Danica was lying on her stomach on the bed, talking quietly to both of them, giggling and telling a story or something. The guys were sitting on the floor, a few feet apart, drinking beer as they listened. Ash had a guitar in his lap and was playing idly, a drunk smile on his face.
They didn’t see me. Maybe they went in there to let me sleep, like I asked them to.
I went into the bathroom and for some reason, I slammed the door. Maybe I was annoyed with Danica. Maybe I was annoyed with them all. Maybe I was annoyed with Cary Clarke and myself and the whole damn world.
I went pee and swished some toothpaste and water around in my mouth because it tasted like vodka and pickles, and not in a good way anymore. And I just tried not to be angry for no reason.
I fucking knew it, though.
Usually, Danica told me everything. Which was why it was bugging me, maybe, that she wasn’t telling me everything about what was going on with Matt. I mean, I knew almost everything.
But not… everything.
And I knew Danica. She told me way more than she even told her twin sister. I knew that if there were things she wasn’t telling me, she had her reasons. We’d been tight since we were thirteen. The day we met, we did a pinkie swear to be best friends forever.
With some people, it was definitely instalove.
Maybe I would’ve asked/pushed/begged her to tell me more, but I had my own problems to deal with. And currently, I was busy drowning them in vodka.
To be fair, I really hadn’t told her every little detail about Cary. Maybe because I wanted her to like him and not tell me not to see him anymore?
I wondered if that was the same reason she hadn’t been totally open with me about Matt.
I dug my phone out of my pocket and checked it, actually half-expecting to find something from Cary.
Nothing.
I stuffed the phone away and stumbled back out into the living room.
“Taylor?” I heard my best friend call after me as I went searching for the vodka.
I rifled through the kitchen and found enough clean glasses, and carried them into the bedroom with the vodka. They all stopped talking when I walked in. I sat down next to Ash on the floor. I handed him the bottle and he put down his guitar.
He didn’t say anything. He just poured vodka into the glass in my hand. One of my best friend’s husband’s finest qualities as a friend was knowing when to just shut up and pour you a drink.
Then he poured everyone else one and passed them around, and they drank with me. Ash put his arm around me.
Danica came over and sat down on my other side and slipped her arm around me, too. I slumped against her, putting my head on her shoulder.
“It’ll be okay, Taylor,” she said softly.
But she knew it had been over twenty-four hours, and Cary still hadn’t spoken to me.
I’d called him.
I’d texted.
I’d even knocked on the studio window, once, where the shades were now closed.
It’ll be okay, Danica kept saying.
He’ll come around, Courteney kept telling me.
But with each passing hour, I believed them just a little bit less.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Taylor
I’m a Stranger
When I arrived back at Cary’s place on Monday morning, tea in hand and ready to work, I really wasn’t sure what to expect.
Half of me had gradually absorbed this strange new reality over the weekend—the one where Cary had locked himself inside his studio and was no longer communicating with me. The other half of me actually expected to walk into his house to find the studio doors standing open, as usual, welcoming me in to start my day with him.
The studio doors were closed.
I placed the decaf chai tea I’d brought for Cary on the floor. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked. I didn’t bother knocking because I knew he wouldn’t hear me.
I pulled out my phone and sent him a text to let him know I was here.
Then I stood staring at the closed doors in front of me for a long moment, absorbing this sight that I’d never seen, not once, since I came to work with Cary.
Not until I screwed up.
You guys always send him spiraling.
That was what Courteney said to her parents. And the thought that I’d now sent him spiraling… into sadness? Pain? Anxiety? Depression? Such fear or anger that he felt the need to lock himself inside his studio and stop talking to me and his sister?
I couldn’t stand it.
But I just didn’t know what to do about it.
I was only dimly aware that I wasn’t alone, that Freddy had appeared and was now rubbing against my ankles. I finally snapped out of it and bent down. I ruffled my fingers into the thick fur of his cheek, the way he liked. He purred and rubbed against my fingers.
“I hope you’re keeping him company in there,” I told him, my voice small in the big, empty foyer. “Give him lots of love, okay?”
Cary’s cat made a happy little chirping sound as I stood up, gazing up at me with his big, green eyes. When I smiled at him, he cocked his head and swished his tail, which meant he was waiting for me to play with him or feed him.
I wasn’t in the mood to play, so I went into the kitchen. He trotted after me. I put some of his kitty treats in his bowl and he purred loudly as he ate.
I crouched down next to him and ran my hand down his back and along his tail. “You know, you’re pretty easy to read, Freddy. I wish Cary would just tell me what he needs. Wouldn’t that be nice?” At the sound of Cary’s name, Freddy flicked his head up, looking at me a moment as he chewed, then crammed his face back in his bowl. “I’m glad he has you.”
I got to my feet, almost bursting into tears with the sudden swell of emotion that hit me as I watched Cary’s cat. This sweet little creature, the only one he let into his inner sanctum when he was upset.
Then I dug in my purse and did the only thing I had left to try: I wrote him a note on my star-shaped purple notepad, ripped it off, and folded it.
I’m sorry I let you down.
I tucked it snuggly under Freddy’s collar.
“You give him that for me, okay?” I stroked him one more time, then headed through the house, passing the closed studio doors on my way to the living room. I phoned Courteney, and she picked up just as I was stepping out into the backyard through the French doors.
“Hey, Taylor,” she answered. “Good morning.”
“Not so good, actually. I’m at Cary’s place. I always start at nine. He leaves the studio doors open for me. But today, they’re closed. And he hasn’t returned any of my messages over the weekend. I’m worried, Courteney.”
“I know. I understand.” She breathed a small sigh of worry herself. “There’s an emergency key, in the cupboard above the fridge. You can use it to enter the studio.”
“Really?” I stopped at the door to the poolhouse, considering that. I was relieved to know it was there. But… “No. I don’t want to do that. He’ll see my messages at some point when he checks his phone. I have to trust him to reach out when he’s ready. I can’t betray his trust again.” I let myself into the poolhouse and set my tea down on the kitchen counter.
“Okay. We’ll give it a few days, then. But after that, I might use the key myself. If I’m worried about him. We can see how it goes. But do you want to reach out to Merritt this morning, and ask her to let you know when she communicates with him? He might talk to her first, about work stuff, and she can at least let us know that he’s okay in there.”
“Of course. I’ll do that.”
“Thank you. And please keep me in the loop.”
“I will. For sure. Let me know if you manage to talk to him, too. Or if Xander hears from him. Just so I know he’s okay.”
“I will, Taylor.”
I took a deep breath. I still couldn’t believe it had come to this.
I looked around the poolhouse, the small living room / kitchen area.
What was I supposed to do now? Try to do my job on my laptop here, when he wasn’t speaking to me? Or just take off for a few days and leave him to his privacy?
“I still can’t believe I screwed up this bad,” I said quietly. “I hurt him, just like your parents did. He might think of me like he thinks of them now, because I let them in—”
“Don’t do that to yourself,” Courteney said. “This isn’t your fault, Taylor. He doesn’t think of you like he thinks of our parents. I promise you that. This is just what he does to everyone. He did it to Xander, his best friend. He did it to me, his sister. Even when we try to help… sometimes he doesn’t want that help. There’s only so much you can do.”
“I just don’t know how you can help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”
“Please, please don’t take it personally, and don’t let it ruin this,” she pleaded with me. “You’re helping him. The fact that he’s been working down at Little Black Hole with the band, at all, that’s huge.”
“Yeah. I know.” I took another breath. I’d just get through this, one breath at a time.
Until he was willing to talk to me… I’d just have to wait.
I was strong. I’d been on my own for a long time. I could do this.
I’d been afraid, in my own darkest moments, late at night in my apartment after I’d been through some crushing breakup, that I might be alone forever. Maybe that was why Cary’s situation had hit me in the heart so fast and so damn hard. Because I saw him struggling, on his own, and I knew he’d end up struggling on his own forever if he didn’t let someone in.
I really didn’t have family around who could help and support me, but he had a sister who wanted so badly to help him, and he wouldn’t let her.
“You’re gonna be okay?” she asked me hopefully.
“Yes. I’m okay. Have I told you you’re an amazing sister?”
She laughed bitterly. “I really wish I was. I try.”
“Keep trying.”
“Thanks, Taylor. Keep in touch, okay?”
“You, too.”
After we hung up, I tried to regroup to face this day.
I could set up my laptop in here, and maybe go out on the patio later, and I’d try to work like normal. I’d be in touch with Merritt, and through her and Danica/Ash, I’d find out as soon as anyone heard from Cary. I’d know he was okay in there and just needed some time alone to work, and to sort through the negative emotions brought up by what happened at the world’s worst surprise party.
I’d do some more research on anxiety disorders to try to understand how I could help.
And then we’d talk things through when he was ready.
I told myself, firmly, that this was temporary.
And I really, really wanted to not it take personally, like Courteney advised. I wanted to believe what she told me, that I was helping Cary.
I wanted, needed, to believe that I was good for him.
That I was helping, not harming.
But then I walked into the bedroom to collect my laptop, and I saw the envelope sitting on the bed. A white, letter-sized envelope.
And the gift bag I’d left for Cary, sitting on the floor by the bed. The gift bag I’d left outside the studio door for him before I went over to Danica’s place on Saturday.
I’d forgotten about it. But there it was.
Cary had been in here. He’d left both the gift bag and the envelope for me.
My stomach sank with dread as I approached the bed. I picked up the envelope, ripping into it as my heart slammed in my chest, and I noticed that the tissue paper poking out of the gift bag looked untouched, like he hadn’t even opened it.
It was a brief, handwritten letter on plain white paper.
Dear Taylor,
You’ve done a really great job and I’m sorry that it has to come to this, but hiring you to work with me while I produce this album was a mistake. I’m just not ready to have someone like you in my life.
I don’t know how to write a formal termination letter. It feels too cold, and you deserve better. But I can’t have you working here anymore.
You can keep the money I already paid you, as we agreed, of course.
You’re welcome to live in the poolhouse until the end of the six month term.
It might be best for both of us, though, if you move out now.
Cary
The paper shook and the words swam in my blurring vision. I had to wipe my eyes to make out the rest of it. At the bottom of the page, he’d written:
I never should’ve started something with you that I couldn’t finish. I’m sorry.
I dropped the letter on the bed. I was moving before I could even process everything he’d written.
a mistake
I pulled the single rolling suitcase I’d brought with me out of the bedroom closet and started packing it with clothes, toiletries, my laptop, everything essential. I’d just have to send Courteney or someone back for the rest.
someone like you
I left the garage opener and his car keys and his house keys all on the kitchen counter in the poolhouse, with his letter.
can’t have you working here
I locked the poolhouse behind me and I rolled my suitcase up the driveway, opening the gate with my remote opener. I’d give it back to Courteney the next time I saw her.
move out now
I walked up the street, then up the next street, and just kept walking until I felt like I could calm down enough to stop walking. Then I pulled out my phone and called a cab. I sat down on the curb in front of some beautiful house, and I waited.
I’m sorry
It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, walking out of there. My whole body vibrated with adrenalin and pain. My bones felt achy. I had a headache. I was trying so hard not to break down in racking sobs that my teeth hurt. But I’d promised myself. I’d promised myself that I would know when to walk away, before he hurt me.
So now I had to walk away.
Too late. I was always too damn late.
But I couldn’t even be angry with him for pushing me away. I wouldn’t blame him.
It was my fault.
I knew he was too damaged, too hurt, too broken, too lost when it came to love and his entire fucking life… and I still got involved. I let my heart get involved.
I let myself fall in love with Cary Clarke.
And he didn’t love me back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Taylor
Fool for Waiting
August
The love I had for Cary was so big… I didn’t even know how big it was until I lost him. Until I was nowhere around him. Until he was nowhere to be seen, heard or touched.
Until I’d been kicked out of his world.
Denied access.
My VIP, all-access backstage pass revoked.
It’s just for a few months.
That was what I kept telling myself, so I could carry on.
It wasn’t so easy to do.
It came out of nowhere and hit me like a bullet to the spine, this love. Or the loss of it. I wasn’t sure which. I felt oddly paralyzed, even as the world kept spinning around me.
Eventually, he’d responded to my texts. Many days after he locked me out and then fired me, broke up with me by way of a letter, he responded.
He told me he needed to focus on the album.
And when I pressed him, he told me we could talk after the album was done.
It was the same story he’d told his sister, apparently… album after album.
And I held onto that hope, that fragile timeline, with my heart beating steadily in a dark, quiet box, on hold.
Could take a week.
Could take the rest of my life.
The first time I ever met Cary, that was what he said to me, when I asked him how long the Players’ album would take to be completed.
And when I looked back, all the time that had passed since that first day became a murky blur. It was like I didn’t
want to remember. Nothing seemed quite real. Like if it never even happened, it wouldn’t have mattered.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
That was fucked-up, but I let myself indulge in the idea that it shouldn’t have hurt me like it did. I didn’t know him very long. I didn’t love him that deeply.
It didn’t matter.
What evidence did I have, anyway, that it was real, except for this hole inside of me? This dark box wherein my heart stuttered along, waiting… unsure of whether or not it should actually be in mourning.
And of course, there was that money Cary had put in my back account.
And the text stream that I couldn’t bear to delete from my phone, even though we’d exchanged maybe twenty words… and none that actually meant anything at all.
All I got from him, if anything, were one-word answers to my occasional questions about the album and how it was coming along, when it would be done. It was the only thing he’d actually answer me about.
Yes. No. Thanks. Soon.
September
Unfortunately for me, it was the season of love. Romance was heavy in the air, like too much perfume.
Everyone seemed to have something to celebrate.
Except me.
I really didn’t feel like celebrating. But I still tried to show up.
For the most part.
I went to so many parties, I lost track. Old friends of mine and new ones were getting engaged. Getting married. Having babies.
Landing dream jobs.
And then, of course, there was my dream job. The one I’d landed after Cary broke my heart.
Life went on.
Courteney and Xander got engaged, and when Courteney called to tell me, I cried.
I wasn’t sure if it was joy or self-pity.
Bit of both?
She said Xander had proposed to her on the Cambie Bridge. The same place where, exactly one year before, he’d told her he was going to ask her to marry him someday. It sounded incredibly romantic.
Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4) Page 35
