We still keep our hands down.
I wish you could’ve stayed.
Your music is the only sound.
I miss you every day.
You were so full of life.
I will never forget that day in May.
Friend, I will see you on the other side.
Chris does not hide the fact that he does not care to tattoo all those words on me. “Why don’t you just carry a damn book around with you?”
“Because it has to go with the tattoo.”
“Why don’t we just tattoo the entire fucking Library of Congress down your side?”
“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine on this lovely day?”
“Aren’t you an overachiever?” he retorts. “Why don’t I write it out really pretty for you on a piece of paper, then you can just tape it to your side when you really want it there?”
I sigh at Chris. Fucking artists. “Because I would like it to permanently be on my body, hence my body sitting in your chair in your tattoo shop.”
I catch a slight hint of a smile as he turns his head to dip the needle into the ink. He runs the ink through and then presses the needle into my skin. The first few moments of a tattoo are always the worst. After a while, the incessant burns become more of an aggravation than pain. As he scripts the words closer to my stomach, and away from my ribs, I regret the long-ass verse for a little while. Fuck, that really hurts! Stephanie shows up to work and sits to talk with me. It takes my mind off the needle a little, and I watch Rhys watch her. I think my boy has it bad. Stephanie hasn’t made much eye contact or engaged in much conversation with him, and I know her all too well, and can guess her end game. She is playing coy because she is normally a social butterfly. I quickly wonder if these two have done the nasty.
After my tattoo is done, Rhys takes a picture and sends it to our friends. I purposely leave my wallet in Stephanie’s station out of sight so Rhys will have to retrieve it for me later. I know, I know, I’m playing matchmaker, but I’m curious how long it will take Rhys to return. I will wait until closer to the end of Stephanie’s shift to discover I left it.
I have been home a little over three weeks and am seriously itching to go on tour. I want to stop by my grandfather’s foundation to work with some kids before I leave again. Kathrine does amazing things here, and I’ve made a point to spend more time with the children she supports.
The after school kids greet me as soon as I walk in. Kathrine waves from across the room, and I settle right into playing with the kids. I show them some chords on one of my acoustic guitars, and we practice those for over an hour. Kathrine’s phone rings and her smile drops after she answers the phone, which makes me worry. I hope things are all right with her and Cam. She and my grandfather have recently worked on her schedule so she works seven days one week and then takes the next seven off. Red knows what the lifestyle is like and is so supportive of their relationship. She pulls so many hours in a week. My grandfather has asked her to take more time for herself for the last two years, and I think he is happy to see her finally doing just that. She flies out to see Cam often, and they are doing so well.
I finish up with the kids a couple of hours later, and as the parents are picking them up, I make my way to Kathrine’s office to use her restroom. I take care of business, wash my hands, and when I emerge, I’m hit in the face with the rotating news on her home page. I think I have an out-of-body experience because this can’t be real. I don’t know what to do or say. In big, bold print the headline reads:
JAGGER CARLYLE CAUGHT RED-HANDED LAST NIGHT WITH STRIPPER IN SEATTLE.
This can’t be happening. Jagger wouldn’t do that to me. Would he? Is the distance too much? Fuck, I know better. It’s only been a month, but we talk all day long. We text, Skype, email, and phone. He is constantly letting me know he is thinking of me. I finally get brave enough to click on the headline. The article stated he was at Toy Box, a gentleman’s club, after his show last night in Seattle. Patrons of the club state he spent all evening with one girl. She was either at his table, on his lap, or in a VIP booth with him. He showered her with attention, alcohol, and money. The pictures embedded in the article clearly show it is indeed Jagger. The tattoos give him away. She is on his lap, or her chest is in his face, and it makes me physically ill. He smiles at her the way he does at me. Or is it “did”? The last two pictures open the dam on my tears, and my heart shatters into a million pieces. The first shows Jag leaving the club, and she’s on his arm. The second is taken down at eye level, and Jag is climbing into a black BMW. She’s in the passenger seat, smiling for the camera.
I wonder if he feels guilty. Has he done this before now? Why? Why does he say the things he does to me when he clearly doesn’t really feel that way at all? Am I some kind of prize for him? Did he finally get his hooks in the Guitar Goddess and get bored? I feel like a damn fool.
I grab my car keys and slip out the door while Kathrine is busy on the phone. I just need some air. I can’t breathe in here. Once I turn the ignition over, I realize I don’t know where in the hell I’m going, so I drive with no destination in mind. I try to rationalize all the scenarios that can be one thing but look like another. I can’t come up with anything that makes sense. My heart aches in my chest.
A broken heart is a bitch. There isn’t a damn thing you can do to make it better. There are no medications and no therapies. Only time heals the wounds. Hopefully, with enough time, you don’t end up with a bunch of fucked-up scars. I don’t think I can ever be okay after this. How am I supposed to trust anyone after this? I’ve known Jagger most of my life, and look what he’s done to me. I drive around Macon for about an hour before I realize I left my purse in Kathrine’s office. I need something strong to drink and a carton of cigarettes.
Kathrine’s car is still in the lot when I return, so I let myself in. I immediately see her pacing.
“You’re okay,” she says with a big sigh.
I simply nod because I don’t trust myself to speak. I might start crying, and once that dam opens, all hell might break loose.
“I would’ve taken you wherever you wanted to go. You didn’t have to be alone,” she says with genuine concern.
I nod again, and she closes the distance between us and wraps me in her arms. I can’t cry though. I won’t let the world watch me fall apart. I hug Kathrine back and wonder if Cam would ever do this to her. Cam is such a kind person. I can’t imagine him hurting a fly, much less sweet Kathrine.
Kathrine talks me into a cup of coffee, and I sit at her desk and try to take my mind off my broken heart. I’m still sitting at Kathrine’s desk when Stephanie walks through the office door. I look up at her and right back down to the pictures of Jagger on the computer screen. I’m trying to talk myself into believing they were photoshopped, but I don’t have much luck. I gaze out of the office window, my eyes tired of looking at the screen. The images are burned into my brain by now.
Stephanie hands me a bottle of Crown with the cap already screwed off. “Drink, bitch.”
I follow her orders and turn the bottle up. “Come on, let’s go smoke.”
I follow her and Kathrine outside. The back door leads to a concrete stoop in an alleyway.
I sit down on the stoop and light a cigarette. Stephanie and Kathrine follow suit.
“Jagger wouldn’t do that to you. That man is infatuated with you. Of course, most of the male population on earth is, but that man loves the shit out of you,” Stephanie says.
I don’t know what to say to her; the pictures contradict what she says.
The back door opens, and Samantha strides through in all her grace. She has these big beautiful eyes that can look straight through you. She wastes no time. “I crushed that story a year ago, Hen,” Samantha says.
“What are you saying?” I ask.
“I’m say
ing it didn’t happen last night. It happened over a year ago when they played Seattle.”
“Why is the story coming out now?” I ask.
I’m not entirely sure my brain can stop, turn around, and head in another direction so quickly. I want to believe, but my heart is still checked in Heartbreak Hotel.
“I don’t know. I know those photos aren’t easy to see. The article isn’t easy to read even if it happened a year ago. I would never lie to you. I do work for the band, but I wouldn’t lie to you about this. The next headline you would’ve seen is: PUBLICIST KILLS JAGGER CARLYLE.”
“It... I don’t know.” Words escape me.
“Look, babe, you read the article, you saw the pictures, your heart broke, and you are trying to figure out how to wrap your head around what you thought was the truth. Look at me, please.” I meet her eyes.
“He’s been blowing up your phone for two hours,” Samantha says.
“I think I left my phone here,” I say.
“I’ll get it,” Kathrine says.
I sit in an alley in downtown Macon drinking whiskey as I sort through my phone—fifty-six missed calls, thirty-three text messages, and fourteen voicemails. I scroll through the messages.
Koi:
I need you to pick up the phone.
Look, I know this looks bad, but it isn’t exactly accurate.
Shit, that sounded bad. I need you to call me so I can tell you it isn’t true.
Jagger loves you, Hen. He didn’t do this to you.
Jag is coming to MAC. I will be there too if you need me. I love you, baby girl.
Samantha:
Please pick up your phone.
This is not what it looks like.
I’m on my way from Atlanta. Everything will be okay.
Jagger:
Baby, I love you. Please call me back.
I know this looks bad, Henley, but I did not cheat on you.
Henley, I’m begging you to call me.
I love you. You have to know that. I would never do this to you.
Henley, I’m flying to Georgia if you don’t call me back in the next 15 minutes.
Henley, please.
I’m booking a flight. I will be there as soon as I can. I love you.
If you won’t talk to me, please talk to Koi. I need to know you are okay.
Please call Samantha. She knows what’s going on.
Henley, I love you so much. I can’t bear to live without you. Please don’t leave me.
I’m so worried, baby. Please let someone know you are okay.
I’m on my way to the airport. My flight leaves in an hour. I love you, Henley.
I’m waiting to board. I just wanted you to know I’m really coming. I will be there soon. I love you so much.
I can’t imagine what you are going through right now. I imagine the heartache you feel is crushing. I don’t know if I could stomach seeing you with another man. It would crush me. I wasn’t at a strip club last night. I didn’t cheat on you, baby. I’m dying here. I need to hear your voice. I need to hear you are okay. I need to hear that you believe me.
The plane is taking off in a few. I will see you in Georgia. I hope Sam has time to get this sorted out. I want to spend what little time I have, showing you how much I love you. I love you so much. I always have. It’s only ever been you.
I call Koi after I read through the text messages. “You okay?” he asks, full of worry.
“Yeah. Samantha came to Macon and said it happened over a year ago. She buried the story then.”
“It’s the truth. Jagger was with me all night. We hit the bus right after the show. We were tired as hell. We didn’t even sign autographs last night. The bus pulled out of Seattle at one this morning. That’s only an hour after we came off stage. We played Xbox until six this morning. We lost track of time and went to bed exhausted. Jag and I didn’t wake until five your time. The story broke as soon as we turned on the TV.”
I sigh. My nerves are starting to calm, and my heart is returning to a normal rate.
“Hen, we haven’t been out one night since you were hurt in St. Louis. We usually stay on the bus. We don’t even stay in hotels much anymore.”
“I don’t care if you guys go out,” I say defensively.
“I know you don’t. We just haven’t felt like it. All I’m saying is, nobody on this bus has been anywhere to meet any women this entire leg of the tour,” Koi explains.
“Okay. Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone. I’m at the foundation, and I left the damn thing in my purse.”
“S’okay. You and Jag will be fine, Hen. He really does love you. He wasted little time booking a flight when you wouldn’t answer his texts and calls. He cares. Go pick him up from the airport. If this were me, my girl’s face would be the first damn thing I would want to see when I stepped off that plane.”
“Yeah. I will go get him. Thank you. Love you.”
Samantha and Kathrine wait. “Koi told me everything.”
“Do you want to see the proof?” Samantha asks.
“What proof?”
“I have letters, emails, monetary demands, and the whole attempted blackmail thing if you want to see,” she says.
“Nah. I’m good.” I smile.
I hug them both and thank them for sticking by my side. Kathrine offers to drive my car to the airport on the south side of the county since I’ve been drinking, and Stephanie will follow to bring her back to her own car. Kathrine and I don’t talk much. She turns the music up, and I keep drinking. My heart had a scare, and it’s still raw.
Sam says Jag’s flight left Portland over three hours ago. I will have to wait an hour or so for him. I hug them, and they leave me to my own devices. I decide to listen to the voicemails. Surprisingly, most of them are from Koi and Samantha. They beg me to call them over and over again.
Jagger left one. “I don’t even know where to begin. Since you won’t answer my texts or calls, I’m assuming you’ve seen the story. I hoped to get Samantha to you before you found out. It wasn’t the way you should’ve found out. The stripper broke the story fourteen months ago. I was with her that night, but I didn’t sleep with her. I told you, Hen, I could always find something wrong with them. I wasn’t nearly drunk enough to go through with it that night. I had a hotel limo take her home. She was so angry at me because she felt rejected. I told her that my heart belonged to someone else, so she slapped me in the face and took off in the limo. Two days later, Sam calls and says the girl has pictures of us in the club and then of us leaving together. She wanted money. Sam did what only she can do and buried the story. I spoke to Samantha off and on all afternoon today. She still doesn’t know why the story was dug up after all this time, but she is trying to get to the bottom of it. Anyhow, my plane is about to take off. I’m coming to you, Henley. I’m dying right now, not knowing if you are okay if we are okay...” He sighs and remains silent for a while, only his breath audible. “I don’t know how to live without you. Please don’t leave me. I love you,” he chokes out and hangs up the phone.
Tears stream down my face. I love Jagger. I hate this happened. There is no one to blame, it just happened. It’s a price the rich and famous have to pay for being on top of the world. When you sign up for the R&F club, they take a piece of your soul away. It’s almost as if signing on the dotted line makes you a demigod. We are no longer looked at as mortal humans. We are toys, and so people play with our lives.
JAGGER’S JET FINALLY lands, and my heart kicks into high gear again. My car is parked in the hangar on the private runway. I open the passenger door and walk to the hood to sit. Once the small jet comes to a complete stop, the steps are lowered. I see Jagger take the steps with his shoulders slouching as if he carries the entire world on them at this
moment. He looks in my direction but doesn’t see me. He looks so defeated. I walk toward him, but he doesn’t see me for a few minutes. I finally call out his name, and he looks up, startled. He has tears in his eyes, so I run to him, jump, and wrap my arms around his neck and legs around his waist. He holds me so tight, and I squeeze back. I begin to cry, and I can hear him sniffle. Today, we both almost lost each other. That isn’t taken lightly, and the fear doesn’t subside with the truth. Today, we are reminded that we are indeed mortal, but we are also toys, and people can fuck with our lives whenever they wish, with no regard for our well-being.
“Fuck, I got to you as fast as I could,” he says with a raspy voice.
“I’m fine,” I say back.
“Please don’t ever leave me,” he says.
“Please don’t ever hurt me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. You have always been the woman I wanted to fall in love with and marry. I want to live my entire life with you. I would never hurt you,” he says.
WHEN WE ARRIVE at my house, we hold each other tight. We don’t speak, we just hold each other. We don’t even make love. I’m so afraid to let him go.
When I awake this morning, he is leaning up on one arm, watching me.
“What?” I groan.
“You are not a morning person.”
“You are just now getting that?” I ask.
“I think it’s cute.”
“Cute?”
“Yup. I have missed you so much, Hen. I miss waking up with you in the mornings. I miss hearing Kip hit on you. I miss your brother rolling his eyes at us. Life on tour has been shit without you there. Please come back with me today,” he pleads.
“Okay.”
I immediately agree because I miss all of those things too. I miss the smell of Jagger and his morning coffee and cigarette, but I miss our connection. The world seems to be a bit off its axis when I can’t breathe the same air as he does.
I pack quickly as Jag makes plans to take a private jet back to Portland. I call my parents and text my friends to let them know where I’m headed. We are at the airport by twelve, and we will land in plenty of time for him to make the gig. We cuddle on the plane and watch a movie. As soon as we land, I turn my phone on, and a text from Jessica waits for me:
Broken (The Guitar Face Series Book 1) Page 18
