by RC Boldt
His words are firm but rushed, and his tone holds an emotion I’m afraid to identify. Nashville? It can only mean one thing.
Oh God, please, no.
My voice quivers. “What’s going on?”
He hesitates. “Zoe…” He trails off as if his throat is too swollen with emotion to say more. Finally, he manages to continue. “I had a damn nightmare about Zoe and texted Isaac because it shook me up so much. He told me it wasn’t looking good but didn’t want to say anything to anyone yet. Especially since she’s pulled through the other times.” He sniffles. “We flew out after that because I just…” His voice cracks. “I just had a feeling.”
I clasp a hand over my mouth to try to suppress the sobs threatening to break free. Somehow, I manage to draw in a deep breath and force out a mumbled, “I’ll be ready to go.”
“I’ll call Windham and let him know he’s off the hook since I’m back now.”
We end the call, and I hike up the strap on my duffel bag, not caring whether I’ve packed everything or not. I rush from the room and nearly barrel into Kane.
“Simone, wait—”
He’s interrupted by the sound of his cell phone ringing. I already know who’s on the other end.
I don’t bother sparing him a glance as I head for the door. He obviously wars with going after me, but duty wins because a moment after, I hear a guttural muttering of, “Fuck!” as he answers his phone.
My phone, in a white-knuckled grip in my hand, vibrates with a text from Vance, letting me know he and Jed are outside the door, ready for me. So, I do what I’ve done for what seems like my whole life.
I step outside with my face wiped clean of expression. With no trace of heartache, no pain, no tears or stains of previous ones. Because it’s far more necessary now than ever before that I embody what everyone thinks I am.
The Ice Princess of Pop.
No one has to know that beneath this façade I’m crumbling with my heart shattered beyond repair.
No one needs to know that the shards of my heart are crunching beneath my feet with every single step I take.
No one needs to know that at all.
No one ever will.
Text from Kane
I’m so sorry to hear about Zoe. I won’t ask if you’re okay. I may be the idiot who fucked things up with you, but I’m not that much of a moron. I know you’re hurting and wish I could do something. You probably won’t even read this, but at the off chance you do, I’m always here if you need anything.
Entertainment Online!
BREAKING NEWS
Simone King was spotted wearing Jackie O-style sunglasses and holding the arm of her bestie and heartthrob crooner, Matthias Tobin, leaving the funeral of five-year-old Zoe Hufton. Zoe was the daughter of Simone King’s drummer, Isaac, who toured with King for four years before taking a leave of absence to care for his daughter.
The young girl had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, rhabdomyosarcoma, at the early age of three and battled off and on with the disease until finally succumbing this past Friday.
King has canceled her upcoming scheduled concert dates in St. Louis and Kansas City, apologizing to fans and saying she would make it up to them. Sources from the venues in question have confirmed that King’s rep has already rescheduled.
A statement released by King was worded in typical Ice Princess no-nonsense fashion: “Zoe was more than a delightful child. She had a beautiful soul that could soften even the hardest of hearts. She was brave and bold, and she fought cancer with her entire being. And that motherfucking bitch took our beautiful girl from this world far too soon.”
King consistently mentioned Isaac Hufton each time she spoke of her band even throughout his leave of absence. King was the sole godparent of Hufton’s daughter, and sources allege that the pop star footed the bill for the entirety of the young girl’s hospital treatments and numerous stays.
Fans of King came out in droves on social media when the pop star posted a photo of herself and young Zoe with the simple caption of, “My sweet angel was taken too soon. #FuckCancer” to show their support and comment.
Many believe this is what caused Instagram to experience a major glitch for nearly four hours before the site was finally restored. Reps for Instagram declined to comment.
36
Simone
Atlanta, Georgia
Late August
I’ve been holed up in my house in Atlanta for the most part, interspersed with a few trips over to Nashville to see Isaac and Lauren, who, startlingly enough, seem to have their shit together much more than I do.
Emotionally numb and pushed past my breaking point—my body blares this at me internally. Every part of me aches, each second that ticks by serves to reinforce Zoe’s absence. My blood feels like it barely flows through my veins, hampered by the sluggishness of sorrow plaguing me.
I’m due to head back out on the road tomorrow to finish up the last remaining stateside tour dates, including the ones we rescheduled because of Zoe’s funeral.
Normally, I’d be over the moon with excitement of kicking off the tour overseas, traveling to some of the most beautiful locations. That’s not the case now, though, because I can’t muster even a fraction of enthusiasm. In fact, I’m faced with an empty nothingness when I think about our upcoming travels.
I refuse to believe a heart can’t actually break because I’m here to tell you, if someone took a chest X-ray, I guaran-fucking-tee mine isn’t whole. There’s no way it’s in any shape other than cracked to smithereens.
“Sim?”
I bite back a sigh, knowing he’s not trying to smother me. My best friend is worried. I’d react similarly if our roles were reversed.
Matty slides onto the loveseat next to me. My guitar is on my lap, an open notebook resting on the music stand in front of me. With all this and my pencil behind my ear, I look as if I’m hard at work, writing songs. And that’s partially true.
I’m also hard at work at attempting to keep my heartache at bay. The anguish of losing both Zoe and Kane at once has me teetering on the edge. I’m clinging to work with a desperation I’ve never felt before. I’m pouring everything I have left into my music and my lyrics.
Matty leans over, eyes skimming my notebook, and I jerk my own away. I’m not sure I can handle it if he tells me that what I’ve written so far isn’t up to snuff. Not this time. Because it would feel like I was being gutted all over again.
My heart, my goddamn soul is on the pages of this notebook. I’ve practically bled out my emotions and let them puddle to form lyrics from deep within me.
I toy around with a few chords until I find it. My fingers slowly strum repeated strings of notes G C Em C G before I gain momentum, and it clicks with the lyrics I’ve written so far. It’s just a rough idea, but I feel like it has good bones.
Back in August
When I met you
I stared into your eyes
So deep and so blue
You never bought the lies
I really thought you were the one
I begged and pleaded
But all you did was run
My heart fails to beat
It drops at your feet
I’m nothing but embers, embers
Slowly dying
Embers, embers
You can’t hear me crying
Embers
Do you ever think of me?
Do you think of that morning by the sea?
You held me in your arms so tight
The whole world felt so right
But it was all a lie
All a lie
My heart fails to beat
It drops at your feet
I’m nothing but embers, embers
Slowly dying
Embers, embers
You can’t hear me crying
Embers
You stomp out the glow
When you walk out the door
And now I know
I’ll n
ever have more
You bring only tears and pain
I wish you’d cut me loose from these chains
Give me my heart back
Set me free
My heart fails to beat
It drops at your feet
Now it’s nothing but embers, embers
Slowly dying
Embers, embers
Can’t hear me crying
Embers
I trail off, musing internally about what else to add when Matty catches my eyes. Something indecipherable crosses his face.
Hesitantly, I ask, “What?” A part of me already regrets my question.
“Everything you’ve written the past few days has been…” He trails off, and I stiffen in preparation for what I expect will be criticism. But he shocks the hell out of me. “Incredible. But this.” He gestures to where my hands rest on my guitar. “This song is the one.”
His eyes bore into mine with so much intensity I have to look away and pretend I need to do some tuning.
“Sim?” His tone is gentle. Too gentle, dammit. “What the hell happened?”
Eyes still averted, I can only shake my head as something horrifying begins to happen. No, I silently command. No, no, NO.
But it happens just the same. Even if I’m not willing to practically sell my soul to prevent it.
Plop. There it is. Undeniable. The drop of liquid lands on the body of the guitar before traveling down the smooth wooden surface. The teardrop gives me the proverbial middle finger, as if to say, Fuck you! I’m running free and even tackled your guitar!
Okay. Fine. I can overlook this one. Because that’s all I’ll allow. Just one tear.
Plop, plop, plop. More follow before I realize they’re now dripping off my face. I duck my head in an attempt to mask them and move to set my guitar aside, but Matty’s surprisingly strong grip on my arm stops me.
“It’s okay, Sim.” His gently spoken words create a barrage of more tears. Dammit. “Let it out.”
Carefully, he takes my guitar and sets it aside before pulling me close and wrapping his arms around me tight. As though he’s attempting to keep me from falling apart.
But I’m pretty sure we both know it’s too late.
Text from Kane
Just wanted you to know I was thinking of you. Missing you. Hope you don’t mind me asking
Shit. Sorry. Accidentally hit send too soon. This is why I hate texting. My big ass thumbs get in the way. I hope you don’t mind me asking David for your mailing address. I happened to stop by one of the bookstores outside of Jacksonville and spotted a copy of The Scarlet Letter. Sorry if it’s a cover you already have.
Fact or fiction: I miss you and wish I could tell you in person how much I regret the way I handled things. Wish I could make it up to you.
That’s fact, by the way.
37
Kane
Fernandina Beach, Florida
“Wanna talk about it?”
Scoffing at Fos’s question, I offer a succinct, “Nope,” and continue tackling the spreadsheet on the computer screen in front of me. I’m compiling notes and finalizing a course outline Fos and I had discussed implementing.
I’d insisted on coming back to work right away. Not like I had anything else going on after Simone left.
Right now, it’s just the two of us in the office because the others are out at various sites.
Fos mutters, “So you’re back to being your surly self again. Fucking stellar.”
“Sorry ’bout your luck,” I toss back in monotone.
He’s being an asshole, but I don’t have it in me to really give a shit.
“Let me guess what happened,” he begins. “The beautiful pop star fell for you, and then Lucia came back around, and you choked.”
I grind my molars, jaw clenched tight, and continue hammering away at the keyboard in front of me. Do not engage. Do not. Fucking. Engage, I repeat silently.
“So that’s it? You’re gonna fuck up the best thing to happen to you? Because I saw the two of you together. No way in hell you don’t have feelings for her.”
I shove away from my desk, my vision a haze of red from the anger pulsing through me. “What the fuck is your problem?!” I thunder. “Leave it alone.”
Fos braces his forearms on his desk casually, as if he doesn’t have a fucking care in the world. His face is impassive, but his eyes are hard. Pissed.
“I’m not gonna let you fuck this up.” His calm yet steely tone raises my hackles.
“It’s not yours to fuck up!” Raking a rough hand over my hair, I glare at him, willing him to let it go.
“What the hell is your deal?” It pisses me off even more, the way he continues with his deceivingly calm tone.
I grind out each word from behind clenched teeth. “I. Have. No. Deal.”
“So, you’re just gonna let the woman who doesn’t know what she wants—or who the hell she loves—shit on what you had with Simone? The woman who’s indecisive as hell?” He lets out a harsh, derisive laugh. “That sounds really fucking smart.”
I grip the back of my neck, the tight, rigid muscles beneath my palm a testament to how I feel right now. “Simone’s different. She’s always in the spotlight, with people watchin’ her, snappin’ pics, travelin’ all over for tours…” I trail off with a shrug. “No way that’s gonna work with my schedule.”
He pins me with a sharp look. “So, if you had the chance, you wouldn’t travel with her as her head of security again?”
I open my mouth only to snap it shut. Hell if I know the answer to that right now.
Would I? A part of me says hell yes. The other part, though… I rub a spot in the center of my chest, trying to assuage the never-ending ache there.
At my silence, my lack of answer, Fos leans back in his desk chair with a long sigh of disappointment. “Fuck it. I tried.” His attention returns to his computer screen.
I resume my work—or try to—but I can’t get his words out of my damn head.
Without thinking, I murmur, “You think she ever loved me?”
“Lucia?” Our eyes meet, and Fos shakes his head. “No, man,” he admits quietly. “I’d bet my life on it too.”
I say nothing, dragging my eyes back to the screen before I exhale a loud, frustrated breath. And he answers without me even asking.
“I might not follow her steadily like her fans do, but I remember seeing pics of her with the other guys. She never once looked at them the way she looked at you.”
“How did…?” I trail off before clearing my throat, hoping like hell I sound nonchalant. “How did she look at me?”
Fos gives me a For fuck’s sake, Windham look. “Like you hung that goddamn moon. Jesus, Windham.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closing in what looks like agony, and mutters, “Swear to Christ, Noelle’s estrogen’s fucking rubbing off on us.”
I can’t help but laugh, and for the first time since Simone left, I wonder if maybe I have a chance at what he’s got.
First, I need to get myself right and tie up loose ends.
I gotta give her credit. After I’ve avoided her since she showed up at my door when Simone was here, Lucia is far more gracious than I expect.
She greets me with a kiss, aiming for my lips, but I turn my head in the nick of time, and it lands on my cheek. I can’t see her eyes from behind the dark sunglasses, but her smile drops a few notches before she slips into the chair across from me at the coffee shop’s outdoor patio.
“I’m so glad you called me. I’ve been worried about you.” She takes a sip of her iced coffee before continuing. “I wanted to—”
“Do you love me?”
Caught by surprise by my sudden blurted question, she stammers, “I, uh—”
But I’m not done. Everything pours out of me. “Because I’ve gotta be honest with you. I’m not really sure you do.” I run a hand over my jaw, the start of stubble rasping beneath my palm. “And equally as honest, I’m not sure I feel that way
for you.”
Hell, the truth is, I don’t reckon I’ve ever felt that way for her. But I don’t admit it out loud. I thought I was in love with Lucia, but now…after everything that’s gone down with Simone, I know that’s not true. What I felt for the woman sitting across from me was more like…lust. When she hurt me, she hurt my ego more than anything. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time.
Hindsight’s a bitch. That much is true.
Her mouth forms an O before she manages to recover. Wrapping her hands around her coffee like it’s an anchor, she admits slowly, “This isn’t exactly how I’d expected this to go today.”
“I think it’s overdue for us to just be honest with one another.” I lean my forearms on the table. “Do you have cold feet about the weddin’?” I ask gently.
She doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, she lowers her chin, and her fingers trace paths through the condensation on her cup. “Maybe.” As soon as she admits this, she promptly adds, “But I have feelings for you too.”
“What about him?” I pause. “Your fiancé.”
It’s funny how months earlier, just saying that word, referring to the man Lucia was preparing to marry, would’ve made me want to hurl while simultaneously cringing in pain.
Now, though, I feel…nothing.
“I don’t know,” she finally confesses, confusion marring her pretty features. “You make me laugh, and you’re kind and handsome, and I just—”
“I can’t do this anymore, Lucia,” I say abruptly. She rears back slightly in response. “It’s not healthy. Not for me. Not for you. And it’s sure as shit not fair to your fiancé.”
