by Nola Marie
“He is nice,” I finally tell Camilla, “but I do not want anything serious right now.”
It’s the safe answer I know but anything else will take too long to explain. Frankly, I’m not sure she would get it. Camilla is great but sometimes she seems more worried with bank account size.
“But the money, girl,” she says in exasperation and proving my point to myself.
I laugh at her ridiculousness. “I grew up with and surrounded by money. Remember?” I’ve been around money my entire life. None of it impresses me. Not really. Once the freaking Feds release my accounts, I’ll have money. I don’t need anyone else’s.
She waves me off. “I do forget considering where you live. Speaking of,” she takes another sip of her latte with a moan while I clench at where her conversation is about to go, “what have you done about your lease?”
I casually avoid her gaze as I pretend to look over more emails. “The lease is still there,” I say as if it’s no big deal.
I feel her dark eyes burning into me even behind the glasses. I’m not sure how she does it. “Josephine,” she scolds like I’m in elementary school again, “we are leaving in a week.”
“It will be waiting on me when we get back,” I argue.
“That’s a lot of money going to waste for someone that is living on Top Ramen.”
“Are you giving up your lease?” I ask pointedly.
“My lease, Chica, is in Manhattan at a steal I will never find again. Yours is in a skeevy neighborhood in Brooklyn with no heat and shitty plumbing.”
“I can’t give up my apartment,” I say exasperated. “I have to have a place to come back to.”
“So, when the tour is over you get another, better place.”
“If I make it through the tour,” I mutter.
“NO! None of that. You will not quit.”
I throw my hands in the air with a groan. “We can’t be in the same space for more than a minute without being at each other’s throats, Cam. How do you expect us to last months? And with him actually being a member of the band, I think the odds are in his favor. Don’t you?”
She removes the glasses blocking her eyes. The deep chocolate irises practically blaze with anger. “Not only do I expect you to make the entire tour, but I also expect you to put the hurtful memories of your adolescence behind you. I get it. I do. I sympathize with you, Josephine. But it’s time to be a professional right now. Grow the hell up.”
I stand from my seat fighting back tears. She has no right to say this to me. She didn’t experience the hell I lived through.
I walk to the door. I need to get out of this office for a minute. I need to get away from her.
Memories. So many memories come rushing all at once.
“Stop running, Josephine. You’ve been trying to run since you saw him. Ever think maybe none of this would be an issue if you stopped?”
“I’m not running from anything,” I snap. “I just need some air.”
I leave without another word or even giving her a chance to respond. I’m not running. I’ve never run from Angel or Erica. I had nowhere to run. I took every verbal, mental, emotional, and physical battering. Once again, the memories overwhelm me, and I’m unable to escape.
I can’t believe it. Jason Wexler is talking to me. My first thought was I wonder if Angel knows. I quickly pushed the thought away because of course he knew. Why wouldn’t he? They were friends.
I shiver with a shy smile when he brushes a piece of hair behind my ear. “You are gorgeous Josie,” he tells me with his dark eyes shining. “I’m so sorry I played a part in giving you such a hard time lately. I just let Erica get in my ear.”
I bite my lip, considering him. He sounds sincere. We were friends once when we were younger. Before junior high and hormones set in.
“You believe me, right?” he asks as his smile turns worried.
I let out a sigh. “I believe you,” I nearly whisper.
He gives me a big, bright smile with dimple showing in each cheek. He runs his hand over his light brown hair shyly. “Would you like to hang out sometime?” he asks. “At my house maybe?”
I think about it for a second. I’ve been pining after Angel forever. And crying over him for a couple of months. Maybe I just need this to move on. If I turn my focus to someone else, maybe it will stop being so painful every time I see him with Erica.
I nod in acceptance.
“Come over Saturday, Josie,” he tells me. I wince slightly. Only Angel has ever been allowed to call me that. I hate it when anyone else says it and hearing him makes me feel guilty for a second. I keep quiet about it though.
I answer him with another nod and smile.
He leans over to kiss my cheek, making me blush. “Great. Eight o’clock Saturday. But you can’t tell anyone Josie,” he tells me.
A frown replaces my smile. I don’t understand unless he’s embarrassed by me. “Why not?” I ask, working to keep the quiver from my voice.
“I just don’t want to start a fight with Angel, okay.”
“He wouldn’t care,” I reassure him.
He shakes his head adamantly. “He’d care, Josie,” he says sadly. “Erica hates you and Angel goes along with everything she says. I don’t want them coming after you because of me.”
I work to swallow the sob that threatens to erupt from my throat. Hearing that Angel hates me is almost too much. “Okay,” I answer, hating how my voice cracks with the word.
My phone rings in the elevator ride down, drawing me from the memory. I groan. The last person I want to talk to is my mother. I decline the call but it, immediately, begins ringing again. Then again. And again.
“What is it, Mom?” I answer gruffly after the fifth time.
“You need to come home, Josephine. Your father and Robert need you,” she tosses the exact same line she gives me every time we speak. It’s why I don’t answer her calls.
“They’re under indictment, Mom. There is nothing I can do for them.”
“They need your emotional support. Robert is beside himself because you aren’t returning his calls.”
“Robert is worried I might pawn his ring,” I hiss even though I know that’s probably not true. “And they can get emotional support from each other like they did when they started this entire mess.”
“Josephine, you know they are innocent. You know your father would never do the things they’ve accused him of. What’s wrong with you?”
My head begins to throb. My neck begins to ache. “What’s wrong with me?” I laugh almost hysterically drawing the attention of pedestrians on the sidewalk. “What’s wrong with you, Mother? Your husband and his associate have stolen millions of dollars from innocent people that trusted them. Some of those people were supposed to be his friends. Your friends. They’ve stolen from the freaking government. I am still being investigated. My accounts are still frozen.” I pinch the bridge of my nose while I stalk back and forth on the paved sidewalk.
“That’s all the more reason for you to come home, darling. We need you here to run the firm.”
“Have you lost your god forsaken mind? The firm is done. It will never be anything again. Besides, I’m not doing architecture anymore.”
“What do you mean you’re not doing architecture anymore? Of course, you are. You’re an architect after all.” Her tone is full of frustration and disbelief.
I release a long sigh. It is exhausting talking to my mother. “No, I’m not. I never wanted to be an architect. I never wanted to work for Byers Development.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Josephine,” she uses her most patronizing tone. “Of course, you did. It’s all you ever wanted.”
“No. It is what you and Dad wanted. I wanted to do something else. I wasn’t even sure what for the longest time because I did what was expected of me. I’m not doing that anymore. I’m not coming back to Los Angeles. I’m not marrying Robert. I’m done living my life for everyone else.”
I don’t give her a chance t
o respond. I end the call. I’m done with this conversation. For now, at least. I know it’s not the last time we will have it.
But it feels good to finally say all of that. For the first time in my life, I’ve told my mother what I want. For the first time, I’m actually doing what I want.
“Ready to go?” Camilla says behind me.
I jump and let out a squeal in surprise. I clutch my chest willing my heart to slow. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“At least your mood seems better,” she remarks looking me up and down in approval.
“A little,” I admit with a smile.
“Good because we just got called to get the boys ready for an impromptu show.”
My smile falls. If anything can kill my mood, it’s Angel.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
“Josephine,” Maddox calls out as they return backstage from another great show. I don’t think they know how to do anything but great shows. “How’d we look out there, beautiful?”
He grabs me up into a tight hug before moving into the room. Ryder mimics the same but brings me with him as he moves into the room behind Maddox. When Angel walks in, it doesn’t take a genius to know why. When Camilla and I arrived earlier, it did not go unnoticed by either of us the way Maddox, Ryder, and Dane did everything they could to keep Angel and I apart.
“I think they all like you,” Camilla whispers with a grin.
“Not all of them,” I retort with a pointed look in Angel’s direction. “I think they’re scared of you,” I tease.
“Good. That means they will do what I say,” she laughs.
“Or you are giving them an incentive to chase,” I tease some more.
“As hot as they are, I can honestly say they are not my type.”
“What is your type?” Maddox asks from behind us, throwing his arms over our shoulders.
“Football players,” she tells him with a wide smile and a dreamy look in her eyes.
My brows fly up. I didn’t know she was seeing anyone. I feel a little insulted considering how close we’ve gotten the last few weeks. She’s never mentioned a boyfriend once. I can’t help but wonder why.
“Ahh. Football players, huh? Story of my life,” he shakes his head with a chuckle as he begins removing his clothing.
Once we have their stage clothing put away, I tell Camilla goodbye and make my way to the door. Just before I reach it, Ryder grabs me by the arm. “Oh no you don’t, Love,” he grins through glassy eyes. “You are coming back to my place for the after party.”
“I don’t think so,” I laugh. “I think I’m going home to crash.”
“Oh no you’re not,” Maddox chimes in. “You are coming with us and we’re going to teach you how to party like rock stars.”
“What makes you think I don’t know how?” I give them both a derisive glare.
They shrug. “I guarantee you don’t know how to party like we do,” Ryder tells me.
I look at the two of them. They are so high, I’m not sure how their feet are touching the ground. But their excitement is infectious regardless of the cause.
“All right,” I acquiesce. “Lead the way.”
A short ride in Maddox’s huge SUV later, Camilla and I walk into Ryder’s apartment that is very reminiscent of the one I shared with Robert. A wide, open floor plan. Floor to ceiling windows lining one side with a fantastic view. High vaulted ceilings that would take scaffolding to reach. And every modern convenience available.
And about fifty people already there drinking, smoking, and dancing all over the space.
I am very wrong. This place is nothing like what Robert and I shared. It’s larger by a few thousand square feet at least.
“I knew they’d had some success, but I didn’t think it was this level,” I whisper to Camilla.
“They aren’t this level. Ryder is a trust fund kid. His family owns Montclair Diamond,” she whispers back.
“Damn. And I thought Angel and I grew up with money.”
Camilla nods in understanding. “They’ve all got money. Don’t you remember any stories about Maddox and Ryder when you were a teenager? They were the spoiled, rich bad boys always making their families look bad.”
I think back for a minute. I do actually remember a few things, but I’ve never been one for tabloid gossip. And they are too sweet for me to pay any attention now.
“Come on, girls,” Ryder ushers us farther into the room. He takes our coats while Maddox offers us a drink. I eye it warily. I learned in college not to accept drinks at parties.
“Don’t worry, beautiful. I learned a long time ago not to put things in people’s drinks.”
I can’t help my mouth falling open with a gasp. “Did you really do that?”
“I was a stupid kid,” he nods.
“What happened?” I ask then begin to blush. It’s really none of my business and I’m being too intrusive. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to answer that.”
He waves me off, but I notice his eyes, as hazy as they are, look a little pained. “She and I are cool now. It took a long time but I’m even friends with her brother and husband. Hell, Dane’s sister married her brother.”
“Well, at least things worked out,” I give him a soft smile.
But his normally brilliant smile still isn’t reaching his eyes. “Yeah, they worked out like they should.”
It gets awkwardly silent, or as silent as it can get amongst the throes of people. Until he excuses himself, leaving me to my own devices.
I look around the crowded room in search of Camilla.
Instead, my eyes land on Angel. He sits with widespread legs on a low sitting sofa as a leggy blonde tries to get his attention. He continues to drink his beer and talk with Dane. He doesn’t even flinch when she undoes his pants and pulls out his penis.
But I do. I turn quickly and walk out onto Ryder’s balcony. I take in the New York skyline from his high-rise apartment. The city looks like a living thing from up here and it’s beautiful.
I hear the balcony door open; I turn to see a man coming out with a bit of a stumble. “I’m sorry,” he tells me. “I didn’t realize there was anyone out here.”
“It’s fine. I just needed a different view,” I tell him with a smile.
“I’m Blaze. Blaze Erickson,” he offers with a charming smile.
“Josephine,” I return with a smile of my own. He’s cute and a little familiar, but I’m not quite sure why.
“How do you know Ryder?” he asks looking me over but strangely enough, it doesn’t feel like he’s ogling. Just getting a feel for me.
“I’m the assistant to the band’s wardrobe assistant,” I say with a shrug.
“That mean you’re going on the tour?” he asks almost hopefully. I nod my response. “So that means I get to see that gorgeous smile every day?”
I tilt my head curiously. “Are you part of the crew?”
He clutches a hand over his heart dramatically. “Oh, beautiful, you really know how to wound a man. Do you really not know who I am?”
“You do seem familiar,” I admit with a shy smile because I’m a little embarrassed that I don’t know him when I obviously should. “But I can’t put my finger on it.”
“I’m only the lead singer of the hottest rock band around right now,” he says.
It takes me a minute because my musical tastes tend to lean towards everything before I was even born. Then I realize because I saw them perform at the Grammys in an ensemble of all my favorite classic rock groups as some tribute thing. “You’re the lead singer of Dirty Minds?” I ask hoping I’m right.
He does a dramatic flourish with his hand and a bow at the waist. “The one and only,” he says with a wink. “But I get the feeling you still really don’t know who I am.”
I feel myself flushing at his acknowledgement. “Not really,” I admit sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”
“Rock not your thing?” he asks, not looking a bit offended.
“Yeah, but nothing in th
is century,” I laugh.
“Ahh. A classics girl,” he smiles. “Who’s your favorite band?”
“I don’t know if I have a favorite band,” I tell him. “Just favorite songs.”
“Give me a few.”
I notice the way his green eyes seem to dance with curiosity. His smile is really nice too with a dimple in his cheek. “Blue Monday, Renegade, Dust in the Wind.”
“Dust in the Wind is a great song,” he tells me.
I nod in agreement, but my mind wanders to when I first heard the song. Actually, to who introduced me to the song.
Suddenly, I’m not feeling this party anymore. Or this conversation, as nice as it’s been.
“It is, but I think I should be going,” I tell him. I don’t even give him a chance to respond before I’m inside the apartment.
Memories flood my mind that I haven’t thought of in years as I cross through the room. Memories of Angel and I at thirteen.
Song
Dust in the Wind
He walks into my room with that sideways smile, making my heart flip. Angel has always been so cute but in the last year, he’s gained several inches and a confidence I don’t recognize in the other boys at school. He has every girl in the eighth grade chasing him. They all talk about his gray eyes and black hair. About how sexy he is.
I don’t know if he’s sexy. I’m not even sure what that is. To me he’s just Angel. He is the same boy I’ve known forever.
But lately when he looks at me, my stomach flips, and my heart stutters in my chest. It’s weird to have this reaction to my best friend, but I do whether it’s weird or not.
He flops his long body beside me on the bed. He flips the pages of my science book like the jerk he is. I shove him in retaliation. “We have a test tomorrow,” I scold.
“But I don’t want to study right now,” he whines with his bottom lip jutted out.
I close the book with a shake of my head because I can never seem to tell him no. I sit up cross-legged beside him. “Okay. No studying,” I acquiesce but then tack on, “for now. So, what do you want to do?”
He gives an ambivalent shrug, “I don’t care. I just don’t want to study right now.”
