Chapter 23
When I woke the next morning Evan was staring at me intently, his fingers tracing the skin on my arm.
“Hey,” he said, but his voice cracked and a sad smile came to his face. His eyes ran over my body, seeming to memorize it.
“Please don’t go,” I whispered, closing my eyes so tight it hurt almost as much as my hollow chest.
He pressed his lips against my forehead, then each of my eyes.
“I swear to god I’m coming back,” he whispered, reading my mind. “I swear.”
I opened my eyes as a tear rolled down my cheek. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
His thumb caught the drifting water.
“I swear,” he repeated. “Look in my eyes and tell me it’s a promise I’m going to break.”
I let my gray eyes drift to his and the answer was there. He truly believed he would be coming back, or he truly wanted to.
“I believe you,” I whispered.
“I have something I’ve been meaning to give you,” Evan said as he stood and went to his jeans lying on the floor. He pulled out a small package and sat back down on the bed before handing me a worn baby blue pick. I knew it was the one from the Boston concert, and the one he taught me how to play guitar with, but now it dangled from a delicate silver chain and was coated with something to protect is patina.
I ran my fingers over it and looked up at him.
“For so long my music has been my heart,” he explained as he flipped the pick over in my palm to reveal a heart drawn in permanent marker. I smiled at its awkward shape, knowing he had drawn it himself as he continued, “But now it’s you…you’re my heart.”
“Evan,” I breathed out as he took it from my hands to put it around my neck.
I lifted my hair that was covering my bare chest and watched as Evan’s eyes washed over my body with longing. He seemed to have stopped breathing as he leaned around to secure it.
“Evan,” I whispered again as I kissed his collarbone.
His forehead dropped to my shoulder. “How could you ever think I wouldn’t come back?”
“I’m afraid there are people out there who could keep us apart if they wanted to,” I finally admitted.
I lay back in the bed and he rested his body on his forearms over me before he kissed the middle of my chest and up my body to my lips.
“No one, no matter how hard they tried, could ever keep me away from this,” he finally replied as he moved his hands into mine, pressing them into the mattress.
I responded by rolling my body over him and pulling him into me; watching as his back arch in pleasure. His hands raced up my back and pulled my chest to his lips as I sighed. Each kiss and movement was heartbreaking in its slow perfection, for we both knew he would leave as soon as the moment was over. A goodbye that was supposed to be a few minutes turned into an hour of his body curving into mine, hands and lips moving over every inch of skin.
Evan looked down at me and the pick dangling around my neck. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be waiting,” I whispered, and we kissed for minutes that felt like a lifetime before he pulled away and got dressed. I sat in the bed watching, clinging to the necklace around my neck.
“I’ll stop at a store at the airport and get a phone—it’ll have the same number,” he reassured me, leaning across the bed and moving a hair out of my face before cupping my chin in his hands. “Then we’ll finish up were we left off last night.”
I watched him leave, and listened as the car revved out as he hammered on the gas in frustration. He didn’t want to go. I sat there in my bed, staring at the guitars in the corner, the pictures of him now canvas prints on my wall and watched the digital clock as it shifted times motionless. An hour. Two hours. Three hours. Then my phone rang, but I knew it couldn’t be him yet. I picked it up without saying a word.
“Hey, it’s Paul—we can’t get a hold of Evan?”
“He’s on the plane,” I said before hanging up the phone.
Chapter 24
Evan called as soon as he landed and again reassured me he would be back as soon as he could. He texted me a few hours later to say he missed me. When I asked him how it went his response was he couldn’t wait to get back to see me. The days began to pass in a blur, one week, then another. Love Exactly was an immediate hit and my picture flooded the internet. Everyone wanted to know who the girl was. Everyone wanted to be that girl when he told the MTV host it was his girlfriend with a smile. I watched carefully, my knees drawn to my chest, as his foot tapped not to a beat but in irritation. When he performed his eyes were intense, and as the song came to an end he began a guitar solo he apparently hadn’t told the band about. It was an angry, quick riff and it matched the feeling in his eyes. The rest of the band caught on quick enough and started hammering on the drums and bass in a frustrated rhythm that matched his own. The band seemed to get where he was coming from and I did too, especially when he jumped in the air with the guitar on the last riff, and then turned as the lights dimmed to black. Only moments later my phone beeped:
I’m coming home tonight. Pack a bag. I have the perfect weekend planned.
It had been three weeks since I had seen him. A week since I heard his voice. Desperation had set in; one that occurs with the misfortune of knowing everything you have is about to crumble over right on top of you, and in doing so it’s going to suffocate you—bury you alive. Evan hadn’t even acted differently, but there was a tone in his voice I hadn’t heard before. It sounded like he had given up, too. When Evan greeted me that night with a one armed hug and a kiss to the forehead the feeling only thickened.
He gave me a weak smile before nodding over his shoulder and saying, “I’ve got something special planned—you packed a bag like I asked?”
I nodded and showed him the bag I had in my hands that he must have overlooked. We drove in silence, Evan with a vacant stare and two hands on the steering wheel; me with my hands in my lap as I pressed my forehead against the window. He knew something was wrong as much as I did, but he wasn’t saying anything. The three hour drive dragged on in utter silent chaos. My mind was a mess as I jumped from one conclusion to the next. When Evan finally shifted the car into park in front of elegant hotel on the water I just sat and stared at it.
I had wanted forever. I had thought forever and now I was losing it.
Evan opened the door for me, and I practically fell out of the side of the car. He grabbed for me before I could hit the ground, his face red and eyebrows furrowed.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
It was enough to make me come unglued. “No.”
“What’s wrong?” he continued to pry as if he didn’t know.
“You’re not telling me something,” I snapped as I slammed the door to the car and leaned against it.
“Let’s go inside?”
I swallowed and followed him into the hotel lobby. It was just as elegant as the exterior and as Evan got our room keys I couldn’t help but wonder why he would bring me here if something was wrong. We rode up in the elevator in more silence and when Evan shut the door behind him I turned on my heel and stuck my finger in his chest.
“If you’re breaking up with me, why in the hell did you bring me here?” I demanded, throwing my hands up as I turned away from him.
He was quiet for a moment before pulling me into his arms from behind and resting his face on my shoulder. “I’m not breaking up with you,” he whispered.
“Then why did we just spend a car ride in utter silence! Why have you been acting so strange?” I asked. My exasperation showed as my voice cracked.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Please, Evan! Just tell me what’s going on!” I turned to look at him, running my hands through my hair. “Please!”
“The band was nominated for a bunch of Grammy’s,” he replied, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on his feet.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
<
br /> “I’m just anxious.”
I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows at him. “I don’t know I believe you.”
He heaved a sigh. “I know I promised a perfect weekend and that’s what I plan on giving you.”
“With you moping around like this I really doubt that’s going to happen,” I retorted as I flopped down on the bed and looked at the ceiling. I felt the bed compress as Evan sat down next to me.
“The label and the publicists…they found out who you are…they were over interested when I told them we would be recording in Boston. Even more so when I demanded that the cover art and album leaflet be exactly the way I wanted it to be. They didn’t like how I was taking charge.”
I sat back up and looked at the sadness washing over his face.
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” I asked. My voice wasn’t filled with anger anymore. I’d known this was coming from the phone call. I knew it had to be about me.
“They think…they think you’re a bad influence—that you’re using me to get famous. They’re going to try to keep us apart,” he admitted as his head went into in his hands.
I stood up and went to the window that over looked the water.
“Maybe we’re not good for each other,” I finally managed to choke out.
I didn’t feel that way, but I didn’t want to be selfish. I knew I wasn’t good for him anymore.
“Don’t say that—” he snapped, standing and throwing his hands up. “You know it’s not true.”
“When are the Grammy’s?”
He grimaced and I knew the answer before he said it, “I’m supposed to be on a plane heading towards some press events now—but they can wait. The show isn’t for two weeks. I don’t need to be doing all the press events anyways, and we can rehearse closer to the show.”
I shook my head as I wrapped my arms around my body. “Think of the decisions you’ve made since you met me. You bailed on your Canadian tour, you almost beat the shit out of my ex-boyfriend, and here you are when you should be on a plane for press events for the Grammys—the Grammys, Evan! Maybe they’re right, maybe I am everything you never needed.”
“That’s not true Em, and you know it!” he said with his jaw clenched in frustration.
“Maybe this sort of thing can’t work—someone like you with someone like me,” I said, biting my lip to keep the sobs from rising up my chest and to the surface.
“Not that again! Come on. So, what—I’m never supposed to really know love? That’s my punishment for having everything else?”
I shrugged as fresh, hot tears ran down my face and he walked forward to pull me into his arms.
“Screw everything else, all I want—all I need is you. Come with me to the Grammys. We can get you an amazing dress…you can meet Sting and Paul McCartney.”
I laughed at the idea and how amazing it sounded until one thing rushed back to my mind. “Everyone watches the Grammys.”
“And?”
I pulled away and walked towards the balcony. I took a breath and turned.
“What if Eric sees it and realizes who you are?”
Evan shrugged. “I’m willing to deal with it if it happens. Celebrities do stupid shit all the time.”
“But you don’t. Everyone will just blame it on me…and it is my fault—don’t you see the label, the publicists, they’re all right.”
Evan threw his hands up. “No one who knows me thinks they’re right. They only want me to do what will get them the most money. Don’t you see—you’re the reason we’re up for this Grammy. It’s you Em. It’s always going to be you.”
“You really want me to go?”
He nodded, but the fear was all encompassing. I couldn’t be there for him on one of the biggest days of his life. When I looked up at him, he saw the answer in my eyes. The look he returned was devastating and his shoulders slumped in response.
“This is my first Grammy performance, and I might even win one,” he explained, his voice hoarse. “It could be a once in a lifetime thing, and I really just want to spend it with you…”
“I know how much this means to you,” I whispered, turning back to the window.
After a moment of strained silence, Evan replied with his voice barely audible, “I’m not afraid to say I need you…because I do.”
When I turned Evan was already gone.
I stood there, paralyzed by my feelings; by the fact I knew I had hurt him by not going with him, by not being willing to face any of my fears for him. I had, though, I trusted him, let him in. That was a big step. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, but it wasn’t enough. I knew it wasn’t, not when he wanted to let me into his world that he rarely, if ever, shared. He was the model of celebrity strength. He never really let anyone in, just like me, yet he had and I let him down. I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath before sitting down on the bed. I didn’t know how long I sat there, my legs pulled to my chin, staring out into the empty hallway.
“Err…hello?” a head peeked its way into my line of vision, a cart being towed behind him. “There was a call for room service?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t.”
He looked down at the chart before saying, “No, Mr. Levesque did, about an hour and a half ago in person.”
“Sure,” I muttered, standing and running my hands through my hair and tying it into a messy bun.
“He left this note for you as well,” the guy shrugged, and his eyebrows rose at my disheveled appearance. “Can I close the door for you?”
“Yeah,” I replied, waving him off as I stared at the cart and the letter laying folded on it. I must have looked like a crazy person in my now wrinkled plaid button-up and ripped jeans.
I sat back on the bed and stared at the letter before giving in and unfolding it.
I’m not mad…I know you don’t believe me, but I’m not. I meant what I said. Promise me you will watch the Grammys? It will make me feel better to know that you do. I have some press obligations for the next month or so after the show. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye the way I should have. It seems like I do that a lot. I’m just not good at it–not with you. It’s so hard to say goodbye to you. Please, know this, I won’t let anyone come between us, not anyone on my end and sure as hell, not him, never him.
Evan
I was running from my past. If it wasn’t the Grammys, or some other show that Evan needed me to be at it would be my publishing the book I had worked so hard to write. God was I sick of letting Eric control me. Years later that kid still had me plastered in fear. That was what he wanted, for me to shrink into nothing at his power. The sick bastard was winning, and I was letting him. I stopped writing because of the things he said to me—the way I’d let him make me feel. I had the strength to fight it. I wrote a full length novel for Evan, for myself and yet I couldn’t even let myself go on camera. How was I going to be a published author? How could I ever truly be with Evan? The pain, the memories that crept in like monsters had been banished, but now in place of them was guilt. What had I done to myself? If I didn’t get over it I would lose two people: myself and Evan.
Chapter 25
I paced the room for an hour as the pre-show for the Grammys echoed through my living room. The show was buzzing with whether or not Evan would be bringing his mysterious lover with him. I knew the answer, and I knew when they questioned why I wasn’t there it would kill him. I wondered what he was doing as I stared at my phone for the hundredth time. I texted him good luck and let him know I would be watching, but I had seen no response. The idea he wouldn’t know I was watching made me physically ill. I hadn’t eaten all day. I knew that would make him madder than anything else, especially with my already thin frame. I looked at the count down on the TV and decided to make some popcorn in the ten minutes remaining until the show began. I was sick of them guessing who I was anyways.
I shut the microwave with a little too much force and leaned my back against the counters as I listened for the popping to sp
eed up and then slow. Everything felt like it was in slow motion as I waited, tapping my leg to one of his songs. I burned myself as I grabbed at the bag and rushed into the room. Half-way through the show the popcorn still sat on the coffee table unopened and with each performance and award I found myself edging closer to the TV.
It was only one more performance by some crappy rapper that talked about being stoned senseless more than anything and then after an amount of commercials that drove me nuts, Evan was up. All I could see as the camera focused on his face was the pain in his eyes. When his voice began to reverberate through the surround sound it was strong, clear, with no hint of the cloudy darkness showing in his eyes. I was sure girls where swooning at the look, thinking it added to his mysterious bad boy persona. They didn’t understand it like I did. They didn’t know him like I did. That look wasn’t one of sexiness; it was one of pain being covered up by an amazing voice, and it was all because of me. Because I had refused to let my pride go and just be his.
The tears came hot and heavy as the song ended and he hung his head, exhausted from the effort of always pretending. I wished I could stop pretending I really gave a shit what anyone thought anymore. They thought I was bad for him. They were right; I could ruin him, but it wouldn’t be because I was with him. I’d accepted him for all his faults, and he for mine. That was what gave me the power that his critics would never have.
What critics say and do is often just actions aimed at open wounds. I was the one who could create them, and as I watched him walk off stage, adjusting his suit jacket in agitation, I knew I had done that already. It didn’t matter if he got the award or not, either way the fact I wasn’t there would hurt him. Instead of congratulating him, or reassuring him there would be a next time, I sat wallowing in my self-pity while burning my retinas out because I was so close to my TV. The feeling only worsened when they announced the Artist of the Year Award. When it came to his nomination the camera focused on him standing in the darkened backstage, his eyes distant, brow furrowed and jaw taut with anxiety. It made me wonder if it was over the chance at the award, me not being there, or both. The band stood in the background, looking just as anxious as him. When they announced the band as the winner he walked on to the stage without even attempting to mask his sadness. All they saw was what I saw; a man who should have been incandescently happy, miserable. When he took the award and looked up at the camera it was as though he was right there in front of me. He swallowed and offered the crowd a weak smile. My whole body had numbed; it felt as though the only thing that existed was my scarred soul, staring into his. He let the rest of the band say their quick thanks before he stepped up to the microphone.
Love Exactly Page 14
