by A. M. Jones
She shrugs. “I don’t know but I know, he sees things. Knows things.”
I almost laugh but I meet her serious expression with one of my own. “What do you mean?”
“He was interested in your career as an author. I mean, he was sly about it, but not that sly.”
And he hasn’t been the same since. “What did he say?”
She relays the information with a smile. So he wanted to know about agents? What is going on in that man’s head?
When I get to my room, I feel his absence. I think about texting him but decide not to. If he’s distancing himself, I don’t blame him. A tear leaks from the corner of my eye. I’m not sure what he plans to do about Madison. I know I can’t get involved any more than I already am. And Ink Slapped—I can’t bring myself to think about the song.
The next day, he doesn’t speak the whole drive back to Nashville—just stares out the window. Silence is so out of character for him I’m not sure what I can say to make the situation better, so I don’t. I let him stew and try to figure things out on his own.
After a while though, I can’t take it any longer. “Why are you so moody?”
“I’m a musician. I’m allowed to be mood—” He winces. “Broody. Let’s go with that word instead.”
I sigh. “So now you want to conform to vapid stereotypes.”
“I’ve been fucking selfish, Taylor.” Oh no. He’s in self beat-up form.
“Eli—”
“Turn here.” He points to an unfamiliar road. I follow his instruction.
“Where am I taking you?”
His lips thin and he stares out in front of him. “Home, to my wife.” My heart nosedives as I realize I made the last push, not knowing when or how it happened, just that it did.
“Is this about Turmoil?”
He sucks in a breath through his nose. “No, I told you. I’m finished doing this to you. I can’t stand the situation I continuously put you in.”
I situate my glasses in frustration as he directs me through some rolling hills. Surrounding Nashville neighborhoods are beautiful, with expansive driveways and lawns, three and four-story houses with multiple bay windows and balconies.
I park in a driveway lined with magnolia trees per his direction. Eli’s old Chevrolet truck sits outside of the three-car garage, looking a little out of place. I figure he wants to restore it someday.
“How old is your truck?” I ask out of curiosity.
His gaze follows mine to it. “’67. I’d love to give it an overhaul, but—” He shrugs. “I can barely afford to keep it running as it is. It was my dad’s.” Even though his focus is on the truck, he seems distracted.
He only brought the duffle, so I guess it’s pointless to ask him if he needs help. “Thanks. For everything. For being Jaxon.” The sun shines through the windshield lighting his eyes, and I stare in admiration at the color.
“You want to know what my problem is with Turmoil?” He now stares at his house and continues, “Sadie and Michael weren’t happy. Neither one of them. The ending would have been fine if Anna would have killed him for not fighting for her and ended his dismal existence. The only reason their relationship failed was because he thought he could have his cake and eat it, too.”
“It was unfair to Anna to continue competing with something he wouldn’t let go. She found her peace.”
He nods. “Do you think I do that?”
I swallow. “Do what?”
“That I still love Madison? That I won’t let go?”
“It’s fiction, Eli.”
He scoffs. “I’m not sure if you want to hear this or not, but I think you should know. Ever since I met you, every time I’ve been with Madison, I’ve felt tremendous guilt. Once, I’ve even gotten physically sick.” Intensity flashes from his gaze as he stares at me. “Why do you think that is?”
Searching my face, he licks his lips and grabs the door handle. I sigh, “I’ve never thought—”
“Don’t. Just take care of yourself, okay?” He flings the door open. With an exasperated sound, he turns back, spreading his fingers out on my neck as his thumb traces my jaw. He leans close, never wavering from my gaze. “Bye, Taylor. Stick with demons.” He jumps from my car and slams the door. Not once does he look back.
As I pull out, I dial Crockett. “Hey lush, how’d it go?”
“Honestly, Crockett, I’m not sure what to say.”
Silence stretches from his end. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
As I disconnect, my phone rings again and I answer it without looking, “Yo.”
“Taylor?”
My throat constricts and I swallow. “Dad. Hi, how are you?”
“I’m doing well. I’ve missed you since Christmas.”
I laugh. “Believe it or not I kind of miss the West coast, too.”
“Have you heard from the twins?”
My heart skips. “Did something happen?” I ask, thinking about Brenna and her evil social media ways.
He clucks his tongue. “Of course, you haven’t. They still want to spend the summer with you. They’ve been looking into internships.”
I pull to a stop at a red light. “They’re more than welcome. I worry because I live in a one-bedroom apartment.”
A car honks its horn behind me and I step on the gas. He clears his throat. “They won’t care. Trust me, they want to go.” He clears his throat again. “How’s your mother?”
When I pull into my apartment building Crockett is already there, leaning against his Prius and checking his cuticles. “She’s… Mom.” We both laugh, but his dies first.
“I read your new book.” If I weren’t already parked, I’d crash. “Do you have anything you want to say?”
Crockett moves to open my door, but I lock it. He shoots me an incredulous expression and I hold up my finger. I mouth, Dad, while pointing to my phone. His eyes widen and he backs away from my car. “You think it’s about you, don’t you?”
“In tone, yes.”
“Funny. The guy I’m in love with thinks it’s about him.”
A long pause. “You’re in love?” he asks in a low tone, sounding choked.
“Yes.”
Another long pause. “Is he married?”
“Yes,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He sighs, but the last thing I want is for him to feel sorry for me. “Complex situation, but you should tell him what it’s really about.”
Tears prick my eyes and I squeeze them shut. They still leak down my cheeks and I swipe them, loathing he’s right. Turmoil might be inspired by Eli, but as I was writing, it turned into something else altogether. “Maybe,” I whisper. “Tell Brenna or Camden to call me. I haven’t heard from them since Brenna sent me a picture of a naked dude about a month ago.”
He chuckles. “Sounds like my girls.”
“Yep, there’s always time to appreciate the art of a male body.”
I can almost see him shaking his head. “You get that from your mothers.” I laugh, agreeing with him, even though mother in plural form makes me feel icky. “Will you try to make time to come and see me again this year?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I love you, Taylor. Never forget that.”
After we click off, I open my door and Crockett starts in. “I take it you never talk to your dad?”
I laugh. “You could say that, but you know what sucks?” He cuts his eyes to me. “I think I understand him now. He wants his love to be returned.”
Crockett helps unload my bins packed with event stuff. “Don’t justify him getting married and divorced repeatedly,” he snaps, placing bins on the dolly.
My body tenses at the heat in his words. “Trust me, I’d rather hate him for leaving. And where did that come from?”
He shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m in a mood, lush.”
“What’s wrong?” Now that I look at him, he has bags under his eyes and his hair is a little lank.
“Nothing I can�
��t handle on my own.”
I blow a breath as we roll our way to my apartment. I’ve known Crockett for the better part of a year and know he’s private when it comes to his problems. “Fuck, I need a drink.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “I know just the place.”
“Oh yeah, you looked fabulous at the awards.”
He scoffs and raises a brow. “I know.” His expression turns thoughtful. “What did you think of the song?”
“I felt stripped bare like a two-dollar hooker.”
“Aw, come on, lush. You’re worth at least fifty.”
Madison marches through the house, a storm of brown hair and clacking heels. She freezes when she sees me sitting on the couch.
“You’re home early,” she comments, taking in my beer bottles on the coffee table and the one in my hand. “You’re drinking beer. On the couch.”
“Yep.” I take another gulp. I’ve had enough beer to numb the ache in my chest. In my head, I know I can never say goodbye to Taylor, but it’s like my heart isn’t getting the memo. Self-medication it is.
She gathers an armload of my empties. “Get a koozie. I don’t want you dripping condensation. That’s Italian leather your ass is sitting on.” The taps of her fake fingernails on the bottle grate on my nerves. Finally, she clicks her way into the kitchen and glass hits the bottom of the empty trashcan which is weird it’s empty, since only the housekeeper takes it out every other day and she comes in to clean tonight. Madison hasn’t been home to throw away any trash.
Luckily for her, I don’t care. When she reappears, I wave my hand for her to sit. She makes her way to the ugliest chair in the room—some kind of blue and green paisley vomit.
I sniff and down the rest of my beer before holding it against the top of the couch arm. Her gaze zeros in and a blaze lights her eyes as a wet ring forms. “I haven’t talked to the guys yet, but we’ll make the music for your new song. No promo. No tour. No lyrics. Just the music.”
She snaps her gaze to me. She laughs. “You didn’t do it, did you?” Fire spreads from my neck to my ears, which only makes her laugh harder.
I don’t say anything. At least I know for sure she doesn’t love me but needs me—needs Tainted District to further her music career.
She doesn’t care I don’t comment. “You know. I ran into Taylor not too long ago. I guess we’ll know what’s going on when she kills herself.”
I unclench my jaw so she can’t notice. She’s referring to Turmoil, since Anna killed herself to take away any decision for Michael. It’s tragic, and low and behold—Michael and Sadie remarry and live happily after that. They even have a child. As if getting rid of the affair made everything better. That ending had me crying like a baby, but for reasons that have nothing to do with the book itself. “Taylor doesn’t mix reality and fiction.” I’m the one who did that and did it again in front of people. Her readers, no less, and it made her extremely uncomfortable.
Madison stands, collecting hair into a ponytail and flipping it back. “I gave you a chance to get it out of your system. That part of the deal is done.”
I clench my jaw and nod. “Fine. But I’m not singing, I’m moving back into my apartment, and when the contract for Highway is up, we’re over and you can have the rights to the song or Dash Top, I don’t care. I don’t even want royalties from it.”
Casting one last glance at me, she purses her lips. “Consider her signed.”
She makes it to the door when I say, “When I make love to Taylor, it’ll be on our own terms and you’ll be out of my life.”
“Like I’ve said before, if she’ll have you.” A soft smile touches her lips. And that one tiny gesture just confirmed, I’ve played right into her hand.
I’m in the middle of revisions for the first book of my new series when an unknown number pops on my phone. “Yo.”
“T.M. Dabney?”
“This is she.”
“My name is Darren King. I’m with King and Hamilton Literary Agency. What’s it going to take for you to let me push Turmoil?”
Although I like his straight-to-the-point attitude, cold chills sweep my back. “It’s already published, so I’m not interested.”
An awkward silence stretches on. He must wonder if I’m crazy. He laughs. “I’ve never had anyone tell me that without knowing the details.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. What if I told you a publisher is already interested, but they won’t read unless I’ve snagged you as my client?”
I stare at the words on my computer screen, but it goes black since I haven’t touched the keyboard. “Did Eli put you up to this?”
Another long stretch of silence. It’s telling, but he recovers. “I’m not sure who that is. My wife wanted me to read it. She’s a big fan of the Death to Demon series. I loved it. Women’s fiction is my specialty.”
“I-I don’t know. Can I think about it?”
“How about this? I send you some details of what I can do for you and you can mull it over. I’ll call you again soon? No obligations. Just read it through.”
Reluctantly, I agree.
After I hang up, I dial Crockett. It’s been a week since he was here helping me unpack, but he answers. “What’re you doing?”
“Edits.”
He tsks. “I’ve heard that one before.”
I laugh. “I’m serious. What have you been doing?”
“Writing god-awful bass notes for Madison’s song.”
My eyes burn. “A single?”
“Yeah, she wrote one. We’re only doing the music though. Eli’s not doing any vocals.”
It’s what I’m afraid of. He will forever be bound to her. I haven’t heard from him since he got out of my car. “How is he?”
“Good and busy. Besides being focused on getting her music finished, we’re in the market for a manager. He created a web store on our website to sell merchandise. John and Gina are helping with any orders that come through. He got the ball rolling to get Tainted District trademarked. He’s on our ass to get affiliated so we can make performance royalties. More determined than I’ve ever seen him, really.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. You’d think it’s happening for us.”
I laugh. “It is. You guys deserve it.”
I tap my keyboard so my computer screen turns on. We chat for a while, but my mind keeps returning to Eli. What did I expect from him? Deep down, I know what I want. I want him. But what I don’t want is for him to leave Madison because I want him to. I want him to want it. I want him to realize Madison doesn’t deserve him. He’s better than that.
Most times, I think that’s what he wants, but his actions speak differently. It doesn’t matter he looks at me as if I hang the moon when we’re together or neither does what he said in my car. My brain keeps telling me he’s all words.
When Madison first wanted a divorce, what did he do? Fought it and drew it out because he was broken hearted over what she did. I saw it with my own eyes. When Madison made him choose between doing Highway with her, or me, what did he do? Choose her. When I offered myself up on a platter, what did he do? Rejected me, went back home to her, and hopped on board for a new song. He might think he has feelings for me, but when it comes down to it, I believe he loves her. He’s told me so before. It makes me wonder if even Madison knows his feelings for me are superficial.
According to my brain, I’m a fool which only serves to break my heart. And my broken heart? Well, it knows what my excuses are about. If I got what I wanted, I’d break his heart, anyway. I think about how long I tried to be in a serious relationship with Adrian. I’m most likely doomed to repeat the cycle.
Later that night, I receive a phone call from him. I hit ignore and it rings again… this time he leaves a voicemail. It can only say one thing, goodbye.
A week later, Darren King calls me. This whole situation puts me on edge. After doing research on agents approaching authors, this feels too good to be true.
And this is what I explain to Darren King when I reject the offer.
“One day,” he states. “I’ll see big things from you.”
“Maybe.”
When he doesn’t offer for me to contact him when I have a new book, I know I’m making the right decision. And yeah, one day, I’ll do big things. I’ll get my own damned agent with a book I haven’t published.
To be continued in Grease Slapped…
I want to thank the abundance of people who helped me with this chunk of a book. I didn’t realize the project I was undertaking when I decided to write Taylor and Eli’s story. I’m going to attempt to thank everyone who either directly had a hand in writing this book or put up with my bullshit while I was writing it.
Gage, Ma, Audrey, Alisha, Amelia, Laurin, Lolo, Bet, Lauren, and Nate. You guys are my rocks, so yeah, you rock.
Eden Connor. Thanks for taking this book to the next level. I’ll never forget your priceless advice.
Larry Batts. Thanks for being my sound board and writing the sappy Ink Slapped lyrics. You’re the best.
Ali Hymer for being an unwavering reader even when this book changed dramatically. Tammy Parks who told me to go for it. Jeremy Wells, thank you for giving me your two cents on the music aspect.
The Unblocked Writers Group. Jennifer Wedmore. Lori Parker. Kristine Abigail Morton. Lindsay Galloway. Mandy Anderson and The Daily Pay. Liz Zee. Kathy Geiser. That badass lawyer who answered all of my questions without an eye blink. I know you don’t want to be named, but you’re awesome, anyway.
To all the early readers who read Ink Slapped in 2014.
To all of the readers. Thanks for taking a chance.
And Steveo… your unwavering love and support knows no bounds. Thank you for being inspiration for my heroes. Thank you for being you. I love you, always.
Author A.M. Jones is a hopeless romantic with a lewd mind. She resides in Tennessee and writes about anything that strikes her inspiration and creativity. Her strength in characterization makes realistic elements of humor, angst, and drama jump from the page and into your soul. Ms. Jones’ other half, Annie Walls, publishes books in dark fantasy.
