I liked the job I had, both working with people, and flowers. Making arrangements satisfied my inner artist. It was kind of like a puzzle to solve, which colors harmonized best together, what vase should I use, does this seem full enough? And people came to purchase flowers either happy or hurting. Preparing for a wedding, date, anniversary…whatever happy occasion made better by the beauty of flowers. Or they were preparing for a funeral, to visit a sick friend, to brighten someone’s day who was down. And I enjoyed helping both parties, sharing and hopefully adding to their joy, and sharing and hopefully decreasing their pain a fraction. And most of the people who came in were givers, people who thought about others, and those were the kinds of people you wanted near you.
And sharing my life with Jamie—he was what really brought joy to my days. I was blessed by helping him with his struggles and celebrating all the little joys he discovered. He could get happy about the simplest things, like pancakes day after day. How could you not want to be around someone like that?
But both the shop and taking care of Jamie could be difficult at times. Staffing difficulties, screwed up deliveries, inventory, balancing the books, creating marketing ideas…. And while Jamie was happy much of the time, the times when he wasn’t could be very challenging. My job and home life both fulfilled me and drained me. But without realizing it, I had lost myself along the way somewhere. I forgot about my needs—the fun of a date, or a trip with someone I loved, the sensual pleasure of the bedroom, someone to share my trials with and my celebrations. Zane nurtured me and filled me. He treasured me for me and wanted to make me happy, take care of my needs, help me to both enjoy life and to endure it.
So where the hell was he?
He’d filled a hole I didn’t know I had. But now I was aware of that hole, and I needed it filled. I was becoming restless and frustrated waiting for him without knowing why I was doing it. As the day slipped away, I only became more baffled, and concerned. Did Brad come here and do something to him? By this time he should have discovered and answered my texts.
Sitting on the couch as the sun’s rays stretched across my hardwood floors, for the tenth time, I stared at the handful of words on the page that were my only clue. I puzzled over those ten words until my head ached. I’m sorry. I can’t do it. This was a mistake. Sorry for what? For what happened yesterday? He couldn’t predict or prevent it. He couldn’t do what? What did I ask him to do? What was a mistake? That was the sentence worrying me the most. They were the words I gave him when he wanted to start a relationship. As the day wore on, I began to wonder if they were the words he was giving me to end it. At one point I walked into the bedroom to find my purse and froze, realizing his bag was gone. Why would he take his bag with him…unless he didn’t mean to return? I let the idea into my head a little at a time. A passing thought at first, then my only thought. I forgot about feeding Jamie lunch until almost two o’clock in the afternoon. I spent a good chunk of my hours on the couch, with the note in hand, staring at the sun’s rays, inventing different scenarios to explain his absence.
Where are you, Zane?
An ache started to grow. And not only did I have to deal with how his disappearance was affecting me, I had to deal with Jamie’s mounting frustrations and concerns for the same reason. Along with the ache came the first spark of anger.
If you were leaving us, surely you could do better than ten fucking words, Zane.
Ten fucking words to sum up all we had? And the same ten fucking words to explain why that was gone. When I got to the point when I was about to scream or dissolve into tears I called Payton.
We sat on the fire escape. Jamie was in bed, and I was afraid to face my bed.
“And this is all? This is all he left you?” she said for the fifth time. “Only this? Nothing else?”
She wasn’t helping.
When she arrived and we decided to go out on the fire escape to talk and drink, I went to the refrigerator and saw the cider he got me. And that six-pack is what did me in. Seeing it, I broke into tears. Drinking it fought off the tears for a time, but the buzz would end, leaving me empty. And eventually, Payton had to leave. And while it helped at first to have someone to share my righteous indignation, to be truthful, after she left, I was relieved.
Now I was sitting in the corner of the stairwell with the note in one limp hand, the last of the six-pack Payton bought for us in my other hand, rolling my head against the bars behind me to stare at the moon, as I stared at the sun earlier. In the end the ten words on the page became two words—where and why.
Where are you, Zane? And why did you leave me?
About a week after he left, I received a strange phone call.
“Yes, may I please speak with a Ms. Grace Prescott?”
“This is Grace.”
“Hello, Ms. Prescott.” He spoke very formally. “My name is Bernard Weinstein and I am an attorney representing Zane Sanders. I still can’t believe I’m saying that. Anyway, Mr. Sanders instructed me to let you know about the case against the two Stanton police officers who assaulted you. Mr. Sanders’ suit was dropped due to some recent news. Apparently, the two men—if you want to call them that—were arrested for the rapes and murders of five women and three men who went missing in the area. The FBI’s investigation of the disappearances had pretty much come to a standstill until your lawsuit came to light and—long story short—since then the evidence has snowballed against the policemen and they will probably spend the rest of their days in prison. Mr. Sanders dropped the suit against the city of Stanton as the police chief was very cooperative with us and the FBI in our efforts to punish the men responsible for assaulting you. So, I said a lot. Are there any questions I can answer for you?”
“Umm…Zane wanted you to let me know this because….”
“Well, he told me he wanted you to feel safe and know the men did not get away with the things they did.” An awkward silence followed while I tried to understand why Zane would do that after he left me. “Ms. Prescott? Are you still there?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’m still here.”
“Well, like I said, this is a lot to take in. I mailed you a short letter with my contact information should you have any questions at a later date. You should receive that today or tomorrow. Feel free to call me. Mr. Sanders has paid a retainer fee so you will not accrue any charges.”
“Okay. Well, thank you very much for all you did.”
“It’s my pleasure. Take care now.”
I hung up and sat on the couch for a long while trying to understand Zane’s actions, but I couldn’t figure it out.
Another piece of the puzzle that is Zane that I will think about tonight when I’m not sleeping.
Zane
I was as miserable as I ever was in my life. A different kind of despair than when my mom died or losing Devin. I wanted her so badly my body literally ached all over.
Two weeks had passed since I left and the tour led us to Chicago—far too close to her. In fact I was thinking of organizing a European tour simply to get physical distance between us. Tensions were beginning to mount. The band was getting fed up with my attitude.
I didn’t even think about how difficult it would be to sing those songs, the ones we danced to, the one we sang to, our songs. That first night after I left her, when I sang “Dancing Into My Heart” I froze on stage for the first time in my life. The music brought back the physical sensations. I remembered the line where I pulled her out of the crowd, the chord playing when she spun under my arm, the rhythm when we kissed. They were some of my worst performances, and some of my best. As usual, my music both pained and saved me. The harder songs were a godsend. I could pour myself into them, expressing the rage, anguish, and heartache. At the same time, I poured myself out of them with my sweat, leaving me cold and empty. I closed the concert to thunderous applause that meant absolutely nothing to me.
Tonight wasn’t unlike all the nights previous. I walked off the stage and didn’t stop walking. I did
n’t talk to anyone, just went straight to my dressing room. In the shower, the hot water melted me. I’d stand with my hands against the wall, steam rising around me, and I would let it all out. Let myself feel the pain I kept at bay throughout the day. When the water finally ran cold I’d get out, towel myself off, and go through the motions of getting dressed. Tonight, in Chicago we had what we liked to call a layover. We wouldn’t travel until tomorrow. A fire pit we kept stored on one of the trucks along with our other equipment was out near the buses. Lawn chairs circled it. The flames were both blurry and mesmerizing. Six empty beer bottles sat at my feet—an accident waiting to happen—a fifth of scotch was in my fist and I was drinking straight out of it. This concert was the hardest by far. I don’t know what it was. Being closer to her, I guess.
I needed to get things back to normal. The old normal, not the normal with her—pancakes, laughing, making love, repeat. The old normal was sing, drink, sex, repeat. I hadn’t been with anyone since that last bittersweet night with her. Had no desire to be.
I could feel them watching me, and it didn’t help. They were wondering what I would do next. So was I. The self-destructive behavior was escalating and leading to a Zane fuck-up of major proportions. Slouched in my chair, I was staring at the fire, taking a drink of my alcohol poison from time-to-time. A girl sat on Rafe’s lap, Jericho already took one to a bus, and Dex was having an animated conversation with one about some stupid video game they played. More girls sat in chairs, some standing. Their shadows swayed in front of me.
“I can rock your world,” one said, bending over so I could see her cleavage.
I waved a hand like I was shooing away a fly. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
Most of them figured out I wasn’t going to fuck them tonight and quit trying to talk to me, steering clear of the asshole lead singer. Fine. They weren’t what I wanted anyway. I could hear conversations around me, but it was like they were held underwater. A roadie to my left was trying to score with one of our leftovers. Dex and the girl were prattling on and on about bosses, AK47s, health packs, and some other such crap. Rafe was too far away to make out what he was saying—or I was too drunk, or a combination thereof—but I could hear the cadence and timber of his voice, and her response in a higher register.
I felt absolutely dead inside. I needed to do something life affirming. I staggered to my feet, grabbed one of the girls nearby, and headed toward a bus. I didn’t even know which one it was. The blonde? The brunette? It would be a blonde in my mind, and not one who was here.
Rafe got in my way. “Hey, man. You don’t want to do that.”
I shoved him in the shoulder, hard. “Get the fuck out of my way.” I wasn’t sure those were the words that came out, but they were the ones I was trying to say.
“Zane, what the hell are you doing?” Dex called out.
Rafe responded. “Leave him alone. If he wants to be a self-destructive asshole, let him be one.”
I nearly stumbled, but the girl helped me keep my balance. “Are you okay?”
I grunted.
“Wrong bus, asshole,” Rafe offered, but I didn’t give a fuck. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care who, where, what, when, or how. I only wanted the pain to end. At least for a moment. Somehow I made it in the bus and through the door, but I guess I left the girl on the other side. I opened it again, snatched her hand, and moved forward, falling into a cabinet, burying its knob in my shoulder.
“Ouch. Fuck.” I found a couch. “Come here.”
The girl came over, and I pulled her onto my lap. I kissed her, kneading her boob like I was milking a damned cow. My kisses were sloppy, lacking any finesse whatsoever. But they didn’t care. They never cared. They simply wanted to get laid by a rock star.
Well, I’m that, baby. So bring it on.
I wouldn’t be fucking her anyway. I would be making love to Grace. Images of our time together warped reality. It was her hair I was burying my hands in, her I was tasting on my lips. I yanked down her top and tried to lower my head to suck her tits, but I hit it on the table. “Fuck!” It hurt enough already. “Come on, honey. Bring it over here.” I was annoyed. I shouldn’t have to work for it this hard. She straddled my lap, bring her hard nipple right to mouth level. And I suddenly felt like crying.
No, shit. I can’t lose it.
“Take the rest of your shit off.”
Good little slut who she was, she complied, coming back to me. “You like what you see?” she said in what I’m sure she thought was a sultry voice, but it just sounded stupid.
I tried to put a finger on her lips, but I think I palmed her face. “Don’t talk.”
She exhaled. “Whatever you want.” I’m pretty sure she was getting pissed, but she wouldn’t let that stop her.
She came over, unzipped my pants, stroking me. I laid back on the cushions and sighed. “Yeah. That feels good.” She was working away. “Mmm. God, yeah.” I had to feel something, even if it was solely physical sensation. I unzipped my pants all the way and she slid to the floor in front of me. Trying to focus my eyes, I looked at her. “Grace?”
“Grace? Who’s Grace?”
I put my hand on her cheek. Her skin was soft. “Never mind. Keep doing what you’re doing.” As she opened her mouth to swallow me down, her image became clear for an instant. I pushed her away. “No. No. This isn’t right.”
“Well, we don’t have to do it that way. I know other things.” She slid her palms along my thighs. Her touch felt like spiders crawling on me. In a panic, I tried to stand, knocking her head into the table. “Ouch. What the fuck?”
“Get up. Get up.” I grabbed her jeans and threw them at her. “Get the fuck out of here.”
I moved to the other side of the bus and slumped in the seat, as far away from her as possible.
Oh, my God. What was I about to do?
It didn’t matter. Grace was out of my life. For all I knew, she could be doing some guy right now.
But I knew she wasn’t.
I wanted her so bad. Needed her so bad. But I loved her. I had to stay away. I was a mess. Always was. Always would be. Maybe at some point I could be with another woman, but I knew that point was a long ways off.
The window next to me was open. The cooler air felt good on my flaming cheeks. My head lolled to the left, and I was gazing out the window. Shadows swayed around the fire like some ancient tribal mating dance. I blinked and things became clearer. Jericho was returning to the fire with his arm over a girl’s shoulder. They all looked my way.
“Shit,” Rafe said, loud enough for me to hear.
Jericho took a step forward. “Oh, shit.”
Dex’s mouth was hanging open. “Fuck.”
I shifted my gaze to the right to see what they were talking about, but I only saw the girl getting dressed. I didn’t want to see that. I slowly turned to look out the window again. My head felt like a bowling ball rolling around on my shoulders.
Dex shouted, “Grace, wait!”
But Rafe stepped in front of him and was holding him back. “Let her go. He deserves whatever circle of hell she’s going to put him in.”
Dex shoved him in the shoulder. “I’m not worried about him, you asshole, I’m worried about her.” He started to move past him, but they all froze, Rafe twisting to peer over his shoulder.
Worried about who? Wait. Did he say Grace?
I jerked to attention, pulling the curtain back to widen my range of vision. Grace was reaching for the bus door handle.
“Oh, no. No.” I couldn’t let her…. “Hurry,” I hissed. “Grace is coming.” I went over and tried to hurry/help her.
“Again I have to ask, who the hell is Grace?”
The door opened. I was holding the arms of the girl who was sliding on her skirt. The expression on Grace’s face knifed me.
“Grace. No, no, no, no, no. Wait.” I tied to rush toward her, but my heel got caught in the straps of the girl’s bra and I went down, hitting my head on something on the way to the
floor and splitting it open.
The last thing I remember was Rafe’s voice as things were fading to black. “Crying was a good choice, Grace. Yelling at him would hurt less.”
Grace
Two weeks had passed since Chicago, when I came face-to-face with my own stupidity and naivety. Man, I had bought everything he’d sold me. Handsome, successful, tempting rock star. All it took was one unguarded moment to show me who he really was. In true Grace fashion, I stuffed all of my feelings of humiliation, anger, betrayal and grief way down inside me. Folded neatly, tiny and tight, put on a shelf and shoved to the back, where I’d never find them again. I threw myself into my work, and taking care of Jamie. I stayed awake late at night working on some new marketing strategies for the shop. I hadn’t gone back to my bed. Couldn’t. I’d work on my laptop until I couldn’t focus anymore, curl up on the couch and go to sleep. I didn’t even cover myself as a form of punishment.
I wanted to punish myself for being such an idiot, convincing myself we had a future together. What a joke. But nights…nights were the hardest. When my brain was too tired to protect itself from the memories. The false memories of what I imagined we could be together. I mean, who the hell was I to think we had some special “magic.” Like we were different from anybody else? I thought I abandoned fairy tale thinking when I was young. But I guess I wanted it too much.
Still, the memories seemed real enough. I’d wake from fevered dreams and want to cry myself back to sleep, but wouldn’t allow myself. I needed to grow up. Other people had it much worse than having their heart broken by a rock star. It was almost laughable…only I couldn’t laugh anymore. It seemed when I denied myself my negative emotions, the other emotions went with them. As far as the future, I decided celibacy was far underrated. I got along fine in life without anybody by my side. No parents, no grandparents…no one special.
So I became a kind of shell Grace, like the shell Zane I had believed in. Sleep deprived, emotion deprived, carrying on like I always did. Taking care of business, that was Grace. I found myself very distracted. As if blocking out thinking of him, and any feelings associated with him, created a kind of static in my mind. I kept messing up orders, forgetting appointments, and losing things. People had to tell me something half a dozen times for it to sink in. But I was smiling and walking through life as if my time with Zane Sanders never happened.
ROCKED BY GRACE (LOVE AND CHAOS SERIES Book 1) Page 19
