by Amy Marie
“You’ll go to New York, and I’ll—.”
She cuts me off. “No, I mean,” she lets out a slow, shaky exhale, “I mean with us.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?”
“We haven’t known each other all that long and all the stuff with Hannah,” she sighs. “It’s easier to pretend in Malibu.”
“Pretend what?”
She shrugs. “That we can be an us without everything else getting in the—"
Before she can finish, I pull over and throw the car in park, ignoring the angry honks and glares, I turn to face her. She looks down at our joined hands, and I reach over, lifting her chin. “Look at me,” I tell her. “I want you. Not just for one night and not just in Malibu. I want you. I felt it the moment we met, I felt it the first night we spent together, and I feel it now. There is something between us, something big. We may not be ready to put a label on it just yet, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk away now.”
Tears fill her eyes, the sight nearly cracking my chest wide open. “There’s just so much at stake for both of us, Ezra. The press is going to—”
I brush a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Do you want this, Orelia? Do you want me?”
She nods, closing her eyes as she breathes the words, “More than anything.”
I lean in, my lips brushing against hers. “Then be with me. The rest will work itself out.”
“But when it gets out…”
“It won’t.” She frowns, and I run my thumb over the deep crease that forms between her brows. “Not until we want it to. We’ll keep it between us, finish the album, and just see where this road leads.”
She has a point, though. If the press finds out that we’re together, they will crucify her, burn her at the stake and rip her apart. I wish I could be strong enough to let her go. She deserves so much more than this life marred by lies and scandal. My baggage is heavy, but it’s my burden to carry. The last thing I want is for her to be tainted by my choices.
“The past few days weren’t enough for me. To be honest, I’m not sure I’ll ever get my fill of you. So be with me, Orelia. Be my lover, my girlfriend, whatever you want to call it as long as it means that I get you.”
“Okay,” she says, leaning her forehead against mine. “Just us.”
“Together.”
A few minutes later, I pull up to the curb at terminal four and get out the car, heading for the trunk to retrieve her suitcase. She meets me at the back of the car, her eyes searching for any sign of the paparazzi, but they rarely hang around in departures. I reach for her hand, and her eyes snap to mine.
“Hey,” I tell her, “you’re going to knock ‘em dead.”
She smiles, but it’s a little reserved. “When do you leave to see Hannah?” she asks.
“I’m headed there now.” I step forward and cup her cheek. She leans into the touch, and I can feel her reluctance to leave. “You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now.”
Her eyes widen and dart around us as people unload and say good-bye to loved ones on their way to catch their flights.
I chuckle. “I won’t, but don’t think it’s because I don’t want to, desperately.” I step closer. “But tomorrow night when you get back, all bets are off.” A smile lights up that beautiful face. “Go, baby, I’ll be here waiting when you come home.”
She nods and grips the handle of her suitcase. With one last glance over her shoulder, she makes her way toward the sliding doors leading into the terminal.
I feel this tug on my heart, watching her go, like her heart is tethered to mine, the rope jerking with every step she takes, and I know I’ve fallen in love with her.
My heart beats wildly inside my chest, and before I can think too much about it, I call out her name, “Orelia!”
She stops, spinning on her heel. I jog to meet her, slowing my gate as I reach her and cupping her gorgeous face between my palms. Crashing my lips to hers, I kiss her long and slow and deep. Memorizing the softness of her lips, her taste, the breathy sounds she makes when I trace her jaw with my fingertips.
When I break the kiss, she wears an intoxicated grin, and my chest inflates, knowing I have that effect on her.
“What was that?” she murmurs.
I smile. “Couldn’t wait.” I lean in, giving her a gentle peck on her lips before I head back to the car.
A terminal cop stands beside my car, taking note of my license plate as I approach. “Sorry, Officer. I’m here.” I wave the keys in hand.
“This lane is for unloading only,” she scolds.
“Understood. I was just having a hard time saying good-bye to my girl.” I can’t keep the smile from my face.
She taps a button on her device and rips off the ticket from the printer on the end, handing it to me. “Hope she was worth it.”
I glance down at the citation for eighty-eight dollars. “Completely worth it.”
I spend the two-hour drive to Palm Desert trying to come up with a game plan for meeting with Hannah today. Her email threw me for a loop. I expected her to be constructing voodoo dolls of me out of pipe cleaners in art therapy, but instead, she reached out to say that she’s sorry and even grateful for what Cole and I did for her.
Despite the apparent sincerity, if there is one thing I have learned, it’s not to underestimate Hannah Miles. She is a master manipulator and not above lying through her teeth to get what she wants.
I pull into the visitor’s lot around four and sit there staring at the front door, steeling myself to get out of the car. My phone rings through the car speakers, and I push the button on the steering wheel to answer.
“You there yet,” Cole asks.
“Yeah,” I exhale, “just pulled into the parking lot.”
“You should have let me come with you,” he says.
“We’ve been over this. She asked me to come alone.”
“I don’t trust her.”
“She’s in a rehab facility, Cole. What can she do?”
“I still think this is a bad idea.”
“Well, just think of how much you’ll enjoy telling me ‘I told you so’ if this turns out to be a colossal mistake.”
“I do so love it when I’m right.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Listen, I got to go.”
“Okay, just be careful.”
“Will do,” I say, then disconnect the call.
A nurse wearing a pair of mint green scrubs and bulky gray sweater motions for me to follow her. She leads me down a long hallway lined with windows, then into a small lounge area with two loveseats arranged across from one another, an armchair between them.
Hannah smiles at me from where she’s curled up on one of the loveseats. I notice a tall woman in a pair of large black-framed glasses occupies the armchair in front of the window. She stands and offers me her hand. “Hello, Mr. King, I’m Dr. George.”
“Ezra, please.” I give her hand a shake and nod to Hannah as the doctor gestures for me to take a seat opposite her. I glance around, noticing the large bay window framing a rock garden with thick succulents and palm trees. The natural light floods the small space, making it feel open and comfortable. Just the sort of space to put you in the right mindset to spill all of your secrets.
“Hannah and I appreciate you coming all this way to meet with us today. We realize you are a busy man. Don’t we, Hannah?”
She nods, her eyes cast down at her fingers. She wears a pink sweater and a pair of yoga pants. Her baby pink hair is tied up in a ponytail, and her face looks fresh, make-up simple, giving her that sweet innocent glow she likes us to believe is the real Hannah Miles. Beneath the mask, her eyes are tired and red-rimmed. The withdrawal from all the drugs and alcohol has clearly taken its toll.
Dr. George nods to Hannah, who sits up a bit straighter, placing her hands flat on the tops of her thighs. “Ezra,” she starts, “I asked you here today to say thank you.”
I raise a brow, earning me a scolding look from Dr.
George.
Hannah sucks in a deep breath. “You saved my life, not only that morning in Malibu, but by bringing me here to get the treatment I so desperately needed. I’m sorry to have caused you so much pain when all you wanted was to be there for me. I pushed you away time and time again in our relationship, then punished you when you finally left. It wasn’t fair to you or to us.”
I breathe in, trying to remain impassive, but fuck if I haven’t been waiting for years to hear those words.
A tear slides from her cheek, and Dr. George hands her a tissue. “Thank you,” she says, dabbing at her eye.
Dr. George turns to me. “Ezra, is there maybe something you would like to say to Hannah?”
I glance at Hannah, still clutching the tissue in her fingers. Crocodile tears stream down her cheeks. “I have to say that I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you own up to your behavior, and if this is what it takes to make you see that the only person you’re really hurting in the end, is yourself, then it’s good you’re here. People care about you, Hannah. I only want the best for you, and so does Cole, but you need a little tough love right now.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because I love you, Ezra. I never stopped. I let the pressure of the spotlight beat me down until I shattered, shredding your heart too.” Hannah sniffles. “I have a lot of work ahead of me, but I’m willing to do it. I’m ready for things to go back to the way they were between us, you find my way back to what we had.”
I shake my head, and Dr. George narrows her eyes. “How does that make you feel, Ezra?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to say.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “We can’t go back, Hannah.”
“Then, we move forward. Start over, just you and me.”
“I can’t,” I tell her.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m in love with someone else.”
The room falls silent as the three of us glance at each other with matching stunned expressions. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but it doesn’t make the words any less true. I love Orelia. I am in love with her, and nothing or no one is going to change that.
Hannah’s head jerks back, and her mouth gapes open. “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her.
“It’s her, isn’t it? Orelia.” Her words are clipped and accusing.
“Not that it concerns you, but yes. Orelia and I are together.”
“You can’t love her,” Hannah shrieks, “you belong with me.”
I shake my head. “Hannah, you know that isn’t true. We were fire and water from the beginning. You wanted the fame and the money, and I… well… I just wanted you to be happy. You’re right. In a way, I am responsible for your downfall. I indulged you. I gave you everything you ever desired and then some. I turned you into a cold, selfish, golden shell of the girl I’d met all those years ago. I let you down. I should have—” I let the sentence die on my lips. “I should’ve looked out for you, even after we broke up.”
A lone tear falls from her eyes, rolling slowly down her cheek, and I knew that tear came from her heart, the one I’d broken all over again.
“I— I don’t know what to say,” she says robotically. “I can’t do this without you, Ezra. I’ll fall back into old habits in a heartbeat if you’re not there to stop me.”
“I won’t be your crutch. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. Cole and I and the label will be there to help you when you need it, but getting sober, staying sober is something you have to do on your own. Do it for yourself, Hannah. You owe it to yourself to stand on your own two feet.”
“Wise words,” Dr. George nods.
“I can’t lose you,” she whimpers.
“You won’t lose me. I’ll be there as a friend when you really need me.”
Hannah slumps back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Sure, like she is going to let you stay a part of my life.”
I nod. “We’ve already discussed it.”
She laughs, the sound echoing off the room. “You have a lot to learn about women if you believe that one.”
I rub a hand over my face. “Look, I came here because you said there were things we left unsaid. I’ve already told you that I’m ready to help you as a friend, but I’m not going to sit here and listen to you insult my girlfriend.”
Hannah turns her head and huffs. I take that as my sign and push to my feet, offering my hand to Dr. George. “It’s was nice to meet you,” I tell her, then turn back to my ex. “Hannah, I wish you the best of luck.”
Heading for the door, I stop when she calls out for me. “Wait!” I turn around to face her, and she looks defeated, shoulders slumped, her attention focused on her fingernails. “It won’t happen again. You’re right, if I’m going to stay sober, then I need to do it for the right reasons, and if having you in my life means respecting that you don’t want to be with me, then—” she inhales sharply and exhales slowly, “—then that’s what I’m going to do.”
Dr. George smiles and pats Hannah’s hand.
I move toward her, reaching for her hand and dragging her to her feet. I wrap her in my arms, and the dam breaks as she sobs into my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Ezra. I’m sorry,” she cries.
“Me too,” I tell her, squeezing her a little tighter. She pulls away slightly, and out of habit, I wipe the tears from beneath her eyes.
Hannah retreats and looks up at the doctor. “Would you mind giving us a moment alone?”
The doctor looks to me, and I nod. She stands and leaves the room, softly closing the door behind her.
Hannah drops into the armchair, a smirk forming on her lips. Tears still stain her cheeks, but her demeanor has changed from sad and reflective to smug and sadistic.
“In the eyes of the fans and the press, you and I are tied together pretty closely,” she says. “I don’t think Malcom will take too kindly to you leaving me in my time of need. Why, it might send me on a bender, which could be really embarrassing for Dionysus. You don’t want to lose out on the chance to finally have your own label, do you?”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Your deal with Malcom. You set me straight, and he gives you the label you’ve always wanted.”
“How’d you…You know about that?”
“I’m not an idiot.” She bats her lashes, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “I just played one on TV.” She giggles.
This woman is a goddamn sociopath. “You are sick,” I sneer.
“But you love me,” she pouts. Her performance earlier was Oscar-worthy. I can see her on 60 Minutes now, baring her soul about her producer boyfriend, who she gave herself to completely and who introduced her to a world of drugs and booze she couldn’t escape. The world will buy every lie she sells them, painting me as the villain who destroyed her innocence.
“If you want your little label, baby, then you’re going to have to play nice in the media. No flaunting you little tart around town. Capiche?”
I step right into her face. “That’s not your call to make.”
She looks up and taps a finger to her lips. “I’m pretty sure it is. Malcom needs this to work, and what’s more, he needs me to behave, and so do you. So, I get what I want, you get what you want.”
“And what is it you want? We’re not together, and we never will be again, regardless of what the fans or press think.”
“No, sweetie, I want you to produce my next album.” She takes my hand and runs a thumb over my knuckles before I yank it away. “With you on the project, Midas, we all stand to make a lot of money.”
“And if I refuse?” I spit.
“Then say good-bye to your dream, and I’ll make sure your little girlfriend is buried in so much scandal, the label will have no choice but to push her album release indefinitely.”
“You can’t possibly be this heartless.”
“Try me. Check the papers tomorrow, my love. It’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
&
nbsp; Chapter 22
Orelia
Oh, man, am I nervous, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the live performance I’m about to give on national television. I cling to my cell phone, bouncing my leg, earning me dirty looks from the hair and make-up team. Shit, I should at least learn their names, but that’s how they were introduced to me, “This is hair, and this is make-up.”
I glance down at my phone for what feels like the hundredth time. He said he would call. Why hasn’t he called? And how have I become this girl? Well, technically, he did call, but my phone was still set to airplane mode, and I missed it. When I called back, I got voicemail. I texted but still no response.
I tap the voicemail and press the phone against my ear for the fifth time this morning.
Hey, beautiful. I just wanted to say goodnight and wish you luck tomorrow. You will blow them away. I’m sure of it. God, I miss you. I’ll see you soon.”
My finger hovers over the return call button when I hear a familiar voice, “Fancy meeting you here.”
I turn and am met with a blinding smile. “Jamie?” He opens his arms, and I step into them. “What are you doing here?”
“They’re doing a whole thing on up and coming artists.”
“Are you performing?” I ask.
He smiles, “Ah, no. Interview. They’re showing some concert footage and clips from Icon.” He nudges my shoulder. “Not all of us are brave enough to do a live acoustic set.”
“I don’t know if it’s so much brave as necessary.”
He nods. “Ah, I see. Damage control.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, listen, I don’t know how long you’re going to be in New York, but maybe after this, we can grab dinner. I know this great little place—.”
“Uh, yeah, I leave tonight, actually. My flight is at six.”
He nods, looking a little dejected. “Right, of course. Another time.”
“Absolutely,” I say, already checking out of the conversation when I spot Cole talking to one of the producers. I smile at Jamie. “Will you excuse me?” I don’t wait for his response before I make a beeline for Cole, dodging PAs and camera equipment.
