by Rylee Swann
But I couldn’t have planned any of this because I’m still amazed myself that we’re here together right now. Her hand still in mine as we walk off the field and back into the tunnels of the stadium.
“One hour,” she says and pulls her hand away the moment the tunnel consumes us.
“Can we go to my bus?”
She stops, faces me when I stop beside her. “No. I won’t be alone with you like that.”
I take a step toward her, and she backs away. “Pres, I’ll never hurt you. Ever. Not like that.”
She huffs. “You’re an idiot.”
I shrug. “That’s pretty damn clear.” I gesture around us. “Is this where you want to have this discussion?”
She leans against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s as good a place as any.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
She lifts her chin. “You’ve said that already.”
“I mean it. I was fucked up back then. You know it. I was fucked up while we were together. I was fucked up after you left. I’m not fucked up anymore, Pres. I’m clean. Clean.”
“Where have you been all this time?”
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “After getting out of rehab after the sixth or seventh time, I went into a deep pit of depression. Didn’t get out of bed much for about a year except when I was forced on stage to sing. Tried rehab one last time, and it stuck.”
She hugs herself tighter, but it seems more for self-comfort than self-protection now. “I’m sorry. How did you pull yourself out of the depression?”
“I fired everyone.”
Presley blinks. “I thought James left you.”
I scoff. “Yeah, that’s what he told everyone, and I was just too damn tired to tell them different.”
“Why?”
“Why fire him?”
“Yeah.”
I remember him laughing, shoving more alcohol and drugs in my direction. I remember him telling me that Presley’s leaving was for the best. Telling me how she’d ruined my career. How panty-tossing groupies didn’t like their rock stars off the market.
“I don’t know how to say this without it seeming like I’m placing blame, but James is one of the biggest reasons I couldn’t get better.” I meet her gaze. “He’s the one who put those girls in my bed.”
Presley snorts, disbelieving even now. “Is that still your story?”
I don’t waver. Whether she believes me or not, it’s the truth. “Yes.”
The silence stretches between us, the roar of the stadium crowd echoing through the tunnel sounding more like a rush of wind than a hundred thousand voices cheering or booing as one.
“What if I say that I believe you?” she asks, pushing her hair away from her face. “What if I say I forgive you?”
I’m afraid to believe that what I’m hearing is true. I take a step toward her, and she doesn’t move. The look on her face doesn’t change. “That would be wonderful, Pres.”
She stands up straighter. “Then… I believe you and I forgive you.”
I reach for her, my hands landing on her shoulders. “Thank you. I—”
Pain explodes in my balls, rocketing up my spine and into every cell of my body. Her knee was a direct hit, and the fire low in my gut builds in intensity with each passing second.
She sidesteps out of my reach, but she doesn’t leave. And when I can breathe enough to look up, she’s standing only a few feet from me, her arms across her chest again.
“I said I forgive you,” she says when I’m standing halfway straight. “I didn’t say you can touch me. I said I believe you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still hold you accountable for your actions.” Her face twists in pain, but she goes on, “How many times before that night did I beg you to stop drinking? To stop the drugs?”
I shake my head, attempting to stand taller, but can’t quite manage it. “I don’t know. Constantly.”
“Every choice has a consequence, Kace, and you chose that lifestyle over our life together. I forgive you, but I don’t trust you. And without trust, love is like a kite on a windless day. It has nowhere to go but down.”
She turns. She’s leaving. Desperation rips at me, and I stagger after her. “Presley, don’t go. Please. I love you.”
That stops her, and she turns slowly. So very slowly back toward me. “Love isn’t enough, Kace. I wish you well. I wish you success. I even wish that you can find love without all the baggage and pain attached.” The pain returns, contorting her features, and she pushes back her hair with both hands. “Will you just go? Please. Go, and let this go. Let us go. You move on with your life and I’ll move on with mine.”
I stand taller. “No.”
She blinks. “No?”
“No.”
She crosses her arms protectively over her chest again. “Then you’ll just have to get over it.”
Even as my gut sinks at her words, something stirs in my heart. Life. Because I know what I need to do. Trust can be rebuilt, I know it. And I’ll prove it to her.
Today.
“I, Kace Anthony Rymer, promise thee, Presley Elizabeth Collins, that I will be the man you deserve.”
A tear seeps past her tightly closed eyes. “Kace. Don’t.”
“I will prove to you that I am the man you can have and hold, in richer and in poorer, in sickness and in health. I’ll prove it to you, Presley. I don’t care how long it takes.”
“Why are you doing this?”
I step toward her and she doesn’t back away. “Because I love you, Presley. I’ve loved you since I was twenty years old. Even through the worst darkness, I loved you. I just wasn’t man enough to deserve your love in return.”
“I did love you.”
I nod. “I know. And I believe you still do. The love is just buried under all the rubble I caused.” I took another step closer. “Let me unbury it. Let me prove to you that I’m here now. Late. Stupid late. But I’m here.”
Another tear falls, and she doesn’t flinch when I brush it away. She doesn’t pull away when I cup her cheek in my hand.
“I spent the first half of the last ten years lost in a fog of drugs and darkness. I’ve spent the second half of the last ten years regaining life, trying to heal whatever was broken inside of me.” With my thumb, I wipe away another tear. “Let me prove it to you, Presley.” I take her face between my hands, and God, I’m touching her hair. The hair I love so much. I lift her face until all I have to do is lower my mouth.
When my lips are only millimeters from hers, she opens her eyes, and says, “No.”
The word isn’t said with venom, but the bite of it sends the poison through my system, moving faster with my rapidly beating heart.
Raising her arms, she circles my wrists with her hands… and pulls them away.
“Goodbye, Kace.”
Then she turns and walks away. She stops and digs into the pocket of her pants.
There’s a ping as she drops something on the concrete floor.
The ring.
The thing is… even as I watch her move farther and farther from me, even as I pick the ring up and stuff it in my pocket, the hope remains.
“I…” I whisper after her, “Kace Anthony Rymer, will win you, Presley Elizabeth Collins, back.”
When she turns the corner, I vow that I will.
CHAPTER NINE
Presley
I want him to come running after me.
I want that more than I have ever wanted anything in my life.
And I also know I’ll turn him away if he does.
I can’t do this.
If I let him touch me, I’ll fall. And if I fall this time, I might never get back up.
So, I keep walking.
An officer lets me out of the stadium door, and I rip the press pass from around my neck. All of Knoxville is a madhouse, and it takes a frustratingly long time to get to my car, then away from the campus and back to my apartment.
&
nbsp; I march straight toward my fridge and pull out a bottle of wine. Drinking straight from the bottle, I dare anyone to judge me.
My phone rings, and I ignore it. It rings again and again and again.
I know that if it rings one more time I’ll stomp on the damn thing. I pick it up so that I can power it off. It rings again, but it isn’t Kace, it’s Phyllis. Knowing she’ll be worried sick if I don’t answer, I tap the green button.
“Hey.”
“Oh my god. Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up? Should I bring a gun or a shovel?”
If nothing else, I laugh at the last one, but the sound is leaning toward hysterical, so I clamp my lips shut. “I’m home.”
“Say no more. I’m on my way.”
Before I can open my mouth to protest, the line is disconnected, and I lift the bottle to my lips again.
Ten minutes later, she’s at my door, a bottle of tequila and margarita mixer in hand. She eyes the bottle clutched to my chest and just nods. “Good. I’ll need to catch up.”
Within minutes, the blender is screaming, and then I have a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. And there is no judgement from my friend. She only lifts her glass and says, “Here’s to hemorrhoids and tattoos — eventually, every asshole gets one!”
“His tattoos,” I grouch, remembering how sexy they used to be. “Did you have to remind me?”
Phyllis takes a long sip of her drink. “Tell me everything.”
So I do.
I tell her about how it felt to see him again after so long.
I tell her about asking the “Is this some type of forgiveness tour?” question while hiding like a coward in the back of the room.
She shakes her head. “And he knew it was you?”
I nod. “Yeah.” I’d chosen the tall blonde from channel ten to stand behind because I thought, if I did gather the courage to ask a question, he might think it was from her. “He immediately straightened and started staring really hard. Then he started—”
“Yeah, all of the southeast saw what happened next, Presley.”
I knew they had, but hearing it coming from my best friend made it that much more real. “What was the last thing you saw?”
“Him carrying you into a bathroom.” Her face oozed sympathy. “Then him singing the anthem. Then him finding you on the sidelines and you both walking away together.” She takes another sip of her drink. “Pres…?”
I’m holding the wine bottle like a teddy bear. “What?”
“Why did you take his hand?”
That’s a very good question. And I don’t have a very good answer. “I honestly don’t know. Except… when he was singing, and then he was singing directly to me, it was like I’d traveled back in a time machine. I think I wanted that moment to stretch out for just a bit longer because I already knew what I was going to say to him. I already knew that I had to make him go away.”
“Oh, Pres. And you did.”
“Yes. After kicking him in the balls.”
Her mouth drops open. “You didn’t.”
I squeeze the bottle tighter. “I sure did. But I didn’t do it in anger or to protect myself physically. I needed to get him off me emotionally, if that makes sense. Instinct took over and…?” I lift a shoulder.
“And kapow.”
I nod. “Yes, kapow.”
She blows out a breath. “What was the last thing he said to you?”
I smirk at her. “This feels like an interview.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Sorry, but nosy best friends need to know. Off the record, of course.”
I close my eyes and relive the moment. My skin warms as if the weight of his hand is still on me. “He asked me to let him prove it to me.”
“Prove his sobriety? His love? What?”
“Prove it all, I think.”
Phyllis sighs. “I’m so proud of you for having the strength to walk away.”
I don’t tell her how much I wanted him to come after me. I can’t tell her that.
“I learned long ago that words, even with the most heartfelt intention behind them, mean nothing.” I lift the other shoulder. “And he’s leaving for his tour. Twenty bucks says he’s already on his bus not looking back.”
Phyllis’s phone pings. She groans and picks it up from the table. Her eyes widen. “Google alert.”
I sit up. “For what?” She turns the phone to me. And there’s his name. “You set up a Google alert for Kace?”
Phyllis rolls her eyes. “Of course. And one for you. I knew shit was about to hit the fan so I set up real time alerts so I could help monitor what is being said.”
I should have thought of that. I take a sip of wine. “What’s this one for?”
Do I really want to know?
Am I just a glutton for punishment?
She looks at me. “It’s an announcement that Kace has set up a live streaming website called ProveItToHer.”
I stare at my friend. “You’re kidding.”
She’s reading and shaking her head at the same time. “It’s a press release. Probably because he knows you’ll see a press release being a reporter and all. The first live stream will take place at nine… tonight.” She keeps reading. “It says he’ll address the purpose of the site and he will answer the question you asked him at the interview.” She’s still shaking her head as she looks up at me. “Pres…”
She doesn’t know what to say. That’s good, because I don’t either.
Phyllis makes another batch of margaritas while I change into my yoga pants and tank top, pulling a thin cardigan over it all so I’d have something to hold on to.
As nine o’clock approaches, Phyllis opens my laptop and connects it to my smart TV. “You sure you want to watch it?”
No.
Yes.
“Yes. I need to know what he says. Not knowing will drive me crazy.”
I have a fresh margarita in hand as the channel opens up, and I blow out a breath. At exactly nine on the dot, Kace’s face fills the screen.
And my heart squeezes in my chest.
What if?
It’s a stupid question, but I can’t stop myself from wondering again… what if the drugs hadn’t won?
“He looks good.”
I shoot Phyllis a you’re not helping look. “Shhh.”
Now that he’s looking into the camera, Kace seems to be at a loss for words. He scratches his chin and stretches his neck from side to side before blowing out a long breath.
“Hey everyone, I’m Kace Rymer, and if there’s anyone on the other side of this camera, I want to welcome you to Prove It To Her. I’d say by now that a bunch of you all have seen what went down today. You all saw me face my past. Saw me face the person who should have been my present and my future. What you didn’t see is her kicking me in the balls and leaving, just like she should have.”
I stare at him. I can’t believe he admitted it.
“The last thing I said… well, it was more of a question, but what I asked was for her to let me prove it to her.” He looks straight into the camera. “And, Pres, if you’re watching, I’m asking you again. Let me prove it to you.”
Beside me, Phyllis sighs and leans forward, a sappy look on her face. I frown so that my face will be the exact opposite of hers.
“Today is my first day of full clarity. Not from drugs. I managed to finally quit them nearly four and a half years ago. I’d quit drinking too. Well, until I fell off that wagon night before last. I told Pres why I did that, so that’ll stay just between her and me.”
He said it was because of our supposed anniversary. Do I believe him? I’m not sure.
“So back to this clarity thing. Four and whatever months ago, I thought I’d gained clarity by stopping the drugs and alcohol. And I did to an extent. But here’s something that became clear to me today. As much as booze and drugs can fuck up your thinking, so can doubt and fear. And guilt.” He shakes his head. “Dammit, so can the guilt. If it was physically to
xic, I would have died a million deaths because of it.”
So would I.
“When Presley kicked me in the nuts, there was this big explosion of light and pain. Any guy who’s just got kneed can agree to the accuracy of that. But when the lights faded and the pain began to recede, I knew I needed to step up my game. I needed to face the fear of her rejection and not give up trying. And I needed to put my words into action.”
I hug my knees to my chest, mesmerized by his words. Then I realize I’m going all sappy and snort. “What a moron.”
Phyllis slaps at me. “Shhh.” She’s going all sappy too.
“Every night at nine o’clock eastern standard time, cause that’s the time she’s in, I’m going to be right here. I’ll prove to her that I’m sober and that I’m thinking of her. That I still love her and want her back.”
Tears blur my vision and Phyllis sniffs, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.
“So… I had this interview thing set up today, and Presley asked me a good question, but I didn’t get a chance to answer it. I’ll answer it now. She asked me, ‘is this my forgiveness tour.’” He looks straight into the camera. “Yes, Presley. I guess that it is. I’m hoping the fans I let down all those years ago will forgive me. I’m hoping you will forgive me. And, if I’m lucky, I might even get to forgive myself.”
A tear falls, and I swipe it away.
“So, I guess that’s it for the night. I’ll be back tomorrow night. Presley… if you’re watching or hear about this, send me another question and I’ll answer it the best I can. Just Presley, people. I think you can figure out why.” He smiles, just a little. “Goodnight, Presley Elizabeth. I… I’ll prove it to you.”
And then he’s gone.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
Phyllis takes my hand, but she doesn’t say anything. We just stare at the empty screen.
CHAPTER TEN
Kace
Stephen stares at me as I close the laptop.
“Women are going to love you,” he says. “Men are going to want to stomp your ass. You’ve just made all of mankind up their game.”
