by RC Boldt
Her lips quiver. “I know.” She takes a sip of coffee before carefully setting it down on the table. “Are you…in love with her?”
I think about it. I really do. I think about the time I put into wooing Lucia. The interactions, the flirting, the jokes. The dates. The sex.
Then I let my mind flick through the memories of Simone and me. The way she’d run with me even though she knew it was more than she could handle. How I’d always let us walk back. The talks. The fact or fiction confessions. How she let me see the side of her no one else gets to.
She trusted me not to betray her like the others.
The memory of the way her face crumpled seconds before she wiped it clean and put in place the Simone the rest of the world knows so well makes me feel like someone’s hacking away at my chest with a pickax.
Once I got out of my pathetic bubble and away from Lucia, the hurt faded quickly. I’d needed a reality check. To realize she wasn’t the be-all and end-all for me.
But now, I need to be sure—I need to be positive—that I love Simone, and I’m not just using her as a crutch. As a rebound. A stand-in, like she’d said.
I need to fucking man up and get my shit straight once and for all.
I level a look at Lucia, her question on repeat in my mind. Are you in love with her?
That’s what I intend to figure out.
Deleted/Unsent Text from Simone
I miss you, too. But you hurt me so badly. When it comes down to it, you had the chance, and you didn’t take it. I offered up my heart, and you obliterated it. I refuse to go through this again. Combine that with all the other shit I’ve had to endure, and I’m just tapped out. I need to be by myself for a while. Please stop texting me. It hurts way too much.
Text from Kane
Fact or fiction: I was an asshole and hate that I treated you the way I did. That I panicked. That I didn’t get to say goodbye to you the way I should’ve. The way I wanted to.
It’s fact.
38
Simone
Barcelona, Spain
Early September
Let it be known that those little gel thingies applied under the eye to help with bags and swelling are the greatest thing since sliced bread. Life changing, even.
Or lifesaving, in my case. With all the crying I’ve been doing lately, I placed a bulk order. My excuse is that I haven’t allowed myself to cry in years, so it’s long overdue that my tear ducts get a workout before I resume another tearless decade. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
My fans overseas are much kinder overall, it seems. They also grant me more space when I’m in public. Especially now that I’ve decided to run outdoors on my days off. And sure, I might run five miles out and make Jed walk it back with me. Sue me. Everyone has their stupid little weaknesses. That’s mine.
I’ll admit that an ounce of strength came out of nowhere when Kane sent me a text message. I’d dutifully ignored the other—one he’d sent after hearing the news about Zoe—and promptly deleted it. It’d been too soon, the wounds too fresh.
I hadn’t, however, been able to bring myself to block his number entirely. Masochistic, I suppose.
He’s occasionally tried to check in. To break the ice with a fact or fiction message.
That fucker keeps screwing with my emotions. Yet I read the texts countless times, my battered heart soaking up the words while simultaneously pouring salt into my wounds. I’m trying to prove to myself that I can survive this, that I can be strong enough and hold my head high with no tears in sight.
It’s at night, when I lie in bed and close my eyes, that he comes to life so vividly in my memories. Those broad shoulders. The lean, muscled body that curved around me and held me, comforted me. Those piercing blue eyes that remind me of the most beautiful tropical island waters. Lips that are softer than they appear. Lips that delivered kisses that seared themselves on my heart and soul.
Lips that eviscerated me when they failed to give me the words I needed—words I yearned for most.
I can see him in my mind as if it were just yesterday. I wonder if he’ll always be imbedded in my heart and mind like this. If it’ll always feel like someone’s repeatedly driving a fiery-hot spear directly into my chest.
Even through the blinding haze of pain, I’ve come to the realization that I’ve been desperately, pathetically searching for love all along. It’s well overdue that I get a damn clue and realize it’s just not meant for me. I’ve been selling myself short this entire time, choosing men who, deep down, I knew didn’t have the capacity to love me.
Not the way I truly want.
I want a man to smile at how stupid proud I am when my French toast turns out perfectly golden brown. Or when I dance like a silly fool on my birthday with my best friend. I want someone who looks at me when I laugh and his face gets that expression that says, Man, I fucking love her. I want someone who’s not afraid to love me back with his whole heart—not just a fraction of it. Who won’t bail if things get crazy in my world or my career grows even bigger. Someone who will be my North Star and make me theirs.
I thought I had the start of that with Kane. Clearly, I was so very wrong.
Maybe, someday, this pain will lessen. But for now, I have to remind myself that this is how it is with me. This is the end game. And I shouldn’t be so upset, so distraught, so heartbroken. I should be taking it all in stride. Especially with my track record.
After all, I’m a pro at goodbyes.
When I step onto the stage, the thundering cheers and screams from my fans envelop me. This is my comfort. My balm. Where I’m safe and welcomed.
Wrapping my hands around the microphone perched before me, I greet the crowd. “Hola, Barcelona!”
Their deafening response sends a rush of warmth shimmering through me. And it’s here when it dawns on me.
If I can find the strength to continue performing in front of thousands of fans after dealing with the devastating loss of my goddaughter and the man I love, if I can persevere through speculation regarding the trial against Shaun Sinquist, then I can forge through this heartache and come out on top.
They’ve been calling me the Ice Princess of Pop all along.
It’s time to truly live up to my name.
Text from Kane
Pretty sure you’re not reading these, but I’m still sending them. I reckon I’m a glutton. I really miss you, Princess. It’s crazy the things I miss most. That adorable look of concentration you get when making French toast or the way you’d get upset if you were off a split second when you were performing. Spoiler alert: No one ever noticed. Only you.
But I love the perfectionist in you. Your work ethic. I miss the way your hair felt on my chest when we were in bed. I miss hearing your voice. I miss your smiles. The real ones. Basically, I just miss you. If I could tell you how sorry I am for hurting you, I would. But I’m not sure I could find the right words. I’m just so goddamn sorry.
I had to get my head right. Had to make sure you weren’t right about me. About you being a stand-in. I wish you’d respond, but I get it. I missed my chance. If you ever read this, I need you to know that I regret how I let things go between us. I fucking regret it so damn much.
Not sure if I should continue sending these, but I feel closer to you somehow when I do.
Rolling Stone Magazine
SIMONE KING: FIGHTING FIRE WITH ICE
Perhaps better known as the “Ice Princess of Pop,” Simone King isn’t one to sugarcoat things, and she certainly didn’t stifle her words when it came time to appear in federal court to testify against former Times Records exec, Shaun Sinquist. Sinquist filed a suit against the Grammy award-winning singer and songwriter, citing his reputation being “tarnished beyond repair due to King’s allegations” of sexual assault.
King disclosed the disturbingly graphic incident in which Sinquist groped her buttocks and, as she stated clearly for the courtroom, “[he] attempted to thrust his two fingers inside my vagi
na. Without consent. And he did this while hiding his actions beneath my dress. This is assault. Plain and simple.”
After hearing the compelling testimony, the judge dismissed King from Sinquist’s defamation suit. Today, King was granted the two dollars requested in her countersuit.
Why two dollars when she could have demanded thousands? Millions, even? When asked by reporters, King simply said, “This amount is symbolic of his two fingers he tried to shove inside me. I was stuck posing for photos and completely vulnerable. I had an image to display, yet I was trying to evade and squeeze my thighs together to avoid his intrusive touch.”
Fans have shown an outpouring of support for King, and many others in the music industry have come forward to confess their own experiences with sexual assault and to publicly commend King for speaking out against Sinquist.
King stated that she can only “hope this helps others understand that speaking up can make a vast difference. That everyone has power with their voice, with their bravery to make themselves heard.”
I think we can agree that Simone King has proven to be much more than the “Ice Princess of Pop.” She’s an influential and inspirational woman who’s not afraid to break the silence and address the issue of sexual harassment, demonstrating the strength and bravery in coming forward and pursuing justice.
Text from Kane
I reckon you’ve either blocked me or just aren’t reading these. Or you don’t want anything to do with me. And I get it. I hurt you. I fucked up and I’m
Shit. Damn thumbs again. Sorry.
I’m sorry, Simone. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m just worried about you. I know you’ve got Matthias, but I wish I knew you were okay. As okay as you can be right now.
Fact or fiction: It doesn’t keep me awake every damn night thinking about how I let you walk away.
That’s goddamn fiction, Princess.
39
Kane
Fernandina Beach, Florida
Early November
“Still nothing?”
My head snaps up to find Noelle watching me. Shit. I guess I zoned out after seeing another one of my text messages to Simone went unanswered and hadn’t realized the others had drifted to the other end of the deck. When I catch sight of a handful of straws stuffed inside an empty, discarded beer bottle on the large table nearby where they sit, I muffle a laugh.
“You drew the short straw, huh?”
Noelle flashes an apologetic look as she gingerly lowers herself onto one of the wooden rocking chairs beneath the covered area of the deck.
“Nope.” Her eyes crinkle at the edges. “I volunteered after hearing those numbnuts”—she gestures to where Fos, Miller, and our other friend Doc are gathered—“try out their best You need to get your head outta your ass speeches.” She wrinkles her nose. “They might be smart men, but they can be so clueless sometimes. Plus, I heard Fos laid into you a few times already.”
The edge of my mouth quirks up. “Your husband does like to give me shit.”
She snickers and shakes her head. “Pretty much.” With a loving glance in the direction of where her husband is talking with the others around the grill, she adds, “It’s just his way. He’ll badger the hell out of you.”
I snort. “Yep.”
There’s a beat of silence before she tips her head to the side, studying me. “You’re different, you know?”
“Different?”
“You’re not as happy-go-lucky as you used to be. You used to be like”—she deepens her voice and imitates my Southern accent—“Well, now, darlin’, I reckon you’re the prettiest thing I ever did see.”
“That was awful.”
She grins. “But accurate.” Her smile slowly fades, and she tips her head to the side, studying me. “You’re…softer, almost. More relaxed or something.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
I take a sip of my beer. “And is that a good or bad thing?” Because I can’t really tell from her words.
Her mouth parts before it snaps shut. Then she answers slowly. “Maybe a little bit of both?”
She falls silent, rocking slowly in the chair with one hand curled protectively around her belly and gazes out at the ocean. I follow her line of sight and take another drink of beer. We don’t speak for a long moment.
“She won’t answer my texts.” The words come tumbling out like I’ve got no filter whatsoever. Guess it’s because this is Noelle. She’s always been easy to talk to. Understanding. As nonjudgmental as they come.
“Can you blame her?” she asks gently.
I shrug, my eyes still trained on the ocean waves lapping at the shoreline in the distance.
“She told you she loved you, and you said nothing. Basically, in her eyes, you chose Lucia.” Even though her words are softly spoken, they act like fiery barbs to my chest. “If the roles were reversed, what would you have done? Thought?”
She’s right. I know she is.
“Then on top of that, her goddaughter passes away.”
Christ. I rest my forearms on the deck railing, dangling the neck of the beer bottle from my fingertips. I’ve been all but stalking every possible social media page for a glimpse of her.
The photo posted online on one of the celebrity gossip sites had shown a subdued Simone with oversized sunglasses masking her eyes. Her face had given nothing away even though I know she must be dying inside with grief over Zoe’s death.
I didn’t call her when I heard the news. Instead, I took the coward’s way out and sent a text, letting her know I’d heard about it, and if there was anything I could do, I was only a call away.
She didn’t respond, and even though I hadn’t expected her to, a large part of me had hoped she would.
After she left my house, she cut me out of her life. David’s call that came in just as Simone had walked out cemented things, informing me that I was no longer needed to fill in as her personal head of security.
“I don’t know how to fix this.” My words come out faint and full of defeat as I stare sightlessly at the sloping sand dunes nearby. I pinch my eyes closed, throat raw. “I don’t know how to fuckin’ fix this.”
“Yes, you do.” Noelle’s matter-of-fact answer has me whipping my head around to stare at her. “If you love her, if you’re ready to be one hundred percent on board, then you know what you have to do.”
I scrunch my face in confusion. “What?”
Her smile is filled with pure female wisdom. “You do whatever the hell it takes.”
When I step through the door leading from the back deck to the inside of my house, the immediate slap of cool air from the A/C chills the sweat on my bare chest. I toe off my running shoes just as my cell phone starts to vibrate on the dining room table where I left it.
It’d be an outright lie if I said I didn’t come close to breaking the sound barrier rushing over to it. In my socked feet on the slick hardwood floors, I slide and nearly lose my balance, arms windmilling before I stabilize myself and grab the phone.
Only for my hopes to plummet once I see who it is. When I see that it’s not Simone.
“Hey, man.” Hopefully it’s not obvious in my voice that I’m disappointed it’s David.
“Windham, how’s it going?”
“Goin’ all right.” It’s not entirely a lie. It’s also not the complete truth either.
“I had some people contact me, wondering if you offer security assessments.” He surprises the hell out of me with this, then goes on to mention some big names—well-known actors. “They caught wind of the job you did while I was away and how you gave a different perspective on things with your military experience.
“They’re looking for someone to come on board and reassess their security teams. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what they’d be willing to pay, but it would require some travel. I said I’d talk to you and see if you were interested.”
To say I’m caught by surprise would be an understatement. “Wow. I’m not sure what to say.�
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David chuckles. “No worries, man. I’ll shoot over an email with the info, and you can mull it over.” There’s a pause. “It could turn into something big, though. I mean, you’ve got a ton of experience with your military background, and that’s what these people want. What they’d feel more secure with.”
“I’ll definitely give it some thought.” Then I frown, wondering why he wouldn’t go for something like this. Granted, he got out after only two tours of duty and I have more time served under my belt, but still…“Did it ever cross your mind to do freelance work like that?”
“And leave this job with Simone?” He scoffs. “Nah, I can’t do that. She’ll have to replace me when I’m too old and starting to go blind.” With a laugh, he adds, “I’m happy with this. Someone’s gotta watch out for her, right?”
The affection in his voice makes me happy she’s got him keeping her safe. Even if it’s not me.
“How…is she?”
A long sigh sounds on the other end. “She’s okay.” There’s a long beat of silence. “This has been hard on her. I’m sure you noticed it when the trial news came out. And then, with losing Zoe…” He pauses, his voice quieter. “That was real nice of you to send her that book, man. She’s a sweetheart and most people don’t realize it, so she doesn’t have many people doing a lot of nice things for her like that.”