The following morning I wake up in Nick’s arms again, breathing him in deeply as I cuddle into him. Picking up my head, I notice that it’s only eight o’clock in the morning and the bus isn’t leaving until this afternoon. I stand up carefully and walk to the bathroom, deciding that I should head to the gym today. I normally don’t work out when I’m on vacation, but I’ve been eating way too many good things and feel a little bit guilty over it. Standing sideways in front of the mirror, my gaze drops to my plump butt and I decide that I definitely need to do squats today. Once I’m dressed in my workout clothes and sneakers, I grab my purse, stuffing it with clothes so I can hit the showers in the spa when I’m finished and head out. I doubt Nick will be up early today. He and Shea stayed up way past the time I went to bed working on the album. I find my phone on top of the kitchen counter where I left it, frowning when I see a little note from Nick, which I’m assuming he left when he got back from the studio last night.
Smiling, I unravel my earphones from my phone and put them in my ears, and ignore the missed calls I have as I search for the song, which I’ve never heard, as I walk toward the elevators. The smile on my face is huge by the time I get on the treadmill for my warm up, and as much as I would love to listen to the song again, I begrudgingly begin to sort through my gym playlist, trying to find a good song to start off to. Once I have one, I sort through my missed calls noticing they’re mostly from Nina and Hendrix, but there are some from my mom, dad, and Sarah, which instantly fills me with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I begin to panic slightly, walking off the treadmill and heading toward the lady’s locker room, because when that many people call you in the early hours of the morning, it can’t be good news.
I call Nina first, knowing she’ll tell me what happened before she even says hello to me. Nina knows no bounds when it comes to formality, and I appreciate that, especially if she’s going to tell me somebody died.
“Brooklyn!” Nina says shrilly.
“Oh my God. What happened? Just tell me what happened!” I say, my words piling into one another as I’m close to hysterics. It didn’t go unnoticed that Uncle Robert was the only person that didn’t call me and he’s usually the first one there. If anything happened to him I would die.
“Have you talked to Allie?” Nina asks, still sounding uneasy.
I feel my stomach plummet as my chest struggles for air. “No. Oh my God, what happened to her? Is she okay?” I know I sound frantic, but I don’t do well with death or accidents or anything of the sort.
“What?” Nina shrieks. “Brooklyn, calm the fuck down! Shut up and listen to me! You’re eating my sandwich.”
When she says that, I calm down slightly. We use that phrase to refer to when we’re finishing each other’s sentences wrong. There was a commercial about it at one point, and we started making a bigger joke of it when it aired.
“What happened?” I ask. “Why is my mom calling me?” I say quieter.
“Fuck,” Nina mutters under her breath. “Well, if you read any gossip magazines, you would be informed. It’s being reported that Allie is suing you for half of Fab Enterprises.”
I frown, my mouth drops, I gasp, and blink rapidly all at once before I plop down on a bench behind me. Thankfully I’m in a little private room where nobody can see me. “What?” I ask dumbly, needing her to repeat that for me.
“You may want to call her, Bee, because your microphones are all over the place and everything says she’s suing you.”
“That’s impossible,” I say under my breath. “Allie wouldn’t … I have to call you back,” I say, hanging up quickly to call my friend. Allie’s phone rings and rings until it reaches her voicemail.
“Hey, Al, call me back. I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of days and Nina just called to tell me something ridiculous … so yeah, call me back,” I say before hanging up.
My phone vibrates instantly, and I look at it expecting Allie, but see Hendrix’s name instead.
“Where the hell have you been?” Hendrix says as soon as I place the phone to my ear.
I exhale a breath. “Hen, please don’t bitch at me. I’m sure you can imagine the kind of morning I’ll be having.”
“Damn it, Brooklyn,” he mutters. “You need to get to LA, as in yesterday. The plane is on standby waiting for you, you leave in an hour. I swear to God, I feel like I’m your fucking assistant sometimes. Maybe I should take over for your brain so shit like this doesn’t happen.”
“Wait. What? Back up. What do you mean LA? Why is the plane standing by? I’m waiting for Allie to call me back. Are you seriously buying into the rumors? You, of all people?” I ask incredulously. You would think that with the amount of rumors reported about our family they would know that more than half of the things they say aren’t true. He can’t be serious.
Hendrix lets out a laugh. “Well, when Drew calls telling me he has papers for a lawsuit in his hand, I stop listening to gossip magazines, Brooklyn. Allie or someone she knows must’ve contacted the magazines as soon as those papers left her because Drew got them last night. It started getting reported right after.”
My mouth falls open. “But why would she sue me?” I whisper, not entirely believing what he’s telling me. She’s my friend. I was the maid of honor at her wedding. I paid for her honeymoon. How could she just sue me over half of a company that I started and brought her on board for? Is that even legal? I make the designs; she’s more of an assistant than a contributor.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, Bee, but the faster you let it sink in, the better. Your best friend fucked you over and is suing you for half of the company that you created with your own hands. If you want to stop all of this, you need to get to LA as soon as possible. Chin up, sis. Chin up,” Hendrix says, sounding like a little league coach.
“Yeah, chin up,” I mumble dejectedly as I hang up the phone.
I change my clothes numbly, my hands moving of their own accord as I mull over everything Hendrix told me. I think about Allie and my last conversation with her, studying every word said, every tone it was said in, and finding nothing out of place. I take a seat again, burying my face in my hands, taking deep shuddering breaths to calm down. I hear the doors to the locker room open and shut, the room filling with the laughter of women, and am thankful this hotel has these individual rooms so that I can have my moment by myself.
“So you just got here?” one of them asks, her loud voice and the sound of the faucet drowning out my heavy breathing.
“Yep. Just landed. My show is tonight,” the other, whom I know is Gia responds. “I can’t fucking wait to get this leg of the trip over with,” she says with an exaggerated sigh.
They both walk into the stall beside me and I consider leaving until I hear Gia speak again.
“You’re still hooking up with Nick?” she asks.
“I haven’t seen him yet,” the other says. “But it’s what we do, so I’m sure I will,” she says with a laugh.
My blood boils at her words, even though I feel like she’s punched me in the stomach.
“I heard he’s dating Brooklyn Harmon now,” Gia says before I hear her sniffle loudly. She coughs right away. I don’t have to look over the stall to know what they’re doing. “Did you see that her friend is suing her for those microphones?”
The other girl scoffs. “I saw that. I’m not worried about Nick, he’ll get bored of her soon enough. Besides, if she’s not here …” she says, letting her words drift.
I feel like screaming that I am, but I’m motionless; I have no words.
“Maybe,” Gia says, not sounding interested.
“And if she’s Chris Harmon’s daughter, I know exactly what he wants,” the girl continues, sniffling. “He’s starting his own label, he probably wants her to get him people or something. Who knows? Nick is smart. Very calculated,” she says.
I didn’t think I had it in me to be shocked after just hearing about Allie, but her statement did it again. Adrenaline begin
s to shoot laser beams within me. Placing one hand over my rapidly beating heart, I massage it, as if that will help ease it. As if anything could. I take out my phone and Google Nick Wilde but find nothing about a record label, just photos of him at different events. I try again: Nick Wilde, record label. A couple of gossip sites claim that there’s a rumor to it, but I find one that catches my attention.
Michael Wilde tries to outdo Chris Harmon with label. Fails. Surprised, I click that one open and browse through it. It pretty much says that Nick’s dad was trying to steal artists from my dad in 1986, but somehow they both ended up on friendly terms. As I scroll down the article, I see Nick’s name mentioned, saying that he has a couple of artists that he’s been seen scouting to sign.
My mouth still agape, I open the stall and leave the girls gossiping, heading up the elevator and back to the room. When I step back in the room, he’s still sleeping, so I pack my bag quickly and take it to the kitchen. I’m sorting around the living room, trying to see if I’ve left anything, when Nick startles me by walking out of the bedroom wearing a pair of khaki shorts and no shirt. His light brown hair is wet and his bare chest is glistening so I know he just showered. I wonder how I didn’t hear it, I wonder how long he’s been awake, but it doesn’t matter, between my phone call with the attorney and trying to sort things out, I wouldn’t have noticed it either way. Nick looks at me and gives me a smile that would probably leave me breathless at any other time, but not right now when the emotions inside me are stirring. So many things are going through my head that I don’t even know where to start. He looks at my packed bag sitting on the kitchen counter and frowns, his smile disappearing.
“Why’d you pack?” he asks.
I turn my eyes from his because I can’t take it; my chest physically aches at the idea of not looking into those eyes again depending on what he tells me. “I have to go to LA,” I say slowly.
He begins to walk toward me, looking concerned, and I back away, putting space between us, which makes him frown again.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not, but I will be. I always am,” I reply quietly.
He walks toward me again, crossing his arms over his chest when he notices me back away, again.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, my voice quiet and calm.
He tilts his head to appraise me. “Of course,” he says, his voice tensing.
“Are you trying to start your own label?” I’m trying to keep my face as passive as possible, trying not to show the hurt in my eyes when his jaw slacks right before he catches himself and closes it.
I find myself closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. I just want him to tell me it’s not true. I want him to look at me the way he always looks at me, with desire and care laced in his eyes, not the regret that’s there now. I want him to tell me that he’s with me for me, not who he could be because of my name.
“I’m working on one, yes,” Nick says, putting his hands in his pockets. “But it has nothing to do with you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask in a whisper.
He shrugs, taking his hands out of his pockets and waving them around as he speaks, “What was I going to say, Brooklyn? ‘Hey, by the way, I’m starting a label and I would love it if you would ditch your father and come work with me instead.”
I blink a couple of times, half expecting to wake up from a nightmare. Hoping that he’s not saying what I think he’s saying to me. I grind my teeth, trying to collect myself even though the adrenaline that’s running through me feels like it’s peaking instead of slowing.
“So you’ve been using me? You’ve been trying to get under my skin—for what? So I could stop working for Harmon and go work for you?” I spit out.
He shakes his head. “No,” he exhales, his face crumbling. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t want you to think that and it never came up.”
“It never came up?” I scoff. “It never came up?” I ask louder. “It never came up because you didn’t want it to! Am I supposed to guess? I’ve asked you about your work. I’ve asked you a million questions because I want to know everything about you, but it never came up? Just like the fact that you found me on that bridge and took me to the hospital never came up until I saw your brother?” I ask in a shout. “Let me guess, if I wouldn’t have remembered, you wouldn’t have told me that anyway because it never came up?” I ask, air quoting. I grab my bag from the counter and turn around to storm out, but Nick grabs my arm to stop me.
I yank my arm out of his grasp, but not before he turns me around to face him again, his jaw clenched as he looks at me through narrowed eyes. Those eyes that I love to swim in, sail in, drown in, but will now remind me of betrayal. Our chests are both rising and falling heavily as we stand here, staring at each other. The only thing I can think about is the fact that he’s been using me just like everybody else.
“Oh, you’re Chris Harmon’s daughter? Cool … wanna hear my demo?”
“You’re Roxy’s daughter? Cool. I model on the side.”
“I sing.”
“I’m a video dancer.”
Those are the reasons I cut back on the hundreds of friends I had before. They’re the reasons I deleted my Facebook and twitter account and said “fuck it, I don’t need friends.” I’d rather have 3 friends I can trust than be dragged along and lied to for months, investing my time on blooming a friendship, or worse, end up falling hard for somebody, only to find out they’re starting a music label. And to hear it from coked out sluts in the bathroom. And to have them confirm my worst fears: he may be using me for my name. It just fucking sucks. Especially since I just got blindsided by a lawsuit from somebody I thought was truly my friend.
“Where does this leave us?”
I let out a laugh in disbelief. “Are you serious?” I ask.
His eyes narrow more. “I wasn’t using you, Brooklyn. I would never use you, you have to know that!”
“No, I don’t have to know that, Nick,” I respond, grinding my teeth together at the remembrance of the conversation his fuck buddy and Gia were having in the spa. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. I will not cry. I will not allow him to see that I’m hurt by any of this.
He lets out a dry laugh. “So that’s it? You want to walk out of here as if none of this happened?” he asks, waving his hands around the suite in disbelief, his eyes beginning to spark blazes.
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice wavering, showing some of my pain. “I don’t know anything right now, Nick.”
He stares at me for a long moment, studying my face before speaking again. I see the moment his gaze flickers from disbelief to painful before setting on angry. His beautiful eyes dimming, taking me from the shallow to the deep end, showing me their depth as he speaks. “I can’t believe you can just walk out of here as if what we have is nothing ... You know why you’ve never had a real relationship before, Brooklyn?” he starts, his jaw is set and he looks livid. “Because of this,” he says, pointing at me. “Your flippant attitude about the whole thing. That’s why men treat you like you’re disposable. They’re not doing it because you’re not worth their time or they don’t like you enough, they’re just returning the favor,” he spits.
His words shred me. Burn me. Make me feel like I’ve been slapped and kicked at the same time. My chest constricts as I blink at him in disbelief with my mouth hanging open. Finally, I let out a surprised scoff, shaking my head.
“You know … I wanted you to be different. I wanted you to assure me that you weren’t with me because you have a hidden agenda and need me in order to fulfill it. But more than anything, Nick, I just want the man that I’ve developed these feelings for, these stupid fucking feelings, to feel something back. I just wanted you to be real,” I say, on the verge of breaking down. My chest feels tight from the tears I’m trying to hold back. “I want all of the bad memories you’ve replaced in this city to be real memories with real laughter and real fucking passi
on, not calculated or made up ones! But thank you. Thank you for returning the fucking favor,” I say, my eyes burning with angry tears. “Good bye, Nick,” I whisper, turning around and stalking to the door, letting it slam behind me. Sadness envelops my heart with each step I take, and I welcome it. Sadness is my home, I belong in it, it belongs in me; we are one and the same.
I send a text message to Shea explaining to him, in short, what happened with Allie and letting him know I’ll text him again when I land in LA and know what’s going on. I sit on the airplane in the same seat that I sat in on my way to San Francisco. The same seat that Nick comforted me in when I freaked out over seeing the Golden Gate Bridge. Turning my head, I look out the window and look at the bridge and the blue water under it, and I don’t feel a thing.
Once upon a time I would’ve killed to feel numb, like I do now. I would’ve reveled in the abyss of emptiness that fills my heart. The fear of the unknown would’ve made me want to kill myself. Again. But now I feel nothing. I’ve been stripped of everything that matters and I’m left with nothing. So much of nothing that I don’t want to end my life in some dramatic, painful way because I’d rather let myself marinate in the bleakness for a little while longer. When I’m ready I’ll begin to feel again, and I’ll feel much more suffering than I would if I just ended it all right now.
And I want that.
I want to become that pain.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. It still makes me want to vomit when I think about it, so I don’t unless I want to feed into my depression. Ryan picked me up on Thursday night to head to San Francisco for the weekend. The foggy city had become our stomping ground over the past year. We felt free of judgment there. He could make out with as many guys as he wanted, and I could wear my hair in fifty million shades of blue and nobody would even look at me twice. We loved it. The perk was that Uncle Robert would let us stay at his house on the weekends, and we loved being with him and his boyfriend, Victor. That weekend in particular, Rob and Vic were out of town and were letting us stay there, but Ryan and I passed up on their offer and decided to stay in a hotel closer to the bars. I was seventeen; he was eighteen. Neither of us could get into any bar legally, but legal doesn’t matter when you have endless money and the right last name.
Catch Me Page 26
