by Carian Cole
I grab the remote from Michael and turn the volume of the TV up. Storm is being interviewed by a female news host. He’s wearing jeans, a white button-down shirt—mostly unbuttoned—a black leather jacket, and the damned smoky kohl guyliner!
“So, Storm, we’re all aware of your reputation as being a rock and roll sex god. What exactly happened with you and this woman trapped in your truck for two days? I’m sure you found ways to pass the time.” She winks at him and smiles at the camera.
My eyes bug out. Did she really just ask him that?
Storm shakes his head and smirks. “Absolutely nothing.”
Newsgirl persists. “Come on now. You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?”
Storm crosses his leg, putting his foot up on his knee. “Nothing happened at all. She wasn’t my type.”
“So, you have a type?” Her fake smile is so sickening, I want to reach through the television and punch her.
Storm laughs. “Not really. But I’m not into annoying chicks, and this girl was (bleeping) annoying as hell. She just wouldn’t shut the (bleep) up. Dealing with her was way worse than worrying about freezing to death.”
The newsgirl laughs and touches his arm flirtatiously. My heart sinks. “She sounds terrible, Storm. You poor thing!”
Michael turns to me with a look of fake shock on his face. “You drove Storm Valentine crazy? What the hell did you do to this guy?”
“Nothing! He was a total asshole!”
I jump off the bed, grab my cell phone, and head for the bathroom.
“Can you try to get some concert tickets from him? I’d love to go! They’re one of my favorite bands!” Michael yells after me as I slam the door and lock myself in.
I can’t believe this! How could he call me annoying like that? On television! Is that really what he thought of me?
I find his number in my phone and press dial. He answers on the third ring.
“Evelyn?” Obviously, he must have my name programmed into his phone, too.
“You asshole! I just saw you on television! You never told me who you were! I can’t believe what a freakin’ liar you are! And you totally just disrespected me on TV by calling me annoying! You could have just said it to my face, ya know. You didn’t have to pretend to be my friend while you were hating on me inside, and then go on television and talk shit about me.”
There are a few moments of silence and I think he’s hung up on me.
“Are you done?” he finally asks.
“Yes. For now.”
“Look, I really didn’t want to have this convo on the phone, but since you’re having an epic meltdown, I guess this is how it’s going down. I didn’t lie to you, first of all. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“Oh, so lies by omission are acceptable? Come on, Storm.”
“Could you shut up for a few minutes and let me explain?”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Explain.” I sit down on the bathroom floor. My throat feels tight and my eyes are burning with tears.
“First, I really am a motorcycle mechanic. That’s true. I’m in a bike club, and I help build and fix some of the bikes for the members at my buddies’ bike shop. And yes, I’m in a band, too, and we’re getting pretty big, but I left that part out, and I’m sorry. But when I realized you didn’t know who I was, I kind of liked it. You were yelling at me, and having your little crazy fits. I can’t remember the last time I was with a chick who just treated me like a normal guy. Or who just acted like a normal girl and wasn’t a stuck-up model with fake body parts. All they care about is dating a musician, hanging out backstage, going to the parties, the money, and all that crazy shit. It was nice to spend a weekend as just a regular guy again, and see if you would like me just for me. That’s all. I wasn’t trying to deceive you.”
Wow. My anger starts to slowly fade away. I can sort of understand what he’s saying and why he didn’t tell me the truth, but I still feel like he deceived me and was making fun of me in his mind the entire time we were together.
“But on television, you said I was annoying.” My voice cracks and I can’t talk anymore without starting to cry.
“Evelyn, I didn’t mean that. You gotta understand. I have a reputation. It’s part of the act. And I wanted to protect you. I don’t want anyone to find out who you are. They will hound the shit out of you. I mean, you were a little annoying, but I think you know I liked it.” I can hear him smile through the phone. “So, tell me . . .” he lowers his voice, “did you like being with me, Evie?”
My heart starts to beat faster. “Storm, you know I can’t—”
“Just answer. Don’t think.”
I can’t answer him because I really don’t know. My brain and heart are too confused to sort it out. My body definitely liked him, but I’m just not sure if it’s more than that. I’m not sure how to tell if it’s just lust or something more happening inside me. Feeling anything for another man is entirely new territory for me, and I have no idea how to accept it or rationalize it. The only way I can really describe it is tingly, but I can’t tell him that. Hey, you make me tingly!
I hear him cover the phone and mumble something to someone. “Shit, I have to go, Evie. Watch my next interview at two on channel five, okay?”
“Another one? Are you serious?”
“I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” He ends the call and leaves me sitting there holding the phone. I really want to know why he’s doing all these interviews. Why do people have to know? Is he using our experience as some sort of promotional gimmick? I will kill him if he’s doing something so stupid and invasive and exploiting our experience.
When I come out of the bathroom, Michael isn’t in the bedroom anymore, so I get dressed and go downstairs to find him sitting at the kitchen table, drinking some coffee and reading the paper. I always laugh inside when I see him reading the paper because who really does that anymore? You can read all of it online now and not get black ink all over your fingers.
“Evelyn, I could shit a brick. I can’t believe you were with Storm Valentine all weekend.”
I can feel my cheeks get red. “Michael, I was not with him. I was stuck in a truck with him in a blizzard. We pretty much argued the entire time. He’s a little obnoxious and a lot in love with himself.” I pour myself a little coffee, even though I know it will taste like crap because it’s not my coveted white mocha.
“His band is kick-ass. I can’t wait to tell the guys.”
I shake my head frantically and almost spit my coffee out. “Michael, no. Please. Don’t tell people. I just want to forget this.”
“Evelyn, don’t be a baby. It’s pretty much the coolest thing that’s ever happened to you. Can you find out about getting us into one of his concerts?”
“It’s not exactly at the forefront of my mind, Michael, but I guess I could find out.” I am totally not ever going to ask Storm if we can have free tickets to his concert. I refuse to be that person.
Michael stands up, grabs his coffee cup, and kisses my forehead on his way to place his cup in the sink. “I’m going to the office. Call the car place and find out when your car will be ready, okay?”
“I will.”
As soon as Michael leaves, I high tail it to my laptop and start to Google Storm. There’s a ton of band photos, the usual stage photos of him playing with smoky fog surrounding him under glowing red lights. There are literally pages of photos showing him with different women. Some blonde, some brunette, some with purple hair, all of them gorgeous and incredibly sexy. Jealousy starts to boil inside me at seeing so many photos of him with girls wound around him like horny snakes. He definitely looks wasted in many of the photos, too. I keep searching until I find a page with a biography that seems to be fan-made:
Storm Valentine, the lead guitarist of the up-and-coming New Hampshire rock band Ashes and Embers, was born in February of 1984. Many people think his name is a fictional stage name, but it’s actually his birth name. The band is made up of brothers and cousins. S
torm started playing guitar at the age five. He was in the band Wrecked in his early twenties, but the band crumbled due to several of the members ending up in rehab, Storm included. He was recruited into Ashes and Embers by his older brother Asher, one of the original founders of the band, four years ago when the original lead guitarist left for personal reasons.
Storm is a notorious playboy and has been linked to several supermodels and porn stars. Storm married his high school sweetheart when they were both just seventeen years old. However, tragically, she committed suicide a year later, while three months pregnant. Sources say the girl was bi-polar. It was after this, that Storm developed a severe drug and alcohol problem, which almost ruined his career. Our sources say he is sober now, but is extremely private about his personal life. Sadly, it appears almost every member (both past and present) of Ashes and Embers has been struck by some sort of tragedy.
I sink back into my chair and stare at the screen. I want to take back reading all of this and erase it from my mind, but it’s too late. I didn’t want to know any of it. I had no right to know any of it unless he chose to share it with me. But there it was, on a web page for the entire world to see. I simply can’t imagine him as a teenager, so crazy in love that he got married at seventeen, or dealing with the suicide of his wife and loss of his child at the age of eighteen.
Halo jumps up on my lap and I hug him close to me. I want to call Storm so bad, but I don’t even know what I would say. What could I say? Nothing at all. I vow to never tell him I read this. If he wants me to know, he will tell me.
Instead, I call the garage. Seth tells me my car will be ready tomorrow, and Storm has covered the bill. What the hell? I can’t allow him to do that. I’m going to have to find a way to pay him back.
I mope around until two, and then I turn on the television, afraid to even watch this next interview. I swear, if he goes on about how annoying I am, I will strangle him. I watch the cereal commercial that’s on and then there’s Storm, hanging out on a couch with another beautiful blonde newswoman.
She starts right in with her cheery smile and amazingly white teeth. “We’re here today with Storm Valentine, lead guitarist of rock band Ashes and Embers, who was driving in the terrible snow storm last weekend and tried to give a ride to a young woman who was stuck on the side of the road. As luck would have it, the two crashed and were trapped inside his truck for forty-eight hours. Storm, tell us a little bit more about this crazy weekend you had. How did you get through that?”
“Well, it was pretty crazy. Luckily, I had a whole bunch of (bleeping) food in the back of my truck so we were able to eat and drink water, which sorta froze. I had my dog with me, too, and he was basically eating Ritz crackers the whole (bleeping) time.”
“How did you keep from freezing to death out there? I understand your truck was totally dead?”
“Yeah, it was way (bleeping) dead. We crashed into a tree, and I have no (bleeping) idea how we weren’t killed. Any(bleeping)way, I had this huge blanket in the truck that the dog sleeps on, so me and the chick covered ourselves with that and luckily, it kept us pretty warm.”
She smiles knowingly at him. “Come clean with us, Storm. All the ladies know you are irresistible. What happened under the blanket? Surely you found multiple ways to keep warm?”
Storm is puffing on an e-cig and blowing the vapor into the interviewer’s face. I can’t help but laugh. She makes a face at him and waves the vapor smoke with her hand.
“I know what you and these other vultures are trying to get out of me, and it ain’t happening. That chick isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met before. She’s not the type of girl to (bleep) in the back of a truck.”
“Well, it’s nice to know there are still some classy women around, Storm. Did she know who you were?”
“No. She was completely (bleeping) clueless, and it was (bleeping) awesome. It was nice to be around a chick who wasn’t trying to suck my dick, ya know? By the way, our new CD comes out next month, so y’all should check it. It’s (bleeping) kick-ass.” The audience starts to laugh and cheer.
The woman looks like she wants to die. “I’m pretty sure you can’t say that on this show, Storm.”
Storm laughs and takes a drag on his e-cig, the blue tip glowing. “I just (bleeping) did.”
The interviewer turns to the camera. “Well, that wraps up our interview with Storm Valentine. Ashes and Embers newest CD comes out next month, and the band will be touring in the spring.”
Well, at least he didn’t call me annoying. And he made me sound much more flattering. Way to do damage control, Storm.
My phone beeps with a text message alert.
Storm: Can I call you?
Me: Why?
Storm: For fuck’s sake. You argue in text, too?
Me: We have nothing to talk about. Thank you for paying for my car. I’ll pay you back.
Storm: No. It’s nothing. Is Michael there? I want to talk to you.
Me: He’s at work.
Seconds later, my phone rings. Grrr.
“Hello?” I always feel stupid saying hello when I can clearly see who’s calling on the ID.
“Did you like my interview?”
“Yes, that one was much better. Especially you blowing vapor into her face. When did you start smoking e-cigs? Those would have been much more convenient while we were stuck in your truck, don’t ya think?”
“So fucking true. I just started them yesterday. I’m gonna try to quit smoking. These are way more fun. I can smoke anywhere.”
I close my eyes and slowly shake my head. “Thank you for paying for my car. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Stop. I wanted to. As you now know, I have money. I can throw a few thousand at a friend. It’s not going to hurt me.”
“Well, I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Storm, we really shouldn’t be talking. I feel really shitty about what happened between us. I need to focus on Michael. I’m sorry.”
“You never answered my question.”
“Which question?”
I can hear him taking a drag off the electric cigarette. “Did you like being with me?”
I start to pace around the living room with the phone. Why does he keep doing this to me? I don’t want to be cornered like this.
“Yes, Storm. I enjoyed some of our time together, when you weren’t being an ass or luring me into an orgasm. Okay?”
“That’s a start. I want us to be friends. Why is that so bad?”
“It’s not. We can be friends.”
“Did you miss me last night? Not sleeping next to me?”
Truth be told, I tossed and turned all night, unable to get comfortable or fall asleep even though I was exhausted. I missed his closeness. I missed the warmth of him next to me, the scent of his fancy shampoo. I could still feel the pull to him; it’s just he wasn’t there to get pulled against. Michael’s body next to me felt like an invasion, an intruder of sorts.
“Evie?”
“Storm, stop it.”
“I missed having you next to me. I missed you holding my hand the way you do.” His voice is doing the raspy thing it does when he’s serious about what he’s saying. The rasp comes out when he’s emotional, whether he’s happy, sad, mad or sexual. It goes right through me. Knowing what I now know, my heart hurts for him. I understand grief all too well, and I have a bad feeling Storm masked his grief in drugs, alcohol and women. The problem is, I want to hold his hand again and show him love in a thousand ways. Despite his protests of relationships, I think he really does want closeness, but I’m not able to give it to him. I can’t be this man’s toy or passing phase. I can’t allow myself to love someone and then lose them, and I’m pretty damn sure he can’t, either.
“I did miss you. But that’s only because we were stuck together for two days and only had each other to focus on. It’s natural.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I have to go, Storm.”
; “Hey, the band is playing at the Silver Cloud next month. It’s a small local venue we used to play a lot when we first started out. Why don’t you come? Bring Michael and any friends you want, okay? It would mean a lot to me.”
Michael will be over the moon if I accept this offer. I guess it would be nice to hear the band play, too. “All right. That would be great. Michael is a big fan. We’d love to go. I’m sure Amy will, too.”
“That’s awesome. I’ll text you the details.”
“Good. I really have to go, Storm. Take care, okay?”
“You too, Evie.”
CHAPTER NINE
THURSDAY MORNING, I WAKE UP SICK as a dog. My throat is so swollen, it feels like a piece of raw meat when I swallow. I’m barely able to breathe through my nose and my head is literally pounding. I’m pretty sure I have a fever, too. I feel hot and clammy one minute and freezing the next. I stare at the clock next to the bed. Eleven A.M. I can’t believe I slept so late. Slowly sitting up, my head feels like a bowling ball, and the room is spinning. Shit. I really do not have time to be sick.
I call Michael’s office. “It’s me,” I croak into the phone when he answers.
“Did you just wake up? You sound awful.”
I cough into the phone. “I feel like I’m dying. Can you take me over to urgent care? I’ll never get an appointment with my doctor today. I think I need some meds. I feel like I have strep throat.”
“Evelyn, I’m at work.”
“I don’t have a car, Michael.”
“Fuck. How the hell are we going to get your car home?”
“You were supposed to drive me there to get it.” I cough again and my throat feels like it’s on fire. “Can you take me to urgent care and then for my car?”
“Evelyn, it’s just a cold. Don’t be a hypochondriac.”
“Michael, I’m not.” I hate when he does this to me. Like I want to sit here and pretend to be sick just for attention. “Michael, please. I really don’t feel well, and I’m supposed to go back to work tomorrow. I need to get some meds so I can feel better.”