Despite everything we’ve been through, there’s no hesitation. I run into his arms and he picks me up off the ground and holds me so tight to him that I can barely tell where he ends and I begin. I nuzzle my nose in his neck, smelling him, feeling him. A knot forms in my throat.
“I missed you,” he whispers. “So bad. It’s like you’re the answer. You’re all I needed. I’ve been so fucked up without you.”
This isn’t what I was expecting. He’s ignored me for weeks and now he’s pulling me into the car after hugging me and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. “We’re taking Jessie to her hotel,” I tell him. It’s like he didn’t even notice she was there.
She climbs in next to me, “Is this okay?” she asks.
“Of course,” he says. “Where’re you staying?” He takes my hand in between both of his. He doesn’t feel steady; he’s shaking just as much as I am.
“Hotel Figueroa. It’s near the Staples Center,” she says, as Manny puts the hotel in his phone and starts driving us there.
“So how’s it been on the road?” he asks Jessie.
“It’s been so tiring. How many tours have you done?” she asks.
“I’ve done three nation-wide tours, and one world tour,” he says. Jessie nods her approval.
“I don’t envy you, right now,” she laughs. “It’s been rough. Fun, but rough.”
“Yeah, on all of us,” he says, stiffening in his seat.
It’s stop and go traffic all the way there. Manny pulls up to the Moroccan style building and helps Jessie with her bags. Once alone in the car, the energy between us is bursting and potent. “You look beautiful,” he breathes, touching my cheek where the scratches are nearly healed.
“We need to talk,” I try, and he squeezes my hand.
Looking out of the front windshield, he says, “I know.”
That’s all he says on our way to our rented apartment. He holds me close, breathes me in, and kisses lightly on my neck. It’s like the calm before the storm. I’m shivering and breathing heavy by the time we pull up to the rented apartment and park in the garage.
“We have a lot to talk about, Mia,” he says and his voice trembles a little.
I stare into his green eyes with the one red fleck. “Kolton, you lied to me.”
“We’re not talking about Katharina right now,” he decides, and from the look of pain in his eyes, I’m willing to concede for now. “How about we discuss your little date with Kenny or the fact that you beat the shit out of Kimber Smith,” he spits out, spitefully.
“Or we could talk about the settlements with you backup singer and Kimber Smith,” I reply, matching his accusatory tone. “Neither of which was ever discussed with me.” His eyes hone in on me.
“Did you ever look at Bad Heart’s contract?” he asks. Just another issue between us. Another dagger thrown with regret. I don’t tell him how generous I know his deal actually is. Instead, I feel my lips purse together just before I pull on the door handle, letting myself out of this mountainous disagreement.
As I walk toward the elevator, I feel him behind me like a fuming shadow. All I’d wanted was the truth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The Love
When we walk through the door, Riley and Deloris are both wearing their pajamas and take turns hugging me when I walk in. “Are you hungry?” Deloris asks me, her eyes shifting back and forth between me and Kolton. We must not be hiding our agitation well.
“I ate on the plane,” I explain. “But I can help you clean up.”
“Oh, that’s okay, dear. That part’s done. I could heat you up something, if you want. It’s no trouble. I made meatless lasagna.”
“Can I have some for breakfast?” I ask, and she giggles nervously before fixing her robe.
“Of course.”
“She put pepperoni on top of mine,” Riley adds, yawning.
“Did she now?” I say, tickling her on her sides making her wiggle and cackle.
“You look bigger,” I tell her, running my hands through her blond bangs. She smiles and gives me a big hug. “But it’s late. You need to get some sleep.”
“I know,” she says. “’Night,” she blurts, before running off toward her room.
Manny makes himself scarce after bringing my bags in, and Deloris excuses herself, too.
Now it’s just me and Kolton. He’s leaning against the breakfast bar, his shoulders heavy. He’s looking at me so seriously. It’s like anger and sadness, fear and love. “What have you been doing for the last two weeks?” I ask.
“Writing. I’ve been writing my next album,” he says, his voice hoarse. His eyes tired and dull.
“I haven’t heard a word from you this whole time.” His eyebrows furrow and he walks toward me, his eyes on fire. I brace myself. He takes my hand and walks me down the hallway toward the master bedroom.
He shuts the door, and runs his fingers along my jawline. My legs start to feel like weak rubber bands. I pull in a deep breath. “This won’t change anything,” I say, my voice shaking. “You still have to tell me the truth.”
His hand moves down, resting on the small of my back. He presses into me with this hips, and leans down, capturing my lips with his. It’s soft at first, he’s coaxing me. And when I open to him, he moans deep in his throat.
“Don’t push me away,” he says, up to my mouth before taking my lips again. He’s greedy, but giving. He kisses like a man on fire. He pulls my hands while walking backward and sits on the bed. His hands come up to my stomach, and he pulls my shirt up to taste me with his tongue. He pulls me onto his lap, forcing my skirt up over my hips. It’s like I’m hypnotized.
He stands with me in his arms, adjusting my legs around his waist. I cry out as he presses his erection into the thin fabric separating him from me. He kisses me, deep and slow, making my back arch into the curve of his hand.
When I come up for a breath, he turns around and lies me down on the bed, flat on my back, keeping himself between my legs and swivels his hips—causing me to cry out and whimper. I look up at him; take in the pain on his face. The lines on his forehead crease like worry, and the muscles in his jaw like fury and desire—like pleasure and pain. All I can hope is that this isn’t our last time.
“I need to fuck you,” he breathes out. “Hard.” My heart speeds up and I’m writhing underneath him. “Do you understand? This is for us.” I nod, knowing that this is how he taps into his feelings. This is the best way he knows to show love. He pushes my shirt up over my bra, lifting my breast out of the cup, exposing me. Making me vulnerable.
He’s breathing fast as he unbuttons his jeans. I’m looking down, watching the zipper, and then as he takes his length into his fist.
He rips my thong with one tug and then he’s inside of me. Pushing and pulling. Frantic. He calls out and makes two fists on either side of me. He slams himself inside me, sounding just as deep and hard as it feels. This is exactly what I need. To feel all of him: his anger and mine rip through us. All of the confusion and pain pulls to the surface as I circle my hips and he pulls my leg up over his shoulder.
He’s deeper and it’s as if he’s tapped into relief. I feel it, too. The need to connect. It feels like resentment; it feels like loss and fear. It feels like he’s claiming and earning. Like he’s proving himself, and what we are to each other.
He shudders, as he empties himself inside me, the warmth between us growing roots. It’s like he can focus. He pulls himself out of me, and makes a ritual of removing my clothes, one piece at a time. He behaves as though I’m precious, as though he could break me. I’m shivering with need, panting. He’s dragging out the process.
He touches me everywhere. A shoulder, under my knee, up the inside of my thigh. Tastes me in a line up my abdomen, pulls a taught nipple inside his mouth. I’m moaning a plea but still, he takes his time. He rubs his nose along my wet creases, making a sound of content before tasting me as if I’m a rare vintage.
As I’m imploding in waves of
release, he enters me, drawing it out. Making me clench around him until I let him in again. It’s like he knows my body better than I know myself. I feel the involuntary pulling in. “Yes,” he whispers. “Mia, tell me.”
“I love you,” I admit, feeling his release again as we continue to experience this deep connection.
I shudder and squeeze my legs around his hips. He kisses me and it’s pure. It means something that we can connect in this way again. It’s confirmation that, in my subconscious, I’ve never doubted him. This was his reward.
As our breathing evens out, he pulls out of me. “You haven’t watched it, have you?” he asks and I shake my head.
“I was scared that maybe I wouldn’t understand why you…did what you did. And if I saw it, and I couldn’t talk to you about it, it would hurt too much.”
“I don’t have to ask if you trust me, Mia, because I know you do.”
“Was this a test?” I ask, instantly on edge.
“No. I wasn’t expecting that, but you let me in again,” he says, smiling with a calm relief.
It’s too late. I feel my guard coming up. I’m bracing for him to tell me what happened. I see the moment when he reads my body language and he sits up. “Are you ready?” he asks, something cold taking over his vocal cords. I feel it in the air around us.
A knot forms in my stomach. “I—I’m ready,” I confirm.
He stands and picks up his tablet from the dresser. When he hands it to me, the video is already loaded. “Press play.”
“Why are you giving me this? I don’t want to see it; I want you to tell me.”
“I can’t tell you, Mia. I can’t explain it.”
“What the fuck did you do? Just tell me the truth.”
“What I did, I did because I thought she was going to kill herself.”
“It’s okay, Kole. You can tell me,” I say, because when I see the look of pain on his face, I feel so much sympathy for him. This was about survival. About empathy for someone he once cared for. I know that nothing he says right now has the power to ruin us. He just needs to let it go.
“She had sliced her wrist,” he says. “The fire was getting smaller because the sprinklers were on—it was fire and water. I remember looking at it and thinking those two elements were at war. Isn’t that a weird thought?”
“No, it’s not. I had the same thought when my parents died—about the fire and water.” He swallows, rubs the center of his forehead and runs his hands through his hair. He’s naked and opening to me with his soul. I don’t know how he could be any more vulnerable than he is right now.
“I just have the images that are in my head. I’ve never watched—” he says, motioning toward the tablet, and a tear starts forming in the corner of his eye. I purposely set the tablet on the nightstand and move toward him. I need to let him know I’m here for him.
“She was bleeding,” he whispers. “I was watching it run down her arm and onto the floor, like slow motion. Then the fire was getting put out, but she was begging me to love her. It was heartbreaking. I walked toward her. I was trying to console her, Mia. I did what they said. I—kissed her, I did. Because I wanted to take the knife. I used affection to get what I want. Just like I do with you, like what I did just now. Like what I’ve always done ever since I was twelve years old and I wanted someone to love me.”
I reach for him, putting my arms around him to support him. He’s shaking in my embrace. I can see the glint of tears on his face being highlighted from the lamp on the dresser. I kiss them away, tasting the salt on my lips. Hearing him say it makes it real, but I know he didn’t mean to do it. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Kolton,” I console him. “It was a life or death situation. You didn’t want to die, and you didn’t want her to die, either.”
“She looked up,” he continues, trance-like. “It’s when she saw Devon and Manny. That’s when she cut me the first time. It’s like I didn’t understand that she’d cut me. My arm didn’t even hurt. But I heard Manny tell her to freeze and she had this blank look in her eyes. She chose what was going to happen next. I saw when she decided she was going to die and take me with her.
“She sliced me across the heart, and then she pulled her arm back over her shoulder. She was about to stab me—but I moved out of the way, and then I heard the shot. It was loud and I watched the knife drop. I can still hear the sound of the metal hitting the wooden floor. The way her chest puffed up when the bullet hit her chest. He shot again… and then again. I grabbed her before she fell. I held her, Mia. I said things to her while she was dying. I told her she was beautiful. I told her she was going to a better place. I told her I was sorry I wasn’t a better person.”
I run my hand over his forehead and watch as the crease there is eased out and smooth. “You did nothing wrong, Kole. You did everything you could.”
“Are we okay, Mia?” he asks, his voice strong but his eyes unsure.
“Yes,” I affirm. But then I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and he looks at me questioningly. “I just have one question,” I say. He swallows and waits. “Why did they tell me there was a hostage situation?” He closes his eyes for a moment. His Adam’s apple moves up and down his throat.
“After it happened, he didn’t let them in right away to give her medical care.”
“So that’s why Manny was told he couldn’t leave LA?”
“It’s because of her family. And because the autopsy showed that he shot her four times. They said it was excessive.” His eyes have this far off look, as if he’s reliving it. “He’s been cleared since you’ve been gone. There was no indictment,” he says, as matter of fact.
“You don’t blame him, do you?”
“I don’t blame him at all. He saved my life. I saw it in her eyes. She was going to kill me.” I have to take a second. I rub my eyes.
“Are we okay, Mia?” he asks again.
I look into the doubt residing inside his heart and smile. “The only thing I’m upset about is that you felt like you couldn’t tell me. I wish you could have trusted me. That you would have known that I’m here for you.”
“But if you would have left me—after everything else,” he says, shaking his head and closing his eyes.
“I’m not. I wouldn’t have,” I say, and he pulls me close, and we lie back together on the bed. I take his lips this time, to reassure him of the truth between us, that it’s okay, we’re okay.
While we’re side by side, looking one another in the eye as equals, I kiss him and place my hand over his heart, our lips consoling the worry that has permeated our bodies for all these months. Our sounds move through the air around us as I submit to him, and he to me. My heart squeezes and then expands. I know now that he did nothing wrong. I feel our love all around us, inside us. Everywhere.
The love that envelopes us is the love that heals us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
And the Winner Is…
Waking up in Kolton’s arms—knowing all there is to know—is like a boulder off my chest. And his, too. He’s smiling even before he opens his eyes. He kisses me and then heads to the shower, pulling me along. He washes my hair and I take a washcloth and help him get clean. It’s like the water washes away more than just yesterday. It feels like our relationship is clearer and fresher, too.
I watch him dress as I slip on a summer dress and sweater. He’s wearing dark jeans and another T-shirt. Before we head out to get ready for the EMAs, we walk hand-in-hand into the kitchen and eat a huge breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, and fruit—and bacon for everyone else.
Deloris looks relieved, but Manny even more. Manny is a true hero. I wish there was a way to say that to him now, but I think he’s still dealing with what he’s done. It might not feel like an act of heroism, yet. But I wish that for him very soon.
* * *
We pick up Jessie, and then Kolton surprises both of us with a gown fitting with dresses from several designers like Giorgio Armani, Tom Ford, and Zuhair Murad. I end up choosing a silver dre
ss with a fitted bodice from the spring collection of Versace. Jessie picks a black dress with a low V in the front from Tom Ford’s collection. I like my choice because it hugs my curves, and makes my hips look round at the same time as it makes my waist look small. It shows a little skin without showing too much cleavage. I can’t wait for Kolton to see me.
We sip Shirley Temples since Jessie isn’t twenty-one yet, either, while we wait for our massage. After my muscles are loosened, we both get a salt rub, which is great until she gets my feet—my only ticklish spot. And then we get a Vichy shower—which is odd because we just lie here to be rinsed off instead of going to a stand-up shower. There’s a bag over my hair, and then the lady turns on the multiple shower heads that wash the salt rub down the drains on the table.
It feels amazing.
After we dry off, our bodies are tanned with an airbrush. I laugh at her, because she’s usually really pale. We get make-up and hair. I end up with a smokey eye and nude lip, while she gets dark fringed eyeliner and a red matte lip. She gets a knotted bun, and I get my hair straightened and parted down the middle.
We’re eating salads with our robes on when Kolton knocks on the door. “Oh my God,” I say. He’s wearing a black fitted tuxedo with a crisp white shirt, and a black bow tie. His hair is trimmed and parted in the middle. His beard is groomed and his eyes are lit up.
“What dress did you pick?” he asks.
“It’s a surprise,” I say. “You have to wait for the final reveal.”
“Why don’t I help you into your dress?”
“Not unless you want to make us late,” I scold him. I take a sip of lemon water and rush into the dressing room to put my dress on where he can’t see me. I’m taped into it, so my breasts don’t escape over the top of the bodice. I’m zipped up, and the small alterations have already been made to the cut of the dress so it looks as though I was sewn into it.
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