by Amy Jones
“I was so sad to hear about your husband,” the woman went on. “I hope that with a little perseverance and God’s love you can get through this time of turmoil and get back out there and make some music.”
Mags’s smile began to waver. “Oh yes, for sure,” she said. Ava stifled a laugh. Mags kicked her under the table.
As the woman left, Ava leaned toward Mags. “There’s your answer,” she whispered. “All you need is God’s love!”
Mags slid down in her seat, trying to keep herself from throwing up. “Yes. That’s what God wants. For Mags Kovach to get back out there and make some music.” She downed the rest of her drink. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”
As they stepped out into the street, she heard someone call her name. She turned and was surprised to see Paul coming toward her. “What are you doing here?”
“Emiko said you’d be here.” He turned to Ava. “I need to talk to Mags for a second.”
“I’ll go back inside,” Ava said.
“No, you won’t,” Mags said, grabbing on to Ava’s arm and holding it. “What do you want, Paul?”
“Fine.” Paul shoved his hands into his pockets. “You need to get your shit together, Mags. This tour, this album, hell, everything we do right now is incredibly important. Our entire future depends on what happens in the next few weeks. We can’t have you running around onstage naked or getting kicked out of hotel pools or whatever the hell else you’ve been doing that has gotten your face plastered all over the internet.”
“You still have that stupid Google Alert for the band on your phone, I see.”
“Yeah, I do. It’s been going crazy now for weeks. And do you think any of it has been about the band, Mags? No. It’s all been about you and your ridiculous antics, your desperate bids for attention. It’s pathetic.”
“Oh my god, not this again.” Mags let go of Ava’s arm and dipped her hand into her pocket, rummaging for her smokes. “Sorry my being fucked up by my husband’s death has been so bad for your ego.”
“Come on, Mags. How long are you going to use that as an excuse to do whatever you want?”
With trembling hands, Mags lit up a cigarette. “I honestly don’t know why you think this is any of your business, Paul. We’re not friends, we’re colleagues. And as long as I do my job, you shouldn’t care what I do, or what excuses I use.”
“Exactly. I want to make sure you do your job. We’re not some kind of circus sideshow, we’re musicians. Do you want people to come to our shows to see you sing, or do you want them to come just to see what kind of crazy shit you’re going to do?”
“Jesus Christ,” said Ava, backing up and leaning against the wall, as though the sheer force of Paul’s words had pushed her there. “This is your bandmate?”
“It’s fine,” Mags said through clenched teeth. “You know, Paul, there wouldn’t even be a band if it weren’t for me and Sam writing the songs. Or did you forget about that song you wrote in fucking Klingon?” But she knew he was right, that Jack Francis was right. She and her act were on the verge of becoming a joke. Paul was only protecting his dream, which had once been her dream too. “Look, I know you’re worried, but I’m going to be okay. I had a rough couple of days, but I’m over it now. I’m going to get back to work.”
Ava stared at her. “Do you hear yourself? You are grieving. You are sick. These people pushing you, drugging you to keep you going, they do not have your best interests at heart.” She turned to Paul, her eyes glinting with rage. “How could you do this to her?”
“Who are you?” Paul asked. “What do you know about any of this? We are on the brink of having everything we ever wanted, and I’m not going to let anything screw that up.”
Mags felt something tear open inside her, some wound that had barely healed, that she had been trying to keep together through sheer force of will. “Everything we ever wanted? This is everything you ever wanted?” She lunged toward Paul. “None of this matters! None of this even fucking matters without Sam!” She began slamming her fists against his chest, until Ava finally pulled her back and Mags collapsed against her, shaking. She was crying again, but she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t control anything that was going on in her body, not the pain, the fear, the anger, the violence that bubbled up from the very depths of her. “Nothing matters without Sam,” she said again.
“Okay, we’re going home,” Ava said, reaching her arm out to hail a cab. Mags climbed in the backseat and leaned her head against the window.
As the cab pulled back out into the street, she watched Paul, still standing outside the bar in the snow, growing smaller and smaller as they drove away.
Madeline Boudreau
@mads4cupcakes
Name a more iconic duo…I’ll wait.
Busted! Mags Kovach and Ava Hart’s Nighttime Skinny Dip Adventure
Not only did Mags and Ava break into a hotel pool for a little evening swim au naturel, they Snapchatted the whole thing, according to these anonymous screencaps…chatterfuel.com
5:32 PM – 21 Feb 2015
458 Retweets 8,441 Likes
Bianca @beeeew 22 min
Replying to @mads4cupcakes
Like literally anyone?
Geo Jazz @jlb_789
Replying to @mads4cupcakes
Me and your mom
Jewel Medeiros @jewel_medeiros
Replying to @mads4cupcakes
Oh my god, I love this! I wish I had a BFF like that.
Karl Neel @neel565
Replying to @jewel_medeiros @mads4cupcakes
They’re not BFFs, they’re dating. TMI has video of them kissing.
Madeline Boudreau @mads4cupcakes
Replying to @neel565 @jewel_medeiros
Karl I think you mistook your dream last night for a video.
Brandon Frawley @frawls101
Replying to @mads4cupcakes @neel565 @jewel_medeiros
But have you seen them together tho? They are totally fucking
Jewel Medeiros @jewel_medeiros
Replying to @frawls101 @mads4cupcakes @neel565
WHY DO GUYS ALWAYS THINK GIRLS ARE FUCKING THEIR FRIENDS JFC
Karl Neel @neel565
Replying to @jewel_medeiros @frawls101 @mads4cupcakes
Cause it’s what we’d do if it were us
Alignaboveofficial Follow
alignaboveofficial We’re coming for you, Europe! Align Above’s first ever European tour kicks off in Dublin on February 24. For tickets, check link in bio!
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abukex Can’t wait to see you in London!!!
greebo90 Got my tickets for Frankfurt, pls play “You’re the Only One”!
magskovachfan_56 I love you soooo much!! I am your biggest fan in the entire world!! You are beautiful and precious and just an amazing person!! My entire room is filled with posters of you and I have been to your concerts 2 times. I can’t explain how much I love you!!
lovelykierstennnn SHAME ON U
iammelodyjane Mags! Repeat after me “one body one life.” That is a very powerful phrase for me and maybe it could help you….sending love and light and peace. Forgiveness of ourselves and love and keep it moving, god loves you
riachantika_gh please mags will u take ur cloths off in lisbon hehehe
zuhrodewi_x take off your clothes in France
dyc.ahonana You fkn Crackhead getfukt
alecavalcantec quítate la ropa en barcelona
budcu4zenginI I don’t understand why people are not happy with there life, especially someone like Mags. You’ve got everything you want but still…Yo, remember some people have very hard life. I actually love Align Above but it’s…you know what i mean.
steph.mara89 togliti i vestiti a Roma
fransiskochaerani30 TAK YOUR CLOTHES OFF IN MY ROOM
Ava
Saturday, 4:30 p.m.
Mags didn’t want to go home.
As soon as the cab pulled away from the curb, she jolted back to life, defibrilla
ted by the sharp U-turn. “It’s so early,” she said, bouncing up and down in her seat. “We can’t go home yet. Oh!” She slapped Ava on the shoulder, hard. “Do you like overpriced, watered-down beer and cheesy country music?”
Ava narrowed her eyes. “No,” she said. “Does anyone?”
“Hey,” Mags said, leaning forward to speak to the driver. “Can you take us to Parkdale?”
“What’s in Parkdale?” Ava asked. But Mags just grinned.
The Butcher’s Son, it turned out, was a bar. All the staff seemed to know Mags, and she went to the bar to order while Ava sat in a sticky booth with a pile of peeled-off beer labels stacked in the middle. As she sat there waiting, exhaustion crept into her body, and she could feel herself on the verge of a comedown, from the drinking and the after-effects of the pill and the adrenaline of being around Mags. But she didn’t want to stop. She needed to not stop.
“Okay,” Mags said as she stumbled toward the table. She slammed two shots down, amber liquid sloshing everywhere, followed by two beer bottles she procured from the pockets of her coat. “Vodka shots and beer chasers.” Mags picked up a shot glass and held it out for a toast. “Sam and I always came here and ordered them after terrible interviews.”
“Well then, I guess I can’t say no.” Ava lifted her shot glass, then tipped it back, a flash of fire skidding down the back of her throat. “What else did you and Sam used to do after interviews?”
Mags grinned. “Nothing you can help me with,” she said. Her eyes flickered over Ava’s shoulder. “But maybe those guys can.” She leaned across the table conspiratorially. “Want to go talk to them?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, come on.” Mags traced her finger in the condensation from the beer bottle, little wet trails snaking across the table. “You need to fuck someone else. You need to get whatshisname out of your system.”
“I just…I don’t know.” She couldn’t even imagine being with anyone but Antonio—not because she felt guilty about it, but because the thought of anyone else’s hands on her felt wrong. She had never wanted anyone except him. That didn’t change because he didn’t want her anymore.
Mags shook her head. “Fuck this. You need shots. We need shots.” She stood up on her chair. “We need shots!” she yelled, and everyone in the bar let out a cheer.
A group of guys at the next table—hockey players drowning their sorrows following an afternoon trouncing—obliged Mags’s request, and bought them Tequila Poppers and Jaeger Bombs, Snake Bites and B-52s. Things got hazy, hazier, Ava’s thoughts like sediment swirling, refusing to land. She found herself watching Mags, mesmerized by the way she transformed herself, the way every interaction became a performance—touching their arms and leaning in close, letting them think she was there for them, one more shot and one more shot and one more shot and she’d be theirs for the taking. Ava untucked her hair from behind her ears, thrust her shoulders back and leaned forward against the table, just like Mags did, her tongue darting out between her lips, trying to copy Mags’s wet-mouthed pout, her feverish breath, her heavy-lidded eyes. But that only lasted a second before she started to feel like an idiot, and then she went back to sitting tall and aloof on her stool, her collarbones rigid under the soft fabric of her ridiculous Canada hoodie.
It wasn’t until she spilled her drink on her jeans that she split away from everyone, going to the bathroom to wash the smell of vodka lime out of the fabric. Then, sitting on the toilet, her phone in her hand—because she couldn’t help it, even now, when she was trying to forget everything—she checked her notifications. She scrolled past the texts from Val and Antonio and clicked on her texts from Bryce.
Can you give us a call, please?
Just text us to tell us you’re okay.
We’re worried about you, Ava.
Ava, we know we haven’t always been there for you in the past, but let us be here for you now.
“Nice try,” she said out loud, but her voice trembled, a lump forming in her throat. She had never expected an admission of culpability, not even from Bryce. She stared at her phone, her finger hovering over the reply button, trying to think of how she might respond, when a new message lit up her screen.
Hi.
It took a moment for her to realize it was from Eden. Her hands started to shake as she stared at the one word, the first word she had heard from her sister since that night on the pier. Eden, who she had been trying so hard not to think about. Eden, who had been the architect of all her misery. Eden, who was still her sister, and who she sometimes missed so hard her whole body ached with sorrow.
Ava stood up and pulled up her jeans, still staring at the screen. She let her phone fall to the ground, only hesitating a second before bringing her foot down on it, over and over, until she felt the screen crack under her heel, the phone becoming a mangled and useless mess on the floor. Then she opened the door and walked away.
Back in the bar, the Pogues’ “Fairytale of New York” was coming through the speakers, as if she didn’t feel wretched enough.
“Hey you.” A man appeared in the hallway, grinning as he came toward her. He might have been one of the guys from their table, but she couldn’t really be sure, all of them a blur of baseball caps and graphic T-shirts and mildly attractive facial features. “Where’d you go?”
“Just to the bathroom,” she said, backing up against the wall. Instinctively, she felt in her pocket for her phone before remembering it wasn’t there. “Is it my round?”
“Maybe.” The guy leaned in toward her, snaking his fingers along her waist. “But we could also just take off, if you wanted.”
“Take off?” She blinked at him uncomprehendingly, his face coming in and out of focus, moving closer toward hers until his lips were on her neck. “Oh,” she murmured softly.
He pressed himself up against her, and she felt herself go limp inside, everything else melting away, leaving nothing but a blur of wild hands and wet mouths and the rough stubble of his chin. Then his breath was in her ear, his tongue snaking along the lobe, and he whispered, “I can’t believe I’m making out with Ava Hart.”
Ava froze. “Get your hands off me,” she said, grabbing his arm and twisting it, hard. She felt his muscles yielding under her hand, softened by alcohol and surprise.
His reaction was delayed but still effective. “What the hell?” he yelled, wrenching his arm free. Then, seemingly without any effort at all, he pushed her, sending her stumbling backward down the hall and into the bar, where she crashed into a table, knocking several pitchers of beer onto the floor.
When she stood up, she saw Mags suddenly fly into her field of vision like a slingshot. “Don’t you dare touch her!” she screamed. She grabbed a bar stool and swung it though the air, hitting the guy in the shoulder. He toppled over to the ground just as Ava made it across the room.
“Mags!” Ava said, grabbing her arm. “Stop it! I’m fine!”
But Mags wasn’t paying attention. She threw the bar stool off to the side and jumped on the guy. It took three of his buddies to pull her off. “Let go of me!” she growled, twisting and biting, kicking and scratching, all teeth and claws and hair. “You fuckers think you can do anything you want!” She wrestled her way free with a knee to a groin and sprung back on the first guy, singularly focused on going in for the kill. Ava watched, mesmerized by Mags’s fury, while around them cell phones circled and bobbed, lenses like eyes, seeing all.
Finally, a bouncer dragged Mags off, and she let herself go heavy as he carried her to the back door. Ava stood in the middle of the bar for a few seconds, watching the guy roll around on the floor. His buddies were yelling at her, but the blood rush to her ears was too loud for her to hear them. Eventually, she found her feet again, grabbed their coats, and floated to the back of the bar as though she were being pulled along on a current.
Outside, Mags was sitting on the ground, small and spent in an alley between the gawping buildings of whatever city they were in—which Ava
remembered was Toronto. She had been in Toronto for less than forty-eight hours, time stretching and condensing like a jellyfish undulating through the salty sea. In the distance, a police siren wailed. To Ava, it sounded a little like a clanging mast.
“We need to go,” Mags said, climbing to her feet as the sirens came closer. Then she grabbed Ava’s hand and they started running.
They ran until the sirens died to a whimper behind them, and still they ran, Mags leading her through alleys, across parking lots, under overpasses, until finally she pulled her into a park and they both collapsed on a bench, gulping for air.
“I haven’t run like that in a long time,” Mags said. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her cigarettes, staring at the packet. “I don’t even know if I can smoke one.”
“Do you really think they were coming for us?” Ava asked. Even though it was cold, she was sweating, heat radiating in waves off her cheeks.
Mags lit a cigarette, the smoke mixing with the vapour from her breath. “Maybe. I wasn’t going to risk it.”
“Sorry if I ruined your chances of getting laid.”
Mags laughed, then started to cough. “Don’t worry about that,” she said, her voice wet, raspy. “Actually, the only person I’ve slept with since Sam is your brother.”
“Really?”
Mags nodded. “I know most people assume otherwise. But I can’t bring myself to.”
She held her cigarette out. Ava stared at it, then reached out and took it. Well, why not? “Our show’s producer was the one who got me pregnant,” she said. “He’s the only boy I’ve ever slept with. I mean, man.” She took a drag, feeling the heat of the smoke filling her lungs. “I guess he’s a man.”
“That’s debatable.” Mags took the cigarette back. “Are you going to go back to do the show?”
“I don’t know what else I would do. Are you going to go to Europe?”
Mags shrugged. “I don’t know what else I would do.” She pulled out her flask and unscrewed the top, peering in. “There’s a shot left for each of us.”