Best Friends Forever_A Marriage Pact Romance

by Jess Bentley

  But he doesn’t continue.

  “And?” I say, my voice tight and harsh. Normally I might care about snapping at him like that, but not when he’s being an insufferable jerk. He doesn’t need to beat around the bush, but he likes drawing it out for the suspense or some nonsense.

  “And they love it! They’re jumping on the tour; they’ve got the next three weeks lined up. Fourteen shows. All you need to do is show up at the airport in two days.”

  I almost don’t believe it. I nearly drop the phone in shock and Serge is looking at me with concern like I might have just gotten news about the death of a relative, but I can’t even manage a smile to let him know it’s all right because I don’t fucking believe it. Good things never happen to me like this.

  “Ian?” Merrill asks after I’m silent a full two minutes.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there,” I say, still on autopilot. It’s not hard to just agree to something even if you don’t think it’s going to happen. Maybe especially if you don’t think it’s going to happen.

  “Attaboy. Send you the details this afternoon.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, still on autopilot. Merrill hangs up and I drop the phone to my lap, cold shock still working through my veins. Is this really happening? Am I really getting another shot?

  I’m determined not to let her out of my grasp this time if I can help it.

  “So… what was that?” Serge asks, his face still full of concern. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “They booked the tour,” I say, the words without meaning through the hazy whirlpool of my thoughts. There’s too many swirling through my brain right now to actually latch onto any of them, but the one pervasive message is Chelsea. I’ll get to see her again whether she likes it or not.

  Serge lets out a loud celebratory whoop and leans over to clap me on the back. “That’s great, man. Congrats. I knew you could do it. When’s it start?”

  “Gotta be at the airport in two days.”

  He makes a face. “Don’t tell me you’ll be flying commercial with the plebs.”

  That finally breaks through and gets a chuckle out of me. I shake my head, a grin cracking my face. “Unlikely. With me and Chelsea I’m sure it’ll be private. You’re welcome to join if you want. I know it’s been a while, but I miss having you on the road with me.”

  Before his OD and my going solo out of necessity, Serge and I were inseparable, on stage and off. But after that close call, he’d called it quits. It was a wake-up call to both of us, but not enough to get me out of the biz.

  “No can do,” he says, shaking his head, his eyes looking a little regretful. “The only way I stay clean is to stay away from that whole scene. I’m much happier at the civic center, you know that.”

  I nod, even though the rejection stings. No matter how far we’ve come, and how much I don’t want to go back to those old days, I still miss having my best friend around. It’s never the same without him. Though performing with Chelsea is as close as I’ve come since those days. And this is almost better because I’m clean which means I can actually remember all the good shit that happens.

  I understand why Serge can’t come though. I know the temptation can get too strong sometimes, especially when you find yourself in familiar situations that you normally used in. Readjusting to tours and shows without smack was a big adjustment and Serge doesn’t have the experience I do with shoving down the temptation and carrying on. He’s smarter about it. He just removes himself from all opportunity. And he’s got a good gig teaching music at the civic center. If you ask him, he’ll tell you it’s the best gig he’s had in his music career. He loves working with those kids. So I don’t press the issue. He can stick back if he wants. That’ll just leave me more time with Chelsea.

  If she’ll face me.

  Chapter 14

  Chelsea

  For the first time in over a decade, I’m nervous about getting on a plane. Not because I’m worried about the safety of air travel or anything that rational, but because Ian is going to be there and I’m not sure I can deal with seeing him.

  After the way he looked at me our last day in the studio, I honestly hoped there wouldn’t be a tour. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to see that look of contempt in his eyes and not break down. And as much as I’ve been telling myself that it’s all for the best the past week, when Rosa called about the tour, I was practically jumping up and down.

  And then it sank in that Ian is so cold to me now. I’m not sure why or what happened other than wrapping the album, but I know how to read people and I know that look.

  So I’m running a little late to the tarmac. There’s a private jet waiting for me and Rosa’s standing outside at the base of the stairs, her arms crossed, her foot tapping impatiently. No one else is around, so I assume they’re already on board and suddenly I’m questioning this plan of mine to show up late. Now all eyes will be on me when I walk in. If I’d gotten here early I could have found a dark corner, slipped on headphones, and pretended to be asleep.

  Lesson learned, I suppose.

  “Glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence,” Rosa says sharply. I just roll my eyes at her, marching up the steps, readjusting my bag over my shoulder. The rest of my luggage was picked up last night and is probably already stowed away in the back of the plane.

  I don’t really know what the big rush is. We don’t even have a show tonight, so if we’re a little late getting into New York, who cares? But I’m not really in the mood to pick a fight with Rosa, so I stay mute until I’m on board.

  I’ve been on a lot of private jets, but they must have really broken the bank when shopping for the both of us. Or maybe our combined budget for travel is way higher than mine normally is. Regardless, the inside of this jet is nicer than my house. The main area is set up like a living room, with an electric fireplace near the front of the plane and a cream and charcoal U-shaped couch positioned in front of it. There are two other sitting areas, one off to the right, two armchairs with a table set between them, and another set of armchairs angled toward the fireplace on the left.

  Merrill’s sitting in one of the chairs to the left. I didn’t see him at first, but Ian’s stretched out on the U-shaped couch, his head below the back of it so he’s hard to spot. He turns at the sound of my footsteps and I brace myself for the look of contempt that’s already making me feel nauseous just thinking about it, but it doesn’t come. Instead, his dark eyes light up and he sends me a hesitant smile.

  It’s such a shock that I don’t really know how to react. But then Rosa’s bustling in behind me and she flops down in the seat next to Merrill with a groan.

  “Do you ever think a career in childcare may have been easier?” she says to him and my jaw tightens.

  “I’m right here and I’m not that late,” I say, my hands clenched into fists as I move to the seating area with the table.

  “Oh, we’re all here!” says a too-chipper voice that’s like screws on glass. I know that voice and instantly my body tenses as she pops her peroxide-blonde head over the back of the fireplace. I didn’t realize it before, but the mantel of the fireplace is actually a bar top and there’s a wet bar behind it. The woman’s waving a bottle of champagne and glasses at us all even though it’s only eight in the morning.

  “Kandy’s joining us to cover the press of the tour,” Merrill says to my confused look.

  “And I’m thrilled to get to focus my time and energy on Ian again,” she says too brightly, her smile like a shark’s. I don’t trust her at all. It’s probably because of our first interaction, but she just rubs me the wrong way.

  She pours a glass of champagne for everyone, and while she’s doing it I spot her handbag tucked under the chair I was going for, so I change directions and sit on the opposite end of the couch from Ian.

  Kandy comes around, offering drinks to everyone. Merrill and Rosa both take one, though by the looks of it they’re only doing it to be polite. Managers are masters of savi
ng face in front of the press.

  I shake my head and wave off the one she offers to me. “I haven’t even had coffee yet,” I grumble. And then she’s offering one to Ian, who looks at her like she’s come from another planet.

  “No thanks,” he says simply.

  Kandy pouts. “But you’re on tour again. It’s time to celebrate!”

  His look turns to steel and I’m actually impressed that Kandy doesn’t reel away from it. “That kind of ‘celebrating’ normally leads me down the road that nearly killed my best friend. So you’ll have to forgive me, but no, thank you.” He injects the last three words with enough venom to drop a rhino, but Kandy’s fake smile hardly falters at all. She just giggles and waves her hand dismissively.

  “Oh my gosh, how could I have forgotten? I’m such a dingbat! Well, more for me,” she says, gulping down the whole flute before she turns away from us. I didn’t like her before, but now I really don’t like her. That is not how you interact with someone who’s trying to stay sober.

  Ian must notice me grinding my teeth because he slides across the couch to lean in once she’s back in her seat.

  “Hey, it’s fine. I said no if you didn’t notice,” he says under his breath.

  I let out a heavy sigh and nod. “I know… It’s just inconsiderate.”

  He shrugs and flashes me that smile that always makes me melt inside. “I can’t expect other people to fight my battles for me.”

  “I guess,” I grumble, but it still doesn’t sit well with me.

  Rosa heads into the cockpit with her drink and soon the jet’s engines purr to life, the floor under my feet vibrating slightly. The nervous knot in my stomach is still there, but it’s slowly loosening the longer I’m around Ian and he’s not sending me hate-filled looks.

  “Gotta play nice with the press,” he adds, leaning in even closer. The scent of his aftershave slams me back into memories of the two of us together and I’m filled with warm feelings that are not helpful.

  “Did you even read the last article she wrote about you?”

  He shrugs. “I skimmed it. Seemed pretty flattering. Merrill thought so too. That’s why he invited her along.”

  My teeth grind together again, but I don’t say anything argumentative. I read that article. It was not as flattering as they might think. Sure, on the surface it was heaps of praise and gushing about his return, but I didn’t miss the passive-aggressive barbs thrown in throughout. I know I have no right, but I feel protective of Ian. If his manager doesn’t see what a snake that woman is, someone needs to look out for him.

  But Ian seems to be a fan of the woman, so arguing about it now is just going to make me look petty and jealous.

  We don’t say anything until the plane’s taken off. Now Rosa and Merrill are consumed with talks of appearances and publicity stunts, and Kandy’s in her corner, earbuds in, typing away on her laptop. There’s no telling if she’s actually listening to music or if she’s listening to us, but she looks over to us and gives us a big grin and a thumbs up.

  “This album is amazing,” she gushes, her voice too loud.

  Okay, maybe she is listening to music and I’m just being paranoid because I am being petty and jealous.

  Ian’s the one to finally break the tense silence between us. “You look good,” he says, his voice soft and warm.

  “It’s only been a week,” I tease. “I’d have to be dying to look much worse in that amount of time.”

  He shrugs. “Just stating facts.”

  I feel a little guilty and nod. “You look good too.”

  “Liar,” he chuckles. “I’ve hardly slept in a week… I was hoping I’d hear from you.”

  My jaw drops, eyes going wide and I lean in, narrowing my gaze at him. “You acted like you hated me when we left the studio.”

  “You acted like I was a stranger,” he counters.

  “For the managers,” I hiss under my breath.

  He leans back on the couch and blows out a heavy breath.

  “So you were waiting for me to call you?” he asks.

  It sounds dumb now, that we were playing this weird middle-school game where we both thought the other one was mad and no one had the nerve to reach out. But it made so much sense at the time. Now I feel like an idiot.

  I bury my face in my hands, laughing, because if I don’t laugh at it, I’m liable to cry. I’ve been tearing myself apart over this all this time and he was doing the same. What a pair we are.

  “So you don’t hate me?” he asks, everything about him open and vulnerable. It makes my heart clench at the pain lacing his voice.

  “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Not even close. I tried to tell myself it was for the best, but…”

  “You know I’m bad for you but it’s too good to quit?” he says, quoting our song at me.

  I roll my eyes and smack him playfully, but that’s really all the answer he needs.

  “Well, I’m suddenly much more excited for this tour,” he says, his eyes glittering mischievously. I already know what he’s thinking; it’s written all over his face. Not to mention I’m thinking it too.

  We fall back into easy conversation, talking about nothing and everything through the first half of the flight. We’re quiet for long periods of time too, but it’s a comfortable silence, where we’re just happy to be in each other’s company. We keep it innocent—the managers and Kandy are still here watching us like hawks—but that’s fine. I realize that it’s not just sexual attraction and musical chemistry with Ian. He makes me laugh like no one else. He makes me smile until my face hurts. And he makes me forget all the things I’m worried about. That’s the biggest one, because I don’t even realize it’s happening until something reminds me of those worries and then I realize I’d totally forgotten them.

  While we’re somewhere over the heartland of America, Kandy moves to join us on the couch, sitting way too close to Ian for my liking.

  “So, I was listening to the new album, and I have to say, Ian, you’ve never sounded sexier. Girls are going to be falling over themselves to get to you,” she says, settling a hand on his thigh. Ian tenses, his jaw tightening, but he just smiles.

  “Sobriety suits me, I think,” is all he says. It’s a good answer, a nice quote that they can put in big type next to the article, but Kandy doesn’t latch onto it.

  “Not that I can blame them, of course. I’m half-tempted myself!” She giggles this awful fake giggle that makes me want to punch the smile off her face, but I know it’s just jealousy. Kandy’s an attractive woman, and it wouldn’t be the first time a rockstar hooked up with a reporter for a good piece.

  Ian’s eyes dart to me, but he doesn’t say anything to discourage her, which just makes me want stake my claim more.

  “There’s a lot of material about forbidden love on this album, so tell me, did you have a muse for these songs?” she leans in closer, like she’s angling for the title.

  Ian starts to look at me, then stops himself like he’s worried about giving the wrong impression.

  “Actually,” I say, leaning in and taking Ian’s hand in mine, “the album was a true collaboration. We went through our notes and pulled songs from both of our catalogs that worked well together. And we wrote the newest song together,” I say brightly.

  Ian’s eyes are locked on my hand, but he doesn’t pull away. He laces his fingers with mine and holds on tight.

  “I see,” Kandy coos. She looks like a woodpecker who’s just found a big juicy grub. “So then that raises a whole new question. Are you two an item?”

  Her expression is appropriately excited for the gossip, but I see something flicker in her eyes. Something sharp and venomous that makes me harden my own gaze in a challenge. You wanna fight this fight? Come at me.

  Rosa makes a strangled coughing sound and I can see the absolute horror written across her face, but I dismiss it. Merrill’s doing his best impression of a statue, and I just look to Ian. He’s the only one I care about.

 
His eyes crinkle at the edges like he’s holding in a smile and he gives me this tiny imperceptible shrug—and that’s all I need.

  “Yeah, we are. Working on this album has been a great experience and has made us really close.”

  Kandy looks like her face is frozen, like she might have an aneurysm any minute. She’s smiling that joker smile at us, but it looks like she might start twitching from the effort of it any time now.

  “That’s incredible,” she says breathlessly. “People love a story like this. It’s going to be great!”

  Ian smiles over at me, totally oblivious to the double-edged sword of Kandy’s praise. That’s okay; no need to crush his happiness right now. Or mine. Admitting that Ian and I are a thing is a huge weight off my shoulders. Denying it to everyone else was hard enough, but denying it to myself? Torture.

  Kandy jots down a few more notes after asking a couple more questions and then she flits to her laptop to write it all down. I have a weird feeling about it, but I’m not going to dwell on it. What’s the worst that’s going to happen? She writes some unflattering stuff about me and TMZ runs the story of my fall from grace? I can live with that. Despite what Rosa would have me think, my reputation isn’t some fragile butterfly to be crushed under the first whiff of a scandal. I’ve had a pretty long and scandal-free career up to this point and at my age, it’s about time I start putting my foot down and making my own path.

  And right now, I’m pretty happy that that path is taking me to Ian.

  We let all the pretenses drop after that, openly holding each other while we talk for the rest of the trip. Ian’s playing with my hair while we talk about set lists and argue over which song should be the closer. He finally wins, but it’s only because he’s so convinced our new song is going to bring the house down. I don’t like closing or opening on a new song, but Ian’s insistent and swears it’s a much more “rock and roll” approach, so I give in.

  By the time we’re deplaning, it’s midafternoon in New York and we have nothing on the schedule after picking up the tour bus. Rosa tries to convince me to go to bed early, to hit the spa, to have a light meal and a workout and a cleansing smoothie before sunrise yoga or some other nonsense, but I don’t want to do any of those silly pop star routines. I just want to spend time with Ian.