problem.
I shift in my seat to pull my phone out of my pocket, my hands moving on muscle memory as I pull up Brent’s information and initiate the call. My stomach churns just seeing his name, let alone his contact picture with his sleek hair and oily smile.
“Liam! Baby! How are you? You were on my list of people to call today, you beautiful bastard.” He sounds like he’s ecstatic to hear from me. Which he probably is. I can hear the dollar signs cha-chinging through his mind from here.
“We've got a problem.” I stand, careful to keep the chair quiet against the tile, and head back towards Bailey’s bedroom, filling him in on the concert at Smitty’s and reminding him about everything that’s been happening around here. “And now,” I say as I perch on the edge of Bailey’s bed. “Now there's a girl stalking around outside the house. Phone out. Snooping around. Get PR on the phone. Handle this. Now.”
When Brent speaks, the disdain in his voice is evident. “I'm sorry, man. But there's no amount of PR that can fix this. Are you insane? You sang for them? Gathered them all up into a shitty bar and sang for them? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“Because you seemed so sure that you had everything handled.” I close my eyes. “Because I wanted to believe I could stay here.”
Brent laughs. “You don't get to lead anything resembling a normal life. You need to get a handle on whatever existential crisis you think you’re having and face the facts. You, my friend, are fucking royalty. And royalty doesn’t get to hang out with the peasants because it’s always just a matter of time before the fucking peasants go fucking crazy.”
I can just see the spittle flying out of his mouth as he yells into the phone.
“I'm not coming back to LA,” I say, dropping onto the bed and picking a picture of Bailey’s parents up off the bedside table.
“So, what are you going to do? Just sit there and let the whole town work themselves into a Liam McGuire-fueled frenzy? Let that bitchy nurse handle the crowds gathering at her doorstep? She might have enough attitude to make them think twice about swarming past her to get to you, but how long until she gets tired of dealing with it? How long before she kicks your pampered ass right out? And then what? It’s time for a reality check, my friend. You’ll be coming back here sooner or later. Might as well skip all the drama and just come home.”
I stare at the strangers in the picture I’m holding, a man with Bailey’s eyes and a woman with her smile. “You're not my friend,” I say.
“Fine. I'm not your friend. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have your best interest at heart. Someone needs to look after you, especially if you won’t do it yourself. And apparently, that someone is me.”
I don't have anything to say. My thoughts swirl around in my head, a swarm of angry bees and hornets and snakes and whatever other vile things gather in disgusting places. Is he right? Is it only a matter of time before Bailey gets tired of what my life is and kicks me out? Is this just the beginning of the end? Would it be better to leave now before what we have gets ruined by the shit-storm that’s about to come crashing down on our heads?
I can’t bring myself to believe that. What Bailey and I have runs deep. I can feel it rooted in the most basic parts of who I am, bits and pieces of her anchored to my soul.
“Look, man.” Brent’s voice is hard and harsh, the whitewash of his congeniality crumbling as we speak. “I'm not saying you have to like it,” he continues. “I'm just saying that in the end, your only course of action is to come back to LA. Bring the girl with you if you have to. Get her out of that shit town and show her what the real world looks like.” He sighs and I can just imagine him staring out of the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in his office, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose, the other pressing his phone to his ear. “You just need to get real honest, real fast. You and I both know that you staying where you are is nothing but bad news. It’s only going to get worse. Come home.”
I bite back my response before it comes out of my mouth:
I am home.
“I'll think about it,” I say instead.
“Don't think too long. It’s only a matter of time before things explode. I'll do what I can here to make it look like you're anywhere but where you are. But your smile is witchcraft, man, and your fans are under your spell. They will keep coming until they get what they want, regardless of what I say and do.”
I hang up the phone without saying goodbye. Brent might be an asshole, but he's right. There's absolutely no way to keep me being here in Brookside a secret, especially after what we did at Smitty’s. If they've discovered I'm staying at Bailey’s house, then, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m blown. The dream is falling to pieces at my feet, trampled by a million fans screaming my name.
I stand and pace, thread my hands into my hair, grab a fistful, and pull. My jaw pulses. My stomach boils with anxiety.
I don't want to bring Bailey to LA. People treat me with a certain deference there. Like Brent said, I might as well be royalty. I don’t want Bailey to see that and think I’m anyone other than who I’ve been here with her. Besides, she loathes the person I used to
be, the person they all think I still am. I don’t want to be there with her, my past and my present colliding in the worst possible circumstances.
The frame around the picture of Bailey’s parents digs into my hands and its only then that I realize I’ve been clenching it between my fists. I set it back in its place and stare at the smiling couple.
“I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place,” I say to the woman in the picture, Bailey’s mom with Bailey’s smile. “I can’t stay here and I don’t want to take her there.”
I take a breath and stare around the empty room.
“And, I’m sitting alone, talking to pictures of strangers.” I stand and then gesture towards the smiling couple in the frame on the table. “No disrespect intended, of course.”
Or, and this thought is so uncomfortable, I can’t quite wrap my mind around it, maybe I should take Bailey to LA. I could sit down with the PR team, my asshole manager, and my bitch of a mother and get them to understand that I don’t want to do this anymore. That I’m tired of being a dancing monkey, selling soulless songs to people who dig my brand. I want to write music that shakes my foundation.
And hell, maybe I don’t care if I never sell another song. Maybe I don’t care if all I ever do is play for Bailey and her family because I’m tired of selling out just to hear the crowd scream. Tired of having people look through me instead of at me. I want to be loved for who I really am and not who I’ve been molded into.
Something powerful rises from the pit of my stomach, something certain and bold.
This is the way it needs to work.
I'll take Bailey to LA; we'll hang out there while I forge a plan with the powers that be. And if they tell me that they won’t support the change and the Super Pop Sensation Liam McGuire will have to disappear, so be it.
The more I think about the idea the more I love it. Bailey works her ass off. The trip to LA would be a vacation for her. A chance to unwind. A chance for us to get to know each other even better, to figure out how we fell so far in love in so short a time. I want to know all of her and this will give me a chance to do just that.
I'll take her out to LA and show her my house and buy her some clothes and take her to fancy restaurants. We’ll take long walks on the beach and I’ll let my stylists play with her hair. I’ll treat her like a queen because she fucking deserves it.
Feeling more and more excited about the trip, I slink into the kitchen, grab my iPad, and start planning our time in LA.
Time for us.
Just Bailey and me.
BAILEY
I can’t wait to get home and see Liam. The minute I walk in the door, I’m going to drag his ass into the shower with me, take my time worshipping his naked body, then beg him to fuck me until I scream. If only this old truck could go faster. My phone vibrates with an incoming call from Lexi, interrupting my fantasies of Liam’s glistening wet body covered in suds, water streaming over his chest and shoulders.
“Hey! Miss me already?” I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder so I can use both hands to turn this brute of a truck.
“Already? I’ve been missing you. I never get to see you anymore,” Lexi says, pouting.
Great. I steel myself against the incoming guilt trip. “I just spent the whole day with you. We see each other almost all week, silly.”
Lexi sighs. “At work. And work Bailey doesn’t get drunk and sing karaoke with me.”
“Maybe she should,” I say, laughing a little. “Might help the patients decide to hurry up and get better in order to keep their poor ears from bleeding.”
“Whatever. You’ve got a beautiful voice.” Gabe’s tiny voice chimes up in the background, but I can’t make out what he says. “You’ve got a beautiful voice, too,” my friend says to her son, pausing patiently for his response.
It warms my heart. “I love the way you love him.”
“There’s no way around it. Motherhood is something else.” Lexi sounds tired. I listen as Gabe climbs into her lap and starts jabbering away about something. “So,” Lexi says after shushing him. “As I said before, I miss you. You wanna come hang out with me? Mom said she’d watch Gabe for the night.”
My heart sinks because the last thing I want to do is disappoint my best friend. “Oh, damn. I was going to take Liam out for drinks.” I pause, biting my lip. “You want to come?”
“Ugh. And be the third wheel?”
“I could call Michael and invite him out, too?” The thought of a double date makes me smile.
“Uh, and be the one in charge of getting him home when he’s too drunk to drive?” Lexi answers one of Gabe’s rambling questions, sounding more and more dejected by the moment.
“Uh-oh. Are things not working out between you two?” I try not to sound heartbroken, but I am. The idea of my brother and my best friend falling in love was too delectable for me to resist.
“Oh, no. Things are fine. Believe me, they’re fine. He’s just in a mood today.”
“Ugh. Enough said.” I yank the wheel to turn into my driveway. I swear this truck gets harder to drive with each passing year. “Can I get a raincheck? We can schedule a girl’s night for just the two of us.”
“I need that more than you can ever understand.”
“Next Friday? Just you, me, and the karaoke machine at Smitty’s?”
“It’s a date.”
I smile. “Good.”
“And Bailey?”
“Yeah?”
“If you cancel on me, I’ll show up at your house, walk right into your bedroom, and drag you out naked. I don’t care how much Liam begs me to join you.”
I laugh as I kill the engine. “I wouldn’t cancel. Not on you. You’re the most important girl in my life.”
“You bet your ass I am.”
We say our goodbyes as I climb out of the truck. She’s right. I’ve basically disappeared since Liam and I started sleeping together. But, who could blame me? When faced with the option of having mind-blowing, life-altering sex versus going out to the same smelly bar that I’ve gone to since the moment I was old enough to drink, who wouldn’t go with the first option?
I bound up the porch steps and push through the front door. “Oh, Liam!” I call out in a sing-song voice. “Where are you?”
I shrug out of my purse as he stands from the kitchen table where he’d been staring at his iPad.
“You haven’t been obsessing about the kitchen all day, have you?” I ask as I wander in to join him.
Liam smiles and the look in his eyes makes my stomach drop. “Can you sit? We need to talk.”
“I don’t think there’s been a conversation in the history of the world that started with ‘we need to talk’ and ended well.”
Liam smiles again, one of those branded ones I hate so much. “It’s not a huge deal. I mean, not yet. It will be, though. Which is why we need to talk.”
My good mood comes crashing down around me. I never knew this man could ever be nervous. And if he’s nervous, then I’m terrified. “What’s wrong, Liam?”
“There was a girl out here today. Snooping for pictures,” he says, looking so distraught my heart skips a few beats. “Our cover is blown.” Another smile, a real one, tainted with sadness and resignation.
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word. “We kind of figured that would happen, right? Do we need to schedule another secret concert or something?”
Liam lets out a long breath and my nerves start drop-kicking my heart. Something bad is coming. I know it.
“I’m taking you to LA.” He picks up his tablet and turns on the screen. “I’ve got it all planned out.”
“What?” I stare at the tablet, a picture of some fancy restaurant up on one of the thousand tabs he has open. “Can’t you just make a phone call to your people or something?”
“I did.” The light in Liam’s eyes dies a little. “And we have to go to Los Angeles.”
I press my hands into the table. “I can’t just leave,” I say, shaking my head i
ncredulously. It’s been too long of a day to get into something serious like this. I had my hopes set on a much different kind of night.
“I’ll buy your tickets, hot lips. In fact, I already have. It’s time you start letting me treat you like the princess you are.”
I sit back in my chair, still shaking my head. “It’s not just the tickets. I mean, that’s really sweet of you, but come on, Liam. I have a job. People who depend on me. I can’t just up and leave.”
Liam puts down the tablet and reaches for my hands. “If by people, you mean Michael, maybe it’s time you realize he’s a big boy now. And your job? It will be waiting for you when you get back.”
“Right. And my patients? And the people who have to scramble to cover my shifts? And then there’s the fact that if I don’t work, I don’t get paid.” I shrug and give his hands a squeeze, trying to ignore the little surges of indignation and anger that keep boiling to the surface. “Isn’t there something they can do without us flying out there?”
Liam scowls. “Why does it always come down to money with you?”
His tone stings my pride. “Because that’s what happens when you don’t have a whole lot of it. Every choice comes down to what’s in the bank account.”
“Yeah, well, if you would just shut up about it once and awhile, maybe you’d realize that I am right here, with more money than I know what to do with, totally willing to share it with you.”
“Did you really just tell me to shut up?” I don’t know what hurts more, the fact that he’s been silently judging me for counting my pennies, or the fact that he actually used those words. Shut up.
Liam rolls his eyes. “Fuck. Please don’t blow this out of proportion.”
“Blow what out of proportion? You telling me to shut up, you getting mad at me for worrying about my job, or you thinking you can decide for me that I’m leaving on a moment’s notice and flying halfway across the country? Why am I not surprised that the Liam McGuire doesn’t see the problem in any of that?”
