The It's Kind Of Personal (Complete 6 Book Series)ies

by Anna Brooks

  “Lee, man. You can’t force her to talk to you.” He’s sympathetic, but there’s also guilt in his tone.

  “You’re one of my best friends. I’m fucking begging you. Let me see her. If anything, I just need to say good-bye.”

  A crowd of girls walks up behind me, and I pull the brim of my hat lower and keep my back to them while Pierce cards them. Once their voices are gone, I turn back around. I’m not crazy famous by any stretch of the imagination, but if there is a fan here or someone I went to high school with, they’d want to talk. And I don’t want to right now. I don’t want to fucking talk to anybody but my girl, and she wants absolutely nothing to do with me.

  “It’s the middle of her shift. The best I can tell you is I’ll let her take the trash out tonight.”

  I nod and start to walk away, but he calls my name. I’ve avoided him like a pussy since he threw me out of her apartment. Afraid to admit to one of my best friends, one of the guys who’s always been there for me, that I’m a weak bitch. A fucking addict. I haven’t had anything since that night, and my body reminds me of it. Chills, cold sweats, puking my fucking guts out. But I’d live with that every day if it meant that she still loved me.

  When I look over my shoulder, only a split second goes by before he lands a right hook to my jaw, then follows it with a punch to my gut. I force myself to look him in the eye, even though I feel like I’m about to puke and my jaw is throbbing so hard I feel my brain pulsing.

  “Get some fucking help, man.” I deserved that. I deserve so much more than he gave me. He should have kept going and left me for dead.

  * * *

  The brick wall is cold against my back and when the door squeaks, I don’t move. If she knows I’m out here, she’ll probably go back inside. I’ve been sitting here for hours debating what to say to her. I write songs for a living; words are my life. But nothing sounds right. Everything seems like an excuse and I hate that.

  She throws a bag in the large dumpster and turns to walk inside.

  “Ahh!” She screams when she sees me, and I slowly stand, wiping the gravel off my jeans.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “What happened to your face?” She rushes toward me and places her soft hand on my jaw.

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  When her eyes meet mine, she quickly pulls her hand away and steps back. “What do you want?”

  “To say good-bye.”

  “You’re going back?” She sounds shocked, and a tiny part of me hopes it’s because she wants me to stay.

  I swallow and the sound echoes in the quiet alley. “Yes. I have to. The record label will sue me if I don’t. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  She freezes. “I hope you get the help you need, Liam. And not for me, but for yourself and the other people who care about you.”

  “Flight’s at ten in the morning. But once this tour is over, I’m coming back for you. I’ll never give up fighting for you.”

  She pulls the door open and walks inside. Before it slams, I hear her response. “Prove it.”

  * * *

  I didn’t sleep last night. At all. When Meara walked away from me, I went back to my mom’s house and emptied a couple of bottles of her liquor. I normally drink vodka, but she only had about a quarter of a bottle, so I finished off the whiskey, too. Then I puked it up a half an hour later. My body was clearly pissed I was torturing it.

  As I rested my head on the toilet, I promised myself that was it. That was the last time I touched a drop. I’m fucking embarrassed at the man I’ve become and pissed off that I allowed myself to succumb to my addiction. After I was in the hospital a few years ago and the band had to take a two-month hiatus because I was in rehab, I swore it was my last time then, too. I promised Meara. But she was still there then. She’s gone now, though, so I’m not sure where that leaves me.

  I told my mom what happened this morning, and she made me feel even shittier, blaming herself for staying with my alcoholic, drug addict father as long as she did. I tried to explain everything to her, but she didn’t understand. Nobody understands what it’s like. I already contacted a sponsor, and he’s meeting me in Oklahoma at our next show. I know I have a problem, and I hate that I have to admit it. I hate that it makes me weak. I hate that it took my world away from me.

  When I was growing up, I was close to my mom. We’d talk about everything. And when I got to that age where she embarrassed me wherever we went, I secretly loved the fact that she was always there. To know that she had my back all the time is a devotion only a mother has.

  As ashamed and pissed as I am for my behavior, having my mother be disappointed in me is a new low.

  After a silent drive to the airport, Mom dropped me off and I promised to keep in touch and do my best to better myself.

  I check in at the vestibule and begin walking to my terminal.

  “Lee.”

  I’d recognize that sound anywhere. No matter how many people are around me and how loud it is, her voice is the best sound in the world.

  I turn on my heels and walk out of the short security line at the airport. “Hi.”

  She’s wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses and I reach up to take them off. I need to see her eyes. When I remove them, I suck in a breath. She looks so empty again. And it’s my fucking fault. I failed as a man and I despise myself for that. Being in a relationship means being a better person because of them, but I’m making her worse. I’m forcing myself to believe she’ll give me another chance. Without that hope, I don’t see much point in anything.

  “Why are you here?” She knows how I feel about her coming to the airport. We never say good-bye here. It’s too final … too symbolic.

  Without words, she leans forward, wraps her arms around my waist, and buries her head in my chest. I hold her as tight as I can, breathing in her scent, memorizing all that I can, wishing for so much, but knowing deep down none of it will come true. I can’t change the past, I can only hope for a miracle in the future.

  She sniffles and pulls back then kisses my cheek. I’m focused on her eyes, so when I hear a snap, I look down to her ripping her star necklace off and shoving it into my pocket. “Good-bye, Liam.”

  Meara

  I turn my back to him to walk away, but he grips my arm and spins me.

  “Don’t do this, Meara. I’ll fix it, baby. I promise I can fix this.” He’s begging me, desperate.

  “No,” I whisper. “This isn’t something you can just put a Band-Aid on. There’s too much at stake this time.” I pull my sunglasses back on and shake my head as I take a step backward.

  “I won’t stop trying. No matter how long it takes, princess. I fucking promise you I won’t ever give up. And you can count on me coming back. I’m not letting you forget about me.”

  Pivoting on the balls of my feet, I turn and walk as casually as I can to my car where I parked in short-term parking. Once inside, I allow myself one final cry. My heart is begging my brain to forgive him and move on. Every time I try, each and every time I see a tiny crack of forgiveness, the vision of him in that hotel room convulsing on the floor flashes in front of my eyes.

  I don’t remember the drive home. My entire body is numb, my mind frozen. Once inside my apartment, I sit on my couch and stare at the TV. I leave the power off and tilt my head at my reflection. My hair is greasy from lack of washing. I had no makeup on my face and removed all my piercings. Is this really what I’ve become?

  I’ve been forcing myself to eat and I bought prenatal vitamins from the pharmacy the other day. I have an appointment tomorrow morning before the bar opens. I finally get to see my baby. I wonder what time it happened. If it was when I first saw him and all our clothes weren’t even off, or if it was when we were in the shower?

  Sighing, I lie down and close my eyes. Nothing would make me happier than to wake up and have this all be a dream. But it’s not a dream, and I’ll have that scar permanently etched in the corner of my heart.


  My eyes become heavy and I allow my lids to fall, wanting to sleep. The more I sleep, the less time I have to be awake to face reality.

  * * *

  “I’m so sorry, Ms. Kelly. Would you like me to call somebody for you?”

  I stare at the doctor through tear-filled eyes. “I was pregnant, though, wasn’t I? The home tests I took said I was, and the doctor at the ER said the baby was fine.”

  “Yes, you were. And, unfortunately, sometimes these things happen without cause. I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I know words won’t help, but please know you have my support. Would you like to get dressed so I can explain your options to you? I’d be more than happy to make a phone call to someone on your behalf.”

  “No. Don’t call anyone. I’ll get dressed.”

  “Okay. When you’re done, please stick your head outside and I’ll walk with you to my office.” Dr. Brand squeezes my shoulder reassuringly and, like everything else this past week, I get dressed in a fog. I walk to her office in a fog, and I listen to my options in a fog. I decide to have the procedure done in the office instead of waiting to miscarry at home, and I drive home behind blurry eyes. There is so much uncertainty in my life right now. So much falling apart and I can’t even make sense of any of it. Especially this. What just happened? How did this happen? This baby was the only thing holding me together. But now … now I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

  My mind literally doesn’t process what it just heard, so I get home and call in sick to work. Nik checks on me later, but I lie and say it’s the flu. I’ve been lying in bed all day and night staring at a blank ceiling.

  I haven’t checked my phone all day and a voicemail flashes across the screen so I push in my code and put the phone to my ear.

  “Hey, princess. It’s twelve oh one a.m. right now. Officially my first day away from you. I’ve decided that I’m not letting you walk away from me that easily. I refuse to lie down and roll over, Meara. Maybe I’ve done a shitty job in the past of telling you how much I love you, but I promise not a day will go by while I’m away from you that I don’t remind you why you fell in love with me.” A breath passes through the receiver before he begins again. “I know I fucked up. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. You’re not anyone’s bitch, least of all mine. But maybe, just maybe, when I come back in a few months, you’ll realize how fucking sorry I am that I hurt you and how badly I want you in my life. How much I love you. That no words can describe what we have … what we’ve always had.”

  Day two: “Hey. I just got off the bus in St. Louis. The show went well last night. I admit I had to concentrate harder without the alcohol, which sounds completely fucked. The guys all went to see the Arch, but I stayed here. I have a couple of songs I’m working on and need the quiet. I hope you had a good day yesterday. Remember Bart, my old sponsor? He’s here now too, staying with me on the bus and helping me work through this. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but until you change your number, I’ll be calling you every day. I fucking love you, Meara. You don’t even know how much.”

  * * *

  Charlotte listens to the messages with me on speaker and bites her lip. She’s been so helpful, driving me to the appointment this morning and staying with me since to make sure I’m okay. “Maybe you should tell him?”

  “Why would I do that? It’ll only fuck with his head even more, and if he’s genuinely trying to get sober, I don’t want to ruin that for him.”

  “Maybe though, if he knew what happened, then he’d have even more of a reason to fight.”

  She passes back the bag of saltines and I grab another one and munch on the corner. “It could also have the opposite effect and make it worse. I’d rather risk him getting mad after the fact than ruining his progress, even if it’s only been a short time of sobriety.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Wouldn’t you rather go through this with him?”

  “Of course, I would, but like I said, it’s better for him.”

  “Why are you doing this, Meara?”

  Her tone is sharp, and I squint my eyes at her. “Doing what?”

  “Lying about this whole thing? For one, you know when your family finds out they’re gonna be infuriated. But secondly, I can see it in your eyes … you don’t want it to be over with him. And you can say it all you want, but your eyes tell me you want him here going through this with you.”

  I’ve had nothing but time to think lately, and in that time, I’ve done nothing but realize how much my life sucks without him in it. “Duh. Obviously, this isn’t what I want, but I can’t back down now. He has to know how serious I am or at least think I am. Look.” I shift on the couch. “I love him too damn much to lose him. We’ve been through way too much, and for him to die on me because of an OD … it’s not going to happen. He needs to sober up and get better.”

  “So you’re what, stringing him along?”

  “No, I’m doing the only thing I can think of to help him. What I think is the right thing for him. I just hope he believes in us enough to not give up, as he said.”

  We finish watching the movie in silence and when she asks for the billionth time if I’m really okay, I lie and tell her yes. She lets herself out, and once I’m alone, I put my hand on my stomach, still in denial that as of ten hours ago when I walked out of the hospital with Char supporting my weight, I am no longer a mother.

  Chapter 14

  Meara

  DAY FIVE: “YOU WOULD hate it here, princess. Texas is so humid. And holy shit. I saw this bug … I don’t even know what it was. But you would have refused to even get off the bus if you saw it. I’m not sure I’d be able to make it if we were playing outside tonight. Sorry, I can’t talk longer, but we have an interview in a half hour and I still need to change. Love you.”

  Day seven: “It’s been a week. I wonder if you stare at the stars like we used to and know that I’m looking at them, too. It always made the world seem so small, knowing we were looking at the same thing. I do love you, Meara.”

  Day thirteen: “So. I know how much you probably hate me. And I don’t blame you. But the past couple of weeks, only talking to your voicemail and not being able to hear your voice, your laugh, have been just awful. Just know how much I miss you and that I love you with everything that I am … even though I’m not much right now. I swear to you I’m trying to be better. I haven’t touched anything in almost two weeks. I don’t even miss it. All I miss is you.”

  Day fourteen: “I never told you about my dad. The truth. The disgusting details of his drug infested life. You didn’t need to see it, to see what I could become. But here it is, here’s the truth. My dad is a fucking addict. Lifelong and he isn’t going to change. I’ve done things with him that I’m not proud of doing. I was so afraid that you wouldn’t want to be with me if I confessed the truth about him. I realize it’s not rational because if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t judge you based on your parents. That’s why you hardly ever met him. Why I kept you away. It doesn’t change what I did, I’m not trying to use him as an excuse for my behavior, but I just wanted you to know. I’m going to be better than he is—for you and for me—because I refuse to live like him. I don’t want to lose my family, and you, Meara, are the most important family I have.”

  Day seventeen: “… You never yelled at me for ruining your plans. I don’t deserve sympathy, and I’m not asking for it, but I just wanted you to … fuck, I don’t even know—”

  Day eighteen: “I’m sorry I was so short yesterday, but it’s frustrating because I need you to fight back. This isn’t you. You’re not the silent type, Meara. You always let me have it, you always lay into me, and I need that. I know it’s not about me, but I’m fucking trying. I had a long talk with my dad last night. It’s embarrassing how alike we are. I guess I never realized how bad I really was … I hate myself right now. You have no idea how badly I wish I could be with you, begging for your forgiveness in person,
proving to you that I’m clean.”

  * * *

  Lisa knocks on my office door and hesitantly steps inside.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.”

  “Wanna sit?” I point at the chair across from my desk.

  “Sure.”

  I’m convinced that Lisa has been a freaking angel sent from heaven. She picks up extra shifts and doesn’t ever complain. I’ve gotten nothing but compliments from the regulars about her, and the guys think she’s a perfect fit.

  “I know it’s not my business, but can I say something?”

  “Yeah, of course.” I push back in my chair and rest my elbows on the desk.

  “When my husband died, I wished and wished that he would come back. I prayed and dreamed and cried. I would have done anything, absolutely anything to bring him back.”

  “God, I can’t even imagine.”

  “But then, when I realized he wasn’t, I became destructive because I thought, hey … what do I care anymore? I dabbled in drugs and drank more than my fair share … and the only thing that made me feel a little semblance of myself was when I slept with someone. Now, I’ve cleaned up. I’m good now, but …”

  Her story intrigues me, and I find myself leaning forward even more.

  “Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is I’ve been on both ends. I’ve been the one with loss and the one with the problem. It’s easy to get addicted to something, Meara. You wouldn’t think so, and it’s easy to judge, but just know that it can happen to the best of us. Also, I want you to know that once you really lose someone you love, there is nothing that makes it better. Time, maybe.” She laughs. “But even now, I still have my moments. I’ll swear I see him walk through the door sometimes. We had plans, big ones. And now, all I have is me and maybe some memories thrown in there, but one thing I’ll never have back is him.”

  * * *

  Day twenty: “Love you, princess.”

  Day twenty-five: “My mom told me you still sent her flowers for her birthday today. That was really nice of you. It made her happy. She’s not very happy with me, though. She’s been harping on me to make it right with you. I told her I’m trying … that I’d give anything to make it better, but I’m not sure anything I do will ever be enough to show you how sorry I am. Since I’ve left, I haven’t had a drop. I didn’t want to until last night when I realized it’s been over three weeks since you’ve talked to me. I wanted it to pull me into oblivion where all this fucking pain goes away. When I close my eyes, the darkness surrounds me. The pressure of pleasing everyone releases. Yeah, that sounds fucking amazing right about now … but I’m stronger than that. You make me want to be better than my dad was, better than a fucking bottle or a rock. So, for you, I’m not doing it. ”