by Karen Booth
When Angie and I had been a couple, I'd imagined my life would be perfect if the band could just make it for real. I'd never taken the time to think about the price I'd pay, giving up things like walking down to a pub for a pint without being bothered. The worst thing I'd given up was Angie, but that had been my own doing. I'd practically handed her away. I'd let my ego run the show.
"How's your family?" I decided I'd start with the simplest of topics. "Your dad must be chuffed that you got a job as a photographer."
Her mouth fell open. Somehow her skin became even more pale, turning a ghostly white. "You don't know about my dad? I just assumed you'd heard from somebody." A tear rolled down her cheek. She stared down at her hands, now a ball of worry in her lap.
"No. No." It felt as if the floor beneath us had fallen away. How had I missed news about her dad? "What happened?"
She was collecting herself, nodding and not looking at me at all. All I could hear was my own pulse, pounding in my ears. "He had a stroke. Five months ago." She raised her head, her chin dimpled, her face holding more sadness than I'd ever seen from her. "He was at work at the news bureau. They rushed him to the hospital and into surgery. He nearly died. I got there as quickly as I could from London. You should have seen my mum. I almost didn't recognize her." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "If only he'd quit smoking. It probably would've saved him."
My heart burned in my chest for her. She'd gone through this horrible, traumatic experience and I hadn't been there for her. Oh no, I was the prat who'd been running around the globe with a pop band while she dealt with life and death at home. "Good God, Angie. I'm so sorry. How is he doing?"
"Honestly? It's bad. It's really bad. He's paralyzed on his right side, he can't walk, can't speak. I can't have a conversation. It kills me. And it's so hard to watch. There are some days when Mum and I almost think it would've been easier on everyone, especially him, if he'd died. I know that sounds awful."
"I am so incredibly sorry. I had no idea. I talk to my mum every week, but she can be such a hermit. I don't think she always knows what's going on around Stourbridge."
"Well, my mum has kept it to herself. She's really gone downhill herself since this happened, stopped taking care of herself. You know, even if your mum knew, she probably didn't want to say anything since I'd broken her son's heart."
"No way." I shook my head, stood up, and pulled my chair closer to hers. "My mum loves you. You know that. I don't know how she'd get that idea. I didn't tell her anything when you ended it."
Her lovely pink lips pressed together. "Yeah, I know. I ran into her at the market. She asked me about it. Said she'd wanted to know what the reason was, but that she knew better than to ask you because you don't like to talk to her about that sort of thing. I told her I'd broken up with you because you were going on tour and I didn't want a long-distance relationship. I mean, it's not that far from the truth. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of long-distance. I figured that meant we shared the blame."
"But that's not the real reason, Ang."
"I know that, Graham. You think I don't know that? I couldn't let your mom see that side of you. It didn't seem right."
That side of you. She'd protected me from my mother having a horrible, albeit true, opinion of me. I really was a prat. An utter wanker. No doubt about that. "Even though it was all my fault."
Angie's eyes were an impossible blue after she'd been crying—intense and luminous. She let out a bittersweet laugh. "I've had a lot of time to think about it, and I realize now that it was for the best. It was going to happen eventually. I mean, I get it. You're in the biggest band on the planet and you have a million girls at your feet. You're young. You'd be stupid not to want that."
The thing was, she wasn't wrong. Even I could admit it probably would've happened eventually. But I hated the part of me that was weak, that would turn my back on a person as amazing as Angie for an unknown groupie who'd move on to the next rock star as quickly as I'd move on to the next town. It was all so empty, but I'd had no way to know it until I'd lived it.
The first few months without her, I'd lived it all right. A different girl every night, of my choosing, like picking out a bon bon from a box of chocolates. Logic might say that I'd look for gingers since I was missing Angie, but that had been the one line I wouldn't cross. I wasn't sure what messed up part of my head had decided that was the noble thing to do, but that had been my thinking.
If I was going to move forward with Angie, I'd have to come clean about the other girls. But telling her I'd given into more than a few rock star clichés while we were apart was going to hurt her more, probably push her further away and convince her I hadn't changed at all.
"I don't want to believe it was for the best, but I do think I needed some time to grow up." My hand twitched, wanting so badly to take hers. Erase the past. Start over. "I never had my act together like you do. I never knew myself the way you do. That's part of what I was hoping to talk to you about."
Angie looked past me, nodding as my voice faded away. I turned, and there was Chris, hanging back, keeping a polite distance.
"I can come back if you like," he called out, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"No." Angie got up out of her seat. "Graham and I were just finishing up."
That was fifteen minutes? We were just getting started. If it were up to me, we would've sat up and talked for hours, and at that moment it was all I wanted, but I had to take things slowly. Well, as slowly as I could take them over the course of three days. Still, I needed to get one more thing out now. "I'm sorry, Ang. For everything. Truly sorry."
Her expression sweetened, but her eyes were as sorrowful as when she'd talked about her dad. "Thanks. I appreciate that. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
But I do worry about you. I'd hurt her so deeply. How could I not worry?
Chris strolled over. "So, we have a radio interview tomorrow morning," he said to Angie. "Do you want to start with the photos then? Bright and early at seven when we leave for the station?"
"Perfect. I'll just basically follow you and capture as much as I can."
"Brilliant," I said. "Can't wait." The air became charged with awkward tension. "Uh, Chris. I need one more minute with Angie."
Chris hesitated, looking to Angie for approval.
She smiled at him. "It's fine. I'm fine."
"Okay, then. I'll head back into the bar." He bent over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Night."
"Actually, Chris, can you tell my friend Gigi that I'll see her tomorrow? I think I'm just going to go up to my room after this."
"I'll get Terence to do it. Those two were getting right chummy."
Angie smiled. "Perfect. Thank you."
Chris strolled away and once again, we were alone.
"Can I walk you up to your room?" I asked. "There are an awful lot of lecherous rock stars staying in this hotel. I wouldn't feel right if I didn't know you'd gotten home safe and sound."
She pursed her lips and directed a look of suspicion at me. "Depends on your intentions. If we're talking an elevator ride and a walk down the hall and nothing else, that could be all right."
I had to stifle my immense inner triumph. My heart was doing backflips at the chance to spend another five minutes with her. "Absolutely. Nothing more than that."
We worked our way to the bank of elevators at the far side of the lobby. Richard Butler and a few of the other guys from the Psychedelic Furs were waiting, too.
"How'd the set go, tonight?" I asked.
Richard nodded as the elevator doors opened. He stepped aside and let Angie on first and I followed. "The crowd was brilliant," he said. "Sound was a bit dodgy at times, but otherwise, it was fantastic. You guys will have a smash-up time."
"Can't wait," I replied.
The elevator dinged when we reached the sixth floor. "This is me." Angie walked out into the hall.
I held the door and followed her lead to room 609. "Right then. Safe and sound." I folde
d my hands behind my back. I promised I'd be a gentleman. This was not the time to try something, as badly as I wanted to kiss her.
"Only one lecherous rock star in sight." She grinned and leaned against the door.
Her smile was like shining a spotlight on a Rembrandt—it brought out her beauty in a way that left me breathless. Abso-bloody-lutely perfect. God she was sexy—an intoxicating combination of clever and gorgeous. Every atom of my body was screaming at me to take her into my arms and kiss the hurt of the last year away, for both of us.
I gripped Angie's elbow lightly and stepped closer to press my lips to her cheek. I desperately wanted even the smallest sign that she wanted me to do it, and when she tilted her head, it felt like a major victory. My mouth only touched her skin for a moment, although I would've taken any excuse to linger. Everything about that heartbeat of my life was pure torment, the slightest taste of the thing I wanted most, but wasn't sure I'd ever have again. "Good night. I'll see you in the lobby tomorrow morning. Sleep well."
"Night, Graham. See you tomorrow."
I dragged myself away from her door, soon hearing the click of the latch. It felt as if I was leaving a chunk of myself behind with her, but then again, it felt like that every time we were apart. I just hadn't realized it until this tour—I hadn't realized it until I'd left home, knowing she wouldn't be waiting when I returned.
Chapter Five
Angie
At least when I was behind the camera, I felt like I knew what I was doing. Last night with Graham had fully illustrated that I didn't always know what I was doing when it came to matters of the heart. If someone had asked me twenty-four hours ago to wager money on whether or not I was over Graham Whiting, I would've laid down a hefty bet on "over". There had been no doubt in my mind. Not a speck of questioning. But I'd failed to form a contingency plan for the two things that could end up being my biggest downfall—the torch Graham was still carrying for me, and his superhuman pull on me.
His kiss still lingered on my cheek. It nearly made me dizzy when it'd happened. I'd leaned against the door inside my hotel room after he left, brushing my fingers across the spot where he'd pressed his lips. Funny, but Graham and I had never reached the point where a kiss didn't feel special. Even after two years. No—every time he laid one on me, even a small one, the world went topsy turvy.
Graham and Chris took their seats behind the big boom microphones in the radio studio, massive headphones on. I stood in the background and snapped away with my camera as they chatted with the DJ and started to take phone calls from fans. My dad had taught me well, the art of seeing people for what they are and capturing it all on film. Every amazing candid shot I captured only dug up another memory of last night and the flutter in my stomach when Graham had walked me to my room. How could he still make me feel like that, even after I'd brainwashed myself into thinking he was all wrong? And standing here, taking pictures of him, I couldn't escape the feeling that my heart had somehow missed the memo about being over Graham. It was whispering in my ear that I was missing out.
And with good reason. Graham was just…there was something about him. If anyone was born to be a rock star, he was, burning so much brighter than a normal person. One smile from him and the rest of the world seemed to stop. One clever quip and the masses were laughing. Same could be said for Chris, both of them the sort of guy who walks into a room and makes everything come alive. The sort of guy who makes you feel like you're the luckiest girl on the planet if you get even a sliver of his attention. Being in the biggest band on planet Earth only added to the spectre of Chris and Graham.
"We're going to take a few more calls," the DJ said. "We have Jennifer from Swarthmore on the line."
"Hi Graham and Chris. I'm such a huge fan and I think you're so awesome and I just love you guys so much."
Graham leaned into the microphone. "Thank you. We love our fans. Did you have a question for us?" His voice came out with a sexy rumble. I nearly had to grab the wall to keep my balance.
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Oh my God. I'm so nervous,” the caller said. “Um, my question is for Christopher. I didn't really know what to ask but I really wanted to talk to you, so I'm just going to ask if you prefer brunettes or blondes."
Chris grinned wide. "I have to ask what color your hair is, love."
"Oh my God. Are you serious? Blonde. I'm blonde."
"Well, I generally prefer brunettes, but I'd absolutely make an exception for the right blonde." He said it in an unbelievably flirtatious tone. Between Graham and Chris, every girl listening to the station had to be dying, especially poor Jennifer from Swarthmore. I was certainly about ready to faint. No wonder there was a legion of girls out there for them—their allure was indisputable, like gravity.
"Excellent answer. It's like you guys have done this before." The DJ laughed at his own joke. "Does that answer your question, Jennifer?" His inquiry was met with dead silence. "Huh. I think you might have killed her, Mr. Penman."
"I'm very sorry," Chris said. "That happens sometimes."
"And how about you, Graham?" the DJ asked. "Blonde or brunette?"
"Yes."
Everyone in the studio burst out laughing. I caught the look on his face, that sly pride that said he was glad he'd done what he had. And I'd caught it on film.
Graham snickered. "But seriously, I think it's an unfair question to be honest. What about gingers?" He pivoted in his seat and looked right at me. "I love a fiery redhead."
Cheeky bastard. My face heated and I retreated back behind my camera, my mind back to running in circles. I was doing more than letting him flirt with me— was lapping up every second of it like a thirsty puppy. I needed to get my head on straight—I was enjoying being around him way too much for a woman who was sure she wanted nothing more to do with him.
The DJ wrapped up the interview and Reggie escorted us down to the limo waiting behind the radio station. They let me into the car first, but Graham followed and sat next to me. Proximity was going to make my attempts to focus on work difficult, especially given the subject of my photo assignment.
The police had blocked off the alley, so there weren't any fans, but sure enough, there was a mob of them once we made it to the street. They shrieked something awful. I love you, Graham. Christopher, we love you. Despite the presence of police officers and a barricade, the girls pushed through to the limo, pounding on the windows, making the most horrible sound, like hail the size of golf balls pelting the car. A dozen or so fans chased after the limo, screaming for Graham and Chris. Luckily, our driver seemed to know what he was doing and lost them quickly.
"Is it always that bad?" I pulled out my camera and started taking pictures again. Focus. I snapped a few of Chris, but then he pulled out a tissue and blew his nose, so I decided I'd best turn the lens on Graham.
"It's really weird to feel like I can't let down my guard around you," Graham said to me. The soft light in the back of the car made his eyes blaze with intensity. His hair was pretty damn exceptional today, too—messy and slumped over to one side, perfect for fingers. "What with you taking pictures non-stop."
"Oh, come on. You know you love it. And this is the sort of stuff the magazine wants. Slice of life. The back of the limo. Doing a radio interview. It might be old hat for you guys now, but it's incredibly glamorous to a teenaged girl. Just relax and pretend like you're extremely busy being a rock star."
"I'd rather talk to you. It's not easy when you're hiding behind a lens all day long."
I held my camera in one hand and looked him square in the eye. He grinned and I didn't want to smile back like a girl who was too easily charmed, even though that was exactly the way he made me feel, so I pressed my lips together tightly.
"You're trying not to smile. I can tell."
"No I'm not." I could already feel the corners of my mouth about to betray me.
"Yes you are." His gaze made me uncomfortably hot. If I couldn't handle the raw chemistry between Graham and me when I was fighting it too
th and nail, I might combust if I gave into it.
"Do I need to separate you two?" Chris looked at me as if it were my job to be the grownup in this situation.
"No. Angie's seeing to us being plenty separate," Graham answered.
His vision was so intently focused on me that I nearly squirmed in my seat. "Hey, can we get back to the business of rock stars hanging out in the limo?"
Chapter Six
Angie
Graham wanted to talk when we got back from the radio station, but I owed my mum a phone call, so I used that as my excuse and caught a short break in my room back at the hotel. It wasn't that I needed a break from Graham. I needed a break from the way I was acting around him, behaving as if there were no repercussions to things like flirtatious glances and questions with double meanings.
I settled back against the headboard as the call to my mum went through.
"Hello?" Her voice, filtered through the crackle of an overseas connection, made my eyes watery.
"Hi, Mum. It's me."
"I thought you weren't coming home from America until next week." She’d really slipped, and I’d only been away from England for barely two days.
"Mom. I'm still here. Remember, I said that I'd call you?" I pulled my knees up to my chest, picking at a snag in the fabric of my stretchy red dress.
"But that's so expensive. I don't think it's a good idea for us to talk long distance."
"No, Mum. It's fine. The magazine is paying my expenses. And I need to know that you're okay."
"I'm fine. I went to see your father this morning."
"How's he doing today?"
"The same. A bit sad. I could see it in his eyes. You know how hard it is to look at him when you can tell that he has something he wants to say, but can't."
Indeed, it was the most torturous thing in the world to sit next to his bed at the rehab hospital, look that brilliant man in the face, knowing everything he was capable of, and yet it was all bottled up inside him now. "I'm sorry. I know that's hard. No worries, though. I'll be back in England in a few days and you'll have more help again."