Kiss Off: Kiss Talent Agency, Book Five

by Virna DePaul

  “Not particularly.”

  “I think you’re scared. You were right to run, five years ago. Carter McCall made you into someone you aren’t. And in doing so, he hurt you. I totally get that. Running away was the only option for you, in your mind. But… Kara, you’ve spent five years completely on your own, providing for yourself, taking care of yourself. You know how to be strong now. You’d never have another situation like with Carter because you’d never let it happen. You don’t trust me, I understand that. But I wish you’d trust yourself. I wish you weren’t scared to show the world who you are now. Your true self.”

  Thoughts are still swirling in my mind, trying to take shape, but they can’t quite get there yet. I didn’t trust me? Could he be right? And was I scared? No, I told myself. I was just smarter.

  “That makes no sense,” I snap. “I performed for years and it wasn’t being seen or judged for my music that made me run. It was being controlled by Carter.”

  “But being controlled by Carter isn’t what’s holding you back now. Something else is. Something you’re afraid of. And I think that thing that frightens you is showing the world who you really are, without the carefully cultivated image—a bubble, really—that Carter put around you. If you came back to music now, you’d come back as you. And that’s got to be scary as shit.”

  The jumbled thoughts in my mind grow more jumbled, coming up to the surface, but I don’t want to sort through the thoughts and make sense of them. Because the one thing I can make sense of is my rising emotion—I’m pissed. No, scratch that—I’m furious. Declan’s so wrong it’s laughable. He has no idea what I really feel.

  “You know what, I’m not interested in your psychobabble. So take your idiot ideas and take a flying leap off the edge of the earth. It’s right over there.” I jab my finger in the direction of the big red marker. “I’ve had enough. I’m leaving.” I stand and stomp off, heading back to my hotel.

  He follows me. He always follows me, doesn’t he?

  “So that’s it? You keep running?” Declan calls after me. When I whirl around, he comes up close, his gaze darting over my face like he’s trying to piece together some secret. “You keep acting like you’re happy when we both know you only truly come alive when you’re playing your music.”

  I fight back angry tears. “Go to hell, Declan. Get off your high horse. You were the one who lied. I don’t owe you any explanation, and I sure as hell don’t need to listen to you talking about how you know me better than I know myself.” I poke a finger into his chest, but he doesn’t move. “I didn’t want to be found, okay? I didn’t want you to come after me. I didn’t leave you behind just so you’d chase me and then I’d fall into your arms like some damsel in distress. I’m not a princess locked in a tower you need to save! Good god, why couldn’t you let me hide away in peace?” I’m practically shouting at this point.

  “You didn’t want to be found? With your giant VW bus, your piercings, your tattoos? You may be running, but you’re not hiding, Kara. Stop trying to act like you are. You ran because it’s easier for you to run than to face your fears. About yourself. About me.” He takes my hand and slips his fingers through mine. “But I don’t want to let you run. Over these past few days, I’ve not only loved every minute of this crazy adventure, but I’ve fallen in love. With you. I love you, Kara.”

  My heart hurts so badly I can’t catch my breath. I want to believe him—I do. I want to fall into his arms and forget everything that’s happened. But even if he really does love me, he lied to me. And what will happen when he thinks he can control me? I’ll lose myself. He’ll eat me up and spit me out.

  I pull my hand away. “I don’t love you back,” I lie. “I don’t want to be with you, and I certainly don’t want to be your client. Music is over for me. We’re over. Just go home, Declan. I’m done.”

  He reaches out and slips a wisp of hair behind my ear. His hand is warm against my skin, and his voice is soft and sad when he says, “I understand. But Kara, if you can’t love me, love yourself enough to face what’s holding you back from having the life you deserve. Look inside. Look at the brilliance, the sheer vibrancy that is you. And after you’ve looked inside, listen. Listen to what’s in your soul.”

  I turn and walk away. I expect him to follow.

  But this time?

  This time he lets me go.

  DECLAN

  * * *

  “Jesus.” My brother Owen is leaning against his sleek silver sports car, wearing an expression of concern as I walk out of Newark Airport.

  After watching Kara walk away this morning, I’d managed to get myself to the airport in Key West and caught a flight bound to JFK, but missed my connection in Miami. I’d had to scramble and ended up on a later flight landing in Newark, and now it’s after ten PM. So yeah, I’m wiped and surely look like shit.

  Owen automatically reaches for my backpack when I shuffle up to his car. “I take it your mystery girl’s not with you,” he says, quietly.

  I shake my head. He doesn’t press me for answers, and I’m grateful for that. I get in and lean my head against the doorframe.

  Owen starts the car back up and heads toward Manhattan. “When your doctor orders you to take time off, you’re supposed to come back rested, not looking like something a dump truck ran over. You gonna collapse from exhaustion again?”

  I close my eyes. “Nope. Just tired from all the travel time.” And tired from the emotional exhaustion of knowing I’d hurt Kara…and having to leave her behind in Key West. Along with my heart.

  When he drops me off at my place, he asks if I want to take a few more days off work to rest up. I tell him no, that I want to get back to the office, but I’m lying to us both.

  He rolls down the window, sticks his arm out to wave, and takes off. I stand in the street outside my place for a second, watching him drive away. Then I wearily take my suitcase inside.

  As I shower, I can’t stop thinking about how I’d fucked up in a completely unredeemable manner. I tried this morning to apologize for my behavior but Kara still couldn’t trust me. She never would. And rightfully so. I’d spent days with her, days where I could have taken the opportunity to tell her who I was. Tell her how I wanted her to come back to music—for her sake because she loved making music and singing to an audience, and for my sake because her lyrics, her voice, all gave me something that filled a hole deep inside. But I never found the right time.

  Because I never was looking for the right time. And that was on me.

  I get out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. I open up my backpack to unpack, and there it is. The scent of the ocean.

  And boom—I’m back there again. In Kara’s van, listening to tunes as we drive along the eastern seaboard. Painting Kara’s body. Fucking in her van, making love on the beach. Enthralled just to watch her as she sings her own song to the small crowd in that little town’s auditorium.

  My heart feels so heavy and I’m in such emotional pain from being away from her. I’d give anything to have her back.

  Angry at myself, I toss my backpack and all its contents into the back of my closet, then put on a pair of boxer-briefs and a tee and head out of my bedroom, intent on rummaging through the fridge to find something not moldy and also intent on downing a beer or two.

  There’s nothing in the fridge worth eating, so I grab a beer and lean against the kitchen island. As I glance around my apartment, I see some cool stuff, like the posters for acts I’ve signed and a few trophies from playing soccer in high school. But most of my stuff is gray, black, or white. There’s no Kara color anywhere near here.

  Kara color.

  That’s what Kara did—she brought color into my life. I’d used the word “vibrancy” this morning, and I meant it. Kara brings something vibrant to the world. And now she’s not here to brighten my days in reds, yellows, greens, and blues. I’d give anything for her to be here, to color my grey world.

  All during that Uber ride—seriously, I cou
ld not believe the guy wanted to drive me all the effing way to Key West—on the way to find Kara, I’d thought about bringing her here, to my home. She would have changed my greys and blacks into greens and purples. She would have made my apartment glow just by standing here. Or she could paint one of her murals on one of my boring, blank walls.

  I grab a beer and check my phone. Of course she hasn’t texted or called. There’s no reason she would have, but I’d still held some lame glimmer of hope that she had.

  Then, I suddenly remember something. I pull up the Pictures app and, in a few seconds, I find it. It’s the pic I took of her on the beach. It’s dark, but the moonlight is hitting her painted, naked body. She’s turned away from me; no one could tell the woman in the photo is Kara Hester. Still, she looks like a fucking goddess and she takes my breath away. For a brief moment, Kara colors my world again and I’m grateful, so grateful, for the photo on my phone.

  It’s all I have left of her.

  My Kara.

  My everything.

  Chapter 17

  KARA

  * * *

  I wake up to the sound of a truck pulling into the rest stop I’d overnighted in and realize I must have finally dozed off after spending half the night lying awake, my mind churning and my heart aching. It’s early, the sun’s barely adding light to the land, but I can’t sleep anymore. I still feel tired, though. My head hurts and my eyes are gummy and I’m sure I’m an utter mess. My stomach growls, which I figure is a good sign—at least I can eat. The day before I’d barely choked down a bag of chips and the cup of lukewarm coffee I’d bought at a gas station somewhere in the middle of Florida.

  Yesterday, when I walked away from Declan, I didn’t look back. Not even once. By the time I turned the corner close to my hotel the tears were streaming and I could barely see. I managed to grab my stuff, check out, and crawl into my van. Then I headed north. And kept driving, forcing away the tears. Three hours passed in which I sat numb in the driver’s seat, not even taking in the sights the way I usually do. Any time thoughts of Declan swam to the surface I forced them under. I refused to think about him, about what had happened.

  When I finally got off the Keys, I headed straight up the middle of Florida, not wanting to get anywhere near either shore. I’d had enough of white sandy beaches and sea breeze teasing my hair and the taste of salt water on Declan’s skin. I was done. So very done.

  Ten hours later, I landed in Lake City, Florida, about an hour away from the state border. I was hungry, tired, and blurry, and knew I had to stop driving and sleep. I found a rest stop near the junction of I-10 and I-75 and pulled over. Exhausted, I managed to brush my teeth then crawled into bed in the back of the van. I’d somehow been able to keep thoughts of Declan at bay most of the day, but as I started to slip into unconsciousness, suddenly there he was, his voice filling my mind, his words repeating themselves over and over in my mind.

  No matter that I was so completely exhausted that my bones felt like they were melting, sleep still wouldn’t come. But Declan’s words still kept coming, nonstop.

  Declan had said that I was too scared to get back into music because it would make me vulnerable. I kept repeating my own argument right back at him. In my mind I’d shout, “I’m not afraid. I’m not running. I’m not afraid!” I was standing up for myself by taking off—there was no way I’d let myself get eaten up by a man again. God, I wanted to kick myself for trusting him, but mostly, I just wanted to forget all of this ever happened. Finally, well after midnight, I drifted off to sleep.

  A car pulls up next to me and a family gets out, the kids’ chatter loud for this early in the morning. I yawn and stretch, then get out of the van and head to the rest stop bathroom. When a woman with two little kids walk past me as I enter, they give me a wide berth. They probably assume I’m some junkie.

  Maybe I am. Hooked on Declan, that is. Because this ache, this pain, sure feels like what a junkie must experience during withdrawals.

  I wash my face at the sink, trying to make myself slightly less of a mess. Dark circles make my eyes look hollow. My normally curly hair is lank, my skin sallow. I look like crap and feel worse.

  I half-heartedly buy some food at the vending machines, not feeling hungry but knowing it was best to get at least something. Still, though, as I load up on granola bars and potato chips—thank god the vending machine also has fresh apples—I find myself choking up again, remembering how Declan and I would pass a bag of chips back and forth, and remembering, too, the zing I felt any time our fingers touched. Back at my van, I sit in the driver’s seat, engine rumbling, staring out of the windshield at the cars zooming past.

  Because where the hell am I supposed to go now?

  I’m suddenly faced with a choice I haven’t worried about much for the last five years: what direction would I take? And where would I go? North would take me through Georgia, the Carolinas, Virginia…but North was where Declan was. New York. My stomach clenches at the thought. West would take me through Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona…California. West was where Declan could be—the Kiss Talent Agency had offices in LA as well as New York. Again, same surge in my stomach. I sure as heck couldn’t go east, not with a gigantic body of water blocking my way.

  So where, then?

  I’d been on the road for so long now, slipping from town to town, getting to know the America I’d sung about on stage, in the studio. But there was one place I’d avoided in my travels, and that’s Nashville. I’d grown up near there, on a wide expanse of farmland near a creek, out in the hills. God’s country, my mom had said. And when I started getting noticed for my singing, I’d ended up in Nashville, the place where country western stars were made. And I’d ended up with Carter McCall, who’d made Kara Hester his star.

  And destroyed Kara Hester while doing so.

  Nashville. The word hums and sings in my head, and I can’t get it out. Usually the word sends tension into my spine, but now? How odd. Now I have a sense of peace.

  Suddenly I know where I want to go. I want to go home. Back to where this all started, this crazy ride that I’d been on for so many years. I haven’t been to the place where I was raised for years. My parents had moved from the farm to Springfield the first year I became famous, and I’d been back there to visit, but never to Nashville. I’d never gone back to the old farmstead.

  And for some reason, it’s calling me.

  I hit the gas and turn the van right, but I must have made too tight of a turn because I hear a crash in the back. As I get onto I-75, I look in the back and see some of my art supplies have fallen off the shelves in the back. At the next pit stop I’ll clean up the mess. Still, the sight makes me smile. Because I may be without Declan, the man who’d caused me so much pain, but I’d still had one of the best adventures of my life. And seeing the art supplies scattered on my still unmade bed, I know that no matter how shattered my heart is, I’m still Kara. And in my albums and cassette tapes and art supplies and guitar, I take the essence of myself with me wherever I go.

  I’m still me. The real Kara.

  Scared Kara?

  Declan’s voice murmurs in my memory, and part of my mind wants to listen to the words he said. But the other part wants to shut it all down. I’m done with him thinking I was running away.

  “You’re wrong, Declan,” I whisper into the empty air. Because I’m not running from anyone. Not anymore. This time, I have a destination. What I’ll do there, I don’t know, but I know I have to answer this calling. I know I have to go home.

  With a smile, I press on the gas and head out on the highway.

  Eight hours later, I end up in Murfreesboro, a short distance from Nashville. From home. I splurge again and get a hotel room. When I wake up, feeling way more refreshed than I had yesterday, I shower and eat a healthy breakfast before heading out to my destination.

  An hour later, I’m there.

  I called my mom last night to ask about the old homestead. I knew she was in touch with the
new owners, so I had her call them and ask if I could poke around a bit. They were on vacation, but said I was more than welcome to hang out at the place as long as I wanted. Now, I’ve finally arrived. It’s early morning, and it’s still chilly despite the fact that it’ll be in the nineties in a few hours.

  I creep along the old dirt road leading up to the farmhouse and look around as I drive. The land is lush, filled with tall grasses, trees, wildflowers. I roll down the window and let the air flow over me, my heart warming at the scent that is distinctive. It smells like home. There’s something about this land that I feel a communion with. Perhaps it’s all of the deep, lush green that contrasts with the purple larkspur. Up above, the sky is already a brilliant blue with puffy white clouds drifting slowly by. I slow, and can hear the murmur of the creek that passes through the property, a gentle sound compared to the bellows of the bullfrogs who live down at the pond.

  I can’t help but smile at the scents, the sounds, the familiar sky. When I find myself wishing Declan were here to see how beautiful it is here, my smile drops. Declan’s in New York, right where he’s supposed to be. Nowhere near me.

  When I come around the bend and see the old homestead in all its glory, the fields wide and green, the house standing tall and proud, the creek down the bottom of the hill surrounded by river birch, I feel...free.

  I feel like me.

  I make it to the house where I grew up and pull to a stop. As soon as I get out, the breeze picks up a little and I can smell the creek. I wasn’t sure what I expected, coming back here. But there’s something that settles an agitated part of my soul. The owners had told my mom where the hide-a-key is, but I skirt the house and head down the hill to the creek.

  Here, the colors are vibrant. Wildflowers, including some my mom and I had planted years before, grow like crazy, and there’s a riot of color along the creek. The water’s a light green-blue, flowing over rocks and sand, reflecting the puffy clouds overhead. Birds chirp in the tree canopy, and crickets hum and whir in the tall grasses. I breathe in and the scent makes me feel full.