Once in a Lifetime: (Becky) (Unnamed Duo Book 1)

by Luana Ferraz

  “This helps,” I whisper.

  “Really?” he asks. I pull away to look at him and smile when I see true disbelief on his face.

  “Really,” I answer. He smiles back, although the frown doesn’t go away. And then kisses me again.

  “Are you okay now?” he asks when we break away, a playful look on his eyes.

  “Not yet,” I answer, so he kisses me again. God. I could do this forever.

  “We should get out of the corridor,” he says after that one. The suggestion in his voice makes me uneasy. I’m not really in the mood.

  “Uh…” I hesitate, unsure of how to tell him he’s not getting what he wants.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks suddenly.

  “Uh…” I frown. “Kinda.”

  “Let’s go grab breakfast,” he suggests.

  “Downstairs? Or room service?” I watch his face as I ask, trying to read his thoughts.

  “Whatever you want,” he says.

  “Room service,” I choose, not ready to deal with anyone else yet. But, when his eyes start to glisten, I add, “But we’re just going to eat.”

  “That’s usually what people do at breakfast, isn’t it?” he jokes.

  “Tyler—”

  “I got it,” he interrupts me, brushing a few curls away from my eyes. “We’ll just eat.”

  I observe him suspiciously for a few seconds, but decide to trust him. So, we let go of each other and I open my door. He throws himself on my bed and as I call reception, he massages the back of my neck. I stay in that same position after I hang up until he removes his hand.

  I turn to him, biting my lip. He looks so cozy. He looks like he smells so good. So I scoot over and sit on his lap, sideways. He stiffens. I throw my hands around his skinny waist and bury my face on his neck, kissing it softly. Then I find out he does smell amazing.

  “Is this too much?” I ask when he doesn’t hug me back.

  “No. This is nice,” he says, kissing my forehead and adjusting his arms around me. “But if I get a boner, I can’t answer for it.”

  I laugh and pinch his side, making him yelp. And then we stay there, in silence, stroking each other lightly, until the food arrives.

  God. I could do this forever.

  ***

  We eat, then we risk checking our social media, he gets mad with the comments, we get out of the Internet, we talk about fanfiction—because I have a big mouth —, he watches me as I talk to grandma, avoiding any mention to Pete, he asks me how she’s doing when I hang up, then he tells me stories about spending his summers at his grandparents’ farm somewhere in Kentucky, hating horses, building tree-houses, learning how to cook.

  I’m not sure when it became so easy, but it is. Hanging out, talking, not talking, kissing, not kissing. I can’t even remember why I was so afraid of screwing up in the first place because, now, it seems impossible. Even when I’m blunt or accidentally say something potentially mean, he gets over it quickly. Even when he does that, I don’t really mind. I don’t understand. But I also decide to not try to, since we don’t have time. Maybe this is the reason—we don’t have time. We both know it’ll be over soon, so we’re both making an effort to not ruin it before our validity period.

  We’re comparing early song lyrics when door flies open, startling both of us. Pete freezes in place when he sees I’m not alone, his mouth hanging open, staring at Tyler.

  “S-sorry,” he stutters. “I didn’t know you weren’t alone.”

  “It’s fine!” Tyler jumps from the bed, clearly embarrassed. “I’m just… I should go.” He checks his phone and his eyebrows shoot up. “I should actually go.”

  “Okay,” I smile. He smiles back. I wonder if he likes making me smile as much as I like making him smile.

  He leans in, probably for a goodbye kiss, but then stops mid-motion when he remembers Pete is at the door. His face turns crimson red as he turns to him.

  “Okay,” he says instead, glancing from Pete to me and back at Pete. “Okay. I guess we’ll talk later.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” I answer, making him frown. “Anything could happen.”

  He rolls his eyes, trying to hide a smile. Then he nods at Pete as he walks past him. He stops before leaving, kind of wanting to tell him something, but nothing comes out. So, he nods again, squeezing the back of his own neck, and runs away.

  Pete turns back to me slowly, his eyebrows raised high.

  “Match made in heaven,” he says as he closes the door. Now, I’m the one blushing hard.

  “How are you?” I ask, eager to change the subject.

  “Better,” he sighs, collapsing on the mattress beside me. “You?”

  I only nod, finding out I’m too embarrassed by my meltdown the night before.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again.

  “Honey,” Pete tries to shoo me, reaching for my hand.

  “No, let me say it,” I ask. He sighs, but lets me speak. “I called you stupid, but I’m the stupid one. I’m so blind and selfish. You’re so hurt and going through so much and all I could think about was my own little fling. And even when you did open up and tell me things, I still managed to be absolutely useless and make everything about me. I understand why you didn’t want to tell me, and I don’t blame you.”

  Pete stares at me with a blank face, blinking hard. After a few moments he lets out a long, tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

  “Rebecca,” he says, “the only accurate statement in that whole rant is that you’re stupid. We’re both stupid, to be honest. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought I was protecting you. I was afraid of what… knowing was going to do to you.”

  “You were right,” I tell him.

  “No, I was not!” he argues. “I should have told you, I should have trusted you.”

  “You saw how I reacted yesterday,” I say, a shiver running down my spine.

  “Yes, and I’m seeing you now,” he says. I don’t really know what he means. “Becky, you… you’re the strongest person I know. I don’t know why I keep forgetting it. I’m sorry.”

  I want to argue, I want to say he’s wrong, I want to say that he’s the strong one. I can’t, though. If I open my mouth, I’ll start to cry.

  “So,” he clears his throat, “we need to talk about tonight.”

  I nod, smiling, indicating he can continue.

  “Neil said that if we’re not up to it, we can cancel the show. No harm done,” he snorts after he realizes the irony of his last sentence.

  “Do you want to?” I find my voice again. I watch as he debates for a minute.

  “No,” he sighs. “I know it’s silly, but I feel that if we give up now, it was all worthless. I feel like Paul will have won.”

  “It’s not silly,” I say quickly. Then, when he looks at me, I add, “But that’s not the reason why we should go on.”

  He frowns and nods. I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t already know.

  “What’s gonna happen to Paul?” I ask, realizing he never told me how the situation was handled.

  “Neil fired him. He must be on a plane back home at the moment. Out of our lives,” he smiles sadly.

  “And Tris?” I ask. His smile disappears and he looks away.

  “I don’t know what happens to Tris.”

  I watch him, his eyes full of concern and sadness, his slumped down stance. I think of the cut on his back and the bruise in his stomach. I think of Tris and what he must have been through already, and what he’ll still go through. I think of myself.

  And I’m so angry. I’m so, so angry.

  “How did you manage?” I ask suddenly. He looks back at me, puzzled. “With me? How were you so patient? Yesterday, I was ready to storm out of your room and kill someone.”

  He studies me for a bit, frowning. Then he snorts, giving me a weak smile. “It crossed my mind, I’m not gonna lie.”

  I scoot closer, running a hand up and down his back, over the unbruised side.

>   “We’re going to be okay,” I tell him. The puzzled look comes back. “He’s going to be okay. He really likes you, you know?”

  I don’t know why I say that. I don’t know what difference it will make. Maybe I’m just complicating things for him. I can’t tell, though, as he just keeps staring with that expression of someone who’s never seen me before.

  “I want to do it,” he says, at last. “The concert. I want to play our last concert on this tour.”

  “Okay,” I nod, wondering how much of his decision has to do with my big mouth. “Let’s do it.”

  ***

  He waits on my bed while I shower and get ready. When I ask about Lindsey, he only says she’s getting ready, too. Once again, I have a million and one questions I want to ask but, once again, I keep my mouth shut. It’s not like I can offer any help, anyway.

  Neil instructs us to meet him at the restaurant so we can talk, but I freeze as soon as we step outside the lift in the lobby. Tristan is there, leaning against a wall, his phone in his hands. Gosh. He didn’t even hear me going at him and I feel guilty. I feel sorry for him, even though I hate it when people feel sorry for me. I feel responsible. I feel like I’m connected to him somehow. I wonder if this is what normal people feel like when they find out they like the same band or movie.

  As if he can sense my stare, he looks up, directly in our direction. He visibly stiffens. He knows I know. I know he knows. It’s all so very sad but, also, comforting in a twisted way.

  Without thinking twice, I make my way to him and throw my arms around his neck. I hug him tight, like you hug someone you love who you haven’t seen for a while. For a moment, he doesn’t really know how to react. But, then, he understands why I’m holding him and hugs me back. He buries his face in my shoulder and clings to my waist, almost lifting me off the floor. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but I only let go when he lets go.

  We stare into each other’s eyes, not saying a word. There’s nothing to say, anyway. Words rarely help, I know that. But he manages to give me a sad smile and a small nod. I take his hand and squeeze it twice. I don’t know what I mean by that, but I hope it means something to him.

  When I turn around, there are several people watching us—Todd and Jake included. They glance from me to Tris, apparently surprised by our explicit and silent exchange. They don’t know. I wonder if Tyler knows. Probably not.

  The same way I approached him, I walk away. Pete puts a hand over my shoulder when I walk past him. Squeezing twice.

  We find Neil and Seth sitting alone at a table in the far back. When we join them, they both turn to us with careful smiles.

  “How are you feeling?” Neil asks, addressing Pete.

  “Better,” he says.

  “You?” Neil turns to me now.

  “I’m fine,” I say. It’s easier to lie to him.

  He nods and then updates us on how things went—he fired Paul, who threatened to throw a fit but quietened down when he showed him the police report. He went away without talking to anyone. Neil called The Hacks’ manager and explained everything that happened, and he will take the necessary measures on his side. Then he told the band and Jake that Paul was fired due to extreme and serious circumstances. He didn’t give them any explanations and instructed them to not bother anyone with questions.

  “I don’t know if that will be effective, though,” he says, shrugging. “Paul might text or call them, or Tristan might talk, or even you. But that’s entirely up to you, if you want them to know or not.”

  “Thank you,” is all that Pete says.

  The three of us stare at him for a moment, full of concern. He doesn’t move.

  “Okay, so,” Neil breaks the awkward silence. “You said you’ve come to a decision about the concert tonight?”

  “Yes,” Pete nods, “we’re doing it.”

  “Are you su—”

  “Yes,” Pete interrupts him. “We’re doing it.”

  Neil leans over the table and stares at Pete in silence for a moment.

  “Are you positively sure,” he starts again, talking slower, “that you want to do it?”

  “Yes,” Pete nods once.

  “Pete,” Neil sighs, “I’m worried about you.”

  “Me, too,” I say.

  That seems to make him snap out of it, whatever it was.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding a bit more like himself. “I’m just… a bit overwhelmed, I guess.”

  “Which is understandable,” Neil says.

  “But I really want to do it,” he argues. “It’s the last concert of our first tour. And if there’s one thing I know will make me feel better, it’s being on stage.”

  Now, that I can believe. Music was the one thing that got me through, too. Through everything.

  “Okay,” Neil nods, apparently convinced.

  “Can we still do the promo thing for the fans?” Pete asks.

  “Oh,” Neil seems surprised. “Do you still wanna do that?”

  “Yeah, although the original idea won’t work anymore,” Pete answers.

  “Okay,” Neil nods, pondering, apparently trying to decide whether he trusts Pete’s mental state enough to do that. “I can suggest something different.”

  “We’re all ears,” Pete says.

  Neil glances at me. I’m surprised. I’m usually not on this side of these situations—the side of reassuring. Still, I find myself nodding. I’ll take care of him.

  “Okay, well, what about a treasure hunt?” he says. “You could go out, hide the tickets at a few different locations, and post pictures on social media. Let the fans guess where they are.”

  “That sounds fun!” I say. Pete frowns, giving me a dubious look.

  “Yeah,” he says, “fun.”

  “Okay, I actually have the tickets in my room,” Neil says. “Let’s go grab it.”

  We follow him out to the lobby. I watch Pete, still worried, but at the same time glad we’ll have a few hours together, just the two of us. Maybe he’ll relax and we can talk.

  “Guys, I’ll wait here.” I stop before we reach the lifts.

  Pete frowns, then looks around. When he spots the blond bob of Tyler’s head, he gives me an annoyed look. And then fakes barf. I punch his arm.

  I wait until he’s out of sight to walk over to where Tyler is. He’s leaned against an armchair, alone, narrowing his eyes at his phone. I think of scaring him, but as soon as I’m on his line of sight, he looks up. And his frown vanishes.

  “Hey,” I say, stopping in front of him.

  “Hey,” he answers, pulling me closer and kissing me.

  I break away quickly, looking around. The lobby is not crowded, but the few people in here are looking at us. I give him a wide-eyed look.

  “They already know,” he shrugs.

  “We don’t need to show-off, though,” I argue.

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” he frowns.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Kissing you,” he says, pulling me closer again, “because I want to.”

  This time I let it go for as long as he wants. Because I want to kiss him, too.

  When we break apart, he doesn’t remove his hands from my waist, so I don’t remove my hands from his hair. I start to play with it, swooshing it from side to side, giving him an emo fringe, a side part, a messy bun. It doesn’t matter what I do, it falls back exactly where it was before—perfectly neat.

  “It’s infuriating,” I complain.

  “What?” he frowns, closing his eyes as I pull his hair in front of his face.

  “How perfect your hair is,” I say. I regret it when I see the smug look on his face.

  “Jealous much?”

  “I am, actually,” I admit. “If I had blond hair, it would be so much easier to dye it.”

  “I like your hair,” he says as one hand travels to my tangled, frizzy mop. “I like the purple.”

  It’s silly. I know he’s just saying that because I complimented his hair
. Still, it makes me at least two degrees warmer.

  “You should try it,” I say. “Maybe not purple. I think blue would suit you better.”

  “Dye my hair?” he laughs.

  “Why not?” I ask, offended.

  “I don’t want to end up bald by thirty,” he says, and I pull his hair slightly. He smirks and adds, “I kinda like that.”

  “Shut up,” I tell him, removing my hands from his scalp.

  He pulls me closer and kisses me again. It’s different now, full of the energy we’ve been bottling up since yesterday.

  It takes me a huge amount of strength, but I manage to disentangle myself from him and take two steps back. I feel dizzy and breathless.

  “Where are you going?” he frowns, trying to stop me.

  “Nowhere,” I fight his hands.

  “Come back here,” he complains, reaching out.

  “Just… calm down,” I give him a look. He raises his eyebrows and laugh.

  “I’ll behave, I promise,” he says.

  I narrow my eyes and slowly take back my previous position—in his arms. He keeps his word and doesn’t do anything, he just looks at me. It’s really not his fault that it’s more than I can take.

  Someone clears their throat beside us, breaking our intense eye contact. It’s Pete. Looking annoyed, again. He glances at Tyler, then at his hands on my waist, then at me again.

  “Let’s go,” I say, moving away from Tyler again.

  “Where are you going?” Tyler asks.

  “To do that fan promo thing Neil told us to,” Pete explains.

  “Oh,” he nods, turning to me, “okay. Just don’t take too long.”

  “Why? Will you miss me?” I tease. He flushes, casting a sideways glance at Pete.

  “Will you not?” he manages to ask back.

  “I’ll tell you when I come back,” I say, winking. He rolls his eyes but it doesn’t conceal his grin.

  I follow Pete outside in silence. It’s only when we fall into step side by side and he looks at me that I notice I’m still smiling. So, I stop. He keeps staring, though.