by RC Boldt
Too Good at Goodbyes
RC Boldt
Contents
Playlist
Prologue
1. Simone
2. Kane
3. Simone
4. Kane
5. Simone
6. Kane
Celeb Radar Online
7. Kane
8. Simone
9. Kane
Buzzfeed: Top Five Acts of Kindness This Week from Famous People
10. Simone
11. Kane
12. Simone
13. Kane
14. Simone
15. Kane
16. Kane
17. Simone
18. Kane
19. Kane
20. Simone
21. Kane
22. Simone
23. Kane
24. Simone
25. Simone
26. Kane
27. Simone
28. Kane
29. Simone
30. Kane
31. Simone
32. Simone
33. Kane
34. Simone
35. Simone
Text from Kane
Entertainment Online!
36. Simone
Text from Kane
37. Kane
Deleted/Unsent Text from Simone
Text from Kane
38. Simone
Text from Kane
Rolling Stone Magazine
Text from Kane
39. Kane
Deleted/Unsent Text from Simone
40. Simone
Entertainment Weekly
Drunk Texts from Kane
41. Kane
Text from Kane
Entertainment Online!
Text Messages
42. Simone
43. Kane
Rolling Stone Magazine
44. Simone
Entertainment Online!
Entertainment Online!
Celeb Radar Online
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from CHOOSE ME
About the Author
Acknowledgments
To Matty, for the never-ending abundance of love and laughter. Thanks for showing me what HEAs are all about.
* * *
To A, for being my favorite girl in the whole wide world and universe. I love you most.
Copyright © 2019 by RC Boldt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by trademark owners. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features in any media form are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if one of these terms are used in this work of fiction.
Cover design by Cover Me Darling
Photographer: Rafa G Catala
Visit my website at www.rcboldtbooks.com.
Sign up for my mailing list: http://eepurl.com/cgftw5
Excerpt from Choose Me Copyright @ 2019 by RC BOLDT
Playlist
“Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga
“Damaged” by Danity Kane
“Dancing On My Own” by Calum Scott
“You Need To Calm Down” by Taylor Swift
“Tin Man” by Miranda Lambert
“Not Ready To Make Nice” by The Dixie Chicks
“The Man” by Taylor Swift
“Love is a Battlefield” by Pat Benatar
“Learn To Let Go” by Kesha
“Jar of Hearts” by Christina Perri
“If This Is Love” by Ruth B.
“I Don’t Want Your Money” by Ed Sheeran featuring H.E.R.
“How Do You Sleep?” by Sam Smith
“Hold Me While You Wait” by Lewis Capaldi
“Here With Me” by Marshmello featuring Chvrches
“Heartbreak” by Lady Antebellum
“I Love You” by Sarah McLachlan
“Gorgeous” by Taylor Swift
“Come As You Are” by Nirvana
“Celebrity Skin” by Hole
“Cheating on U” by Lacy Cavalier
“Broken” by Seether featuring Amy Lee
“Beneath Your Beautiful” Labrinth featuring Emeli Sandé
“Beautiful Trauma” by Pink
“Glitter in Air” by Pink
“All To Myself” by Dan + Shay
“Beast of Burden” by The Rolling Stones
“Chlorine” by Twenty One Pilots
“Crazy On You” by Heart
“Elastic Heart” by Sia
“The Heart Wants What It Wants” by Selena Gomez
“Too Good At Goodbyes” by Sam Smith
“I Will Be” by Leona Lewis
“Lover” by Taylor Swift
“Stupid Girls” by Pink
“I Belong To You” by J. Lo
“I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You” by Kina Grannis
Prologue
SIMONE
Present Day
The Super Bowl Halftime Performance
Hard Rock Stadium
Miami Gardens, Florida
Facing what’s estimated to be over sixty-seven thousand people with my favorite guitar strapped snug against me, I prepare to sing my final song.
Standing up here in front of thousands of fans is second nature. I performed in countless dive bars before breaking onto the scene and securing my first record deal, then moving on to sold-out world tours. Which means I shouldn’t have sweaty palms like a preteen working up the nerve to talk to her crush.
My heart shouldn’t be racing like a horse competing in the Kentucky Derby.
My stomach shouldn’t churn as though I’ve eaten ceviche from a questionable food truck.
Tremors shouldn’t affect my hands like a virgin embarking on their deflowering.
None of this should be afflicting me. But it is.
Because of him.
Because of the current state of my heart.
But this is how I deal with heartache. With tragedy. With…life.
“This is a little different, and I hope you like it,” I rasp into the mic. Noise from the cheering fans is deafening, and like every time I perform, the surreal quality never quite fades.
Tonight marks the first time I’ll share a song I wrote about someone who eviscerated my heart entirely. My other relationships—and subsequent failures—pale in comparison.
It’s no secret that love and broken hearts inspire great songwriting. With regard to the latter, it’s never hard to find someone mourning an unrequited love, suffering heartache, or wishing they’d find their own glorified everlasting love.
But have you noticed when male musicians write about it, they’re never on the receiving end of the snide, sarcastic comments of, “Oh, poor thing. He’s rich and famous and can’t find love. Boo-freaking-hoo.”?
Yet when I write lyrics that are the closest thing to ripping out my heart and putting it on display for the world, I receive the “She’s probably self
ish and put her career first” or “She probably cheated, and now she’s regretting it” or “Mm. So sad. The Ice Princess of Pop is heartbroken.”
My response? Fuck that noise. I’m writing from my heart and soul, regardless of how damaged they might be at any given time. And as long as my fans continue to support me, I’m going to keep on keepin’ on.
“I’d like to dedicate this song to a special person.” I duck my chin, willing myself to maintain composure. “It’s called ‘Embers.’”
Once I strum the first note on my guitar, everything around me fades. My voice emerges from the shards scattered within my chest where my working heart once was.
When I play that final chord, I see tears streaming down the faces of the fans in the front rows. And yet again, I’m reminded of something all too easily forgotten. That there are others who can relate to lyrics written from my soul’s breath.
Because in heartache, we’re never truly alone.
1
Simone
APRIL—OVER A YEAR EARLIER
“Simone! Over here!”
“Have you started working on the next album?”
“Love the dress, Simone! Who’s the designer?”
“Is it true that Matthias broke up with his girlfriend because of you?”
“Are you planning to write a song about Jackson?”
Don’t get me wrong, I have zero issues with answering questions, but right now, their shouting barely registers through the oppressively thick fatigue that surrounds me. I’m battling the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that goes hand in hand with a rigorous performing routine combined with my tour schedule’s travel demands.
I’m on a mission to hit my hotel room and collapse until I’m forced to wake up tomorrow at the ass crack of dawn for a grueling workout. David, my personal head of security, is at my side since the press gathered for this leg of the tour have been excessively antagonistic. My two main bodyguards, Vance and Jed, also flank me in the front and back.
Not for the first time, I’m grateful for these men. Because one of those shouting voices lances through my haze of exhaustion and cuts deep, causing me to misstep.
“Simone! Did you hear that Jackson and Emily are expecting a baby?”
They—the press—are the vultures. My exposed areas of wounded flesh taunt them. Tantalize them. They crave the moment I fall, succumbing to the wounds, the injuries they’ve inflicted. They live for the moment they get exactly what they want—a sound bite juicy enough to ensure millions of hits on the Internet to make them money. One that creates the drama, the controversy so many salivate over.
Most of the time, I do a pretty stand-up job of letting their barbs slide off my back. I just pretend it doesn’t get to me.
Then questions like this get tossed out and instantly flay me open, leaving me vulnerable with my entrails exposed while the vultures circle, preparing to swoop in and relish in satisfaction.
Because the man they speak of—Jackson Diaz—was my fiancé a mere four months ago.
“You are not rescheduling your honeymoon again.” I flash my sternest expression at David. Arms crossed, I prop myself against the arm of the couch in the hotel suite. “I’ll be in safe hands with Jed and Vance.” David’s lips part, and I know he’s about to protest, so I hurriedly finish with, “We’ll be just fine.”
He drags a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it, and I know he’s torn. His wife, Shelly, is one of the most understanding spouses I’ve ever met, but even she’s got to be at her wits’ end after having to delay their honeymoon.
I gentle my tone. “It’s only a few months, David. I’m sure we can make do.”
“But with the press tour on top of this…” He trails off, his face lined with worry. “I’m trying to find a replacement for when I’m gone. And I thought I had one lined up, but then—”
“They bailed when they realized it wouldn’t just be a balls-to-the-wall daily schedule, but because it’s for the Ice Princess of Pop?” My knowing smirk might come off as nonchalant and uncaring to those who don’t know me.
“Sorry, Simone.”
I wave him off. “No need to apologize.”
“I have one guy who I think’ll agree to it,” David rushes on. A hint of relief colors his tone. “The thing is, he has a ton of experience in the military, but nothing like this.”
The leather chair makes that trademark creaking sound when he shifts to lean forward in it, resting his forearms on his knees. “With that said, I don’t doubt his expertise or capability to adapt to this job.”
Our eyes hold as I let his words settle over me.
“You trust him?” My voice is soft. And David knows what I’m asking. Especially after all the shit we’ve been through together.
He dips his chin in a firm nod. “I do.” Linking his fingers together, he levels a somber look at me. “I’d honestly trust him more than the others I considered for the job.”
I blow out a long breath. “Okay. Make it happen as soon as you can.” Slowly, my smile spreads. “Because I want you and Shelly out of here and relaxing on that beach in Cabo as soon as possible.”
He rises from his seat and strides over, affectionately laying a hand on my shoulder. “You call me no matter what, got it? I’m always here for you, kiddo.”
I let out a small laugh. David’s only a few years older than I am, but he’s been protective of me since day one.
“Not unless it’s a legit emergency we can’t handle.”
He looks as if he’s about to argue but finally concedes. “Fair enough.” Striding to the door, he calls over his shoulder, “I’ll work on firming things up.”
“Sounds good.” I’m already digging in the fridge for the prepared smoothie when it dawns on me to ask, “Hey, what’s the guy’s name?”
“Kane Windham.”
2
Kane
Fernandina Beach, Florida
APRIL
If anyone says guys aren’t as bad as women when it comes to dealing with breakups, they’ve never met my friends.
“How long you planning to mope?” My boss and buddy, Foster Kavanaugh—though I’m now considering rescinding the latter title—casually tosses this out.
“Probably as long as it takes him to grow his beard to his waist.” Miller, one of my other co-workers, spouts this off while continuing to type up a report. He doesn’t bother to glance in my direction. But I know, sure as shit, that he feels my dark glare. “Or maybe he’s trying to turn into a Texan Moses with that thing.” He shrugs and just keeps on typing. “Might wanna tap into that market.”
Fos looks skeptical. “There’s a market for women who want a Texan Moses?” He sits back in his desk chair, eyeing me speculatively. “Hmm.” He pauses, continuing to survey me. “Guess I could see that.”
For fuck’s sake. I heave out an exasperated sigh and toss my pen on my desk. It’s not like they’re gonna let me get any work done at this rate.
“You two need to lay the hell off already.” My voice is harsh, and even I know it’s at odds with how I normally am—or was. Before…her.
Dammit, I silently groan and scrub a hand down my face and over the damn beard these two are yammering on about.
“Well, I’ve got to head out to site sixty-three.” Rising from his seat, Miller grabs the fresh printouts and slides them inside a file folder before snagging his keys. “Later.”
He’s out the door in a flash, leaving me with Fos since the other employees are all at their respective sites, and I have a sick feeling that this was planned.
A fucking intervention. Goddammit.
I clench my jaw, doing my best to hold on to even a shred of calmness before I turn my attention to Fos. By his resigned look, I reckon this won’t be a conversation I’ll end up enjoying.
He doesn’t speak for a moment; instead, it appears he’s trying to decide what to say.
Get your head outta your ass, Windham.
Stop with the surly shit already.
; I’d say you need to get laid, but I’m pretty sure you’d scare away any willing lady.
It’s what I’ve already heard—either from him or the others—so when he opens his mouth, I’m totally unprepared for what actually comes out.
“You’re on mandatory leave, starting tomorrow.”
I feel my entire face harden like granite. “Mandatory leave? What for?”
Fos leans his forearms on his desk and pins me with a steely glare. “You know why. Don’t act stupid.”
“Because I’m not all fuckin’ rainbows and sunshine? Is that it?”
His eyes narrow. “You know I’m looking out for you.” He speaks through clenched teeth. “Even when you can’t be bothered to look out for your own damn self.”
“So, I’m bein’ kicked off the job?” I shove up out of my chair, agitation surging through my veins.