by Mandi Beck
With raised eyebrows I look over at Law. “I’m down for whatever, bro. You know me.”
“See how easy that was, Judge?” I smirk. “You just leave the music to the professionals.”
He flips me the bird and then sighs heavily. “You guys are a pain in my fucking ass.”
“We can’t just let him have her, Judge. He didn’t just take Willow away from Stone, he took her away from us too. Fuck that French prick,” Arrow curses. He’s usually the laidback lover-not-fighter type. To see him so riled up is almost funny.
“Nobody is taking anyone. She’s not his hostage, Ro,” Judge reminds him.
“Whatever. It’ll still be fun to fuck with him, and playing any of the new stuff is bound to piss him off.” I take a drag from my smoke. He’s so damn right. It might also piss Willow off, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Over and over again. I’ve never fought fair or played by the rules in my life. I’m not about to start now.
Law chuckles. “When the hell did you become so mean?”
“I’ve been hanging around with you assholes too long,” Ro answers, shrugging.
“Now that that’s settled, anything else you want to throw at us?” I ask Judge who still doesn’t look happy about the plan for the award show.
“The label wants to know why Koa isn’t here with you and why you left Dane in Austin,” he answers calmly.
“And what did you tell them?” I’m not quite as calm. It’s none of their business what the fuck I do and who I have with me.
“I told them that who you have with you and when isn’t their concern,” Judge tells me. Not even batting an eye.
“Good.” He’s not finished.
“That’s what I told them, now I’m asking for me.”
Law shifts in his seat and Ro clears his throat. Both waiting for me to lose my shit.
“Because I don’t need them here,” I answer flatly.
“You don’t need your sobriety coach or your bodyguard? The band’s bodyguard?”
“No, bro, I don’t. I’ve been fine without Koa here. You or Law go to meetings with me if I feel off, and these Canadians don’t care who the fuck we are. It’s not the same as the States,” I try to reassure him. When he just stands staring at me, much the way he’s been doing all damn day, I raise my hands in question. “Do you want me to call Dane, see how soon he can fly here? Will that make you feel better?” I ask sarcastically.
“Yes, actually it would, asshole,” Judge says. “Now that you’re living here, you’ll create more of a buzz. I think we need him here. You need him here. Especially if you’re going to be spending time with Lyric.”
He should’ve just led with that. All he had to do was mention her name. Pulling out my phone I shoot a text to Dane. He’s been our bodyguard since high school. He followed us to all our gigs without us even asking, just a solid, scary as fuck presence.
Me: Get here
Dane: See you tomorrow
Me: Pack your long johns
Dane: You’ll keep me warm
Me: Damn right
“He’ll be here tomorrow.” I grin and slide my phone onto the table.
Ro and Law snicker at our standoff. Before I can bust his nuts anymore, the doorbell rings.
“Who knows where you live?” Judge asks suspiciously.
“Just you guys. Who the fuck am I gonna tell?”
While Judge and I stare each other down, Law goes and answers the door.
Moments later Law comes back with our visitor, a smile on his face. Shit’s about to hit the fan, and if I didn’t know better—which I do—Law is excited about it.
Joaquin steps from behind Law, and I can see that there’s something new in his eyes today that wasn't there before. Malice and hate. For me.
“Well, well, well. To what do I owe this honor?” I ask jovially, kicking back on two legs of the chair and lighting another cigarette. He doesn't say anything at first, just watches me watch him through the haze of my smoke. The guys all sitting, watching this play out, letting me handle him.
“Why don't you do us all a favor and just go back to wherever you came from,” Joaquin bites out. Cutting right to the chase. “Do Willow a favor and leave. You've put her through enough already. And I'm sure your friends would like to go home,” he says, glowering down at me. Letting the chair legs slam down, I stand.
“You don't know shit about shit. I'm here for my girl, and I'm not leaving.”
“You're not wanted here, Stone. She’s not going to just come running back to you. You lost her loyalty long ago.” His stupid fucking accent grates on my nerves, the words even more so, and I snap.
“She’s my girl!” I yell, jaw clenched and pulse in my neck throbbing. Joaquin grins lazily, goading me with a shrug.
“That's your first mistake. You call her 'your girl' all you want because she's not that young, naïve, faithful to a fault girl anymore. She's a woman. My woman. And you need to accept that.”
“The fuck I will.” I stand exhaling in his direction, hoping he can't see the tremble of my hands from the need to beat the shit out of him. “She’s your woman? That’s cute. Has she ever sung for you? In the middle of the night, sitting there, naked, singing like a damn angel in the moonlight. Voice so pretty it’ll make your dick hard.” I smirk at the tightening in his jaw. “I’m guessing that's a no. Come talk to me when she has. Until you've met that Willow, you don't know her and she's not yours.” Pointing my cigarette at him, I narrow my eyes. “Those are my memories. The Willow I've had the privilege to know and experience. That side of her belongs to me. Without that you only have pieces of her. I'm the glue that puts all her pieces together. All of those beautiful broken pieces are mine to fix. You're just a bystander. Wishing and hoping he had the same bond that we do.” Taking a slow, calming drag from my cigarette, I blow the smoke from my nose before releasing the rest in a gray stream from the corner of my already upturned mouth. “You can never be me, and therefore Willow can never be yours,” I inform him matter-of-factly. Joaquin's breathing is labored, his fists clenched. My own muscles are bunched in anticipation. When he spits at my feet, and says something snidely in French, I have to put an arm out to stop Law from taking his ass to task. “Nah, leave him, Lawson. The truth hurts like a motherfucker sometimes. Doesn't it, Joaquin?”
“The truth is you're a recovering addict who fucked up the best thing in your life and now you're panicking because she’s moved on.” He takes a step closer. “You don't scare me, rock star. It won't be long before you tire of being sober or waiting for something that will never happen. Willow isn't coming back.”
“Willow’s my rhythm. You don't know nothing about that though,” I taunt. “And what's a rock star without rhythm, Joaquin? He’s a man with no soul. Soulless, reckless, and a little desperate. None of that bodes well for you.” I flick my cigarette, sending it flying past his face and into the pot in the corner. Smirking when he takes a step back. “Don't get too comfortable—my stamina is beast. I'll just keep coming at you over and over. I've got no soul and no shame. I'll run your ass out and not lose a bit of sleep over it.” Winking at him I lean forward and say in a not-so-quiet whisper, “Ask Wills to tell you all about my stamina. She's got stories for days.” The last is called after his retreating back and the brutal slam of the front door.
“Well, that went well,” Judge says from behind me. I snort out a laugh. Smart ass.
“I’m not sure who you're trying to torture with that memory lane shit. You or Joaquin, bro,” Arrow jokes, slapping me on the shoulder and then elbowing Law. “And look at you about to throw down defending his honor. It was so fucking romantic I nearly swooned.” I say nothing and light another cigarette. Chain smoking because I need an outlet.
“He's got balls coming here,” Law sneers. He’s still clearly heated over the exchange.
“Speaking of that shit, how in the fuck did he find out where I live so quick?” I turn, asking Judge.
“You guys are with the same l
abel, Stone. They have this address now. My bet is he had someone ask somebody at the label.”
“Makes sense. Think he'll be back?” I question, plucking at my bottom lip, almost hopeful.
“No. I'm pretty sure he's all done welcoming you to his country,” Judge says, causing us all to snicker.
“I thought Canada was known for its hospitality and shit. If he's the welcoming committee, I need to talk to someone.”
“How about we just concentrate on finding a studio until we can get someone here to build one, huh?” Judge shakes his head. “Make my job easy for once, Stone.”
“Where’s the fun in that, Judge?” Law asks, a grin taking up his whole face.
“Fuck you, Lawson. You guys are a pain in my ass and don’t pay me nearly enough to put up with your shit.”
“You love us, Judge. Don’t front,” I taunt. The confrontation with Joaquin has left me on edge but being with these guys helps so much. Helps me keep my focus, stay grounded. I’m not about to stroke their cocks and tell them that though. As I’m thinking about that, a thought occurs to me. A brilliant fucking thought.
“There’s a studio at The Dirty Bird. A top of the line studio.”
Judge raises his eyebrows. “You wanna call Bear or should I.”
Pulling out my phone, I grin. “Nah, I’ll call him. Just so you know, we’ll probably have to pay him double.”
“I’m thinking at least triple,” Arrow chimes in.
“You’re right. He fucking hates me. Triple it is.”
Willow
WALKING THE RED CARPET AGAIN is both exciting and nerve wracking. I never got used to it the many times I made the glamorous trek with Stone, and now I feel like I’m sneaking onto it. Me, on another man’s arm. Part of me feels wrong and the other part is screaming at me to knock it off. I’ve been without Stone for almost two years now. The last few months of that time with JD. I don’t owe Stone anything, but I owe it to JD to be present tonight. It’s important to him.
I grit my teeth and force a smile when I overhear announcers from one of the magazines talking about us. They stand, talking animatedly into the camera from their location a few feet away as they wait for us to make our way over. Pretending that I don’t hear them, I hold my head high. When Joaquin tenses his fingers around mine, I’m certain that he’s heard them. That very silly thought about me being disloyal to Stone is made even more real in that moment as the two gossips keep talking.
“Joaquin Danjou is on the red carpet tonight with Willow Avery. The last time we saw Willow here, she was with Stone Lockhart, Wrecked front man and her long time boyfriend, who oddly enough is here tonight as well. It might turn into a more interesting show than we expected since both men are nominated for awards and are set to perform.”
As we approach the duo, Joaquin kisses my temple and bends to my ear. “Smile, chèrie. Don’t let them see you crack, we’ll be inside soon.” I look up at him, nodding. It’s not fair to him that they keep bringing Stone into our relationship. I didn’t want to come tonight because of this very reason, but how could I say no to him? He asks me for nothing and gives me everything. I owe him my support. I want him to know I’m here. For him. Doing as he says, I smile prettily at the pair waiting for us and clutch at his arm just a little tighter.
Finally, we make it to the end of the line and are posing for our last picture when a ruckus of cheering and screaming has me turning my head to see what the commotion is. It’s then that I see him. Stone. Our eyes meet when he pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head, his grays pinning me to the spot. His white dress shirt is tucked into his black jeans, sleeves rolled to his elbows, letting his ink add to the dangerously sexy picture he paints. All paired with a black vest and tie. Still letting me look my fill, his gaze flicks to Joaquin standing beside me and then down to our joined hands before meeting my stare again. Stone places a tattooed hand over his heart as if to tell me I wound him. It’s the only move he makes as people bustle by. Swirling skirts and camera flashes and still we don’t look away. Without taking his eyes from me or removing the hand from over his heart, he reaches back into the limo and one by one I see canary yellow Manolos hit the pavement. Slim, endless legs following. I feel a familiar pang. Just like every time before when I’d catch him with someone who wasn’t me. So deep and true it's piercing. But what right do I have? None. I'm here with another man, and Stone . . . Stone is here with another woman. The moment is broken when Joaquin’s voice breaks through the tempestuous fog I find myself in.
“You okay, beautiful?”
Quickly turning my attention to him I nod. “Yes. Just blinded by all the flashes and trying not to melt in this dress,” I lie with a heavy heart. When will Stone ever not affect me? When will he ever not hurt me? When? When will I stop allowing it?
“Let’s get you inside then,” JD says, placing a hand to the small of my back and guiding me forward and away from Stone and his date.
Awkward is sitting in a theater filled to capacity with the world’s most talented musicians while your new beau sits on stage, spotlighted in a halo of light singing his heart out, crooning a song that you wrote about another man sitting in that very same theater. Knowing that Stone knows that I wrote this song and that I wrote it about him has my emotions in a riot. My insides nothing but chaos and despair when I should be happy and proud.
Awkward is not tearing your gaze from the beautiful man standing before you, eyes closed as he makes love to your words because you’re afraid of who you’ll seek out.
Awkward is loving the wrong man but hating him almost as much, all while adoring the right one.
When it’s time for Stone’s performance, I use the excuse of checking on Lyric to get out of there. There’s no way that I can sit next to Joaquin for that. I’ve heard the song and know that it’s about me and about his fight to get me back now that he’s sober. I was moved beyond words when JD played my song. But Stone’s music invades my soul. It always has, and I refuse to allow it to tonight. Joaquin is no fool—he knows why I left at that particular moment, and gentleman that he is, he let me with nothing more than a smile and a soft kiss to my temple.
Once I’ve called Bear and Cora to see how Lyric is and am reassured no less than ten times that she’s doing fine, I go to the ladies’ room and pretend like I’m not killing time. Finally, sure that it’s safe to go back into the theater, I make my way to my seat next to Joaquin. They’re just getting ready to announce Best Duet, which means that one of the categories he’s nominated for tonight is next. He smiles at me and takes my hand, giving it a squeeze reassuringly. Moments later, neither of us speaks as his name is called and the cameras pan over to gauge his reaction. I hold my breath and pray that he wins, and then I pray again that he doesn’t. I hate that I do, but it all comes back to Stone. The magical moments that I shared with him. The pride would absolutely consume me. Bring me to tears. I never for one second thought that I would share that feeling with someone else or be expected to. All while Stone’s in the same place at the same time. I want so badly to look around, find him in the crowd. Make a connection even if it’s just a glance. Not for him, for me. I don’t even realize that JD’s name has been called until he stands and pulls me up with him. He leans in while the room around us erupts in applause and kisses me on each cheek before placing his lips over mine. I can taste the excitement in his kiss, and it sends a ping to my heart, which is quickly followed by a pang. What if Stone is witness to this moment? Yet another one I've shared with him on more than one occasion. I loathe myself for being so preoccupied with Stone tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s here with someone else. That should make me feel less guilty about being here with Joaquin, but it doesn’t. JD releases me and smiles before heading for the stage and bounding up the stairs. Taking his award, he waves and dips his head humbly and then starts speaking in his beautiful, accented voice.
“This isn't the first award that I've won, but this one holds special meaning. It's this song that b
rought a very special woman into my life and her music to my soul.” I smile through the tears as he lifts the award in my direction and then continues on with his thank yous. His happiness is infectious, overshadowing my guilt in that moment.
About twenty minutes later, I’m reminded once again about what awkward is when Wrecked wins for Rock Group of the Year and the whole band goes up on stage. They let Stone go first and step back after they’ve accepted their statuettes, waiting for him to speak. When he doesn't, Lawson leans into the mic and thanks everyone from the label on their behalf, Judge, everyone who makes it all happen, the usual. Ro does the same and I can't help the small smile that touches my lips. I'm happy for them. I miss them all so much. They come and see me, but it’s not the same. Ro takes a step back and nudges a still reluctant Stone. When he finally does stand at the podium I swear he looks right at me. It’s not possible, but it doesn't squash the feeling.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Everyone they thanked, the fans who make this all possible, but above all else, Willow. She’s the rhythm, I’m just the man behind it.” He raises his award in thanks and saunters off the stage, the melancholy of the moment following him just as my eyes do. I want to go and hug him. Congratulate him and tell him not to look so damn sad. But how can I when I’m just as sad? Sad that I have no right to do any of that with Stone, even though the man sitting next to me, allowing me this moment, just won an award for a song I wrote and I got to do all of that with him.
Tearing my gaze away from Stone, I glance over to find Joaquin watching me, melancholy of his own clouding his eyes. I do my best to smile reassuringly at him, and he lets me lie to him and myself.
Willow
TWO WEEKS AFTER THE AWARD show I’m just starting to find my groove again. I accept that Stone is dating someone else, and I’ve convinced myself that I’m finally ready to move forward. The fact that he’s been gone for most of these two weeks is not lost on me and my newfound confidence and my strength when it comes to Stone.
