Limelight (Vino and Veritas)

by E. Davies

  Only after I’ve shrugged off my hoodie and gotten comfortable on the couch do I pull out my phone. I play the voicemail, just for kicks.

  “Hey. It’s Rod. So I was thinking, you seem pretty comfy in your life here. But man, you don’t have to give that up. I wanna help you out. We can re-embrace your real talent while you keep doing your quirky… ‘thing’ out here.”

  I snort. He thinks I’m a total wacko, but a cash cow for him.

  “Give me a call. I know you’ve still got it in you, Titus. Or Tag. Whatever. Call me. Bye.”

  I press the delete key before the voicemail can even prompt me, then hang up and toss my hone on the couch next to me.

  “What an ass.”

  Queenie grumbles as she stirs, flailing all her limbs in different directions and staring dramatically at me.

  I laugh and pick up my phone to snap a photo for Caleb before I remember. Then my shoulders sag and I drop it next to me again, running my hands along my face.

  I need to let it go—let Caleb go. He’s made his lack of interest very clear. But I can’t. I just can’t stop thinking about him. I’m freaking stuck on him and I’m terrified I might stay stuck.

  I love him, plain and simple. That’s the worst part of all of this. When he walked away, he took my heart with him.

  The feelings between us might have developed quickly, but that doesn’t mean they’ll fade anytime soon. It’s going to be a long damn time before I can get out of bed without hurting all over.

  That ache settles into my bones, weighing me down on the couch for… I don’t even know how much time passes. Queenie naps, I stare into space and occasionally throw another log on the fire, and darkness falls.

  It’s not until my stomach grumbles that I remember it’s Sunday: open mic night.

  Ouch.

  If it were just numbness and desolation, I could maybe deal with it. Or if it were just the sharp stabbing pain of despair, I could figure that out. But this ever-changing cloud of grief constantly finds the most effective way to haunt me.

  It was only two weeks ago that we met. But I can’t bring myself to wish I hadn’t even gone that night. I’m glad he gave me the chance to love him. I’m just angry I didn’t do the right thing, and now I can’t go back and erase my mistakes.

  The night we met, I was probably right not to leap into telling Caleb everything. But I had so many chances that I ignored or stifled because—under all my excuses—I was just flat-out afraid.

  I presented Caleb a perfect image of a loner beekeeper with a simple life, and I thought that was who he loved. I didn’t want to do anything to screw it up. He was totally honest from the very first moment, while I created a persona all over again. A fake, just like the onstage persona that I’ve tried so hard to leave in the past.

  I have to go.

  I don’t know why I do it. I shouldn’t want to be there again. But I can’t just sit around staring at the walls for weeks on end, hoping that this pain will get better. I already know it won’t.

  All I can do is try, and hope.

  So I drive to Vino and Veritas, and I park in the same place as before, and I slip through the front door and walk straight to that table at the back.

  And when I look toward the stage, all of a sudden a chill runs down my spine. It’s the same kind of feeling I had that very first night: like fate is whispering in my ear.

  It’s Caleb, and his golden curls and deep eyes and every freckle I didn’t get a chance to kiss.

  I got here just in time to see him walk toward the microphone holding a sheet of paper.

  I can’t breathe. I can’t even think straight. My whole world narrows to Caleb and Caleb alone. I have no idea who’s working behind the bar tonight, or who else is in the crowd. Like tunnel vision, all I can see is the stage, and the man on it.

  I thought my heart was too broken to feel it anymore, but here it is again, thumping in my ears so loudly I can hardly hear his voice as he says something.

  I’d do anything—anything—to get another chance. Come on, universe. Come on, Caleb. Whoever I need to beg or pray to, I’ll do it.

  This time I’ll get it right.

  27

  Caleb

  “Just the one poem today,” I tell the crowd with a little smile. I flick my gaze around a few random people near the front, and I’m amazed at how… easy this feels.

  There’s no paralysis anymore. I’m not terrified that I’ll screw up. Because it’s not like I’ve got anything to gain or lose. I’ve already won the world and walked away from it. From him.

  I draw a breath and start to read.

  What dreams has a winter bee,

  gorged on honey, trembling softly

  with her sisters through the night?

  Does she remember nectar,

  the sun above, still lakes,

  soft wind amidst the storm?

  The last blossom shakes off

  the snow and seeks its angel,

  a glass slipper in the cold.

  Forced apart by the seasons,

  they wait through fading light

  for a chance to meet anew.

  I look up from the page to a handful of perplexed faces. People don’t seem quite sure whether to applaud. And I can’t say I blame them. Despite a weekend rewriting this poem, it’s still pretty bad.

  But that’s okay. It wasn’t written for anyone who’s here tonight. It’s more important that I get back on the horse and learn to bare my heart again.

  I smile and fold up the paper, shoving it into my pocket. “Thank you,” I lean in and say to the microphone.

  And then my eyes land on him, just as the polite applause starts.

  I was wrong. My angel is here. He’s sitting at that table all the way in the back. My eyes meet his, and a jolt shivers through my whole body.

  Tag.

  I can’t tear my eyes away. This time, he doesn’t move a muscle as I walk off the stage. He just sits there, watching me like he’s afraid to hope.

  So am I.

  I make a beeline through the crowd, heading straight for him.

  Ever since my conversation with Kelvin, I’ve been thinking about Tag—about us. Hours spent hunched over the page, crossing out stanzas and muttering aloud, yet he’s never far from my mind.

  Maybe he lied, but maybe I wasn’t fair to him either. Tag believed in me from the moment we met, and he’s always tried to help me succeed. I don’t think he was trying to revive his career. Why would he do it at a poetry night in a little bar under a different name?

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that he was always holding a little piece of himself back. I sensed it, but I was so eager to believe that he was my fairytale ending. Maybe he still is—but not because of his fame or money. He’s a knight with battle-worn armor, and I just want his love.

  “Tag,” I whisper as I stumble to a halt in front of the table.

  He’s risen to his feet, staring at me like he can’t believe I’m real. “Caleb,” he breathes hoarsely.

  A few seconds pass. It hurts, the gulf between us. I want to reach out and smooth his lapels, or cup his cheeks and kiss him, or… anything.

  I sink into one chair, and Tag gulps and sits opposite me again. “Are you the bee or the flower in that poem?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m Cinderella and I want my shoe back. My heart back.” My voice feels raw.

  “Do you really?” Tag asks softly. “Or do you just want me to take more care with it?”

  I make a face. He knows the answer as well as I do. “That last one.”

  Tag swallows and nods hard, and I scrutinize him. He looks tired. Obviously he hasn’t been sleeping well. But he also can’t stop watching me with a painfully honest mix of eagerness and trepidation.

  I recognize the famous guy now in the shape of his face, but he doesn’t look like the guy I looked up on Google. Not anymore. I see Tag, not that Titus guy on the album covers and in the promo photos.


  I don’t give a crap about the fame or the money or any of it. I just want that guy I know back—the one who cooks me breakfast in bed and looks at me like I’m the most precious thing alive.

  The way he’s looking at me now.

  God, he must be so jaded and tired of people who see all that other stuff first. Like that agent, or whoever he really was, Rod. I hated him from first sight. If that’s the way people usually react to Tag, no wonder he was afraid about telling me.

  I just wish he’d given me a chance first.

  “I miss you,” I murmur at last as the breath rushes out of me. “Everything I write is shit. Did you hear that?” I gesture at the stage as a pained little smile curves my lips. “I’m not gonna make a career out of that.”

  Tag doesn’t say anything. He just watches me, his eyes those same deep, earnest pools that I learned to trust.

  “I can’t think straight, and I can’t sleep, and…” I rest my elbows on the table and run my hands through my hair.

  Then I look up at him again, watching him bite his lip so hard it turns white.

  “I want to know the truth,” I whisper with a little shake of my head. “All of it, however ugly. I’ll be brave if you are. Can you promise me that?”

  My heart is pounding a dance floor rhythm against my ribcage. Everything depends on Tag’s next words.

  Tag reaches across the table with both hands, laying them flat and palm-up between us. His eyes are an open invitation—a plea. My head is a mess, but my heart knows what to do.

  I let out my breath and straighten up, placing my trembling hands into his palms.

  The moment I do, both of us let out a breath as the muscles in our bodies loosen. Sparks still tremble through my hands at his touch, and rightness settles into my body once more.

  Tag closes his warm fingers around my hands and nods, squeezing tight. “It’s a deal,” he says. My eyes mist up when his voice cracks on the last word.

  I swallow hard and raise Tag’s hands, pressing my lips to them one at a time. “Deal. Now, take me home.” I mean his home, of course—the place I could grow to think of as our home.

  And judging by the smile on Tag’s face as he rises to his feet, he knows exactly what I mean.

  28

  Tag

  Over a glass of mead in my tasting room, I tell Caleb everything.

  And I mean everything. From the first wild idea that we should start a band to the parties, the awards snubs and the antagonistic interviewers, I don’t hold back.

  Even when it comes to the end. Especially the end.

  “He just threw you out… live, on stage… without even talking to the others?” Caleb’s cheeks are pale with horror as he stares at me, transfixed.

  I bite my lip. “No. That’s the worst part. They were all on the same page. So they must have already been talking about it.”

  “Ohhh.” Caleb breathes a long, low groan. It’s a little bit distracting, in a pleasant way—and I can use all the distraction I can get.

  “They were just waiting for me to break a contract term so they could screw me over. I should never have gone rogue and given them the chance.”

  “Or…” Caleb murmurs, his brows furrowing. “Maybe they were planning to do it that night anyway. That’s why they were all ready for it. I don’t know.”

  My mouth opens and then closes silently as my head spins. It takes me a good few seconds to even wrap my brain around what he’s saying.

  How is it that a legal battle, emotional breakdown, and four years have gone by and I’ve never once thought of that possibility?

  The answer is obvious: because I’ve been blaming myself all along. Telling myself it was my fault for being too authentic, that nobody wants the real me. That I get to be either loved or authentic, but never both.

  I never even stopped to consider the fact that they might have been planning this all along. Why else would they have agreed to my suggestion of a small, intimate superfans-only concert? And learned the music I nagged them to learn, despite warning me we’d never play it?

  Holy shit.

  I close my eyes. I want to call Roxy and find out if she knew. No, there’s no need. She couldn’t have hid it from me. And she isn’t our boss. She works for us—for them, I remind myself—so they wouldn’t have needed to involve her.

  Besides, she was in shock, too. I still remember Roxy’s expression because she was the first person I saw when we stepped off stage. And she was the only one who looked like I felt. The rest of those dickheads and the lawyers seemed like they were ready for me… because they were, one way or another.

  Caleb’s right. They were going to fire me anyway.

  Suddenly, a weight lifts off my shoulders—one I didn’t know I’ve been carrying around for years. It would have ended that night no matter what, and I went out on my terms, not theirs.

  “Are you okay?” Caleb murmurs. He slides closer to me on the padded bench, slipping his arm around my shoulders.

  “I will be.” I turn my face to his and close my eyes, letting him press his lips to mine. It’s sweet and tender, a slow exploration of this new relationship we’re rebuilding.

  This time, we’re doing the right thing from the start. I’m doing the right thing, that is. Caleb sees all of me, all the things I did and the person I pretended to be, and he hasn’t even flinched.

  He still wants me, and I’ll never take that for granted.

  The kiss lingers for precious seconds, deepening slowly into a raw-edged promise of all the things we have yet to share—and then my phone goes off.

  Caleb jumps and breaks away from me with a sharp little gasp, then giggles. “Sorry. Startled me.”

  “God. That asshole again, I bet.” I scowl as I shove my hand in my pocket to fish out my phone.

  Rod isn’t going to go away on his own. As long as he thinks I’m just waiting for the right offer, he’s going to keep bugging me. I have to make it clear that that life is over for me.

  And now I know for sure that it is.

  Maybe that’s why I didn’t outright turn Rod down until now. A part of me was still afraid, keeping a single toe in the door… just in case. If I was about to lose everything here, I had an escape route.

  But I don’t need one. Caleb accepts me for who I am.

  “Rod,” I answer, bringing the phone to my ear.

  “Oh! You’re there!” Rod sounds shocked to actually hear me.

  “Lose my number,” I tell him. “I’m not interested. I have a life here, and I’m not leaving it behind for the world. And I don’t care if you say I can do two things at once—that’s not the way I am. I’m all-in here.”

  There’s silence from the other end. I’m not even sure he’s still there until he splutters a little cough. “But think of the money you could make—”

  I laugh. Even if I were still interested, that’s the worst angle he could have taken. He should have done his homework first. Roxy would have told him that for free.

  “All the money you can make?” I counter. “No, thanks. I’m done. If I ever change my mind, I’m going to find someone who respects my right to privacy.”

  Rod’s voice turns ugly. “Fine. You don’t need to be such a dick about it.”

  “Apparently I do. Bye, Rod. Good luck.”

  I hang up and slap my phone on the table, looking at Caleb.

  “Better?” He grins at me.

  I beam back at him. “Oh, yeah. I should have done that days ago.” That felt incredible.

  “You weren’t ready then.” His hand slips into mine and he squeezes gently. “Things happen when they’re meant to.”

  “Mmm. So wise. What do I pay for the life advice?” I stroke the back of his hand with a fingertip.

  “A Poet.”

  “That’s who I pay—oh! The cocktail.” I grin and throw myself to my feet, striding toward the bar.

  Whatever Caleb asks for, he’ll get.

  I fetch eggs from the fridge in my kitchen before hurrying back out
to the tasting room. A tiny part of me is scared that when I open the door again, he’ll be gone.

  Like a mirage that’s too good to be true melting into the earth.

  But no… there he is, patiently waiting exactly where I left him thirty seconds ago, hands folded in his lap and a little smile on his lips. “Hi.”

  I let out a breath and close the door with my shoulder. “Hey. Two Poets coming right up.”

  “Speaking of which, I never got to hear your poetry,” Caleb prompts me with a grin.

  I chuckle. “It’s just as well. It really is awful. I’m going to burn it in the fireplace.” He gasps, but I shake my head. “Trust me. I’m done with all of it. I was only holding onto it because I was still…” I shrug, cracking the eggs one at a time. “Bitter, I guess.”

  Caleb props his chin on his fist. “Mmm. And you aren’t now?”

  “Why would I be?” I smile at him. “Everything that’s happened has led me here. As far as I’m concerned, it’s pretty damn sweet.”

  I’m done being in the limelight. Instead, I’m going to support Caleb to stand in it for as long as he wants.

  If a tear slips down my cheek as I channel all that excitement for the future into shaking and pouring our cocktails, Caleb pretends not to notice. Once I sit down and slide him his cocktail, he holds up his glass and I gently clink mine against it. “A toast? You pick.”

  I swallow hard. “To the music we’ll write together.”

  Then we both sip, and he moans softly. “Delicious. Thank you. So, are you going to write more songs?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I’m happier singing other people’s words.”

  He giggles softly. “Like my poems? Nah, that would be weird.”

  But I’m grinning and standing up, already taking the guitar down from the wall. I have to scoot the table back carefully and turn at an angle so I can rest it in my lap.