The Inside Track: A License to Love Novel

by Tamsen Parker

  I guess it’s good that he feels that way? Better than how I always felt hunted and harassed. And when two people feel so differently about something as central to the way you live as fame, what is there to do? I love Nicky too much to ask him to give up this thing that makes him so happy and that he’s good at. It sucks that so many people in his life have made him feel like he’s less than useless unless he’s got a guitar slung over his shoulder. I would never take that away from him, same way as he’s never made me feel shitty about my agoraphobia. It’s just…how we are. Not things that are up for debate. If you want to be with either of us, those are things you need to accept and you can’t go into that relationship assuming things are going to change.

  Might I someday decide that it is no longer satisfactory to never leave my property? Maybe. But that’s just it. It’s my choice. And at the moment and for the foreseeable future, I am choosing to spend my energy on other things. Because I guarantee that if I ever decide to leave my house, it will consume every ounce of energy I have to even step out the door. Can I see it getting better eventually? I guess? But nothing’s a sure thing, and I’d rather build my business and help showbiz kids not turn out like me. I like my job, I’m proud of what I do, and I’m good at it. I’m not going to burn all that to the ground and make my accomplishment for the day: going outside.

  And Nicky would be so unhappy if he gave up being a performer. That is the last thing I want. I love him so I want him to be happy, and it sucks royal donkey balls that him being fulfilled, me being safe, and us being together are mutually exclusive. It’s possible, too, that he’s rubbed off on me some.

  The doorbell rings, and I check the clock. It’s quarter to six which means two things. One, that’s Jake at the door, and two, I have been sitting on my couch staring into space and meditating on my own misery for two hours. I suppose I should stop that and I’m sure someday I will, but for now, the best I can do is open the door and ask Jake what kind of takeout he wants for dinner.

  Nick

  * * *

  A Cheeto bounces off my forehead and lands in my lap.

  “What the hell?” I ask Benji with a mouthful of Cheeto, obviously, because it’s not like I would waste a perfectly good crispy cheese snack just because it fell on my pants.

  “Dude, you are so distracted. I don’t even know why we’re bothering to play.”

  Zane gives him a warning look from the other side of the couch, and Benji waves his hands.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. We’re supposed to be distracting Captain Sad Sack, but I still want to win.”

  “Captain Sad Sack?” I mutter, snagging the half-empty bag of Cheetos from Benji before he can throw another one at me. “I am at the very least a Colonel Sad Sack.”

  Stuffing a handful of Cheetos in my mouth and wiping the neon-orange cheese dust off on my pants, I feel that real hard. And my big brother Lukas would be super-proud that I remembered anything about Army ranks. He’s a lieutenant colonel, and it took me for fucking ever to memorize all the goddamn ranks. I did it to make him happy, and now they’re carved into my brain for the rest of my life. But yeah, I’m up there in ranks of being bummed out. But there’s nothing I can do about it.

  Dempsey’s the cure to what ails me, and she was very clear about wanting me gone. Which sucks, because it’s not like we fell out of love with each other. It’s not like one of us did something unforgivable. It’s so much worse than that. It’s that being who I am hurts her, and while I guess I could technically stop being a rock star and cancel the plans for the show, then what would she have left? Mopey as fuck dude hanging around her house all the time, driving her up a goddamn wall. Nah, that is not a good solution. Or even a solution at all.

  I stuff another fistful of Cheetos into my mouth and crunch them grouchily. Can you eat something with attitude? I think so. You can definitely eat things in a sexy way, so why can’t I chow down in a grumpy way? But maybe I’m being too subtle.

  “Sorry, guys. I know I’m not holding up my end of the game; y’all should just go on without me. Things just really suck right now. I know you guys miss your girlfriends, but that’s because you’re in LA and Jordan’s in Chicago being a fucking superhero and Rowan’s in—”

  Where the fuck is Rowan, anyway? Jordan’s so much easier to keep track of. Rowan with her training and her competitions… We should keep a map in Benji’s garage with a little Rowan doll we can pin to it so we know where she is.

  Zane raises his eyebrows. “She’s in Innsbruck.”

  Yeah, I knew it was somewhere cold. And it’s not like there are so many places that have luge tracks. Guaranteed Rowan’s gonna be in one of those cities, or she’s gonna be with Zane. Which only serves to remind me of how I always know where Dempsey is; it’s not that far away, and yet I can’t be with her. I’ve thought about going over there a million times, and even though my brain’s been circling it like Fi looking for the perfect place to poop, I can’t find an answer.

  I throw my controller at the wall and drag my hands through my hair. I don’t exactly remember the last time I showered? Whatever, it’s not like I’m gonna get super-gross because Magda starts tsking at me when I start to smell and she hasn’t yet. But still, it’s been more than a day for sure.

  “Dude. You’re a mess. Why don’t you just talk to her? What’s the worst that’s gonna happen? She’s gonna break up with you again?”

  I throw a pillow at Benji because that’s not helpful. At all. He’s lucky I already threw the controller and don’t have anything else nearby to pitch at his head.

  “The worst thing that could happen is that we have this hella painful conversation all over again, come to the conclusion that nothing has changed and nothing will ever change and so it’s never going to work out no matter how much we might like it to. I’m really fucking happy for you that the worst problem you and Jordan have is that you don’t get to see each other as often as you’d like and maybe a shmoopy phone call and a last-minute ticket halfway across the country can fix the blue balls you’ve got, but that’s not going to solve anything with me and Demps.”

  Benji looks sorry he opened his mouth, and I’m sorry, too. Maybe I should just tell them to leave. I’m not such great company right now. This is probably the worst I’ve ever felt—like I told Dempsey, I usually forget to feel crappy about stuff I’ve fucked up after not that long, but this is sticking with me in a way I don’t know how to handle. It sucks and I hate it for a million different reasons. Makes me frigging useless, too.

  “Not to be a dick—”

  I glare at Zane so hard he’s lucky his head doesn’t fall off from the sheer force of it, and he holds up his hands, surrendering, but not shutting his fucking face.

  “But how hard did you actually try to work this out? I mean, you really love this girl and I’ve seen her look at you. It seems to me like she really loves you, too. And I know it’s not easy—nothing’s easy, but the two of you… I don’t know, man. You fit together in this kinda freakish way. On paper you’re totally wrong for each other, but it turns out in real life, you work. Really well. I feel like a lot of the girls you went out with didn’t appreciate what a good guy you are. And I know we can be guilty of not really appreciating you either. But not only does Dempsey get the quieter ways in which you’re a really good person, but she likes all the loud stuff about you that some of the other girls you’ve dated just seem to tolerate. That’s the kind of woman you do anything to be with. That’s the kind of person you fight for.”

  He’s right. About everything. Even his first question that made me feel like a spooked cat—you know, the way their spines go up and their fur stands on end and they hiss at you? That’s what I wanted to do when he asked how hard I’d actually tried to fix this. But when I think back as hard as I can to our conversation and try to stitch back together all the shreds and tatters that I can gather up, the answer is I didn’t. I mean, she asked me not to argue and I didn’t, and isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Wh
en a girl says no, that means no, right? But I’m not trying to get her into bed. It’s not like I’ve asked her out and she’s refused steadfastly. She said she wants to be with me, too, but that she can’t. But maybe…

  I get this big-ass bubble of hope in my chest. Like when I was a kid and we’d chew up as many pieces of bubble gum that would fit in our mouths—the good, squishy, sugary blocks of gum too, not those sad-ass can’t-make-bubbles-for-shit sugar-free sticks—and we’d blow the biggest bubbles we could and then it would pop all over our faces and sometimes we had to cut off some of our hair because it would get stuck and my mom would get mad and yell that she had eight other kids to keep clean and fed and it was hard enough when half of them weren’t doing stupid shit like getting gum in their hair.

  I might get some bubble gum in my hair, but it’d be worth it. To try. To show Dempsey I have done everything I possibly can to make this work, because she’s worth it. And we’re worth it. Because as different as we are, we’re two peas in a pod. Two people who have been told over and over and over that we’re doing it wrong. That we’re too much or not enough, that we’re not trying hard enough to fit into the box that has been deemed acceptable. That if only we could put in more effort, then we could be different, better, that we could live up to our potential. That’s killer, because I feel like Demps and I are doing okay for ourselves. And we’d do even better together.

  “I’m gonna go over there.”

  Zane gets the tiniest smile on his face. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  “Do you really?”

  Because it doesn’t sound like a great idea to me, and I’m not known for being able to distinguish bad ideas from good ones. Plus, if this is the answer, what the hell took me so long to come up with it? Wow, I’ve been an even bigger mess than I thought. Like chump-level huge disaster. And it helps that my buddies don’t think this is the worst idea in the history of ideas. I don’t trust myself when it comes to making calls about Dempsey at the moment.

  Benji and Zane exchange looks, and Zane shrugs. “Look, man. I don’t know if it’s going to change anything. It might not, and you’ll have to live with that if it doesn’t. But on the off-chance that it does? Isn’t it worth the risk? Wouldn’t you rather stick your neck out and get kicked to the curb than sit here and never know? I’m not really sure why you’re being cautious now when you’ve always been willing to jump out of a plane before. If anything, I feel like Dempsey’s worth jumping out of a plane for.”

  “Just to be clear,” Benji interjects. “We’re not suggesting you parachute into Dempsey’s yard. I don’t think she’d like that.”

  No, she wouldn’t at all for like a dozen different reasons, and I’m not trying to make her life worse. I only ever want to make her life better. While another girl might love a stunt like that, it would only draw more attention to Dempsey which is something she doesn’t like and isn’t good for her, and plus someone dropping onto her property from the sky would probably trip a part of her agoraphobia that’s managed to stay dormant. She’d probably have a bunker built and never see the light of day again. I don’t want her becoming a mole or one of those cave fish with translucent skin and freaky useless eyes. But isn’t that, like, evolution and it takes a bunch of generations? That probably wouldn’t happen to her. But Dempsey evolving into a blind albino salamander is not really the issue here because I’m not going to parachute into her yard.

  Also, it would probably take a longer time than I’d like to arrange that. Don’t you need permits or some shit to do that? And I don’t really know any pilots. Like, I could have my people find one for me, and I’d have to learn to skydive and, yeah, no parachutes.

  “Nah, I’ll just drive. Come on, Fi, let’s go see if Dempsey will take us back.”

  “Uh, Nick?”

  I’m halfway to the door and Fiona’s already there, but Zane’s giving me this look like I’m about to leave without pants on. Which wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that, but I look down to check, and I definitely have pants on. Yeah, they’re covered in Cheeto dust so I should probably change, but that’s not going to make or break this thing with Dempsey. Girl’s tough as nails and she’s put up with a whole lot more bizarre from me than some fake cheese powder.

  “What? You said I should go get my girl. I’m going to get her.”

  “She only lives like half an hour from here. I don’t think that’s going to give you enough time to figure out all the ways you’re going to offer her to make this work. Especially given that you not thinking things through before jumping in with both feet is part of what got you here, right? Benji and I will help you think of stuff, but you gotta do some work.”

  “Yeah, and you should probably write it down.”

  Fucking A, these guys are right. It’s both annoying and a comfort that they know me so well and can stop me from running headlong into at least some of my mistakes.

  “Yes,” I say, pointing fingers first at Benji and then at Zane. “And while I start brainstorming, I’m gonna put on pants that don’t look like Chester the Cheetah gave me a lap dance.”

  22

  Dempsey

  * * *

  If Netflix could stop shaming me about binging The Magicians, that’d be great. Yes, I’m still watching, okay? You got a problem with that? I click on “Continue Watching,” and Jake nudges my foot with his.

  “More popcorn?”

  I kind of want to say yes, but since I’ve emptied the giant bowl in my lap twice already since we started watching this afternoon, I should probably say no. On the other hand, there are very few things in my life that bring me joy right now, so maybe a third bowl of popcorn is allowed. I’m about to give in when the doorbell rings, and then there’s knocking. That’s rather thorough and also makes me start, sending the popcorn kernels left in the bottom of the bowl all over the floor. Shit.

  Jake leaps off the couch and heads for the door, muttering to himself. He’s basically been my bodyguard since Nick left. Yeah, he goes to class and he’s seen a few clients, but otherwise he’s been here with me. He sleeps on the couch and screens anyone who bothers to come to the door and checks my email. He’s the best.

  He checks the peephole and turns, his expression uncertain.

  “It’s Nick.”

  Nick? Oh, boy. His name hits me like a punch in the chest. He’s been respectful of my wishes since he left, and as much as I’ve hated it, I’ve also been grateful. But now he’s here? For what? There’s got to be a reason if he’s managed to stay away for two whole weeks and is showing up now.

  “Does he look upset?”

  Maybe something happened. To Fiona? To one of the guys? I know Rowan’s fine because I watched her latest race in Innsbruck where she came in second. She’s killing it, and even though I felt kinda weird about it, I emailed her to tell her how she did great and she replied saying she hoped we could still be friends.

  “Kind of?”

  My teeth find my lower lip. God, I’d like to see him, and if he needs something… I don’t know what he could possibly need from me, but I’d give him anything I have. It’s not a good idea for him to be here now, but maybe after things settle, we could be friends. If I send him away without at least finding out what’s going on, that might never happen. And Jake is here. If Nick is drunk or otherwise belligerent, Jake will take care of it.

  Jake clears his throat. “Not trying to pressure you or anything, and I will absolutely tell him to take a hike if you want me to, but maybe you could talk to the poor guy? I totally get why you don’t think you can be together, but I’ve basically been living here since he left and you’ve been miserable. So for both your sakes, maybe give it a try? Or who knows? Maybe he’s here because he wants to ask for advice on an investment or retirement planning or something.”

  I roll my eyes, because no fucking way is Nick showing up at my house to talk about the stock market or real estate. Which is perhaps more of a reason to let him in. He wouldn’t have shown up here for s
omething frivolous. “Let him in.”

  After Jake undoes all the locks, Nick spills into my house, followed closely by Fiona. Really? Bringing the dog? That’s low.

  Jake lays a hand on the doorframe, forming a bar between Nick and me. “Dempsey said you could come in, but don’t you think for a second I won’t throw you out on your ass if you make her upset. Got it?”

  “Yeah, man. I just want to talk to her.”

  Then Jake leans in and says something else that I can’t hear. Could be he’s threatening Nick with dismemberment, or it could be that he’s whispering, “Good luck, I’m rooting for you.” More likely the latter, jerkface.

  Nick looks awful. Scruffy as always, but his hair doesn’t look like it’s just in disarray or like he forgot to shave. He looks bad like he’s been sleeping outside. Or maybe not sleeping at all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look tired. He’s way more likely to go and go and go and go and then pass out, waking up and hitting the ground running to do it all over again.

  “It’s all right, Jake. You want to wait in my office or upstairs?”

  God love him, Jake gives Nick the stink eye before dropping his arm and pointedly heading to my office. Nick shoves his hands in his pockets and walks slowly toward me, Fiona trotting behind him but not stopping in front of me when he does. She hefts herself up onto the couch and plops down next to me. I’ve missed her and her giant head so much, and it feels so right to have her short fur under my fingers again when I pet her muscular shoulder.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, and I promise if you tell me to leave and not come back that I’ll respect that. It’s just I know I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t give this, give us, one last try. I’ve done a lot of thinking and even some planning, and this is my last-ditch effort to be with you.”