by J. Saman
“Well, you succeeded. You ended it with me,” she says, a bitter note to her tone.
I shake my head, clawing my fingers into the sand. “I didn’t want to end it. That was not my intention. That was not my thought process. All I knew was that I couldn’t breathe. I was being pulled in so many different directions and I was ill equipped. I was outmanned and outgunned and I failed. When you hung up on me, after misconstruing everything I was trying to say, trying to ask for, I was so angry. I felt like you didn’t get me. Like you didn’t even try to understand what I was going through.
“I didn’t call you back because I was a petulant asshole. And I let months go by hating myself and being angry at you, when I was really angry at myself, and being so much more miserable with my life than I was before I even asked for that step back. By the time I called you, your number was different. You changed your number on me, which felt like you were dismissing me completely, and so my cycle of anger and self-loathing began again.”
Lyric’s cheeks color and she looks down. “I was angry, too,” she says, but her tone is guilty. Contrite. “You didn’t call me back and I was heartbroken. I felt like I was always waiting for your call that never came. For you to come to your senses and when you never did…” she trails off, blowing out a breath. “I changed my number because I was sick of obsessing over you not calling.”
“I don’t blame you for that, Lee. I just hate that you did it. Hate that you felt like you needed to.” I inch forward, pulling her chin up until she’s staring right at me. “It was my mistakes that got us there. Not yours.” I lean in and I press my lips to her forehead. Allowing myself to breathe her in for the first time in four years. It’s everything and yet not nearly enough. “Things got worse instead of better, at least for me. Professionally, everything was going great. Then a couple months after that, Cane and Travers gave me the push I needed and I hopped a flight. And what I witnessed was you and a man—who I now know was Ethan—driving you home, holding and kissing you before he stayed the night in your house. It killed me, Lee. Seeing you smiling and laughing and kissing another man was one of the worst moments of my life. I left, because I didn’t know what else to do. I told myself that you were happy and ultimately, that’s all I wanted for you.”
“Jesus,” she says, her eyes turning glassy from the tears she refuses to let fall. “I can’t believe…” Then she laughs. Loud and mirthlessly. Rancorous and so achingly sad that another piece of me breaks. She shakes her head, running her fingers through her windswept hair and staring off into the ocean.
“I stalked you pretty hard after that. I won’t even lie about it. Every public picture of you, every award show you attended, the guy was there with you, referred to as either your date or friend. So, I stayed away. Bided my time. Until my father had a stroke and I ran into Melody.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she admits, her features incredulous, wracked with indecision as she tries to come to terms with everything I just told her. “I don’t know what to think or do or feel.”
“I’ve told you everything I’ve got. I made mistakes, Lyric. So many mistakes. I screwed up epically.”
A tear falls from her left eye followed by her right. But those are the only two and she does nothing to wipe them away as they glide down her face, leaving a wet trail behind.
“I’m hoping you will forgive me. I’m praying you will give me another chance.”
Chapter 23
Lyric
* * *
I left Jameson sitting there on the beach. I just got up and walked away. He was stunned, I think. Truthfully, so I was I. I said something like, ‘it’s not always that simple,’ and then I left. I ran through the sand, ignoring the way the granules felt in my shoes, and up the wood plank bridge. By the time I reached my car, I was panting and sweating and yes, crying. But just a little.
Not even a lot, and maybe that’s what surprised me most.
Four years. It’s been four years since Jameson was mine and I was his. But really, it’s been longer than that, because he was right. We weren’t a couple while we were away. We were a stitched up, patched together, half-assed, look-alike. Our relationship ended the moment I left school and didn’t come back. I took my finals online. I didn’t even come back for graduation.
And then he missed Melody’s wedding and things just spiraled out of control from there.
So yeah, retrospect. Hind-sight being 20/20 and all that, right?
He didn’t cheat on me. He didn’t betray me. He just asked for a step back. A way to regroup. But hell, I was so hurt that we had hit that point. That we couldn’t find a way to make it all work out the way we had planned. That he was even asking that of me in the first place. I was young and I was heartbroken and I was angry.
It would have been almost too easy to say yes to him. To wrap my arms around him and tell him that I do forgive him. That I would like to try again. But I meant it. Some things are not that easy. Why does the idea of trying again, of loving him again, feel like a weakness instead of a strength? Like a failure instead of a triumph? Like giving in. Admitting defeat. Why do I always feel like I’m losing with him instead of winning?
It’s impossible to rebuild trust when your heart is not ready to forgive. And how can you forgive when it’s impossible to forget? Getting your heart broken by the man who promised to love you always makes you wary. It makes you distrustful. It makes you cautious.
His story was exactly what I needed. An apology. An explanation.
But I need more than words. I need more than apologies.
I slide into the two-door Jag that belongs to my father and I speed home. I’m expected to be in New York tomorrow night for the Rainbow Ball. And as that thought flitters through my head, my phone rings. Ethan. The man that Jameson thought I was in a relationship with. I have no words on that one. Like none. I don’t even think I have the heart to tell Ethan. “Hey,” I say, answering the phone and trying to navigate my way around town.
“I cannot wait for you to come to the city tomorrow,” he says, his tone so excited I can practically see his white teeth gleaming from here. “The building is gorgeous. The facilities are perfect. I’ve already had six calls from agents about booking time. You are going to shit a kitten when you see it, Lyric. I am not even exaggerating here. Motherfucking gorgeous.”
I smile. Probably just as big as I imagine his smile is, because wow. It’s actually happening. Years of planning and hard work and it’s finally come together. “I wish Robert could see it,” I say, more to myself than to Ethan.
“I know,” he agrees, his tone somber. “He would have liked the view.”
“I’ll be in by two tomorrow to see it.”
“Perfect. How’s it going there? Or do I not want to know?”
“I…” I let out a humorless laugh. “I have no idea how to answer that, Ethan. I honestly don’t.”
“Did you see him?” he asks, almost accusatorily.
I tap my nails on the steering wheel as I wait for the light to turn green, my attention fixed on the pedestrians as they go about their day.
“Yes. I saw him.”
“Oh, Lyric. If you tell me you fucked him, I’m going to kill you, hide your body in his garage and pin the whole thing on him.”
A burst of laughter flies out of my chest. “At least you don’t have it all planned out.”
“Lyric!” he yells, losing his patience.
“No, Ethan. I did not fuck him. Christ, give me some credit. We talked, okay? We talked. Well, more like he talked and I listened.”
“And?”
“And don’t use your motherly tone with me, bitch. I seem to recall you doing something very similar when Harrison came back into your life.” He blows out some air and I can hear him deflating with it. The light turns green and I continue on, heading toward my parents’ house. “I have a lot to think about.”
“Because he’s trying to get you back.”
It’s not a question. It’s a stat
ement, but I still say, “No.” It’s automatic. But I’m not totally sold on that because I think Jameson really might be after that. I know he said it, but it wasn’t even that. It was the way he was looking at me. The way he was seeing through me. “Yes,” I say after a quiet beat. “He might be.”
“Do you still love him?”
“Don’t ask me that. That question is off limits.”
“Fine. But for the record, I think it’s a mistake. Whatever you decide, it’s a mistake.”
I laugh again, shaking my head. “Good to know. Your support means everything to me.”
He laughs. “That’s what best friends are for.”
As I pull into the driveway, we end the call with promises of tomorrow in New York. Entering the garage, I shut off the ignition and then I just…sit here. My father has a lot of cars. The man likes his machinery. Foreign ones. Domestic ones. Old ones. New ones. My mind drifts to Jameson’s Mustang and a smile spreads across my face as I think about that night. It was a good night, despite the circumstances of our visit.
If you had asked me that night if I would have ever slept with another man again, my answer would have been no. And not a small no, either. It would have been more along the lines of a hell no.
Tethered together. Those were the words he used today. But do I still want to be tethered to him? Do I want to break free of his spell or succumb to it once again? I don’t know. There is too much in my head right now to make that call.
The passenger side of the door clicks open and then my father is there, sliding his long lithe body in and sitting next to me with a happy-to-see me smile. I look like my father. Blonde hair and hazel eyes. I love my mother. She’s an incredible mom, but my father and I have always had that special other thing between us. “Mom send you out here?”
He laughs and nods. “Yup. We saw you drive in and when you didn’t come inside, well, she got worried.”
I roll my eyes. “Did she think I was asphyxiating myself on carbon monoxide? I’m not that screwed up.”
“No. But she spoke to Melody.”
“God,” I groan, dropping my head back against the soft leather of the headrest. “That girl has a big mouth.”
He grins, reaching across to brush some of my hair back from my face. “She does. She and your mother are a lot alike. Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really. I saw him. I listened to him. I left.”
“Did he tell you the things you wanted to hear?”
My head rolls along the seat until I’m partially facing him. I shrug a shoulder. “I lost trust in the one person I loved the most and it tore me apart. Now he’s back. Or trying to be. I’m honestly not sure what to do about it. About him.”
My father nods, leaning back in his seat like he’s getting comfortable for a long chat. Like he’s about to get real with me. I’m not sure if I’m ready for his brand of honesty. “If words could erase time, I wouldn’t be sitting here in the car with you while you question if you can forgive him and while I question how to show you that trust is earned slowly, especially after it’s been broken.”
I roll my eyes at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He laughs, propping his ankle up on his opposite knee. This car is small and my father is tall, but he somehow looks at ease anywhere. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my father discomposed once. On anyone else, it would be unsettling, but on my father, it’s comforting. “Love’s a funny thing, Lyric. We expect so much out of it. We relinquish ourselves to it and when it fails us, we let it break us apart.”
I stare at my father as he stares out the front windshield into the garage. I don’t know if we fail love or if we fail ourselves. Each other. But either way, I’m not sure it matters all that much.
“Do you want my advice?”
“Sure.” I shrug, because I know he’ll give it to me anyway.
“Let go.” A startled laugh pushes out of my chest. “No,” he says, peeking over at me with that warm smile he only gives me. “I’m very serious. Just let go, Lyric. You’re all thoughts and immediate expectations. Your mind is always going. You constantly have to have everything figured out. What would happen if for once in your life, you didn’t? What would happen if you just went with the flow? Went about your business, about your life, step by step, moment by moment?”
Moment by moment. Did he have to use those exact words? The same ones that Jameson and I lived by for much longer than we should have. I think on that, my fingers running along the thick seam of leather stitching on the wheel as my father waits me out. Evidently, his questions were not rhetorical. “I don’t know, Dad. I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”
“Most people who have had their hearts broken aren’t so anxious to go out and do it again. Especially with the guy who ran them through the first time. Not every love is meant to last a lifetime.”
I have no words for that. None. I stare out the driver’s side window, no longer able to look at my father. Those words just gutted me. Made me feel so exposed and…pathetic. Yes. I feel unbelievably pathetic right now.
He laughs, his hand finding my knee as he squeezes me, forcing my eyes back to his. “I think I have my answer on that.” I glare at him and that only seems to make him laugh harder. “Lyric, you’ll find the answers you’re searching for come to you on their own. Life will do that for you naturally. Just let go. Give all this bullshit with Jameson time and distance. Don’t force things upon either of you. Go to the ball tomorrow night. Get things set up for yourself, for the new venture that you and Robert were planning and see where you end up.”
“It’s not always that simple.”
“It is always that simple. We’re the ones who complicate things.”
Chapter 24
Lyric
* * *
“It’s more, right?” Ethan asks, standing next to me as we stare out the window of my office. His voice is so hyper, I’m surprised he isn’t bouncing off the walls like a pinball in one of those arcade machines. “Like so much more than you ever possibly envisioned more?”
I laugh, nudging him with my elbow, but I can’t look over at him to show him just how big my smile is. My eyes are stuck on the view of the New York City skyline. A view I never in a million years thought I’d have. A view that sort of screams, you did it. You made it. You rocked this this and now you’re a player. “It’s definitely more. I mean, wow. Just wow. This view is—”
“Worth every penny.”
I nod. And laugh, possibly a bit hysterically. Maybe even as hysterically as Ethan. I don’t want to think about the cost but looking at this place completed, and this view that lives up to the price tag… “Yeah. I’d say it was.” Now I do look over at him, because I can’t tell if he’s shaking, vibrating with enthusiasm or bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “How much caffeine have you had today?”
He holds up his Starbucks cup. “This makes three double espressos.” I think my eyes just bugged out of my head. “Whatever. This is New York and I don’t think that’s all that much here. If we were back in LA, I’d have to drink some goddamn wheat grass slime in between my coffee just so I didn’t get kicked out of town, but here, people embrace consuming things that are bad for you. Like it’s a badge of honor to abuse your body as long as you do it in an expensive, trendy way.” I just stare at him, because somehow, I think I get what he means and he’s not wrong, which is even more disconcerting. “I can drink Diet Coke and smoke an e-cigarette as long as I’m eating a twenty-dollar organic kale salad with it.”
He has a point.
“Okay, but I’m officially cutting you off the espressos, because you’re about to break through the glass window and jump, thinking you can fly. It’s like you’re on PCP or something.”
Ethan smiles at me and I return that smile. “We did it, Lyric.”
“Yeah. We really did.”
And then we both do the girl squeal, complete with jumping up and down and holding hands. We revel in our minute, because yo
u don’t get too many of these in your lifetime. It’s a beautiful moment, but so bittersweet, I both ache and feel incredible everywhere.
“Madam CEO, now that you’ve seen your beautiful—and perfectly decorated, I might add—office, would you like me to take you down to the studio floor?”
“Why yes,” I say, looping my arm through his, “I would be delighted.”
Two years ago, before Robert was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, there was a label in Brooklyn that had some big-name talent, mainly hip-hop, but was struggling to put out albums and get good producers and pay the way they should have been paying. An artist who jumped ship because of all the uncertainty, filled Robert in on this and then Robert decided he wanted to buy the label.
I was still busy with the production side of things and not so much the business. And I had given up on ever moving to New York long before that. But Robert brought me in on this deal and we worked it so that all the artists stayed and the previous owner, Kaplan Ross, is now the talent director, since that’s where his strength lies. It was also contingent on moving to Manhattan, because even though Brooklyn is considered super chic and the ‘it’ place to be if you’re a millennial or a hipster, it’s not really the place to run a billion-dollar, high-profile record studio. At least that’s what Robert believed. Personally, I’ve always been a fan of Brooklyn, but it was his call and not mine. And seriously, the cost of real estate is just as expensive there as it is here.
Robert was diagnosed with cancer three months after the deal went through, and then he died a little more than a year later. Finding and putting together the New York office was put on hold. I was focusing on running the label while he focused on fighting cancer. I think part of him had always wanted his children to be more involved in his business, but they were more content with spending their father’s money while ignoring his business. They’re nice people. I actually really like Tamara, who is a part-time yoga instructor living in a beach-front condo in Venice Beach. His son Oliver, I don’t think does much of anything other than go out to clubs and occasionally gets arrested for fighting with the paparazzi.