“And how’s that going for you?”
“Terribly,” I admitted for the first time to anyone from my past. “If you only knew the number of nights I cried, wishing I could take it all back, wishing I’d never left, feeling like a failure for following my stupid dream in the first place. It was heart-wrenching at first. Of course my pride wouldn’t allow me to admit it. You broke me, but that was my motivation. I knew I had to become something to validate what I gave up. I stuck with it. I tried harder. I worked harder. And things finally started happening for me.”
“It was all worth it then?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out.” I sighed. “It’s a constant struggle. I have moments where I feel like I’ve made it, but then that comes crashing down later. It’s exhausting.”
“Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if we stayed together?”
“I used to think about it all the time,” I admitted. “But it just made everything hurt more. You proposed to her, Wes. That’s a question you’re supposed to ask only once. That’s the part that hurt me the most. Even if what we had was worth saving back then, that was enough for me to know it was over.”
“After you left she was the only one around who would listen to me mope about you,” he said somberly. “I was heartbroken, and she was the only one there to get me through it. Now I guess I know why. I can’t believe she came between us like that.”
“Maybe it wasn’t just her? Maybe we weren’t supposed to be together anyway. Maybe that was just our test. We obviously didn’t make it through that, so I doubt we would’ve fared much better through any bigger challenge.”
“I meant what I said before, Whit. What if we could start over? Haven’t you thought about it since you’ve been back home? We could get it all back. You and me.”
I looked at him, surprised to see how serious he looked. It was an odd thing, staring into his eyes after all this time. I’d pined after him for so long. I felt tortured by it every time I thought of the disaster I’d become in Nashville while hearing about his whirlwind engagement and happy new life. I felt like a failure, all the while watching him live out a dream that I thought was supposed to be mine. It crushed me.
“There’s no point in talking about it now,” I began. “So much time has passed. So much has changed.”
He leaned in toward me, and before I knew what was happening, his lips were on mine. I felt frozen and confused about how he had misread the conversation but also felt a kind of redemption at the idea that he felt bad about giving me up in the first place.
“Wes, I can’t,” I said softly, pulling away from him.
“Let me guess: this has something to do with that guy you were with at the hospital?” he asked quietly, looking out into the water. “Is he important?”
“He’s relatively new,” I admitted, not sure how much I wanted to get into this with Wes. It felt weird. “But he’s good. Good for me.”
“Probably as wild and crazy as you, huh? You finally found someone who can keep up?” He grinned.
“Actually no.” I laughed. “Not at all. He’s more reserved. Stable. Consistent. Kind of old-fashioned. There’s something about him—I can’t pinpoint it. He calms me. He’s like a wise old soul, I don’t know. He’s charming, and witty, and just . . . good.”
“He sounds too boring for you.” Wes nudged my arm. “I could barely keep up with you—that I remember. The way you and Brie found adventures—I always wondered if I was spontaneous and impulsive enough for you. My biggest fear back then was that you’d someday get bored of me. That thought terrified me. Now here you are, telling me you’re with a guy who’s not wild and crazy at all.”
I gazed at the moon as he spoke. It was an interesting observation. Perhaps I had changed from the girl I used to be. Maybe with Wes I was different. Back then I’d had no cares in the world, no responsibility, and was always seeking new adventure, but now I felt like I carried so many burdens. Crazy no longer intrigued me. A guy far more put together and smart swayed me now. That in itself seemed like the kind of adventure I needed at this point in my life.
“I think we would’ve been good together, Whit,” he continued, turning toward me. “I think we still could be. I was stupid not to fight for you.”
“It’s too late,” I whispered, certain I needed to leave this spot. There was too much familiarity here—Wes and I late at night, sitting on the dock underneath a perfect moon—yet the comfort of it all was weighed down by everything else around me. We were strangers now. I felt like I didn’t know him any better now than I had when I was fifteen and we first met. It was weird how someone I used to know so well could seem so unfamiliar to me all at once. “The world has changed, Wes. So much has changed. I think I’ve changed.”
“How so? You look the same to me. Beautiful. Even happy through your sadness.”
“Probably because when I was with you all that time, I was happy.” I nodded. “Maybe you still recognize that look. But it’s not you making me feel that way anymore, Wes. There’s nothing left of us to fight for.”
“I’m sorry for all of it,” he said quietly.
“That’s the good part.” I smiled, squeezing his hand. “There’s nothing left to be sorry for. I wrote a hundred angry songs about you then realized I had to let it go. It would’ve eaten me alive if I hadn’t. I forgave you and let someone else love me. Granted, that asshole ended up cheating on me, but I’ve learned a lot about myself being away from here. I needed to disappear for a while to find myself, if that makes sense. Before I left, I could be anyone—fearless, fun, reckless—but not anymore. I want it too much—the chance to be something great—and I can’t let what-ifs pull me away from that. I’ve moved so, so far away from the girl you loved, Wes.”
“I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmured.
“I haven’t exactly done anything yet, but I’m working on it.”
“That’s why I’m proud of you. I realize now I gave up on it all, however you look at it. I’ll always regret that. But you, Whit—you’re still trying. Whether you think it’s working or not, you’re still at it, and that’s really commendable. I think you’re right. We never would’ve made it anyway. You’ve got more fight in you than I ever had.”
“That appears to be all I have,” I said lightheartedly. I took one last look at the water stretched out before us, thankful for the serenity and clarity I felt near it. At least that hadn’t changed. “Walk me home.”
We stood up and made our way back to my place. He’d walked me home a thousand times in what now felt like a past life, and this felt eerily familiar. Yet at the same time, knowing this would be our last walk together, it felt bittersweet. The closure felt good—cleansing in a way. When I dreamed of this conversation years ago, it was full of more rage and anger, like I was trying to win some sort of contest. This didn’t feel anything like winning, as it was a sad story for both of us. I felt good after our talk nonetheless.
It was strange to stare into the eyes of someone you loved as a teenager. You see yourself in them as they look back at you, like you’re still that uncertain girl, wanting approval. Then you grow up, and that’s not what you need from a guy anymore. You realize loving someone in your teens is nothing compared to the life waiting for you beyond that. This conversation with Wes made me realize just how much I had changed since I’d moved. Maybe I hadn’t achieved my dreams yet, but Wes was right. I was trying.
Whether or not that would be enough for a guy like Sawyer Grant, only time would tell. But it was all I had for now.
Chapter 14
I still wasn’t sure why I’d agreed to attend Kip’s show. Murphy’s Pub was actually a decent place to hang out; there was a nice stage for live music, and Brie and I came here plenty back in college. Even though we weren’t yet twenty-one back then, one of our friends worked at the door so he let us in anyway.
We pulled into the parking lot, and sure enough Brie and her new date, Alex, were already there, stepping out of his
gigantic silver truck. She had a huge grin on her face. I could tell she was already enjoying his company.
“You’re late. His set started ten minutes ago!” Brie squealed as I climbed out of Sawyer’s Jeep.
“How’s it going with Thor?” I whispered quietly as the guys shook hands and introduced themselves. “Alex is here from Wales on a work visa,” she replied quietly. “He’s here for only seven more months, but I don’t care. All I want is to stare at his face for the next two hundred and thirteen days.”
“You literally took the time to count how many days make up seven months?” I razzed. “I’ve lost you completely. This is good.”
“Ladies,” Alex said in his deep, sexy voice, “after you.” He gestured to the giant wooden doors at the front of the bar. The left door was propped open by a bar employee checking IDs.
“Ten bucks cover tonight,” the gruff bald bouncer said, holding out his hand.
“Aren’t we on a list or something, Whit? Can’t you just tell him who you are?” Brie questioned.
“I’m nobody. I’m not using Kip’s name for my benefit.” As I said it, Sawyer was already handing two twenty-dollar bills to the bouncer. “Thank you,” I added sincerely.
We walked into the bar and took our place next to one of the giant pillars in the middle of the room. A petite, bubbly cocktail waitress asked us for our drink order, but I was too stunned to respond.
“I can’t believe him,” I seethed. “I can’t believe he’s doing this.” His voice carried loud over the microphone as my anger rose.
“I kind of like this one.” Brie grinned. “It’s catchy. Is it new?”
“It’s mine,” I hissed. “It’s one of my songs.”
“Seriously? That’s amazing!” Brie gushed. “I love it! Whit, I can’t believe you did this! I’m so proud of you!”
“It’s not his song,” I reiterated, still enraged by what was happening. I felt numb. I looked around the room. The crowd was receptive, for sure. Guys moved their heads to the music, and all the girls in the room stared at Kip with googly eyes and stupid grins.
“You really wrote this?” Sawyer questioned.
I nodded, too angry to open my mouth.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered into my ear. I wanted to be excited by his compliment, but this was all wrong.
Kip finished that song, my song, and the crowd went wild. They were all screaming and cheering for him. He made eye contact with me from across the room, and my skin prickled. He offered me a sly wink, but it just further angered me.
“How are you guys doing tonight?” Kip said through the mic. The crowd roared. “This next song is one of my favorites. It’s about a girl. That girl. The one you fell for as soon as you found each other’s eyes across a crowded room. For some people it takes months to fall in love. But not us, Whit. It only took About a Minute.” Kip slyly announced the name of the song as he started strumming his guitar. The crowd was eating up his words, oblivious to the fact that he was talking to someone specific in the room. I swear I even heard a few “awes” around me, and I wanted to throw a speaker at him all over again. The song had nothing to do with us, obviously; I wrote it before I ever met him.
Anger seethed through me, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I politely excused myself from the group and made my way to a small door at the side of the stage. A large middle-aged guy dressed in black didn’t want to let me pass.
“Sorry, ma’am, this area is off limits,” he said sternly, holding out his arm as if I was going to break through the metal door.
“So are my songs, which Chris—eh, Kip—is singing right now,” I hissed. “Is Melanie back there?” I couldn’t believe I’d said the skanky PR manager’s name out loud. “If she is, we’re going to have a serious problem.”
The security guy held up a radio. “Dalton, I have a young girl out here . . .”
The large metal door opened from the other side before he could finish his sentence.
“You came,” Dalton said, motioning me down a hallway behind the stage. He was Kip’s record label exec, and we’d met on numerous occasions.
“What the hell is going on here?” I huffed, putting my hands on my hips.
“We’ve decided to pick up a few of your songs for the new album,” he said enthusiastically, clearly not registering my tone.
“We? Where was I in that conversation?” I replied defensively.
“Kip said you’d be thrilled,” he responded with a raised brow. “Listen out there. People love it.”
“That’s not the point, Dalton; it’s my music.”
“Well, let’s talk business, shall we? Champagne?” he offered.
The noise from the crowd lulled as Kip started another song. “This is going to be the title track from my new album. It’s called Staying Out All Night. Here we go.” The guitar picked up, and the noise filtered into the back room I was now standing in.
“You hated this song when I gave it to you,” I said snidely, still in disbelief over what was happening.
“Kip sold it to me.” Dalton shrugged. “Hear that crowd? It’s going to be a huge hit for him, I’m telling you.”
“But it’s not his to sell!” I exclaimed.
“Your boyfriend has really done a lot for you with these. You should be thrilled right now,” Dalton said skeptically, running a finger through his creepy, perfectly combed dark mustache.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said quickly, sitting down on an ugly maroon couch. “I don’t know how I feel about it, honestly. Do you even know what happened between us? Chris didn’t tell you we’re still together, did he?”
“Remember, you have to call him Kip now,” Dalton reminded me for the fortieth time in a matter of months. I wanted to stab him with the pen sitting on top of a stack of papers with “sign here” stickers. “Look, that’s just show biz. What happened between you two—it happens all the time. At the end of the day, nobody really cares.”
“I care,” I replied angrily. “I care.” I stood up again.
The noise of the crowd intensified as a door on the back side of the stage opened and closed. All of a sudden Kip was there, sauntering toward me with a huge grin.
“So?” He smirked, trying to gauge my reaction. “Good surprise?”
“No.” I shook my head, not fully comprehending how nobody else had an issue with this entire thing.
“They loved our songs, babe,” he said with outstretched arms. “They love them!”
“They’re not ‘our’ songs, babe,” I shot back, emphasizing his annoying term of endearment. We seemed pretty far past pet names at this point. “They’re my songs, Chris. You don’t get to do whatever you want with them.”
“I’m pretty sure there were plenty of nights when you gave me permission to use them,” he replied with a sleazy grin, again reaching his arms toward me. He touched my waist, and I stepped back.
“Us hooking up was not my express permission to do whatever you want with my words,” I replied in a scathing tone.
“Babe,” he said calmly.
“Stop calling me that! Why are you acting like everything’s okay? The last time I saw you, you were smashed against your doting PR manager. Where is she, by the way?”
“I’m not using her anymore. She’s off my team,” he said with an endearing tone. “See, everything can go back to how it was.”
“That’s not how it works.” I crossed my arms.
“Come on, Whit, let’s do this. Together. You and me.”
“Chris, you cheated on me,” I said aloud, feeling uncomfortable that Dalton was still in the room while we were having such a personal conversation.
“It was only one time, Whit. That doesn’t even count. Come on, I’m over all that. I can’t do this without you. I need you Whit, you’re my muse. I write and play so much better with you around. You have to stick with me on this.”
“I can’t do it,” I replied, shaking my head. “Not right now.”
“Is this about that
guy you came with?” he asked directly, changing his tone. “You seemed to move on quick. Why don’t we just call it a wash and start over, all things forgiven. I don’t care what you’ve done with him, Whit. We can start over with clean slates. We can do this together.”
“First off, who I’m with now is none of your business since we’re no longer together,” I stated confidently. “Second, don’t you dare act like we’ve committed the same crime here. You don’t get to do that to me.”
“Geez, you’re awfully feisty all of a sudden. What got into you?”
“What was I before, a wimp? A doormat? I haven’t changed, Chris. What you did changed us, but I haven’t changed.”
“I have to head back out there for a few more songs, will you stay? Please?” He actually sounded like he meant it, but I suspected he only wanted me to stay for business reasons.
“Chris, not now. This is not the right time at all. My dad, he’s . . .”
“Yeah, sorry about all that,” he replied casually. “That’s how I found you. I stopped by your apartment, and your landlord said you’d gone home for a family emergency. He was really pissed about your rent, by the way. I paid it, just so you know.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.” I sighed with frustration.
“It’s no big deal. That’s not something you’ll even have to worry about anymore. I’m serious, Whit. This is something big. For both of us. Please, meet with Dalton. This is huge for you. I have to get back out there.” He quickly kissed my cheek before I could move out of the way, then turned toward the stage door, giving me one more wink before closing the door behind him. The crowd roared as soon as he returned to the stage.
“I can’t do this right now,” I told Dalton with my arms in the air. “I need to think about things. Can you just give me the papers or something?”
Half-Truths Page 15
