The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood Book 2)

by Nikki Sloane

  Did I want to give up?

  My thoughts were a mess, and when I didn’t respond immediately, he withdrew like I’d slapped him. Surprise and hurt painted his expression, and the temperature in the car plummeted twenty degrees.

  “You know what?” he snapped. “I’m tired and kind of hungover, so maybe you should go before I say something I don’t mean.”

  “Look, I don’t know what I’m feeling. Everything with us happened so fast and it . . . scares me.”

  “I got it.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, and it was as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “There’s an umbrella in the glove compartment if you want it.”

  He’d all but told me to get the hell out of his car. It was even more clear when he started his engine.

  I wasn’t one to overstay my welcome, so I shoved open the door and stepped out into the pouring rain. I’d never felt so lost as when I turned back to look at him.

  He had to shout it over the storm. “She said you’d give up on me as soon as the going got tough. Like you always do.”

  Was he talking about his mother? My mouth hung open as the cold rain pelted down on me, making me numb.

  “Don’t prove her right, Erika.”

  Then he put his Jeep in gear, stepped on the gas, and as the car took off, the force of it pulled the door from my hand and slammed it shut.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Erika

  The rest of my afternoon was spent with my emotions ping-ponging wildly. It was impossible to get any work done. One moment it would be rage at what Jenna had said about me, then unease she might have been right.

  She tried so hard to shield Troy from failure, but wasn’t that exactly what I was doing to my relationship with him?

  I was able to get a grip when I focused on a goal. Clark’s address was listed somewhere in our divorce papers, and once I found it, I drove over to his townhome after work. Thankfully, I spotted his car in the shared parking spaces, so it was likely he was home.

  Anxiety twisted inside me as I pressed the doorbell. He’d become such a stranger to me over the last year. Would I recognize the man who opened the door? I sucked in a deep, preparing breath as it swung open.

  Clark was still in his work clothes, a collared button-down shirt and slacks. His eyes went enormously wide as he peered at me. “Erika?”

  It was rude, but since he’d come onto my property without an invitation, I did the same. It forced him to back up into his living room when I barged in. “We need to talk.”

  His shoulders slumped and his gaze fell to the floor. “This is about me showing up at your house?”

  “You’re goddamn right, it—”

  Something was off about his place. I’d been distracted when I’d charged in, but now as I glanced around, I realized how sparse it was. He’d taken some of the furniture in the divorce to populate his new place, but it didn’t look like he’d bought anything new. There was the brown couch from our bonus room sitting in his living room, but no end tables or coffee table in front of it. Just a couch and TV stand, plus a stack of boxes against the back wall.

  “Are you moving?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “What’s with the boxes?”

  He hesitated. “I haven’t gotten around to unpacking them all.”

  Awareness dawned on me. We’d separated a year ago, and he’d purchased this townhome almost immediately. “You live like this?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

  It reminded me of his apartment in college, back when he’d been a bachelor. I’d forgotten he’d been kind of hopeless until I came along. His mother had done everything for him, even his laundry on the weekends. I’d had to teach him how to cook and clean, but I must have missed how to decorate.

  There was nothing personable in this space, and it felt sad and temporary. “You should have asked Jenna for some interior design help when you spoke with her.”

  “You mean, when I called to tell her what I caught you doing with her son?”

  If he wanted to get a rise out of me, it was wasted. I acted indifferent. “Yes, that’s what I meant.” I put my hands on my hips. “You want to tell me why you thought it was acceptable to come into my backyard without my permission?”

  “Exactly how was I supposed to get your permission?” Irritation made his jaw set. “You hadn’t answered my calls in months.”

  “You could have tried leaving a message.”

  “Right,” he said sarcastically. “Because I had total confidence that you’d return it.” It seemed like he was losing whatever battle was waging in his head. “I didn’t have a fucking clue what to say, and it wasn’t something I wanted to leave on a damn voicemail either.”

  The living area was open to the kitchen, and it was next to a stack of bills where I discovered the only framed picture he had on display. It was the two of us on our honeymoon in Greece, the Parthenon looming in the background. It was a great picture of our happiest time.

  But we weren’t those people anymore.

  I gestured toward the frame. “I can’t imagine Derrick likes that.”

  Clark’s silence was painful and telling.

  The animosity inside me waned. “You’re not together?”

  His eyes turned glassy. “A few months ago, he, uh . . . went back to his wife.”

  “Oh, Clark . . .” He’d told me he’d fallen in love, and despite everything, I hurt for him. I meant it genuinely. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” He wiped away a tear as if angry at it. “Don’t you think I got what I deserved?” He forced out a rueful smile. “I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. I pushed everyone away, and you were the only one who knew about us, so . . .”

  “Was that why you called?” Really? He’d wanted relationship advice from me, his ex-wife? I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d always put the emotional labor on me. The divorce hadn’t changed that.

  “I understand why you didn’t answer,” he said quietly, “but before Derrick, you were my best friend.” He swallowed a breath. “I’m sorry for how often I called. At first, I was going to try to apologize.” He was terrified to admit it, but maybe he was tired of holding it in. “I was struggling with a lot of shit, and I didn’t handle any of it well, but I found after a while, hearing your voice helped.”

  Oh, wow.

  “You called . . . so you could hear my voicemail message?”

  Color rose in his neck. It always happened when he was embarrassed. “I can’t explain why, but whenever I was having a bad day or missed talking to you, I’d call. I figured you’d either eventually answer or block my number, and then I’d be able to move on.”

  I reeled from what he’d said, unable to find words.

  “And when my calls started going straight to your voicemail, I still couldn’t move forward.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was awful to you. I had so much guilt and shame I didn’t know what to do with it, and so I let Derrick convince me it wasn’t my fault. It was yours.”

  Oh, Lord, he began to cry. In twenty years of marriage, I’d only seen it once before, during the elevator ride down to the lobby on the worst birthday of my life. This unleashed emotion from him was just as unsettling as it’d been then, but it was also raw and real, and although he’d put me through hell, I couldn’t help but pity him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said between ragged breaths. “I tried not to, but I loved him with everything I had. So much, I got lost in him.”

  And now that Derrick was gone, Clark was simply lost. It was undeniable the way he ached, and I was struck by how my ex and I had never spoken this way about each other when we’d dated or were married.

  I’d never gotten lost in him.

  “Please forgive me,” he said.

  “Part of me wants to,” I confessed. “But you don’t get to ask for that. No matter how shattered I felt, or how awful you were to me . . . I kept your secret. I didn’t tell a soul—o
ther than Derrick’s wife—and she had every right to know.” I put my hand on my hip. “You didn’t tell Jenna about Troy and me because you thought she deserved to know. You did it to hurt me. I’m not ready to forgive that.”

  Bless his heart, that just made him cry harder. “I know. I’m sorry.” He drew in a gulping breath. “I was upset. Everyone moved on except me.” He sniffled. “You’re a better person than I am.”

  “Yes,” I said simply. “And hopefully I’ll be able to forgive you someday, but that day is not today.”

  Eventually, Clark’s crying subsided, and he straightened awkwardly. It wasn’t the closure he hoped for, but I’d given him a year of unearned loyalty. I wasn’t giving him anything else.

  His eyes were red and his cheeks blotchy, and he cleared his throat as he wiped away his tears. It was an attempt to return to his normal state, but his voice was shaky. “Can I do anything to make it better?”

  “Yes.” The afternoon had me feeling like I was in freefall. “I’m going to ask you something and I need you to answer honestly.”

  Clark looked nervous. “What is it?”

  “Do I give up too easily?”

  His expression filled with relief and remorse. “There wasn’t anything you could have done to save our marriage.”

  My laugh was humorless. “I meant like, more in general.”

  “Oh.” He contemplated it for a long moment. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “That kind of sounds like a yes,” I said dryly.

  “Well, it’s really important to you to succeed. That’s not news, right? But I think you get scared and let doubt hold you back. It’s what sabotaged your music career.” His tone was gentle, like a doctor revealing a bad diagnosis. “You weren’t sure if you could make it, but you were sure you could succeed at failing. So, I think subconsciously that’s what you did.”

  Holy shit, was that true?

  “If you’d thrown yourself at it, gone all in . . . maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything, but who knows? The last year you were making a run at it, you already believed it was never going to happen for you. So, it wasn’t too surprising when that came true.”

  I wobbled on my shaky legs because it was a lot to take in. Was my defeatist mentality self-fulfilling? If so, I’d been a hypocrite.

  “Too scared of failing to really try,” I said.

  Clark nodded. He evaluated my unsteady state and shifted uneasily on his feet. “You all right?”

  “Yes.”

  And no, because what Jenna had accused me of was right. I’d taken one look at the uncertainty of my future with Troy and let my fear of failure control me.

  Could I break the cycle?

  After I left Clark’s, I drove home. I didn’t eat dinner that night because my appetite was gone.

  I put on my swimsuit, grabbed a glass of water, and got into my hot tub. My emotions were a disaster, and as I soaked, I tried to work through everything. What Clark revealed had done a number on me, and I hid from it for a little while beneath the steamy fog rising from my churning spa water.

  Down the slope of my lawn, I heard Cassidy’s playful scream, followed by a splash and Greg’s laugh. They were in the deep end of his pool, and as she hurried to swim away from him, he chased after her. Her escape attempt was halfhearted, and as soon as he caught her, she grinned and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

  Life is short, Dr. Lowe had said. Do what makes you happy.

  I knew what made me happy. It was the man who filled my head with music.

  Troy was young and had made a mistake, but no one was perfect. Certainly not me, who’d let her fear of failure hold her back. And up until today, he’d been pretty damn perfect.

  When I got out and toweled off, I saw the text messages he’d sent earlier.

  Troy: I’m sorry.

  Troy: I know you’re scared, and you don’t believe in us yet, but I can believe enough for the both of us.

  When I hadn’t responded, he’d sent another later.

  Troy: See you tomorrow.

  I arrived at the Bridgestone Arena several hours before the concert, and as I put on my VIP lanyard badge, banging came from the stage. The stage techs were hard at work installing the light screens that would be the backdrop for Stella’s show.

  It was always strange to be in the space during load-in. The stadium lights were on, illuminating the folding chairs on the floor that were arranged in perfect rows around the engineering booth. Over the stage, the lighting rig was lowered and there were so many wires hooked up, it looked as if it were suspended by a net.

  The black color of the stage wasn’t as deep with the house lights on. There was no magic in the space . . . at least, not yet. But it whispered of tonight’s transformation. It’d be a spectacular production for the twenty thousand screaming fans. Even if only half that crowd filed in to watch Troy’s opening act, he’d perform for way more people than I ever had.

  A fifteen second sample of Stella’s music burst from the speakers, but then the soundcheck cut off. People hollered at others about tasks still needing to be done, and the arena was a symphony of controlled chaos.

  Troy would be on that stage in a few hours, and I was so fucking thrilled for him.

  I was walking on the outskirts of the floor seats when a golf cart with no roof rumbled by. Ardy was sitting up front with the driver, a guy wearing a black t-shirt with STAFF written in white across the back.

  “Hey, kid,” Ardy said. “Want a lift?”

  I smiled and eagerly climbed into the rear-facing seat. It was going to be a long day, so I’d take every opportunity I could to get off my feet.

  “To the bunker, my good man,” Ardy said to the driver.

  The cart took off, whizzing past the seats and up the banked aisle onto the concourse level. None of the concession stands were open yet, but tables were set up, and the merchandisers were clipping Stella t-shirts to wire displays.

  The doors for ticketholders would be opening soon, and nervous energy buzzed in my bloodstream.

  I turned sideways in my seat, so it’d be easier for Ardy to hear me. “How’s he doing?”

  He knew exactly who I was talking about. “Oh, you know. It comes in waves. He reminds me of how Stella was in the beginning. One second she’d be fine, and then the next, she’d have her arms wrapped around a trash can.”

  This afternoon Warbler had sent a car to pick up Troy, his parents, and his equipment, and I’d gotten notification they’d arrived not long ago. Ardy had been there to greet him and walk him back to the bunker suite where Troy could hang out until his soundchecks.

  The cart slowed as it approached a set of double doors, which automatically slid open, and then we whirred down a quiet hall.

  “How’d the thing go last night?” I asked. Troy had been invited to dinner with Stella and some of the executives at her record label.

  Ardy turned his head so I could see his profile, but his expression was cryptic. “It went good.”

  I was hoping for more info, but the cart rounded a corner and pulled to a stop. The doors to the private suites lined the wall, and he pointed at the first one. “He’s in there.” He leaned down and pulled a radio out of the box at his feet and passed it to me. “Anything before six-thirty, text me. After that, we use the comm.”

  “You got it.”

  As the cart backed up, turned, and drove off, I clipped the battery pack of the radio to the waist of my pants and hooked the earpiece in. It was quiet now, but give it an hour, I thought. There’d be a lot of chatter.

  When I knocked on the door, Troy’s rich voice came from behind it. “Come in.”

  The suite was called a bunker, and although it was windowless, it felt bright and airy and luxurious. The floors were oak, and the couch and two chairs opposite it were squared off and modern, covered in white leather. Over the bar, a huge television was mounted, and onscreen was a live feed of the stage.

  Troy was at the back of the room
, sitting at the high table, wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt, an open can of Coke and his phone in front of him. He turned his head as I came in, and when he saw it was me, he pushed to his feet.

  “Hi,” he said softly.

  I didn’t use words. The smile that burst on my face was the biggest of my life.

  I’d been happy before.

  I’d been thrilled when Clark proposed. Ecstatic when I’d sold ‘Reckless.’ Elated after performing a huge show.

  But this feeling now? It was something completely different.

  Maybe you could only reach a certain level of happiness for yourself, but . . . happiness for someone else?

  That was limitless. That was joy.

  Oh, my God. I was going to watch his dream come true tonight, and the emotion I had couldn’t be contained. It detonated like a bomb, flooding me with its power.

  Troy’s gorgeous face filled with worry, and his feet carried him swiftly toward me. “Oh no! Erika, don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry,” I blubbered. I tilted my head back and hurriedly wiped under my eyes, before shaking out my hands like it could dispel my emotion.

  His arms wrapped around my waist and his tone was desperate. “Whatever’s wrong, it’ll be okay.”

  I laughed softly through my tears because he thought I was upset. “No, I’m crying because I’m so damn happy for you.”

  He exhaled, and relief washed through his eyes. It continued down through him as I threw my arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. Holding onto him anchored me. It settled my emotions and I sucked in a calming breath.

  “Okay,” embarrassment tinged my words, “sorry about that. When I saw you, it kind of hit me all at once.”

  Slowly, I relaxed my hold on him but he didn’t let me go, making it so we could look in each other’s eyes. His were so deep and beautiful. Next to his hands, they were quickly becoming my favorite part of him, because of the way he used them to look at me.

  “I know you’ve got a million things on your mind,” I said, “so let me clear one thing up.” I slid my palm down over his shoulder and onto his chest, directly over his heart. “This is what I want.”