Holiday Loves
Page 64
Her name was like a dagger straight through my heart.
Trudging past him, I sidestepped the empty bottles from the mini bar and the petals from the centerpiece littering the floor. “Gone.” He sank into the closest chair, waiting for me to elaborate. But I couldn’t. Not yet. “I gotta grab a shower. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“Are you sure?”
I tried for a smile. “Pretty damn sure. Unless you want me to go to the gig looking like this.”
Dropping onto the sofa, I threw my arm over my face, hoping he’d take the hint. And for once, he did.
“Call me if you need anything,” I nodded, and he pushed to his feet. Lingering by the door, he sighed. “Dude, I’m sorry.”
Me too. So fucking sorry I could hardly stand it. And as bad as it was last night, today was shaping up to be even worse. “Yeah.”
The doors snicked closed, and I was alone. More alone than I’d felt in a long time. When the silence was more than I could bear, I wobbled to my feet in search of pain killers. Finding my phone on the bed, I checked my messages. Nothing from Lily.
I waited for the aspirin to kick in, then doubled back to the living room to clean up my mess. I’d just finished dumping a handful of empty bottles into the trashcan when something shiny under the coffee table caught my eye. I snatched up the gold guitar pick, the booze in my stomach threatening to make a reappearance as I brushed my thumb over the inscription with Lily’s name.
Get over yourself, it’s been less than a week.
Following my own sound advice, I took the fastest shower in history, packed my clothes, and ambled to the desk to stow my laptop. My knees went week when I spotted the charcoal drawing on the keyboard—the sketch of me that Lily had drawn that morning at her apartment. On the bottom, beneath her signature, she’d scrawled a message.
I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.
Dragging my thumb over her farewell, I smudged the letters until the edges blurred and the letters faded. Then I dropped the sketch into the wastebasket and watched it float to the bottom.
A knock at the door drew me out of my haze.
The bellhop greeted me with a smile. “Mr. Knight. May I help you with your bags?”
“Sure.”
I took a step back to make room for the cart.
Once he was on his way, I looked around for anything I might have left behind. Only the memory of Lily lingering in every corner remained. Shoving the thought of her down deep, I closed the door and trudged toward the lobby. But I only made it to the end of the path before the band around my heart tightened to the point I couldn’t breathe. Retracing my steps, I flung the door open and marched straight to the desk. Plucking the drawing from the trashcan, I smoothed the paper with my palm.
I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.
And I didn’t. Not even a little bit. And that was worse.
Folding the sketch in half, I stowed the only piece of Lily I had in the hidden pocket inside my backpack. Someday, maybe I’d be able to look at it again. For now, just knowing it was there was enough.
* * *
All conversation ceased when I slid onto the seat in the limo. From the way Sean and Christian looked anywhere but at me, I assumed they knew about Lily. And strangely, I didn’t care. Because it made it real. And someday, when the pain went away, I could look back and remember her fondly, the first girl I’d ever loved.
Even if she didn’t love me back.
When we hit the freeway, I cleared my throat. “I’ve got to make a stop, y’all.”
Logan and Christian nodded but Sean just continued to stare out the window with a pained expression. And for the first time, I got it. Sean was the only one of us who’d left a girl behind when we started the band. Anna, his high school sweetheart. He’d crawled into a bottle when she married someone else and stayed there for months. At the time, I thought it was weak. But if alcohol would make the ache go away, I’d bathe in it.
Christian passed Logan the local paper when he thought I wasn’t looking. But they didn’t need to bother. My social media was off the chain, my phone buzzing with the latest reaction to my “confession.” My declaration. My disaster.
Downing my vodka and orange juice, I placed the glass in the cup holder when the limo glided to a stop at the apartment complex.
“I’ll be right back.”
Stepping onto the cracked pavement, I searched for any landmarks to jar my memory. But there was no need, because my feet remembered the way, and I ended up at Lily’s door. Pushing the rug aside, I laid the plastic bag with the gold pick and the lyrics I’d written next to the key. And then I hauled to my feet. But instead of leaving, I rested my forehead against the door. And even as I stood there, cursing the day we met, I prayed that Lily would find me. That she’d choose me. That I’d be enough. But I wasn’t. So I took what little pride I had left…and I walked away.
* * *
“He’s gone,” Tess said from the door of my room.
Tears lined my eyes as I continued to toss clothes into my suitcase. “Good.”
She flopped onto the side of the bed. “Is it?”
I only had a few hours left of freedom, and I didn’t want to spend them arguing with my best friend. Or talking about Cameron. Guilt lanced through me at the thought of him, and how I’d left things. But I chased it away.
“Just tell me why,” Tess implored, grabbing my hand.
Considering her logical nature, I didn’t think I’d need to explain. From a strictly financial standpoint, my decision made sense. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Reclining on her palms, Tess surveyed me with a narrowed gaze. “For two years you haven’t taken a dime from your parents’. So, no. It isn’t obvious. You’re three months from the finish line, Lily. Why are you giving up now?”
“I need my d-diploma. You read my mom’s email. They’re not g-going to help me unless—”
“This isn’t helping you! It’s blackmail! And don’t tell me you don’t have another choice. Cameron offered—”
“I can’t let him support me! Be a g-girl that hangs on his arm like a d-decoration! That life is n-no better than the one I turned down with B-Brad. D-don’t you see that?”
She blinked at me. “So you’re just going to let your mom win?”
I shook my head, stalking to my desk to pack up my art supplies. “No. It’s only t-temporary. I’ve g-got a lead on a job in New Mexico.”
“And what about Cameron?”
I spun around, tears clogging my throat. “What about him? I’ve only known him a w-week. This is my l-life we’re talking about.”
Cocking her head, she looked me over from tip to toe. “You’re scared,” she said quietly. “You think he’s going to abandon you like Brad did. That he’ll get tired of you.”
Her words hit the target, and I rocked unsteadily on my feet. Sinking into the chair when my knees threatened to give out, I buried my face in my hands. “Why should he be d-different than anyone else?”
Even as I said it, I hoped it wasn’t true. That for a moment, maybe Camron had felt about me the way I felt about him.
Tess laid something on the desk as she glided out of the room. “He left this for you.”
Sniffling, I picked up the little plastic bag. A note. As much as I wanted to read it, to drown in his harsh words and the recrimination I deserved, I couldn’t bear it. I wanted my memories of Cameron to be happy ones.
Coward.
I wandered to the bed and, easing onto the mattress, I picked up the hand carved wooden box from my nightstand. Tracing the lily on the lid with my fingertip, I smiled. My father had given me the box when I was a child. One of the few gifts he’d ever picked out himself.
Fur Elise floated to my ears when I cracked open the lid. Sinking against my pillows, I closed my eyes. And when the last note died, I tucked the note inside the box, along with the little piece of my heart that would always belong to Cameron Noble.
* * *
“We love
you, Dallas! Goodnight!” Logan shouted into the mic.
Pulling the strap off my neck, I waived to the crowd as I headed for the curtain. An army of roadies flew past me in their quest to tear down our equipment so the next band could take the stage.
The air was electric, the crowd roaring their approval long after we entered the tunnel that led to our dressing room. Logan turned to me, taking my head between his hand. “You were on fire, bro!”
“Fuck yeah, I was!”
Adrenaline flowed through me, pushing thoughts of Lily so far down I almost felt whole. And for a moment, I believed I could forget about the girl with the golden hair, and the soft blue eyes. Because she didn’t know me at all.
This was me. The real me.
“Lookie-lookie.” Logan whistled, raising a brow when we rounded the corner.
I cemented on a smile for the twenty or so girls lining the hallway in front of our dressing room. Blondes, brunettes, and redheads. A smorgasbord of perfect tits and firm asses in tight micro minis just begging for my attention.
“You want Betty or Veronica?” he called as he waded into the adoring crowd.
Sliding between a blond and a brunette, my stomach pitched when Lily’s image flashed in my head. But she wasn’t here. And they were. They wanted me, and she didn’t.
No, they want Cameron Knight
And that was a good thing, since he was all that was left.
Cementing on a smile, I glanced between the two girls. “Who says I can’t have both.”
* * *
“Wake up,” Logan said, giving me a firm shake. “It’s almost time to go.”
Rolling onto my side, I cracked open one heavy lid. Pain. It was everywhere. In my head. My stomach. Even my hair hurt. “I can’t. I’m dying.”
Or I was dead. Maybe I was dead. Because this had to be hell.
Logan chuckled. “You’re not dying, you fucking pussy.”
I lifted my head, but it was too much, so I buried my face in the pillow. The very cool, soft pillow. It was the best fucking pillow I’d ever felt. “What the hell happened?” I mumbled.
Logan dropped onto the couch, planting his feet on the coffee table. “About a fifth of Jack.”
Bits and pieces of the night filtered through my foggy brain. The show. Betty and Veronica. Their hands on my ass as we climbed into the elevator at the Omni hotel.
I flipped onto my back, and when I didn’t puke, I called it a win. “Where is everyone?”
“Sean and Christian are downstairs.”
“What about…the girls?”
The girl. My girl. Lily. If I was going to have a bout of amnesia, why couldn’t it be her that was erased from my memory? I rubbed my bare chest, the ache returning the moment I thought of her.
“What girls?” Logan snorted. “The ones you chased off with your whining about Lily? Her hair, her eyes, her feet…really, bro? Her feet?”
“She has cute toes,” I blurted. “So I didn’t…”
He cocked a brow. “Nail Betty and Veronica? Fuck, dude, you couldn’t. After you drank all the booze, you curled into a ball and passed out.”
Great. Lily not only ripped my heart out, she took my balls along for the ride.
“I’m going to grab some breakfast,” Logan said as he hauled to his feet. “Take a shower. You stink.”
I pulled the pillow over my head.
“We’re leaving in thirty minutes,” he said on his way to the door. “With or without you.”
“I’ll be there,” I grumbled.
I wanted to get out of Dallas as fast as I could. Though I suspected even two hundred miles away from Lily wouldn’t be far enough to cure the ache.
* * *
“Lillian, stop playing with your food and pay attention.”
Lifting my gaze from the pile of scrambled eggs, I found my mother staring at me from across the table, her face twisted in the same disapproving expression she always wore when I was around. And I didn’t know why, since she’d won.
For two weeks, I’d done everything she’d asked. I let her drag me to parties. To high tea. Allowed her to parade me around to all her friends like a dog she’d brought to heel. And most importantly, I resisted the urge to contact Cameron.
Though, I wanted to. Everyday.
The ache in my chest felt like a bullet wound. Gaping and open and painful.
Setting my fork down, I pinned on a tight smile. “I’m s-sorry, mother. You w-were saying?”
She cringed as I fumbled to get the words out. My stutter was always worse when she was around. Like my thoughts couldn’t find a voice if they sensed her presence.
Maybe the words don’t want to leave your lips any more than I do.
I felt the smile creep up from nowhere.
My mother must’ve seen it too because she picked up her coffee cup and glared at me. “Your handicap is no laughing matter, Lillian. Maybe you should take your therapy more seriously. How do you plan to sell art if you can’t even speak?”
I straightened in my seat. “I’m an artist, m-mother. I don’t need to open my mouth. N-Nobody cares what I have to s-say.”
Certainly not you.
One of her perfectly arched brows hitched up. “That’s beside the point. You don’t want to sound like an idiot, do you?”
The blow hit me right between the eyes, and I looked down. “I’ll t-try harder.”
Jerking when a warm hand landed on my shoulder, I offered my father a weak smile.
“Try harder at what, Lily Bear?” he asked as he strode to the head of the table. Miles away, or so it seemed. I could never understand why we didn’t eat at the breakfast nook in the kitchen like a regular family.
“Good morning, D-daddy.”
Another irritated sigh from my mother drew his gaze. “What is it, Abby?” he asked as he placed the linen napkin in his lap. He didn’t really want to know, since he was already motioning for the maid to fetch his coffee.
I suspected my parents went days without speaking to each other. It was like they orbited two different suns. Only coming together when it was necessary. How sad.
“Lillian refuses to take her therapy seriously. I was hoping she’d get herself in check before the holiday party season begins.”
Something that resembled empathy flashed across my father’s features. But it was gone just as quickly. “You worry too much, Abigail. Lily is fine.” He smiled at me. “Beautiful.”
“As long as she doesn’t open her mouth,” my mother muttered.
Pausing with the coffee cup halfway to his lips, my father glowered at her. But only for a second. Whatever it was that made Marcus Tennison fierce in the boardroom withered in the presence of his wife. My mother would’ve made a formidable business woman.
“I’m p-probably not going to have t-time for parties,” I ventured. “H-hopefully I’ll have a job by then.”
“Nonsense,” my mother replied, leveling her serious blue eyes on me. “The Peterson’s son is back from Harvard and I’ve already arranged for him to accompany you to the Black and White Ball. If things go well your social calendar will be full for the entire season.”
The ever-present pit in my stomach doubled in size. “I’m not interested in dating.”
I managed to get the sentence out in a clear voice. No fumbling. No hesitation. Maybe my mother had been right about Cameron, and he would’ve left me in the end. But the thought of letting anyone else touch me was unimaginable.
Pursing her lips, my mother stared into her cup. “That doesn’t matter, Lillian. As long as you live in this house, you’ll do what’s expected.”
And with that, she pushed back from the table, dropped her napkin onto her plate, and stalked from the room. I was just about to do the same when I felt my father’s eyes on me.
“Have you spoken to your friend lately?” he inquired when I stood up.
Friend?
He couldn’t be talking about Cameron. “Tess?”
She was the only other friend I h
ad.
“No…” Drawing the word out, he eased back in his chair. “The musician.”
I shook my head. “Um… no.”
I stopped short of mentioning our deal. Mostly because I was ashamed. No, I hadn’t taken my parents up on their offer to buy me a car. And the credit card my mother gave me remained untouched on the desk in my room. But I had let my parents pay off my school debt.
“What is it, Lily Bear?”
“It wasn’t part of the deal, you know that.”
A crease formed between my father’s brow. Confusion? But why?
“What deal?” he asked, catching my gaze and holding.
Anger flared from deep in my belly. “Look, Daddy, I can’t t-talk about this. I know you had your reasons b-but…” I took a deep breath. “I agreed to the terms. But just so you know, I loved Cameron. And I thought maybe he felt the same. He asked me to go to Austin with him… d-did you know that?” My father’s lips parted, but I continued before he could answer. “And maybe m-mother was right. Maybe he would’ve grown tired of me. And without my d-degree or a means to support myself, I couldn’t just pack up and move.”
I looked my father in the eye then, letting him know that I was more like him than I wanted to admit. I’d made the smart choice. Even though it gutted me. Even though I regretted it every single day. In the end, common sense had won out. And every day that passed, a little of my resolve melted. By Christmas, I’d probably give in and let my mother set me up with the son of one of the business magnates in her social circle. And maybe I’d forget about New Mexico. And art. Maybe I’d marry. Have children. And I’d die a little inside. Because my parents’ money had never given me choices. It had only taken them away.
When I realized that I’d managed to get out the entire speech without stammering, I smiled. A small victory. I was still basking in the glow when my father said, “Come here, Lily.”