Claim 2: Volume Two

by Suzanne, Ashley

  Chapter Eight

  Loren

  Over the next few days I take some time to think about all of my options, but I have no clear idea of where I should be going with any of this. Nolan or Jordan? Jordan or Nolan? Every scenario I look at, both would fit perfectly. How is it a few weeks ago, I was depressed over having no prospects, now I’m stuck with two and have no idea what to do with myself?

  Monday and Tuesday aren’t so bad. Jordan’s been on location with Joel putting together the final budget and going over a few of the ideas we’ve brainstormed. Wednesday I’m so swamped with meetings, I barely had a few minutes to sneak to the restroom, let alone have a coffee break. When my brain’s about to burst, I lay my head down on the desk and nearly pass out until someone knocks on my door.

  “Hey,” he says, grinning a mischievous grin, one that I’ve come to know very well. I try to hide my smile, excited that he’s thought to come see me before he leaves for the day. My fried senses giving everything away.

  “What do you want? I’m not doing that report for you so don’t even ask,” I joke, but totally serious at the same time. I’ve busted my ass all day and I’m not sticking around for another hour or two to get his job done as well.

  “I already emailed it to Patrick. I was going to ask if you wanted to go to a concert tonight? Patrick’s niece had them, but her and her boyfriend have the flu or something as equally gross. I can pick up the tickets at will call if you’re interested.”

  “Who’s playing?” I haven’t been to a live show in years. Probably since my severe, unhealthy obsession with bleach blonde mushroom cuts and lime green fishnet shirts.

  “Ed Sheeran,” he states, matter of fact and I nearly fall out of my seat. I tried to get tickets for that show months ago when they went on sale, but they were all gone within the first fifteen minutes. I even resorted to listening to the top forty stations to win a pair, but walked away empty handed.

  “Are you serious? Like don’t screw with me. You have Ed Sheeran tickets?”

  “As a heart attack, babe. You in?” His grin approaching monumental heights as his eyelids crinkle and those tiny wrinkles on the bridge of his nose become more and more visible.

  “Do I have time to run home and change?” If he says no, I won’t even care. I’d show up there naked if that means I get to hear Ed play live.

  Jordan glances at his watch, does a little math in his head, “If you get up right now and you let me drive, we can stop by your place so you can change and still make it before the opening act closes their set.”

  “Done.” Grabbing my purse, I turn off the monitor to the computer screen and nearly fall as I run around my desk. Knowing I’ll move faster if I’m not in heels, I carefully pull my swollen feet out of the shoes and carry them the entire way through the office, into the lobby and inside the parking garage. Spotting Jordan’s car, I briskly walk in that direction, the lights flashing as he unlocks the doors. Not waiting for him to try to open the door for me, even though I’m assuming he thinks this is some sort of date, I climb inside and buckle my seatbelt before he even reaches the driver's side.

  I send a quick text to Nolan that I’ll catch up with him tomorrow because I’m going to a concert. I don’t tell him who I’m going with and I assume he’ll think my date’s Cleo.

  *****

  Hastily, I change into something more concert appropriate; a pair of worn skinny jeans, tall black boots and a loose fitting tank I have to wear a sports bra with or I’ll be flashing the entire city. Jogging back outside to Jordan’s waiting car, he peels out of my driveway and towards downtown.

  Plugging in my phone and turning on my playlist that features the most Ed Sheeran songs, the first few ones are most popular and both Jordan and I sing along. I catch myself a few times, wanting to hit a higher note but settling back down, however, at the end of one of my favorite songs, I close my eyes and let the music carry me away, not giving a shit who’s listening.

  “I didn’t know you could sing,” Jordan notices, eyeing me while he weaves in and out of the remains of rush hour traffic.

  “I didn’t know you had connections for concert tickets,” I kid.

  One of my favorite songs begins to play, but it’s a different artist. Unlocking my phone, I’m prepared to skip to the next until I glance over at Jordan mouthing the words to the soulful voice pouring out of the speakers.

  “You know this song?” Jordan’s always been just as much of a music junkie as I am, but watching him lip sync one of the most popular songs off the Twilight soundtrack … that’s taking it a little too far, even for him.

  “Have you listened to the words? It’s an excellently written song. Not to mention it’s in one of the highest selling movies,” he says, defending his tastes.

  “Don’t get your panties twisted,” I joke. “I just wasn’t aware that you grew a vagina while you were gone. Totally understandable though. I get it.”

  “I’ll show you exactly what’s growing if you keep up with that smart mouth,” he growls, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter and my eyes can’t avoid glancing down at his crotch. “That’s what I thought.” The corners of his mouth slightly turn up and he readjusts himself in the seat as we pull off the highway and begin weaving the maze that is downtown until I can see the venue just ahead.

  Avoiding the tension radiating around the car, it takes less time than anticipated to find a decent parking spot. Linking my arm with Jordan’s extended one, we walk to the front counter where he asks for the tickets and the usher passes two under the glass. Handing both to the man at the entrance, we’re told to follow the signs for the lower level and the usher on the floor level will escort us to our seats.

  Holy shit, floor seats at an Ed Sheeran concert? I’ve died and gone to music girl heaven.

  Standing in front of our exceptional seats, I glance around in amazement. I’ve done a lot of awesome things in my life, sitting four rows from the stage hasn’t been one of them. And for one of my favorite artists. Yeah, it’s pretty fucking amazing.

  Dancing in place, singing every lyric word for word, I’m lost in the joy of this incredible experience, taking in everything, cementing every minute detail to memory. A few times during the show, Jordan takes my hand, softly squeezing and pulling me into his side while Ed’s soulful voice powers his way through a beautiful ballad.

  Every feeling I’d been trying to avoid since Jordan came back in my life has resurfaced with a vengeance. I want to ignore them. I want to pretend they don’t exist. But the simple fact is I can’t and they do. Jordan was the first man I ever loved and I made a promise when we married in that cheap ass little chapel that he’d be the last. If nothing else, regardless of what he’s done, I at least owe him the opportunity to explain why for the last year I was the last thought in his mind.

  The show closes with Thinking Out Loud and as we walk out of the venue and the few blocks to the parking lot, I’m riding a high like none other. My hand reaches to open the passenger side door and is swiftly moved out of the way, replaced by Jordan’s. Closing the door behind me, I click my seatbelt into place and prepare to tell him my decision.

  “That was amazing. Thank you so much,” I say, placing my hand over his while he shifts the car into drive and pulls out of the lot.

  “I’m happy you had a good time. There’s no one else I’d want to experience that with.” His fingers grip mine, softly squeezing and running his thumb over my knuckles.

  “I’d like to hear why you’ve been gone so long,” I blurt out, hoping he’s still willing to give me his side of the story. I’m not sure my heart can take it, but not knowing will only lead to regrets.

  “I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you. I just want you to know that going into this.” Blowing out a deep breath, he gets onto the highway. Turning in my seat, I tuck one leg under the other and patiently wait for him to continue. I’ve waited a year, a few more moments won’t kill me.

  “I’ll keep an open mind, if that
’s what you’re asking.”

  “A few years before I met you I had a problem with prescription painkillers. It got pretty bad for a while, but Patrick got me into a good program and I was clean for a long time.”

  “I’m glad you had someone so wonderful in your life. Someone that would take care of you,” I honestly say. I know the dynamic between Patrick and Jordan is sometimes stressed, but deep down Patrick thinks of Jordan as his own son and only wants the best for him, unlike his pathetic excuse for a mother.

  “Well, after our wedding, the week we got back, do you remember when I had to have that tooth pulled?”

  “Yeah, your wisdom tooth was abscessed or something, I can’t remember exactly, but I know you had it removed. What does that have to do with anything?” I’m not sure how a dental problem affects our marriage, and I’m ready to tune him out, but something tells me to keep listening, so I do.

  “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. They gave me a prescription for a narcotic painkiller. I filled it and took them. When the bottle ran out, the first thing I did was call the doctor and told her I knocked them down the drain. She didn’t even question me and called in a new script. I took six in a single day. When those ran out, I went and bought more from a guy I used to know.”

  “So it became a problem again. That’s not a reason to leave your wife, Jordan. That’s what I signed up for. Better or worse and all that jazz. I assumed that responsibility. It was my job.”

  “But you didn’t. You had no idea. How could I disappoint you like that and still deserve your respect?”

  “You could have come to me,” I mutter, frustrated and wondering why he would even marry me to begin with if he couldn’t trust me with every part of him. I told him things I had never shared with anyone … not even Cleo.

  “But that was just the beginning, Lo,” he combats. “It wasn’t just a few pills here and a few there. It was getting to the point where I was when Patrick sent me to rehab. I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to be high. So, when money ran out, I started placing bets. Won a few, lost a lot more. I was having the dealer front me pills and the bookie cover my bets. I got in over my head. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go to Patrick for money, I sure as shit couldn’t tell you that you married a gambling addict junkie.”

  “But you told me you wanted to go back to Alana? How does she fit into any of this?”

  “She doesn’t,” he states, matter of fact. “I needed you to be angry with me so you wouldn’t look for me. I didn’t want them knowing you existed. I needed you away from all of that.”

  “What are you talking about? Who? Away from what?”

  “The bookie and the dealer. You can only rack up so much debt before people start asking questions. Those kind of people aren’t the good guys. The bookie in particular, I saw him break a guy’s fingers over a few hundred dollars, do you know what he would do for a few thousand?”

  “Why not go to the police?”

  “Loren, you’re a smart girl. What was I going to say? Hey, Mr. Officer, can you please arrest the guy I placed illegal bets with in order to fund my drug addiction?”

  “Oh,” I whisper. “But what did that have to do with me?”

  “Remember in those old mobster movies where they couldn’t get what they wanted from the person they wanted it from so they went after the guy's family? Well, you, Patrick and my mom are all I have. My mom’s never around, probably not even in the country. Since Patrick’s not my real father, they wouldn’t have been able to find him. Then there was you.”

  “They were going to hurt me to get to you.” Realizing that he left to protect me, my stomach churns, my initial instinct to throw up. He’d gotten himself in so much trouble he put me in danger. Oh God.

  “Yes. So, I made up some lame excuse of going back to Alana. I wanted you to be so hurt and pissed off you wouldn’t come looking for me. I needed to clean myself up and fix those problems before I could risk being around you again. If anyone ever hurt you, Lo … I can’t even entertain those thoughts. I’d sit in prison for the rest of my life to protect you. And that’s where I’ve been. My own personal prison. Hell.”

  “I could have helped you. At least I could have tried. Patrick would have too.”

  “Guys like that, babe. If you suddenly come up with the money you owe, they’ll come at you even harder. It’s about the access. I needed to do it myself. I had to keep all of you safe. You may look at it like I broke my vows, and I did. I wasn’t a good husband. I let you down. But above all that, I kept you safe. That’s always been and always will be my number one priority.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Jordan. This is a lot to take in. I can’t even lie to you and say I believe everything you’re saying.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Sleep on it. We’ll talk tomorrow or something.”

  Straightening in my seat, I look ahead and we’re sitting in my driveway. Having no idea how long we’ve been here, I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door. Turning back to Jordan, he’s still staring straight ahead, just like he was the entire ride.

  “Do you want to come in? Talk some more?” I ask.

  “Nah. You might not think so right now, but you’re going to need some space. Remember, I know how your brain works better than you most of the time,” he jokes, trying to bring light to such a dire situation.

  “You’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow and maybe this weekend we can talk?”

  “Whenever you’re ready, Lo. All ya gotta do is say the word.”

  Exiting the car, he doesn’t drive away until I’m inside and the door closed behind me. I want to believe him, I really do. It seems so far fetched, though. Does stuff like that happen in real life? I’d love to think it was just in the movies, that bad guys like that don’t really exist, but my gut screams otherwise. If he is being honest, how can I hate him for doing something so honorable. Regardless of how much pain I went through, I had Cleo to lean on. He went through that mess alone, all because he didn’t want to drag me through the mud with him.

  He sacrificed his happiness for my safety.

  Stepping into the kitchen, I pull down an industrial sized bottle of aspirin, swallowing a couple with a large swig of water. Jordan was right yet again. I do need to be alone and think about all of this new information. I have a lot of important decisions to make and there’s more than just me and Jordan involved.

  Washing the makeup off my face and using the restroom, I change into an oversized sleep shirt and nestle in bed. Feeling the need to give Nolan a heads up about my situation, I grab my phone and before I plug it in for the night and open my text messages.

  Surprisingly, I have a waiting text from Nolan. He had practice with his band earlier and I didn’t expect to hear from him. Suppressing the giddy feeling I still get when I see his name, I open the message, read it and my stomach drops.

  Chapter Nine

  Nolan

  For the last few days, the band and I have been working on a few new songs. We’re all really into country, but for some reason some older rock songs have been really intriguing. Maybe it has something to do with the way Loren looked when I sang She Talks to Angels that first night. Whatever the reason, the guys are actually open to the idea of switching things around.

  Preparing for a regular night at the hole in the wall we usually play is nerve wracking enough. Add in knowing that there might be someone coming to see us that’s in it for more than background noise while they chug down a few beers, it’s downright daunting.

  Loren didn’t tell me exactly who it was or how I’d know it was them, only she thinks our sound might be good for some kind of viral marketing ad that she’s been working on for the past few days. None of that makes any sense to me. I’d be happy playing for free beers all night, yet the fact she has so much faith in us—me—it’s intoxicating.

  Pulling the vibrating phone from my pocket, I glance up at the clock realizing it’s too soon for the concert to be over. Panic hits me
thinking she might need me and I’m so far away. But it’s not Loren. It’s a number that I haven’t seen flash across my screen in quite a long time. A number I never thought would call me ever again.

  Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I go about the rest of my tasks and help the guys pack up their stuff for the night. With plans made for another rehearsal tomorrow evening, we part ways. The moment I’m alone in my truck, I stare at the number on the screen for a few moments, wondering if it was an accidental dial or did someone really want to speak with me.

  After three years of not hearing a peep from Wendy or her family, tonight of all nights is the one they choose to reach out to me. Not that we ended on a bad note, we just ended. And now, out of the blue, a missed call from her mother on my caller ID. The only thing I can think is something’s happened. Something bad.

  “Hello. Nolan,” Margie, Wendy’s mother answers, panic evident in her voice.

  “Mrs. Clarke, how is everything? It’s been a while.” I try to remain collected, but the churning in my gut speaks volumes.

  “It’s Wendy,” she whispers, an audible gasp after she speaks her daughter’s name.

  “Tell me.” It has to be terrible for the family to reach out to me of all people. Wendy and I were high school sweethearts. When I was eighteen, it was her I thought I wanted for the rest of my life, but unfortunately people change and so do the things they want. I discovered that a little late for Wendy’s family, though. She understood of course. She was wonderful like that. Wendy knew that she deserved to get out as much as she put in, and me sticking with her out of obligation wasn’t going to give her that. I sensed it was the same on her end as well. So, amicably, we divorced and went our separate ways.

  No fighting. No settlement. Just done. We both were okay with it.

  Her family. Not even a little okay with our decision. The Clarke’s were a good, solid Catholic family, firmly believing that once people are married, they stay that way until death do them part. I was never forgiven, and I suspect they held it over Wendy’s head too.