by Grace James
“We weren’t together then! You’d already fucking ended it! You told me you didn’t love me and went back to him –” I noticed that, for the second time, he’d avoided saying Connor’s name “– I wouldn’t’ve gone anywhere near another woman if I was still with you. But you walked away. The fuck was I supposed to do?”
Is he serious?
“How about not screw everything that moves IN FRONT OF ME?!”
He tipped his head back, laughing mirthlessly to the sky. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re a piece of work, y’know that?” He looked back at me as his hands came to rest on either side of the doorframe, caging me in, crowding me with his huge, hard body.
I tried to ignore the thrill that went through me – how was it possible to hate him so much but want him at the same time?
“Two women,” he practically barked at me. “I fucked two women on that entire goddamn tour. Not a single one before you showed up, not a single one after you left –”
“Oh, gee, thanks,” I spat scornfully.
“Just listen to me,” he ordered. “You never gave me chance to explain back then, give me a chance now. This is what you wanted. You wanted to know.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but I said nothing.
He took a deep breath in through his nose before he started speaking again, like he was striving for calm. “I loved you, Princess. Whether you believe that or not, I really, really did. When you went back to him, it nearly fucking killed me. And I know I didn’t handle it well – fuck, I even knew that at the time – but you gotta understand that I never felt that way about anyone before. I didn’t know how to handle what you did.”
I tried to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat.
I loved you, Princess.
Those words were like a slice to my heart.
“So, everything you did – the other women, spending one last night with me and then disappearing – was what exactly? Revenge?”
“No! That’s not how it was.”
“No? It sounds like that’s how –”
“Then you’re not listening hard enough,” he snapped, his shoulders bunching as his fingers whitened under the strength of the grip he had on the doorjamb. “I left you ‘cause I wasn’t prepared to go through the whole ‘thanks for the fuck, but fuck you’ bullshit again. I got out before you could toss me out. See, you always walked away from me back then – not the other way around. Then, the day I bury my cousin, there you are, acting like you want me again. And I gotta wonder – is it out of pity? ‘Cause before that day it seemed like you were long fucking gone.”
I was staring at him in horror.
I felt like the world slowed on its axis as my mind tried to wrap itself around what he was saying. “You…you…why didn’t you just talk to me? Ask me? Anything instead of –”
“Talk to you? Really? And you’d’ve just told me the truth, right?” His voice became gruff with resentment. “Don’t give me that shit, all you ever did was lie to me. Even now, fucking years later, I still can’t figure out when you were being honest and when you were talking shit.”
My head was spinning. It had never crossed my mind that Blake could’ve thought that I didn’t want him. “…you thought it was all a lie?”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No! Of course not!” I felt the first string of tears gather along my lower eyelids and I blinked quickly, trying to dispel them before they could fall. “How can you say that? How can you even think that?”
The muscles in his jaw clenched and he turned his face to the side; I saw him swallow – like he was fighting against his own emotions – but when he spoke his voice was steady and low. “I had no fucking clue if you really wanted me…if what I thought we had was real. And there was no way I was gonna chance being your next pity project. Fuck. That.”
I fought hard against the sob that was rising in my chest. “Well…I guess now I know.”
For a long moment, we stood there in silence, until Blake turned his face back to me. “Are you gonna tell me?”
“…tell you what?”
He paused, and then ground out, “Was it real?”
I wanted to hurt him. I opened my mouth to lie and tell him that yes, he was right, it was all about pity and nothing more…but for some reason I couldn’t do it.
When I didn’t respond, he said, “Don’t make me ask it again.”
“…yes,” I whispered. “It was real. I really did love you, too.” His brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak – only I cut him up before he could. “But that was a long time ago. I learnt my lesson, and I just…now, I just need you to go.” Before I give in and cry. Before you see how weak you make me.
For a moment, I thought he would refuse, but then he clamped his jaw shut and nodded once before slowly taking a step back.
The second he did, I slammed the door in his face.
12
I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d cried, but less than twenty-four hours after Blake had shoved his way back into my life, I was sniffling into a handful of balled up tissue.
I figured there was a lesson in there somewhere.
Like, a glaringly obvious one.
I hated that I was crying over him. Hated, hated, HATED it. I’d honestly thought that I had no more tears to spare for the guy – turns out I was wrong. And, boy, didn’t that make me feel pathetic.
But the uncomfortable truth was that I wasn’t just crying because the things he’d said to me had hurt…I was crying because he was right.
I had walked away from him twice.
The first time was because Connor was in a hospital bed begging me to get back together with him, and I was too young and stupid and scared to turn him down. I was terrified that if I chose Blake, the man I truly loved, then Connor would OD again and it would all be my fault. And after everything fell apart – after I finally saw Connor for what he was, after I finally realized that I couldn’t do a damn thing to change that – I turned away from Blake a second time. I screamed at him. I told him we were done because of all the ways he’d lashed out at me in retaliation for me choosing Connor.
The whole thing had been such a mess.
Blake had tried to fix it, though. He’d called me over and over; he’d left messages telling me he was sorry…begging me to talk to him…telling me he loved me…
But I’d never answered.
Not once.
I never gave him any clue that I still loved him. I never told him I forgave him. I never told him I was sorry for my mistakes. There were so many things that I’d left unsaid – the truths I’d kept too close. I’d given him absolutely nothing to go on, so could I really blame him for thinking I didn’t care? Could I really blame him for thinking that the only reason I went to bed with him that last time was out of pity? That I’d change my mind again the next day? It turned my stomach to know that’s what he’d figured – but did I ever give him any reason to think otherwise?
No.
But that didn’t make it better.
Because leaving me for those reasons was almost understandable, but handling it the way he did? Just disappearing without even saying goodbye? And, most important of all, staying away? For years?
Hell, no, I wasn’t about to forgive that.
I couldn’t. I still had too much anger inside of me.
And that was before I started thinking about all the women I’d seen him with since then. All his models, and actresses, and groupies…
Ew.
Yeah, okay, I’d messed up three years ago – I could admit to myself that it wasn’t all on him – but that didn’t change anything. Blake was still the man who’d splintered my heart and ran for the hills.
Nothing had changed.
13
I went in to work early that day, and it was a good thing I did. The Academy’s social media had blown up with thousands of likes, follows and shares. There were hundreds of musicians enquiring about slots. Online music magazines – and some in-pr
int magazines – wanted to interview me or Harvey. My email was full, so it took me three hours to clear that, all while fielding calls from managers and promoters and reporters and God knew who else – I had to start screening.
That night, we had an Open Mic night on and it was usually busy, but this time we were filled to capacity almost immediately. Maybe people were hoping that Blake or Derren would make another appearance, or maybe they just wanted to be able to say that they’d been in the same building as them – whatever, I just hoped it lasted.
“Amy! Your ex whatever-the-hell-he-is, is a legend!” Harvey called out to me as he climbed the steps to the sound booth where I was taking a break and hanging out with Lola, our purple-haired, in-house sound-tech.
“Why?” I asked at the same time Lola said, “Who?”
Harvey gave us both slightly withering looks. “Blake Maxwell, Lola, keep up,” he said to her, causing her eyebrows to shoot up as she looked at me in shock.
“He’s your –”
I cut her off abruptly, “No, he’s not.” I scowled at Harvey. “What did he do?”
“Here, see for yourself.” He handed me his cell, which displayed Blake’s Twitter profile. He’d given The Academy three shout-outs that day, saying what a great venue it was and telling people to check it out. No wonder we were turning people away at the door.
“Huh, that’s nice of him,” I said, handing the phone back and immediately looking away, focusing on the artist who was currently on the stage playing an acoustic version of Metallica’s Whiskey in the Jar. He was murdering it, but that was Open Mic night, it could go either way.
Harvey sidled closer to me and said, “Oh, come on, Princess, don’t be a hater.”
I turned to him in annoyance, to see him grinning and waggling his eyebrows. I sighed. Ever since Harvey witnessed Blake call me that nickname, just over twenty-four hours before, he’d used it at every opportunity.
It was getting on my last nerve.
“Bite me, Harvey,” I muttered.
His grin got wider. “So,” he said, far too nonchalantly, so nonchalantly that it was clearly forced. “You still haven’t told me what that cute name is all about?”
I didn’t answer. That seemed to be the best form of defense.
Harvey tried again. “Is it because you look like that Princess from Tangled?”
“You know it’s weird that you watch so much Disney, don’t you, Harvey?” Lola asked, wincing as she turned down the out of tune vocal just before the screeching feedback kicked in. I doubted the guy on stage had ever been within ten feet of a live mic before. Again, yay for Open Mic night. At least I knew some of the regulars had put their names down to play later.
Harvey waved away Lola’s comment. “Everyone watches Disney – that and DreamWorks are totally acceptable for all audiences.”
Lola shot him a look that called bullshit. “Whatever you say, dude.”
Harvey ignored her, focusing on me again. “So, Princess, what happened between you and Blake to make you hate each other so much?”
I didn’t answer.
Lola shot me a curious look, before turning her attention back to the sound desk. She was working hard to get the guy on stage to sound anything more than awful. It wasn’t working.
Harvey wasn’t about to give up. “Come onnn, Amy!” he whined. “What did he do? Was he too much in bed? I need to know! Did he do something that your good Christian upbringing made you think was wrong?”
I risked a glance at him and saw that he was grinning, but his eyebrows were raised imploringly.
I still didn’t answer. And it wasn’t because I didn’t confide in Harvey or trust him – because I did – it was just that I was trying to push Blake out of my mind, not relive on our history. I never let myself do that, if I could help it.
Harvey continued undeterred. “And if he did try to do something sodomistic, why on earth didn’t you let him? I’d give my left nut for him to do that to me!”
Lola choked on the mouthful of soda that she had taken at the wrong moment, then proceeded to howl with laughter.
“Ew! Harvey!” I shrieked, though I was unable to hold back the giggles myself. “I need to go home and wash my brain, that mental image is here to stay!”
“Yeah, whatever. Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. I’ve seen the way you look at him – you may hate him but your lady parts are singing a different tune. One that begins with FUCK and ends with ME.” He guffawed at his own joke.
Lola’s face was almost as purple as her hair, she was still laughing so hard.
I prodded Harvey in the chest. “You know, those kinds of comments are why we have such a high turnover of staff.”
He shrugged dismissively. “They don’t have what it takes to work here, that’s not my problem.”
“A-men,” Lola agreed.
The abrupt end of the terrible song, followed by the guy shouting an enthusiastic, “Thank you, Vegas!” down the mic, was my cue to get away.
“Got to go introduce the next act,” I said as I hurried past Harvey and down the steps. His frustrated harrumph followed after me.
After that, the Harvey Inquisition was thankfully over for the rest of the night. We were so busy that we stayed open later than we usually would for an Open Mic night. People were loving it, too. More than a few came up to me to say that they’d never been to The Academy before, but would definitely come back.
When the place finally started to empty out, around 2AM, things finally started to feel a little more normal. That was, until Candice and Lance – the bar tenders that night – started to close out their cash registers. Harvey and I grinned at each other as we sipped our beers and watched them. We’d never taken so much money in one night before.
When they were done, Harvey put his beer down ceremoniously and turned his stool towards me. “I know it’s premature, but can I say it?”
I nodded, copying his movement so that we were sitting face to face.
He threw his head back and shouted, “GROSS PROFIT, BITCH!”
Me, Lola, Candice and Lance all whooped and hollered.
It finally seemed like The Academy could do more than just stay afloat. Maybe, just maybe, it could turn into something special.
Thanks to Blake.
Damn.
14
“Peacocks?” I asked skeptically.
“Yep.”
“You mean real peacocks?!”
“Yep,” Hayley said again.
“Like, actual real life peacocks that could fly…or poop…or –”
“Yes! Jesus! Real peacocks, Amy! Get over it!”
I scowled at Mel, whose image was on the screen via video chat from her apartment in Nashville. Hayley’s phone was propped up against the fruit bowl on the kitchen island in the sleek, modern kitchen of Hayley and Derren’s vast house.
Most of the lower floor of the house was open plan, with partition walls here and there, so that everything kind of flowed outwards from the atrium-style entryway. It was all clean lines and crisp architecture – which they had used as a blank canvass for their moody décor. Lots of chunky, black oak furniture combined with emerald green and blood red fabrics.
Hayley and I had been sitting at the kitchen island for the past several hours, surrounded by a dozen different samples of wedding programs that she had to whittle down to one. We’d finally made a decision ten minutes before and had called Mel up to show her – she was a bridesmaid too and wanted to be involved, even if it was from a distance – and then we’d gotten sidetracked when Hayley revealed the whole peacock idea.
“Peacocks walking down the aisle won’t be that difficult,” Hayley said decisively. Then she dragged her hands through her thick auburn hair, pulling at the roots. “I mean, right?”
Okay, the decisiveness had fled almost immediately.
I pulled up my figurative Maid of Honor pants and faked the confidence I absolutely did not have – we’d been wedding planning for so long by that poi
nt that I’d gotten pretty good at figuring out when to be realistic and when to let her run away with her ideas. And, right now, I knew that Hayley just wanted me to tell her what she wanted to hear. “Sure, it can’t be that hard to get them to walk in a straight line, can it?”
“Exactly!” Hayley exclaimed, the worry in her eyes calming a little. My fake-confidence must have been convincing.
“Money’s no object, of course you can get peacocks to do your bidding,” Mel said flippantly – and sarcastically – as she stretched her enviably tiny frame, which was clad in bright turquoise lycra, into ‘downward dog’ as she simultaneously yoga’d and talked.
“Okay, I’m not saying anything against peacocks,” I said cautiously. “But why do you need them at your wedding?”
“‘Cause Dawn loves them,” Derren explained from where he was slouched on the other side of the island, stuffing his face with potato chips. How he stayed so skinny I had no idea.
“Plus it’ll really irritate my dad and I kinda want him to feel uncomfortable,” Hayley added. Her parents had been separated since she was a toddler, after her mom discovered that her dad had a whole second family hidden away in Tucson.
“And you say my parents are ‘an issue’,” Derren muttered.
Hayley cocked her head sweetly, but the look in her eyes was sharp. “What was that, babe?”
“Nothing,” Derren said quickly before clearing his throat. “I love peacocks. Love. Them.”
“Why don’t you hire a Peacock Tamer?” Mel asked, abandoning her yoga mat and approaching the screen. “There must be people out there that do that, right? Or a Wedding Planner? I’m sure you can’t be the first couple to want peacocks involved in their ceremony.” She barely managed to hide her smile and her big brown eyes betrayed her amusement anyway.
“They made a movie about that shit,” Derren said. “The wedding planner chick totally steals the groom.”
