Too Good at Goodbyes

by RC Boldt

  “Kane Windham.” We shake briefly. “And it’s my pleasure.”

  “Did you hear your daddy?” Simone admonishes, her tone playful. “Diva? Pfft.”

  Zoe giggles before sobering, her brown eyes wide and innocent. “I missed you.”

  “Aww, I missed you too, sweetie pie.”

  The little girl perks up. “Do you have any new songs to play?”

  Simone cocks her head to the side. “Well, they’re not great, but I have the start of one. Maybe you can tell me if it’s any good.”

  The young girl nods excitedly, and Simone breaks out her guitar, perching on one of the available chairs beside the bed.

  * * *

  When you walk into the room

  I forget to breathe

  When your eyes catch mine

  They whisper, “Never leave”

  When you hold me tight

  All my worries disappear

  To my darkness, you’re the light

  You fight off my fears

  Save me from the undertow

  You remind me what I need to know

  I am strength

  Even when I feel weak

  I am brave

  My armor without a chink

  I am heard

  Even when my voice is meek

  But most of all, I am loved

  Oh, I am loved

  I am loved

  By you

  Simone trails off, gazing at the girl expectantly. “What’d you think so far?”

  “I love it!”

  “Yeah?”

  Zoe nods. “I can’t wait for you to finish it.” She shifts slightly, pulling the covers up. “Could you play my song for me?”

  The smile that spreads across Simone’s face is a unique mix of sadness and affection, and something sharp twists in my chest at the sight of it. “Of course.”

  When Simone begins playing the song she performed at the impromptu concert she did at Edwards Air Force Base, Zoe softly sings along.

  Baby girl, don’t you worry ’bout a thing

  No, nothin’s gonna hurt you

  Isaac rises from his seat and approaches where I stand a few feet away, his voice hushed as Simone and Zoe sing. “She’s amazing, huh?”

  I glance at him, unsure of who he’s referring to, so I choose the safe response. “I can’t imagine goin’ through this so young.”

  He lets out a little grunt. “Zoe’s tough.” A deprecating grin tugs at his mouth as he scrubs a hand down his face. “Much tougher than Lauren or me on most days, I swear.”

  We return our focus to Simone and Zoe as the former plays the guitar while the two sing together.

  “She’s not like they make her out to be.” Isaac’s subdued tone has me turning to him in question. “She’s done more for me and my family than anyone else.” His dark eyes hold mine a beat before returning to Simone and his daughter.

  “She could’ve kicked me out of the band and been done with it, but she still pays me. Insists on it.” A corner of his mouth hitches upward. “Got pissed when I tried to give it back the first few times. And she’s paid for everything for Zoe…”

  He trails off, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “Simone’s an angel in disguise. The press likes to paint her as some heartless bitch, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

  “Simone comes here as often as she can, trying to fly under the radar. She doesn’t do it for the publicity.” He shakes his head firmly. “Anyone can see that just by watching. She’s doing it because she likes making these kids happy. Even if it’s for just one quick moment.”

  Isaac’s words linger in my mind long after we say goodbye to him and Zoe and Simone heads off to surprise other children and sing to them. The day isn’t strictly filled with her singing, though. She competes in thumb wars with a few of the patients, and their faces light up with laughter when she whines about her thumb being sore from exertion.

  Three hours later, Rachel notifies me that the press has gotten word of Simone’s visit. When I discreetly alert Simone, she nods and says that she’ll say one last goodbye to Zoe, and then she’ll be ready to leave.

  While I coordinate with Jed and Vance for the vehicles, I wait for Simone to wave and smile to the kids and hospital staff. Once we step inside the elevator, she slips on her sunglasses, and her usual armor seems to fall back into place. Her grip on her guitar case is nearly white-knuckled.

  Once we emerge from the hospital’s back entrance, a few cameras flash but luckily we make our escape before the bulk of the paparazzi arrive. We ignore their shouts, and I guide Simone into the awaiting vehicle before slipping in beside her.

  The car takes off toward the hotel, and she gazes out the dark-tinted window with the sunglasses still masking her eyes. I’m about to turn away when I catch sight of it. The slight twist of her lips as if she’s attempting to stifle her agony, visibly wrestling with the pain, passes in a quick flash.

  And I can’t help but wonder what else Simone King hides from the world.

  16

  Kane

  SECOND ROUND OF SCHEDULED INTERVIEWS FOR The Last Love Letter

  “What was it like to work with Jason Starke as the director of this film?”

  “It was surreal, quite honestly. I feel like I learned so much from both him and Jon.”

  I stand a few feet away from where Simone sits across from the interviewer. The woman’s smile is worse than Simone’s sad excuse for a smile. It appears almost dangerous. As if she’s up to no good.

  “I’m sure we can agree that Jon Hammel is a hottie, right?”

  Simone’s polite smile turns a shade brittle. “He’s wonderful to work with and has become such a good friend.”

  The woman tips her head to the side. “So, the chemistry on screen didn’t transfer to off screen, then?”

  Simone blinks but maintains her composure. “We were acting in a movie.” A slow, practiced smile forms on her lips. “But it’s good to know you felt the on-screen chemistry.”

  The woman laughs. “Well, we know there’ve been some rumors about you, so”—she holds up her hands in surrender as if she’s completely innocent—“I had to ask.”

  Simone remains silent with her polite smile stamped in place.

  “Right.” The woman glances down at the notes in her lap. “There are some heart-wrenching scenes in this movie, Simone.” With narrowed eyes, she asks, “Did you draw on your experience from your multitude of breakups?”

  The hint of tightness around Simone’s mouth tells me she’s irritated, but she powers through. I glance around for Rachel before I remember she had to run off and put out some other “fire.” Dammit. I really don’t like how this interview is going.

  “I think anyone who’s experienced some ups and downs in a relationship could relate to the scenes in this movie. And, again, I was acting, so I had to channel this character who had endured being away from the man she was madly in love with. He was off, fighting in the war, and simultaneously, she was setting out on a new path for herself and ensuring her own livelihood.”

  “Uh-huh… Now, going back to you and Jon. Phew!” She fans herself. “Those love scenes were scorching hot.”

  Simone’s smile is so tight, I fear her face might crack at any moment.

  “What did his wife have to say about that, do you think?”

  Simone’s head tips to the side, eyes narrowing. “I can’t answer that since I haven’t asked her.”

  “Well, surely she’s a bit intrigued by how sensual it was?”

  “I wouldn’t know. It was a scene we had to act out in the movie, so…” Another polite smile.

  I can’t take this shit anymore. Thank fuck this is the final interview for today.

  I pull out my phone and put it to my ear, murmuring before I step forward, my tone filled with urgency. “Excuse me, but there’s an emergency call for you, Miss King.”

  Simone blinks before quickly offering her apologies for having to cut things short, then
accepts my phone and moves away out of earshot. Luckily, the other woman mumbles her assent and rises from her seat, gathering her personal items.

  “Ma’am, I can see you out. We apologize for the interruption.” I quickly but politely usher her out the door. As soon as I lock it behind her, I brace myself for whatever reprimand I’m due. I know I deserve it, but I can’t say I regret stepping in.

  When I head down the hall and into the living area, Simone is back in the chair she’d been in for the interview. Leaning forward, her arms resting on her upper legs, she raises her head to look at me and holds out my phone. A tinge of discomfort edges into her features. “I’m sorry, but it…a text came in. I didn’t mean to look at it…”

  My entire body tenses. Because that can only mean one thing.

  Lucia. Again.

  I accept my phone from her and ignore the questions practically written in her eyes.

  Who is Lucia?

  Is she your ex-girlfriend? Estranged wife?

  Why is she apologizing?

  Are you planning to call her back?

  She studies me for a moment, her eyes more hazel today. “Look, I appreciate you trying to defuse that situation, but there was really no need. David doesn’t do that, and I don’t need it getting out that my head of security is fighting my battles for me because I can’t put on my big girl panties and do it myself. All that shit?” She gestures to the chair opposite her, where the woman had been sitting a moment ago. “That’s par for the course with me. With this job.”

  “Well, it damn well shouldn’t be,” I bite out.

  Her resigned smile holds a tinge of sadness. “Well, it is.” A humorless laugh spills out. “When you’re dubbed ‘The Breakup Bitch’ and the ‘Ice Princess of Pop,’ and people talk about how you always use your former relationships to write songs…” She shrugs. “That’s just what happens. It’s my life.”

  “Doesn’t make it right.”

  She lets out a long exhale, and I can’t help but notice the weariness in it. “Anyway, I appreciate you stepping in, but next time? Please, just…don’t.”

  I clench my jaw tight before I answer. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Two days later…

  When Fos calls—actually calls instead of sending a text—I know shit’s not good.

  Luckily, we’re back in the suite, and it’s nearing seven in the evening. Simone’s had dinner, and judging from the faint sounds drifting from behind her closed bedroom door when I stepped out to grab water from the kitchen, she’s tucked away with her guitar, possibly writing new material.

  I let out a low groan and lean back against the bed pillows at my headboard before I accept his call.

  “Hey.”

  Fos starts right in. “Just checking to see how hard you fell in love with the life of the rich and famous.”

  A small derisive sound escapes me. “It’s a whole other world out here.”

  He laughs. “I bet.” When he hesitates, I brace myself for whatever’s coming next. “Lucia’s been asking about you. Said you’re not returning her calls or texts.” My friend lets out a sigh. “Apparently, she needs to talk to you about something.”

  I clench and unclench my jaw, trying to find the right words…and come up empty.

  “Look, I just want you to know that nobody blames you for that shit. You didn’t know, and it’s not like she was transparent about it, either.”

  I drag a hand through my hair, my eyes closing in a wince. “Yeah, well…it doesn’t really soften the blow.”

  Foster’s voice grows tight. “You won’t like hearing this, but I’m gonna give it to you straight. She was never right for you. I felt that shit down to my bones, man.”

  He’s right about one thing. I don’t like hearing it. Not one damn bit.

  Unfortunately, he’s not finished.

  “Look, I get it. She’s a beautiful woman. And the accent’s a bonus. But do you ever think that maybe—I don’t know—you just liked the chase? How different she was from anyone else?”

  I clamp my mouth shut to hold back the hotheaded response that’s sitting on the tip of my tongue. Because…maybe he’s right.

  Maybe. Then again, maybe not.

  “Right.” Foster sighs. “Anyway, she’s probably gonna email you since that’s her only option left. Just…beware.” Something in his tone raises my hackles. Like he knows something and isn’t telling me.

  But I’m too much of a chickenshit to call him out on it. Because I’m not sure I even want to know.

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Fos blows out a long breath, and I can tell he’s disappointed in me. Instead of giving me shit about it, though, he changes the subject and starts asking me about the job and Simone.

  I give him the rundown, how I’ve been meeting with the security team and assessing things differently than the average security crew.

  He seems impressed by that and asks a few questions about the team. Then I find myself talking about Simone and mentioning the moment backstage with the boy, Logan, from Make-A-Wish and the visit to the children’s hospital.

  “She sounds a lot different from how the tabloids make her out to be,” my friend remarks thoughtfully. “Good to know you’re working for someone like that. Good people who give back.”

  “Yeah.” That’s all I can say, because I realize he’s right. Simone is a good person. And I was the asshole who took those damn stories at face value in the beginning, assuming the worst when she’s done nothing but show me the real her.

  A female voice sounds in the background, telling Fos that dinner’s ready.

  “Be right there, gorgeous,” my friend tells his wife.

  Laughter follows, then a sarcastic, “Gorgeous, my ass. I’m humungous.”

  “Tell Noelle I said hey.”

  Fos does, and I hear a shuffling sound before her voice comes over the phone. “Hey, Kane.”

  The sound of her familiar voice has my mouth curving up. “Hey, darlin’. How are you and the little one doin’?”

  “Pfft. Hungry. All the time.” She breaks off with a laugh before sobering. “How are things with you?”

  “Goin’ all right.”

  There’s a pause. Then she lowers her voice, and says, “You know I can still throw down, so if you need me to go over to her house and—”

  There’s a shuffling sound, voiced protests, and then Foster lecturing, “That’s enough, Rambo. Keep calm for the baby.” More protests sound from Noelle before his voice comes back on the line.

  “Sorry ’bout that.” Amusement lines his tone. “She’s very protective these days.”

  “It’s the maternal instincts!” Noelle calls out in the background.

  “Right. Anyway…” Fos hesitates. “You call anytime. You need anything, we’re always here.”

  My throat grows tight, and I nod even though he can’t see it. “Appreciate that.”

  “Talk soon.”

  “Later.”

  Ending the call, I set the phone beside me on the bed, tip my head back, and stare up at the ceiling. Damn if I’m not a little homesick.

  God only knows how long I zone out, lost in my own head, before my phone vibrates on the bed. When I glance down, my heart skips a beat.

  A new email notification. Just like Fos warned me about.

  I stare down at the screen while internally warring with myself whether to delete the damn thing without reading a single word.

  Of course, I don’t. Because I’m a goddamn fool. This is confirmed when I open it.

  Kane,

  I’ve been trying to reach you for a while now, but you haven’t been able to respond. Or haven’t wanted to. I understand, but I want you to know that I miss you.

  Fuck. I drop the phone like it’s just burned my hand and stare at the words illuminated on the screen, feeling a mixture of disbelief, hurt, and anger. My heart feels like a hand has reached inside my chest, clenched it in its fist, and ripped it straight from my body. I feel fucking gutted. It take
s me a full minute before I find the strength—or courage—to pick it up and read on.

  I wanted to talk to you personally before I sent this, but since that’s not possible, I still wanted to invite you.

  I understand if you don’t wish to come, but I would love for you to be there.

  I miss you and hope you’re doing well.

  Love,

  Lucia

  Attached to the email is an invitation to her engagement party.

  17

  Simone

  “No, that’s not right,” I mutter around a Sharpie ultra-fine point pen that’s pinched at the corner of my mouth.

  I try strumming C-F-F-G while I hum the chorus. Yeah, that’s it. Quickly plucking the pen from my lips, I jot it down in my notebook.

  So caught up in my own world, I’m startled by the quiet knock on my door. My head snaps up, and I call out, “Come in.”

  Kane steps inside, one hand braced on the door handle. Agitation practically radiates from him, a worried crease between his brows. “Are you in for the night?”

  I peer at him in surprise because he’s been working for me long enough to know I’m not exactly a party animal. Hell, I’m more of a recluse, if anything.

  Which is why I can’t resist answering with a mix of sarcasm and self-deprecation bleeding from my voice. “Aside from my plans to host a raging party here in about ten minutes with people doing lines of coke off each other’s stomachs, I’m really not sure if—”

  “Simone.”

  Ohhh, whoa. He’s never spoken my name like that before. Raggedly. Like he’s on the verge of breaking.

  Only now do I realize how much of an ass I am because if I’d looked closer and paid more attention, I would’ve noticed the pain in his eyes. The flat line of his lips, as if he’s pressing them together to prevent the world from hearing him bellow in pain.