by V. F. Mason
“Drake, what happened that night? I just remember the bar and nothing else.”
“Since you want a divorce, I think it’s for the best you don’t remember.” Before I could say anything, he continued, “I will give you a divorce. Believe it or not, I have no desire to be wed to an unwilling wife. But I’ll give it to you only when you come see me. No meeting, no divorce.” With those final words, he hung up on me.
He was so difficult I wanted to scream in frustration.
The band was on break for a few months before rehearsing for a few concerts and creating a new album. It was a good time for me to fix this problem and forget it ever happened.
Not that it was easy. Far from it, actually.
My body that had gone twenty-one years without sex suddenly wanted it and needed it all the freaking time. When I remembered our time together, I found it hard not to indulge in self-pleasure as I imagined him in my fantasies. However, my imagination and vibrator didn’t even come close to Drake and his body.
I was pathetic really, because my body wanted Drake. I could still hear his voice, remember his body, how it felt against mine. The sensations he stirred in me, the heated desire that ran through my veins.
And the memories always made me hot, and I was powerless to stop it.
“You okay?” Suddenly, Jeremy appeared in front of me out of nowhere, and I almost felt guilty for my thoughts. But why, I had no idea. He looked as good as ever, but it was different. I didn't react to him as much. I didn't feel like listening to his every word or watching him from a distance.
He didn't occupy my thoughts at all, and I wasn’t hurt watching him with Sam, not really.
Which freaked me out, to be honest.
I forced a smile on my face and nodded.
“Yes, everything’s good.” He sat next to me on the bench. We were at the barbecue Nick and Megan were hosting at her parents’ summerhouse. I had taken some time to sit alone to call Drake.
“Ever since Vegas, you’ve been acting weird. Did something happen that I should know?” Although he treated us like his little sisters, as our manager, he needed to know this information as well. He wanted to be ready for any kind of scandal, and boy, it would be one.
But I couldn’t tell him, and I knew Drake wouldn't make it public. He didn’t need the publicity either.
Drake Jackson, of the owners of the New York hotel chain Jacksons. His family was wealthy beyond measure, and his half-brother Ryan was best friends with Nick and Jeremy, and Bella’s first experience in sex.
Small world, really.
Genius child, excellent psychologist, bike racer.
All those things I had to find out on the internet and some snooping here and there, so no one would think anything about it.
I knew Drake’s family wasn’t friends with Ryan, due to the family scandal a few years ago. Their dad had been engaged to Drake’s mom when he fell in love with Ryan’s mom. Their dad had wanted to break the engagement, but his fiancée was pregnant with Drake, so he chose to marry her. Drake’s dad had no idea he fathered another child at the same time until fifteen years later, when he found Ryan and accepted him.
Yeah, it was understandable how there could be animosity between them.
The last thing I expected was this, and Drake probably was surprised himself when my identity became known.
Not that he made a comment about it. Not once.
“Okay then. But you know that no matter what, you can always come to me, right?” Jeremy took my chin into his hand, looked me straight in the eyes, and gave me a soft look.
Two weeks ago, that would have been the highlight of my day or week, having him close and touching me like that.
Now?
I was uncomfortable. I felt guilty as Drake’s face came to mind, and I shook my head to remove the vision.
“I know, Jer.” He smiled, and with one last pinch on my nose, he stood up and left. I caught sight of Sam, who had been watching us carefully while sipping her drink, but I couldn’t figure out her expression.
She wasn't happy…that was for sure.
I needed to tell her she was free from the stupid promise I asked of her when I was drunk. It had been a bitch move, and I had been desperate and thought she didn't want him.
She did; it was clear as day.
I glanced back at my phone and tried to think of a way to deal with Drake.
Drake
Hanging up on her was childish move, but after her words, it had been hard to resist. I couldn't believe she was putting the blame on me. She wanted to know the truth, but I wouldn't give it to her.
It didn't matter anymore. She wanted an out, but as I said, she wouldn't get it without coming to see me first.
I was sure she didn’t want any scandal. The last thing she needed was that kind publicity.
The comment on the note she left finally made sense. It took me two days to figure out why.
Jane Armstrong, drummer for Hard World, one of the best rock bands of our generation, according to critics. They had already won several Grammies and reached platinum album status. Their level of success was unusual, considering their age and that they hadn’t been in the industry very long.
I had taken a lot of time to study various magazines, websites, and their concerts. She was magnificent when she played. No wonder she was so enchanted with the piano player in the bar.
I found the band members shared a great bond among themselves, but Jane always tried to stay in the background. The magazine spreads, which referred to her as ‘the plain Jane of the group’ didn't fit and made me see red. I wanted to hit all those fucking fools. She was the fucking diamond among them, and anyone who couldn't see it was a blind fool.
She also had a sort of connection to Ryan, which didn’t make me happy exactly. I didn’t have anything against him, but we didn't share any brotherly bond.
I think that ship sailed a long time ago.
Those two weeks without her were torture. It was impossible not to jack off in the shower at the thought of her and our time. I tried to forget myself in work, but it didn’t help.
I was hurt that she didn't even want to give us a chance, but I couldn't force a woman to love me, or want me, for that matter.
She had to come see me. I had to make certain she felt nothing before I let her go.
Until she did that, I would hold on to her.
No matter what.
Three months after Las Vegas
Drake
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, sweetie, I was about to call you!” she shouted in my ear excitedly.
“Sorry, I’ve been difficult to reach lately.”
“It’s okay, sweetie, but I wanted to talk to you about your job.”
I leaned back in my office chair and frowned at her words. “What about it?”
“Honey, although you’re a psychologist, it doesn’t change the fact it’s not all you do.”
“Meaning?”
“You refused to be CEO of Jackson’s Hotels. I didn't see that coming.” Well, news traveled fast.
“And you are happy about it?” If anything, I expected her to bite my head off for this. The heir was always supposed to be the CEO. I would have taken it gladly, if my dad hadn’t fathered another son by another woman.
“Of course!” Then her voice lowered. “It was never something you wanted to do. It’s good you’ve stepped out to give Ryan his place.” My hands fisted of their own accord at the mention of my half-brother’s name. Technically, he was younger than I was by two months, but still.
Needless to say, we didn’t get along, and not once in the last ten years since the truth was discovered, had we talked.
Neither of us wanted to hang out with the other, period.
Our dad tried. All those family gatherings where one of us showed up ‘accidentally,’ but it never worked. He gave up on the idea around our twenty-first birthdays.
“Yeah, good for Ryan.”
“He knows what to d
o and he likes it. At the same time, you still have shares, can invest in the clinic, and work in your chosen field. Your dad obviously isn't happy, but then, I don’t really give a crap what Donald cares about.” She laughed, and it finally dawned on me that she talked about dad without bitterness in her voice.
What changed?
“Mom.” I hadn’t been sure it was the best time to start the conversation, but she was my mom, and I was going fucking crazy. I needed to talk to someone.
“What, honey?”
“Were you in love with Dad?”
The only response I got was silence, but I could still hear her breathing, so it meant she didn't hang up on me.
“Well, I—” She cleared her throat. “That was an unexpected question. I was, yes, like crazy actually.” She chuckled, but pain was in the sound and it tugged at my heart. “He never loved me, though, Drake, and as much as he tried to make things work for your sake…he couldn’t. He never shouted at me, disrespected me, or cheated on me.” She paused. “At least during our marriage. But subconsciously, I always knew he didn’t love me. He had those quiet moments where he would sit and look into space, and I understood he was far away from me. It usually took several times to call his name before he snapped out of it. Now I know that he thought about her.”
Her voice hitched, but she continued, “So when the truth came to light, he couldn't take it anymore, and well, now, I understand why. At the time, I was very angry, but since I met Tom…I understand real love.” Mom remarried a few years ago to a real estate agent, Tom, who was several years younger than she was, but they were madly, deeply in love.
I was glad my mom had it.
“Thanks, Mom. Sorry if I brought up some unpleasant memories.”
“Honey…who is she?”
Her words made me freeze and I sat up straight. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You never asked about love before, and you’re my son. You’re in love, honey, and I couldn't be happier,” she whispered softly, but for some reason, I hated her words.
“She doesn’t love me, Mom. She loves someone else.” It was hard not to be bitter about it, and wasn't it ironic? I was my mother in this equation, someone Jane just didn't love.
“Is she married?” Now my mom’s voice was angry, like a mama bear defending her cub, and it brought a smile to my face.
“She’s married to me.”
“She’s what?!” I had to take my phone away from my ear, because she screamed so loud. “You got married and didn’t think to call me, or invite me, for that matter? And since she is your wife, why isn't she in love with you?”
If only I had good answers for her. “Because it was a Vegas wedding, Mom. She wants nothing to do with me.”
“Fix it then,” she said firmly, and I laughed.
“How the hell am I’m supposed to fix it? I won’t give her a divorce unless she will see me again, and she doesn’t allow me any other contact.”
“Men are truly stupid,” she groaned. “Even you, who is supposed to know the human mind perfectly, are clueless about women. Honey, blackmailing her and withholding her freedom from her won’t get you the result you want.”
“I’m trying to make her come see me. It’s not blackmail. I’m asking for a chance here.” Mom was painting an unhealthy image of me.
“Really? Did you give her any other choice?”
“I’m desperate here, Mom.” And why the hell did it sound like I was apologizing for my behavior? I did nothing wrong.
“Then woo her,” she said excitedly.
“Woo her?”
“Yes, send her flowers, chocolates; try to get her attention by showing her respect. Honey, you do know how to woo a woman, right?”
How the hell was I supposed to know that? I never dated much just for the sake of dating, and the last time I bought someone flowers was for prom night.
But Mom was right. The woman needed to be wooed, and that’s what I would do.
“You’re a genius, Mom. Love you.”
She laughed. “I know I am. Just let me meet my new daughter-in-law once you do that, okay?”
“If she’ll have me.”
“I’m sure she will,” she said softly.
I wanted to share her confidence.
Six months after Las Vegas
Jane
The doorbell rang so loudly my ears hurt, so ignoring it was impossible. I groaned into the pillow and wished whoever was there would just give up, but they still rang. I glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and noticed it was eight in the morning.
I would fucking kill whoever it was. I swear!
Pushing my covers aside, I put my feet on the soft carpet, went to the door, and opened it swiftly, not caring I was only in a t-shirt and pajama shorts.
“What?” I growled, making the guy on the other side of the door jump. He was holding a big bouquet of roses and a box. His facial expression was terrified, as it should be. “You don’t have any other delivery time?” Every damn morning, he came to my door and rang the bell at this hour.
“I’m sorry; the request for delivery is always for the morning,” he said apologetically, and then pushed a notepad in my hand. “Could you please sign here?” With a frustrated sigh, I took the pen, signed it, and gave it back to him, and without another word, I took the box and flowers, and slammed the door in his face.
I had been rude, but whatever. Who the hell wakes people up at this hour? And it wasn't as if he needed the tips; apparently, they had been covered already by the person who sent all this to me. I took the flowers and put them in a vase, which was full already. My whole apartment had smelled like a freaking flower shop for the last three months, and I had almost no place to move.
Unlike my friends, I didn't want to live in the penthouse. I figured it was too big for me alone. So I chose an apartment on the twentieth floor, which opened onto a great view of New York and was thirty minutes away from our studio. It had two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and two bathrooms. Nothing was inside the apartment except flowers, a closet full of clothes, and a bed with a nightstand in my room. I had never had time to put everything in place, but since I bought it almost two years ago, I figured I should probably hire some designers or simply ask Mom for help.
I opened the box with a tug, and inside I found a box of chocolates (another one) and CD of a Queen’s concert. How he knew they were one of my favorite bands, I had no clue. After putting it all back inside, I took the box to the spare bedroom where I kept them all, so no one would see them.
I padded back to my bed and stared up at the ceiling. The AC made me have goose bumps, and I wondered when he would stop.
Drake sent me all these gifts, refused to give me a divorce, but kept asking for one meeting. The part of me that was a hopeless romantic found the gestures beautiful and amusing, but the other part, the one that wanted to put this whole thing behind me, was annoyed with him and had the deep need to smack him for it.
The card on the flowers always said the same thing.
Have a good day, beautiful.
Drake
He was persistent; I would give him that.
On impulse, I grabbed my phone, and without thinking, quickly wrote what was on my mind.
In a minute, my phone beeped.
Why? Why had my stupid heart decided to start beating faster right then?
I couldn't answer his question. I wasn't sure I even wanted to know the answer to that question. Somehow, the idea of seeing him then signing the papers seemed too hard for me to do; it seemed impossible.
There wasn’t much else to say, so I turned off my phone, tossed it on the carpet, and covered myself with the blanket from head to toe.
Like this could hide me from Drake and his presence.
Nine months after Las Vegas
Jane
Nothing was more beautiful than a Christmas tree with tons of presents under it, in my opinion. The huge-ass tree was standing in the middle of the room at my parents’ penthouse on the Upper East Side. The tip with a bright yellow star almost reached the ceiling. The heavy branches were decorated with different Christmas balls. Toys and big boxes of gifts were hidden under it.
Mom and Dad had a thing for gifts. Even though Ben and I stopped believing in Santa long ago, they still signed them ‘from Santa.’ We indulged their decision, but Ben kept on rolling his eyes and laughing with me when they couldn't see.
We were sitting at the table, and he was putting mashed potatoes on my plate at the same time talking about his new thing. Mom went all out during holidays. We had enough food to feed an army. On the table was a big plate of Veggie Arrosto Misto, brussels with hustle, rice with salmon, Christmas roast, a Christmas turkey, mashed potatoes, and French fries (because Ben begged), Christmas casseroles, and some more stuff I neither recognized nor tried. I knew there was dessert too, but Mom always kept it a big secret until it was time for a cup of tea with something sweet.
My phone vibrated, and I checked it with a smile on my face.
Okay, what the hell possessed me to write that to him? But I had zero regrets, and I got all giddy inside. The image of me kissing any part of Drake’s body made me all hot inside and my cheeks burn.
