by L.J. Shen
She was so beautiful.
He was so…not.
Normal brown hair. Normal clothes. Normal height. Normal weight. Just normal. What the hell did he think? Walking into her life with his normalcy and picking up the pieces—my pieces—playing daddy to this baby—my baby. I wanted to walk over there and beat the shit out of him. I didn’t even care that I had a criminal record, and the last time I got bailed for DUI and insinuating I’d wanted to shag an officer, my lawyer had warned me that the United States of America had just about had enough of my sorry arse, and the next time I got into trouble, I could get deported.
You can’t allow yourself to get deported, idiot. You have a baby to think about now.
Fine. I wasn’t going to beat the shit out of him. But I was going to do something.
I wish I had the virtue of patience. Then, maybe, I would have thought things through. Taken a few steps away, made a phone call, to Blake or Jenna or even Lucas, and asked them how does one react to the news that his ex—Indie was my ex, for the sake of this argument—had his baby, and moved on with some useless prat. I would maybe even go as far as asking them how—despite all the progress I’d shown—they still couldn’t trust my judgment, and had therefore hidden the existence of my baby from me. Because they absolutely knew. They had to know. Blake, Hudson, and Lucas were all in touch with Stardust. I knew that.
But I didn’t have anything other than a thousand burning suns in the pit of my stomach, suns that told me I’d be burned alive if I didn’t approach them, and so I did.
I light-jogged to them, feeling angry and relieved at the same time.
Indie’s head snapped up when I was about three feet away from her, and she dragged her eyes from the baby she cradled and fed, staring back at me.
I stopped, unable to make the rest of the journey. Her eyes paralyzed me, but it was her expression that undid me. She looked like she was…sorry. Like she’d missed me. Like she, too, had a lot of things to say. But she didn’t move, either, so we just looked like we were in an old movie that had frozen on a scene. The bastard beside her dragged his gaze up, every muscle in his face lax and happy.
“What’s going on? Do you know this guy, Indie?”
This guy?
This guy?
The fucker better not have touched my baby, or I would have to kill him, deportation or not. Besides, what the hell did he mean, ‘this guy’? Had she not told him she’d had Alex Winslow’s baby? I wasn’t some arsehole from the street. Even if he didn’t know who I was—fat chance, but some people just have bad taste in music—she still ought to have mentioned I was, in fact, a famous musician of some sort.
“Yeah, I…” she said slowly, still clasping the baby to her chest.
“Don’t.” I took a step forward, shaking my shock off. “Don’t downplay us. Not right now, and especially not after what I’m seeing here.”
“And what, exactly, are you seeing here?” She held my gaze. How could she say that? While holding the product of what we were to each other. Did I turn the women in my life into cold bitches, or was I naturally attracted to them and Indie had just been incredibly good at hiding it so far?
“We need to talk.” I breathed through my nose slowly, slowly, so fucking slowly, trying to incorporate every single piece of advice I’d been given in rehab. No one had warned me that the outside world I was being sent to had turned upside down while I was sitting in a circle clapping for people who bragged about not drinking their mouthwash to get high when their mother-in-law was in town.
“Maybe it’s not a good idea.” She sighed. Jesus, what the fuck? She didn’t even want to talk about it?
“No.” Another step forward. “Stardust, you listen to me. I’ve been through hell the last few months. For you. I’m not asking for a medal, or even for forgiveness—though that’d be really fucking grand, mind you—I’m just asking you kindly, respectfully, pleadingly, to listen to me.”
She put the formula bottle down on the bench and hugged the baby to her chest. He was cute. Cute, but he did not resemble her, and I was starting to grow incredibly confused. For one thing, he looked closer to a year old than a newborn. Secondly, I wasn’t much of a gene expert, but little guy had a head full of raven hair, and both Indie and I had brown hair in different shades. Mine was more chestnut; her original hair color was honey-ish, flirting with blond. I knew that because sometimes she forgot to wax the hair off her p—actually, it didn’t really matter how I knew that. I just did.
“Now’s not a good time.”
Her voice was quiet and guarded, and why in the world had the guy beside her not punched me yet? If this were me sitting beside her, the first fist would have been thrown the moment someone had even approached my girl. My girl. Was she his girl? I was going to be sick.
“When’s a good time?” I asked, still standing too closely and staring at her too eagerly. She looked left and right, blowing a lock of hair that fell from her braid aside.
“I don’t know, eight? Would you still be around?”
Would I still be around? I had no intention of fucking leaving this neighborhood until we had a lengthy talk. I nodded, pointing at the baby. I had to. Even though I knew I was going to hate either answer, though for very different reasons.
“I’ll wait outside your door. Just one thing, Indie. Is he mine?”
She looked down at the baby, and smiled at him, and he smiled at her, and oh, fuck, she looked like the perfect, wholesome mum. She opened her mouth and spoke to me, but looked at him.
“No.”
I knew he’d be there, so I stalled.
Alex had never been good at waiting. Everything was given to him quickly, urgently, easily. I wanted to see if he had changed. It was stupid, and small, and petty, but also necessary.
I was babysitting Clara’s grandson, Grayson. Grayson’s dad, Ollie, had gotten back from work early and decided to join us at the park. It wasn’t out of character for Ollie to show up, but it was completely unexpected for Alex Winslow to be there.
Shortly after Alex came back to the States and I’d sought refuge somewhere he couldn’t find me, Clara called and told me she’d broken her hip and was no longer able to look after Grayson for the upcoming months. She asked if I wanted the job, since I was a friend of the family and got along nicely with her son and his wife, Tiffany, and I immediately said yes. I didn’t need the money particularly, but I needed the company, and the temporary accommodation before Alex left for rehab.
I liked my job, but that didn’t mean I liked my life.
I hated my life. My life was Alex-less, and that was the worst way to live your life once you’d had a dose of the rocker.
I thought about it as I strolled at the farmer’s market, looking, but not touching, all the rows of strawberries, peaches, and jars of homemade jam. It was only two weeks ago that I stopped waking up crying and hating myself for missing him.
Because I did. I missed him every day.
I missed the man who knew, or at the very least had great suspicion that his ex-girlfriend had taken lives that night.
The man who’d covered for his ex-lover’s crimes knowingly.
The man who could have saved my mother, maybe, if he had been more persistent, and stubborn, and less jaded, and drunk, and tired of life. Because I knew he hadn’t done it out of love for Fallon.
When you love, you want to fix.
When you love, you don’t help to destroy.
And wasn’t it what Alex was trying to do right now? Fix things between us?
I knew my brother and sister-in-law were not going to fault me for hearing him out. I even knew Alex did everything he could to take care of me. He sent me checks every month. Checks I tore and threw into the trash. Blake called me once a week. Jenna helped Craig get a maintenance job at her office building. The day Craig, Nat, and Ziggy had moved out, Lucas came in to install a new alarm system at the apartment and helped me paint the walls. Hudson would come every other Friday for sushi and Gossip Gi
rl.
They all meant well.
Even Fallon hadn’t meant any harm, but harm she did, anyway, which was why she was awaiting trial right now. I didn’t know what Will thought about the whole thing, and sometimes, when I thought about him, which wasn’t often, I’d hurt for him, too.
At seven thirty, I threw in the towel and headed back home. I didn’t know what I was going to say to Alex and hadn’t decided if I was going to forgive him or not. And that, in itself, was irresponsible and dangerous for my poor heart.
He waited for me in the hallway, his long legs bent in front of my door for lack of space. He was long, and lithe, and completely gorgeous, the way I remembered him. I stopped and squeezed the railing, my knuckles whitening, trying to gather my thoughts.
He noticed me and rose to his feet, and we stood in front of each other, staring, mostly.
“Feels a lot like midnight,” he said. I didn’t want to smile, but I did, anyway.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
“Is he really not mine?” His eyes shone.
I shook my head. “No. He’s with his dad now,” I referred to Grayson.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay. Have you listened to—”
“I have,” I cut through his words. How could I miss the song about me, when it was the most played song in contemporary radio stations all across America?
Two souls collide on a too dark floor in a graveyard for the stars
Funny, when you walked into my life I thought I’d be the one leaving all the scars
There wasn’t one moment when I knew you’d be mine
There were pieces of jigsaw, when I looked into your eyes
And at midnight, the sky turned blue
The night belonged to us, it was just me and you
And at midnight, you undressed me from my fears
I devoured your tears
Seconds became illuminated like years
And at midnight, I kissed your skin, your eyes, your lips
You shone so dangerously, my own little personal eclipse
And at midnight, I broke your heart
You broke mine too
We fell apart.
Once upon a time, I wanted to be someone’s white knight
One upon a time, I thought I saw the light
Then you burst into my life like cerulean powder falling from above
Teaching me I never knew true love
You took my heart and held it in your teeth
I begged for you to bite it, oh, how I fucking loved your heat
And at midnight, the sky turned blue
You taught me feelings and moves, brand-new
And at midnight, I nipped at your flesh
Your walls crumbled one by one, even though you said you were in it for the cash
And at midnight, I fucked your body, your heart, your soul
Joke’s on me, ’cause now I’m the one who needs to crawl
And at midnight, we broke together
On the floor
So fucked forever.
He even used a line I wrote to him.
A line I later saw somewhere else. On the Internet.
“Is that how you see our relationship?” My throat caught. God, I shouldn’t have wanted to listen to him, but I couldn’t help not to, either.
He nodded. “Not to be a jerk, but I’d rather we have this conversation inside, after you offer me a glass of water, because my mouth is still dry from the notion that baby could’ve been ours and you were raising it with some random bloke. But just to put it out there, I’m going to raise him as my own if you give me a chance.”
Raise him as his own? I frowned, cocking my head to the side, before the penny dropped. Then I started laughing like a maniac. Oh, God. He thought Grayson was ours. Mine. That was hilarious, and frightening, and so, completely Alex to jump to such a drastic conclusion. I unlocked my door and pushed it open, and he followed behind me. The tension that was thick in the air evaporated—some of it, anyway—and I took out two bottles of water from the fridge, handing him one. I leaned against the countertop while he stood at the doorway to my small, stuffy kitchen and stared at me.
“I babysit Grayson. He’s not mine, or yours. He’s Ollie and Tiffany’s. Clara’s grandson,” I clarified.
“Holy fuck, you could have started with that instead of laughing at me.” He plastered his forehead to my fridge and smiled. “Thank God. I mean, cute kid. But still. Thank God.”
I laughed some more, and he did, too, before we both turned serious again.
“I’m clean now, you know,” he said, referring to the time he’d come back to Los Angeles, angry and crazy and so lost, trying to drag me back into his arms, never acknowledging my tragedy but illuminating his. “Just got done with my tour. Nine months sober. I wanted to show up after the month, but couldn’t help myself. I was afraid you’d move on.”
“I know you’re sober.” I bit my lower lip, then took a sip of my water just to do something with my hands and mouth. Blake kept me updated—even though I’d told him I didn’t want to hear it. I was happy Alex was seeking help. I just didn’t want to be in the loop to feed my obsession with him. Because I hadn’t moved on.
“I’m happy for you, Alex. I am.”
He swiveled his body to be aligned with mine, staring me down like the predator I longed to be devoured by. “It was the hardest thing I had to do in my entire life. Not the physical bit. That was a piece of cake, actually. But mentally. Making the conscious decision to never consume another drop of alcohol or a line of cocaine. Being so far away from you, because I knew you wouldn’t accept me any other way—but even more alarmingly, maybe you wouldn’t accept me even after all the changes I’d made. I’m not here to make promises, because promises are meant to be broken. I’m here to give you the facts, one by one. Fact number one”—he took a deep gulp of air, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them wide like he’d just risen from the bottom of the ocean coming back for air—“I love you, Indigo Bellamy. My love for you is like a studded leather jacket worn inside out. It digs into my chest, eager to produce blood. And I will do anything for you, not because you’re my muse or my salvation or my best lay, but because you’re inside me, like an organ, like a vital thing I cannot function without. I don’t even want you at this point. I need you. It’s different, and carnal, and completely necessary for my existence. Fact number two.” He took a step toward me, and I tried hard not to wince, because it was too soon to touch, even if he’d just swiped my hair off my face. “I recognize, now, that I made your heartbreak about me. I was so consumed with wanting you, I cared more about not losing you than comforting you. I want you to know I’m deeply, wholeheartedly, dreadfully sorry. Regardless of who you are to me—the love of my life or some nameless girl I was never going to meet—I still would have done right by you had I known what was going on when Fallon came home the night of the accident. But I didn’t. Not at the time, at least. You have to understand that, Indie, because I won’t be able to survive living in this world knowing you think I could have saved your parents but chose not to.”
Another step, and the distance between us erased, replaced with body heat and familiarity. The intimacy you couldn’t fake in a million years. The one that comes with love. “Fact number three—I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t see you as a charity case. I thought it was sad that you were an orphan, but no sadder than how I’d lived my life without a family. In my mind, we were two asteroids orbiting around each other. I thought I was the sun and you were earth, but now I see I got it all mixed up. You were always the sun. And even now, when I look at you, I don’t see regret and pain and suffering. I see the biggest opportunity, the sweetest promise, the road I should be taking.”
We were toe-to-toe now. He put his palms on my cheeks, and my eyes stung, my heart racing wildly. I didn’t push him away. Even the pain he gave me was special because it was his. I knew exactly what he’d meant by saying he needed me. I needed him, too. My life
felt so hollow without him in it. Most days, I felt like I was merely existing, but nowhere near living.
“Fact number four—it doesn’t matter what or who brought us together. But it happened, and we can’t undo it. It’s there, and we can’t go back. When I saw you with a baby this afternoon, the first thing I wanted to do was snatch you both and run away from here with you in tow. Most of all, what scared me was that I wasn’t even remotely disturbed by the idea of having a kid with you. And that says a lot. Shit, Stardust, that says everything. You’re holding my world together in your delicate, freckled hands, and all I ask is for you not to toss it against the wall and break it to pieces.”
His mouth closed in on mine, his lips tracing mine like braille, like he was trying to read the reaction out of me. I sucked in air and opened up for him, and we kissed so slow and so soft I thought I was being drugged into a lull. Eventually, I was the one to suck his tongue into my mouth and moan, trying to peel off his leather jacket. I wanted to believe he was sober and was going to stay that way, because deep inside, I’d already forgiven him.
Alex Winslow made me lose a part of my heart.
But he’d also sewn it back together, in tattered patches, in ugly patches, but it was whole. In its own, imperfect-but-still-working way.
“I love you,” I whimpered into his mouth, tearing our kiss apart to say something important. “Before she died, my mother told me that in order to know if you’re in love, you need to make a list of all the stupid things you did for that person. I made a list, Alex. It’s not pretty. On paper, I’m kind of a fool.”
He stared at me for a second, curving one side of his mouth and showing off the perfect row of teeth, like in the movies. His everywhere eyes sparkled with newfound happiness.
We stumbled to my bedroom. I laughed when we tripped over my new sewing machine. He hoisted me up and wrapped me around his waist, his signature move, and we were together again, in Moscow, Poland, Germany, London, and Paris.
He licked my cheek like a dog. “Mine. Claimed it.”
“Yours.” I licked his stubbled jawline, smiling. “Until the very last note.”