“Do not touch me!” She paces around in a circle and then stops in front of me, her hands shaking by her side. “I came to surprise you. I had a meeting at the publishing house today and wanted to surprise you.” She sneers and throws her hands up in the air. “Guess I’m the one who got the surprise, huh?”
I shake my head, frustrated that she pulls away every time I try to touch her. “Syd, what are you talking about?”
Her eyes land on mine, wide and wild. “The song, Justin? The one you were just singing? Those are my words. That was my poem!”
Fuck. My pulse pounds at the speed of light. She heard me singing the fucking song. Every internal battle I waged with myself over whether to tell her is instantly lost when I see what my secret has done to her. I try to reach for her hand again, wanting, needing the comfort of her touch as I try to explain, and flinch when she yanks it from my grasp.
“Were you even going to tell me? How did you even get it? I never showed it to you, to anyone!”
“Syd, can we go somewhere else and talk about this? Back to my loft. Let’s go someplace more quiet and private.” I look around at the people on the sidewalk staring at us as they walk by.
“Just tell me, Justin!” She’s yelling now, and I’m so afraid that she’s going to leave that I force her into my arms, locking them around her as she squirms against me to get loose. “Let me go!”
“Syd, Syd, please. Please, stop yelling and let me try to explain.” I’m desperate and at a loss but feel a sense of relief when she stops moving and relaxes against me. It lasts for only a second, though, when I hear the next words out of her mouth.
“Please, let me go. Please.” She’s pleading, something she’s never had to do before with me, and it sends a shock through my entire body. I immediately let go of her and step away, my hands scraping through my scalp as I scramble to figure out my next step. A small dash of hope washes over me when she doesn’t walk away.
“Sydney, can I take you home and explain? Please?” It’s the first time I’ve stopped long enough to think about her, instead of myself, and leave this decision up to her.
She nods and turns, walking back in the direction of the studio. “I left my suitcase in the building. I need to get it.”
“Yeah, okay. Of course.” I keep in step beside her but make sure to respect her space and don’t try to reach for her. We gather her bag, my guitar, and after explaining to Andrea that I need to go deal with some personal stuff, we exit the building.
“It’s about a twenty-minute walk to my place, or I can call an Uber if you want?”
“Let’s walk.” She looks to me for direction, so I gently take the suitcase from her, turn toward home, and start walking. After ten minutes of silence, she finally speaks.
“Justin, were you going to tell me?” Her voice is soft, no longer full of anger but so obviously full of hurt.
“I swear, I was.” I rush through my next words, trying to explain. “I found your notebook at your apartment one night when I couldn’t sleep. I was so blown away by your words, your thoughts, your talent. You’d never shown me anything except the little love notes you’d left for me.” I take a deep breath and surge forward. “That poem, the one you wrote about me, it slayed me. When I read it, music for it just started pouring out of me, and the next thing I knew, I had turned it into a song.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” She was trying so hard to understand, but I know that I hadn’t said anything that made any sense yet.
“The song was supposed to just be for you. I was going to sing it at Kelly’s wedding as a surprise.”
She looks over at me and gives me the first glimpse of a smile that I’ve seen since I laid eyes on her in the studio, and it makes my stomach jump in hope.
“I was playing around with some other stuff you had written, and Andrea heard—”
She stops mid-stride and cuts me off. “Wait, there’s more? You took other poems?”
I nod my head reluctantly, realizing I just took three huge steps backward from any hope of forgiveness with her. She shakes her head; I think to try to keep her anger at bay. “How many more?”
“‘Choices’ and ‘’Til the End’ ,” I say quietly. She begins walking again so I do as well. She doesn’t say anything, so I keep talking in hopes of explaining. “Andrea heard me playing around with “Choices ,” and he went absolutely crazy for it. Said it had everything it needed to get me on the charts, so I played “In Your Arms,” too, and I thought he was going to have a stroke he loved it so much. I know I should have told you as soon as he heard the songs. I don’t know why I didn’t. But I swear, I would have, Sydney. You know I would never have released them without your permission.”
She stops again and turns toward me, her eyes misty, her voice low when she speaks. “But, Justin, you stole my words. Those were mine. You should have asked me.”
I shake my head, knowing she is right. Knowing what I did was wrong, no matter the reason. There’s nothing more I can say to defend myself, so I do the only other thing I can think of, and I apologize. “I’m so sorry, Sydney. Truly. I don’t know how it went so far without me telling you. It started out innocently enough, but I knew as soon as Andrea asked me to record the songs that it was wrong. I’ll pull them and tell him we can’t use them. I’m sorry, so, so sorry, Sydney. I fucked up.”
I take a step closer to her and find the courage to cradle her face in my hands and place a tender kiss on her trembling lips. “Just, please, please tell me that we can get past this. I can’t lose you, Syd. Not over this.”
One of her hands covers mine as a single tear falls out of the corner of her eye, splitting my heart in two as I watch it cut a trail down her cheek. “Don’t you know that I would have given them to you, Justin? I would have given you the whole notebook if you had asked. Just like I gave you my heart.”
* * *
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I fly home the next day, my heart still wary but with some peace made between us. On the plane ride home, I replay the previous evening in my head and hope I’ve made the correct choice. I don’t ask for much; at least, I don’t think I do, but I do ask that a person be honest with me. He lied to me, and he stole from me. Yes, I would have given him the poems if he asked, but he didn’t.
We stayed in, and he ordered take-out for us, a foreign concept where we’re from; no delivery options unless you live in one of the larger cities. He tried so hard to make me feel comfortable and bent over backward to meet my every need, but I felt hollow inside. The only time I felt anything was in the desperate lovemaking we made during the night. It was like we were both clinging to the one lifeline we knew was still intact.
In reality, I didn’t need to fly home until tomorrow, but I need some space to think about and process what happened. I know in my heart that Justin is a good man, an amazing man. And, yes, he’s absolutely an honest man. So many times, I’ve heard that the entertainment industry will chew you up and spit you out a completely different person. He’d been in New York City less than two weeks, and already this decision by him, that I don’t think he would have made before, sits between us now.
The more I run it around and around in my head, the sicker I feel. I place my hand over my stomach and take a few breaths, waiting for the moment to pass, but when I sense it’s getting worse, I unfasten my seatbelt and bolt for the lavatory, just shutting the door in time before I throw up in the blue airline water.
The splash makes me gag, and I throw up again, this time clenching my eyes tight to try to block out the view. I reach up blindly, close the lid, and then find the button to flush the toilet as a knock sounds at the door. “Are you okay, ma’am. Can I help at all?”
“I’m okay. Thank you. Maybe some water?” I call back through the door.
“Of course.”
I rinse my mouth, splash cold water on my face, pat it dry, and then pull the lever to open the door. The flight attendant is waiting outside with a bottle of water. “Here you g
o. You sure you’re okay?”
I nod my head and take the water gratefully. “Yes, yes, I’ll be fine. Thank you.” I make my way back to my seat and sip on some of the water before falling into a restless sleep.
Two hours later, I jolt awake and look out the window as the plane lands on the runway, a sigh of relief leaving me at being home again. I called Kelly before I took off, telling her what happened, and am so happy to find her waiting with open arms as I walk out of the arrivals terminal.
“You okay?” She holds me for a minute then releases me, grabbing my suitcase out of my hand.
“Yeah.” I look at her and shrug. “I mean, I can’t stop loving him for this, right? But I do think I can be disappointed for a little bit.”
“Hell yes, you can.” She’s my constant cheerleader and number one support team. “If you had called me yesterday, I may have jumped on a plane and kicked his ass myself.”
I chuckle and link my arm through hers, resting my head on her shoulder as we walk out to the parking lot. “I love you, Kell.”
“I’m hard not to love,” she counters back smugly. Her head turns and she looks at me. “You feel okay, though? You don’t look so great.”
“I puked on the plane! It was so gross! That blue water splashed up everywhere and made me gag even more.” I scrunch my face up in disgust at the memory.
“You get drunk last night?” She laughs jokingly.
“We didn’t drink a drop. Wasn’t that kind of night after everything, ya know?”
“Maybe you’re pregnant! Wouldn’t that be a kick in the ass?” She slaps playfully at my arm as she unlinks it to unlock the car.
My mind starts racing at her words, and I try to remember the last time I had my period. I stop breathing when I realize I can’t remember. “Oh no.”
Kelly stops what she’s doing and looks at me, brows furrowed. “What?”
“I can’t remember the last time I had my period.”
Her mouth drops open in a wide O as what I said registers. “I was totally kidding, Syd!”
“I know, but, Kelly, what if I am pregnant?” Panic makes my voice shaky as I ask.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out, right?” She throws my bag in the back seat and tells me to get in the car. “Let’s go get a test.”
I get in and look over at her, fear in my eyes, and begin chewing my nails. Shit, shit, shit. I think back to all the times I had sex with Justin over the summer, which was a ton, but can only think of twice that we didn’t use protection. Once was in the hayloft, but that was a few months ago. Have I had my period since then? I smile as I remember that day; it was the day we told each other I love you.
The only other time was at the pond a few weeks ago. I scour my brain trying to remember if I had my period between the two times we didn’t use protection but come up blank. Kelly pulls into the pharmacy, and seeing my state, tells me to wait in the car. She’s back within ten minutes and hands me a bag. I look inside and find five different tests, and look over at her with raised brows.
She shrugs in defense. “I didn’t know which one to get, but you can bet ole Martha’s gonna be spreading some pregnancy rumors about me this week. Good thing I’m getting married in two weeks.”
I laugh weakly, knowing for sure that I’m not getting married in two weeks, so if I am pregnant, I’m screwed. She parks at my apartment a few minutes later, and we both hustle up the stairs and inside. Simba pounces off the counter and runs between my legs in greeting, almost knocking me over. I reach down and scratch his head and then head straight to the bathroom with the bag of tests.
I rip open three of them and read the directions for each one. I have to try and hold them in my stream of urine as I pee? Good lord, that’s going to be hard with three sticks. I open the door and yell to Kelly to bring me a solo cup. She’s handing it to me through the door in five seconds flat, and I laugh to myself as I shut the door, contemplating the various uses a solo cup is good for. I squat, pee in the cup, and then dip each one in the urine until it’s covered.
I carry the three tests out to the kitchen and line them up on the counter. Kelly looks at me and then at the clock. “How long do you have to wait?”
“It said three to five minutes.”
“Three of the longest damn minutes of our lives,” she wails.
“Tell me about it, Kell! What if I’m actually pregnant?” I shriek back at her, my nerves finally breaking.
“If you’re pregnant, we’ll deal with it. Let’s just wait and see what the tests say.”
My phone dings from my purse, so I walk over to grab it and see Justin has sent me a text to check if I’ve made it home okay.
I send him a text back.
-Just got home. I’ll call you tonight. Xo
-Okay. I love you. Are you sure we’re okay?
“Fuck.” Kelly’s voice tears my gaze away from my phone and over to her. She’s holding up all three tests, a look of horror on her face. I step closer and feel my heart stop in my chest when I look at the results. One has two bright pink lines, one has a bright plus sign, and the other states in bold, capital letters, POSITIVE.
“Fuck is right.”
I look back at my phone, type Justin a one-word response, and then fall spectacularly apart.
-Positive
* * *
I READ her text and shake my head. This may be the shortest text conversation in history between us. They are usually filled with more Xs and Os and lots of love words in between. I royally fucked up. I know she said she forgives me, and I know she said I can use the poems on the demo if I want, but now, it doesn’t feel right.
I’m at the studio and need to make a decision. I explain it to Andrea and hope he understands, because I’ve got plenty of songs I haven’t even played for him yet. Some of them will work for the sound he thinks we need. I pull my hat off my head and run my fingers through my hair, noting I need to find a place to get it cut before Kelly’s wedding next week.
“Hey, my man!” Andrea strolls in and plunks himself down on the chair across from me, his knee bopping a mile a minute again. I stare at it and wonder where the hell this guy gets so much damn energy. “I’ve got some fabulous news for you!”
I smile weakly, knowing I don’t have the same for him. “What’s up?”
“You’re going to Hollywood!” he yells, sounding like one of the judges from “American Idol” and I give him an empty stare in return, confusion entering the equation.
“Say what?”
He jumps out of the seat and claps me on the shoulder, his grin growing even wider. “I just got off the phone with the mothership! They want to sign you! They want to see you next week out in L.A.!”
I shake my head, making sure I heard him clearly, excitement growing in my chest. “What? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No way, man! This is for real!” I watch as he paces around, his hands waving around as he talks. “I sent them the rough cut of “Fridays” and “Choices” you played yesterday morning, and they gobbled the shit up! They said they want you now, before someone else grabs you up.”
My stomach plummets when I digest the words coming out of his mouth. “Fridays” and “Choices?” The songs I want him to pull. “Did you play anything else for them?” I hold out hope that he did.
“Sure, sure, man, but those are the songs that pushed it over the edge for them. They loved the sound of them.” He sits back across from me and whips out his phone. “Okay, so we have to fly out on Thursday, meet with them Friday, and then record a few of the songs in their studio over the weekend.”
“I can’t go next weekend,” I respond quickly. “It’s the wedding. I told you I have to go back home for that.”
“Man! It’s the fucking mothership of all recording labels. If they tell you to come, you come.” His eyes are wide in disbelief that I’m even arguing about this. “I mean, you’re not in the wedding or anything, right? I’m sure they’ll understand. I mean, shit, your girl suppor
ts you, right?”
His mention of Sydney brings back up the other topic I know I need to discuss with him. “Yeah, listen, Andrea, about the songs, she actually wrote them. I’m not sure I’m going to use them anymore.”
His knee stops bouncing, and for the first time since I’ve known him, a serious look crosses his face. “She doesn’t want you to use them, or you don’t want to use them?”
I shrug, not sure if there’s a difference anymore. “I don’t know, man. She said I can use them, but ya know, they’re her words, and I’m just not sure I’m feeling them anymore.”
“Well, you better get to feeling them again.” He stands up and begins pacing. “That’s what they want, and if she said you can use them, there’s no conflict. I mean, it might be a little sticky with the label. They want to sell you as a singer/songwriter, but hey, we’ll make sure she gets a cut of anything you make on the songs, okay?”
I sigh and put my head in my hands as I listen to him go on about how it’s going to be okay, how we’ll work it all out, and all I can see is Sydney’s face when she saw me singing her song. It’s a look I never want to see on her face again. I pick my head up and cut off his rambling. “Just see what you can do about moving the date, okay. If I miss this wedding, Sydney’s going to fucking kill me. She’s coming back here with me after the wedding, so I need to drive with her.”
He waves his hand at me dismissively, nodding his head. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll see what I can do.”
It turns out he couldn’t do much. The label has a tight schedule and apparently already moved heaven and earth to make time in the studio for me next weekend. I know I’ve gotta call Syd and try to explain, and also try to figure out how and when I can fly out so I can drive back with her to Brooklyn, but I’m scared as hell.
I finally pick up the phone, two days later, and call her. When she picks up, music is blaring in the background and I can barely hear her.
Love Notes Page 12
