Taming His Rockstar

by Morgan, Samantha

  “Katie,” Jane calls out to me. “Are you going to come and try it out so we’ll know if it needs to be adjusted? The gala is tomorrow.”

  “I already told you I’m not going,” I mumble. “Already sent in my donation. They’re going to have to manage that.”

  The bed dips as Jane sits next to me. “All right, can I know how long this moping is going to last so I can move all your important engagements?”

  “I’m not moping,” I say defensively.

  “You’re not? Could have fooled me.” Jane shakes her head. “All you do is eat in bed, watch movies, and talk to that dog. You don’t even talk to me.”

  “Because you have all these opinions, and you talk back.” I hug Kent, smiling a little when he licks my face. “Kent loves me for me.”

  “Of course he does. You give him food.” She eyes my dog. “You’re going to make him so fat he’ll have his own reality show.”

  “Never.” I shake my head. “My dog is never going to be a celebrity. I would never do that to him.”

  “Being a celebrity is not why you’re sitting here with a broken heart. You dumped him, remember.”

  “Because I am a celebrity, and it could only lead to heartbreak.”

  She stares at me. “So, to prevent him from breaking your heart in future, you decided to break it now yourself?”

  I scowl at her. “I know you think I’m crazy, but it was the right thing to do.”

  “And did you consider that he may be right?” Jane asks carefully. “That this may just be you acting scared.”

  I regret telling Jane everything. But I was too distraught at the time to filter my story. If I had been in my right mind, I would’ve left out the part where Jake called me scared and maybe also the part where I called him scared right back. That part still makes me cringe.

  “I’m not scared,” I mumble. “And you don’t need to come and babysit me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yesterday, you left the stove on, and this morning, you forgot your phone in the fridge. You serve all this food and barely touch it. Kent eats most of it. And you’ve been playing Gaynor for three days now. Even I didn’t think I would ever get tired of hearing this song.”

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself,” I mumble.

  Jane moves closer to me. “Katie, you know you’re going to have to talk about it sometime. You don’t, and you won’t get over it.”

  I’m silent. “It hurts to even talk about,” I finally say. “Especially since I know he may be right.”

  “Then go back to him,” she suggests gently.

  I splutter. “Go back to him? After how I left and the things I said? There is no way he is going to take me back now.”

  “So, you do want to go back to him?”

  I nod. “Every day, I want to pick up that phone and tell him it was a mistake. But I know I can’t.” I sit up. “He may be right that I’m afraid. Doesn’t mean my fears are invalid or unfounded. One day, he’s going to decide all the stress is not worth it and leave me.”

  “I can’t believe you’re giving up like this. You know what?” She reaches for her phone. “I’m calling the squad. Maybe one of them will be able to talk some sense into you. You were falling in love with the guy for Christ’s sake. Then when he says he wants a relationship with you, you chicken out. The Katie I know would never back down. You pursued Michael even after I told you he was bad news because you thought he was the one. Why then are you scared to go after Jake when you know he is the one?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe somewhere inside me, I knew Michael was not the one for me, and so it was easy to chase after him. I knew that should he hurt me, I’d be able to endure it. If Jake ever broke my heart . . .”

  I didn’t finish the statement. I didn’t need to.

  Jane picks the phone. “I’m calling Ava . . .”

  “Don’t,” I groan. “She already called yesterday to ask if I was doing fine, and I told her yes.”

  “Good, now you get to prove it to her.” She calls Ava in my presence, and I hear Ava say she’d arrive in an hour. “All right.” Jane gets to her feet and taps on her knees for the dog. “I’m taking Kent for a walk. After all the food you’ve given him, God knows he needs it.”

  I watch them leave. Turning around, I pick up the remote and raise the volume of the sound system and allow Gloria Gaynor’s voice to soothe my pain.

  Chapter 28

  Two weeks later, I’m at home alone when I hear my doorbell ring. Since I’m not expecting anyone, I wonder who it could be. Kent runs to the door, and as usual, begins scratching at it. I thank God I didn’t buy him as guard dog. He’s way too friendly for that. When I get to the door, I see a delivery man standing outside and frown, wondering who would be sending me a package at home. Normally, any package I receive goes through Jane and her team, who make sure there are no nasty surprises waiting for me. After the incident where I opened a parcel and saw a pair of soiled briefs, I happily leave the task to them. But I’m curious enough, and I open the door.

  “I’ve got a delivery for this address,” the delivery man says and points to the package behind him.

  It’s big. Almost six feet tall and half as wide as that. I sign for it and carry the surprisingly light package inside the house.

  “Stop,” I chide Kent when he scratches as the paper used to wrap the package. “Sit, boy.”

  He plops his butt on the floor but keeps on vibrating, and I know it won’t long before he gets up. I turn to the picture, and even though the delivery man couldn’t say who had sent it, I have a very good idea who and even more what is in the package. I wonder if I should return it. That would be the best course of action. But I’m too curious too do that. Too starved to let the piece go. So, I reach out and tear off the cover. When I’m done, I take a step back and feel my heart begin to pound in my chest. I think I’m finally getting over him. I think I’m finally learning to breathe without the pain in my heart.

  It’s a painting of me. I’m sleeping naked on the bed with just a sheet covering parts of me. Even though there’s nothing to tell what day it is, I can still tell. That day he had exhausted me, and I fell asleep almost immediately after he made me come for like the fourth or fifth time. When I woke up, I found him staring at me and smiling. Maybe he sketched me while I slept. Maybe he painted me from memory. But looking at that picture, I realize why he would assume there was something between us. The woman in the painting looks sated, content, and in love. Maybe it was easy to hide my truth when I was awake. But the sleeping woman, she gave all my secrets away. The way I slept with my hands stretched out, as if reaching toward the painting. The tilt of my neck and arch of my back make me look like I’m mid-stretch. And my mouth. A smile, and yet it isn’t. Like a woman teasing her lover with promises of kisses she never gives. He manages to capture my very essence, and even though it doesn’t tell me what I didn’t already know before, it tells me he always knew.

  I suddenly see tucked to the very bottom of the frame that holds the painting a small note. I quickly pick it up and unfold it. The message is simple and direct.

  Come to 3899 Pin Oak Drive at 9 pm tonight.

  I tell myself he has no right to tell me what to do. I tell myself I’m angry at him for just assuming I have nothing to do and will just jump at the chance to see him again. I tell myself that sending me a painting of me doesn’t change my mind. I tell myself that doing what the note says will only cancel out weeks of progress.

  By eight thirty p.m. that night, I’m dressed and on my way to the address on the note.

  Chapter 29

  I get out of my car and walk around it to retrieve the framed painting from the back seat. I tell myself I’m just here to return the painting and that’s it. It’s easier than admitting that I desperately want to see him. Or that I have already imagined a thousand different ways this meeting can play out and all of them involved me running into his arms at some point and admitting I was wrong. Steeling my sho
ulders, I remind myself that I have done the right thing in ending things now. Besides, I’m not about to throw away weeks of progress.

  I stop in front of the address he gave me and frown. It’s a small space tucked between an arts-and-crafts store and a boutique. For a moment, I admire the leather boots on the mannequin in the lit display in front of the boutique. Then my eyes move back to the address Jake gave me. It’s a new store, and I can see signs of recent renovations around it. There’s a cover over the sign in front of it, and I wonder what I’m doing here. The windows are covered in plastic wrapping so it’s impossible to see what’s inside the store. But I see the faint glow of light through a slit in one of the covers. And I feel him waiting for me just inside the store.

  My heart pounds in my chest, and I grip the frame harder with hands that have suddenly gotten sweaty and clammy. I tell myself that there is no way I can feel him standing behind the door. That’s something they say in novels or love songs. Besides, I’m over him already. I’m just here to let him know that and to give him back his painting. I don’t want it. It’s something you give to a lover, and I’m no longer that and don’t want to be. Yeah, I’m getting better at lying to myself. Taking a deep breath, I walk to the door and raise my hand to knock. It opens before my raised fist can descend, and I freeze.

  He’s standing in the doorway, that heartbreaking smile of his on his lips. My knees buckle just slightly, and all the illusions I have built come crashing around me. I’m far from over him. And worse, I’m not sure I want to be.

  “I thought you were going to turn around and leave,” he says, stepping aside and motioning me to come inside.

  I look beyond him. There’s a single light on in the store. At least, I think it’s a store. I’m still not sure what it is or what I’m doing here. All of a sudden, I’m afraid of walking into that darkly lit space with him. Not because I’m scared he’ll hurt me . . . physically. No. I trust him completely. I wouldn’t hesitate to bet my life that he would never, ever harm me. I’m scared that there’s no way I can walk into that room and come out with the wall I have managed to build around my heart in the past few weeks still intact. Hell, just seeing him alone and I can hear the cracks in my defense.

  “Please,” he says.

  I could have resisted the plea if he didn’t follow it with an earnest look that damn near breaks my heart. Taking a deep breath, I hold onto the frame and take a step forward. And another. And another. Until I’m inside the store and hear the clicking sound as he closes the door behind him. We’re in what looks like a small lobby, and even though I can see into the rest of the room, it’s hard to tell what’s inside there because there’s no light in that part. I turn around and face him.

  “You asked me to come,” I say in the most confident and indifferent voice I can muster. “Well, here I am.”

  “You brought the painting with you,” he says instead, staring at the frame I still hold awkwardly in my hand.

  I stare at the frame that’s almost as tall as me and look up at him. “Yes. I don’t think I should accept it. I don’t want a reminder of what we used to have.”

  For a moment, he looks pained by my words, and I instantly regret them. Then he smoothly hides his reaction and smiles again.

  “How about you give me until the end of tonight, and if you still want to return it, okay.”

  I frown. “If you think you can convince me to come back to you, then just forget it. I already told you why you and I is a bad idea, and I haven’t changed my mind about that.”

  “You still think you’re no good for me?”

  Even though he’s throwing my words back at me, it still hurts to hear him say it. So, I look down and nod.

  “Then I’m here to show you that you’re both wrong and right.”

  I look up with a frown. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re wrong when you say that you’re no good for me. I think you’re . . .” He stops and shakes his head. “No, I know you’re perfect for me. No woman has ever made me feel the way you do. No woman has ever made me stop long enough to make me care about anything. Until you.”

  “Stop,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Don’t do this.”

  “You’re wrong when you say you’re no good for me because if it was not for you, I wouldn’t know what it means to be in love. And yes, Katie, I’m in love with you. And I know you’re in love with me.”

  I shake my head. Not denying what he’s saying but rejecting the effect his words are having on that wall around my heart. It’s like he’s taking it down, brick by brick, until he can expose the soft beating organ beneath it yearning for just what he’s offering.

  “Please, don’t do this,” I beg him. “I can’t go through the torture of getting over you again.”

  “And you never have to because I’ll never allow you get over me. It’s only fair since I can’t seem to get over you either.”

  I look up sharply and snort. “Yeah right.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  I look at him carefully. “You don’t seem to have been too beaten up about the breakup. You didn’t call or sent a message. Not even a text to ask if I got home okay. Looks like you got over me pretty quickly.”

  He stares at me incredulously for a few seconds. Then he bursts into laughter. I stare at him, wondering what’s cracking him up like this. When he’s done laughing, he stands straight and looks at me.

  “You think I got over you?”

  I pull the painting close and peer at him over it. “Looks that way to me.”

  “Spent hours in that bathroom, telling myself to ignore everything you said. Couldn’t sleep much for two days after that until I had to accept that you were right. I was just as much a coward as you were.” He moves closer to me. “It meant that if I wanted to convince you to stop being a coward then I had to stop being one too. It’s why I didn’t bother contacting you. I didn’t see the point to it since I wasn’t ready to be with you. I needed to get ready.”

  “And now you’re ready?”

  I must look as confused as I feel, because he chuckles. “I don’t think I’ll ever truly be. But now, I know you can’t throw the coward thing in my face anymore.”

  “What coward thing?” I ask, wondering when I called him a coward.

  He lifts his hand to the switch next to him and turns on all the lights in the room. The whole room becomes bright, and I squint as I turn around to look at what has been hidden in the dark. What I see steals my breath away. It’s an art gallery. Paintings on the wall and some on easels. A few sculptures here and there. The store is even bigger than I assumed it was when I walked in, eyes wide as I stare at the art on display. I can immediately point out Jake’s paintings among the many in the gallery. Finally, I turn to face him.

  “I didn’t mean what I said when I called you a coward. I was just lashing out.”

  He smiles. “Yes, you did. And I needed to hear it.” He turns around and stares at the room in front of him. “It was easy to play the part of the struggling artist, as you called it. Hell, it felt right even. Almost as if the hardship would bleed into the canvas when I painted. The truth is that I was scared of pursuing my dreams because I was scared of failing. A failed artist. That’s normal. Romantic even. A failed gallery owner. That’s different. So even though I had everything I needed to get started, I kept telling myself not yet. I picked this place out last year. Already had the design in my mind. Had the money to start a long time ago. I had everything except the courage to take that step. Until a woman threw it in my face.”

  I want to hide my face. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

  “You didn’t. You made me do something I needed to do. It’s why I said you were both right and wrong. Right when you said I was a coward, but wrong when you said you’re no good for me.”

  I look at the gallery again, amazed by how much he has done and impressed by his drive. And I know that all of it still doesn’t change anything.

  “It’s g
reat you did this,” I say as I turn around to face him. “It still doesn’t mean you and I is a good idea. You don’t know how hard it is to be in a relationship with someone like me. The attention. The stress that comes with it. It’s not healthy for a relationship. In the end, it’ll just turn us into bitter versions of what we used to be.”

  “Now who’s being a coward?”

  The accusation delivered in a soft voice hits closer to home than I’d like.

  “You don’t understand,” I retort, shocked to find out that I’m so close to crying. “I can’t bear to have you hate me. And trust me, you’ll hate me eventually. When the attention becomes too much. When you can’t go out without seeing someone with a camera or have your every move dissected and criticized. You’ll hate me, and I don’t think I can survive that.”

  His hands come around me, and I immediately sink into his arms, fitting in so perfectly it’s like I never left.

  “You need to let me go,” I say, clutching his arms tightly as I look up at him. “Maybe we can be friends.”

  He smiles and nods. “Sure. We’ll be friends. And lovers. And partners. And everything else we need to be to make sure you’re by my side from now until forever. And then a minute more so I can tell you just how much I love you.”

  “I’m supposed to be the poet,” I mumble.

  “I know.” His hands travel up the side of my body until they caress my face. “You’re also in love with me. Stop trying to deny it.”

  “I’m not denying it. I can’t even if I tried to. I don’t think I’m that good a liar. But I know it’s going to end badly, and I’d rather end it now than wait until all the good memories we share are tainted by how bad this can get.”