Lose Me: (New Adult Billionaire Romance) (Broken Idols)

by M. C. Frank

  “Real classy, bro.” I laugh.

  “Sorry,” he says. “Just. . . knowing what you must have gone through, and he almost. . . almost. . . Crap, I can’t take this.”

  “We’re both okay,” I say for the hundredth time. “Trust me, better than okay.”

  There’s silence for a minute as he’s processing this.

  “I’m glad,” he says finally. He sounds calmer; there’s even the trace of a smile in his voice. “All right, I can take a hint. Just enjoy your two hours with him, ‘cause as soon as I’m there he’s getting his ass kicked.”

  “Wes,” I say after I’ve hung up. “Wes. . . ”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “What are we doing here?”

  He reaches out and grabs my hand. “Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Second thing I wanted to ask you. Before we got. . . interrupted. Ready?”

  I nod.

  “What if you had two seconds left to live? Hey, look at me.”

  I do. He’s watching me, a smile playing on his lips.

  “Two seconds,” he repeats gently. “How would you want to spend them? Alone or with the people who love you? You have your dad and your grandparents, they’d die for you. You have your friends, and that scary coach bloke who looks at you as though he’s ready to take a bullet for you. You have a brother who’s coming over here to beat me to a pulp just for putting you through having to save my life. . . Which, thank you by the way.”

  “Don’t mention it,” I murmur absently.

  He squeezes my hand. “You even have me if you want me. Always had me, from the start. You just have to decide if the fear is stronger than the love. That’s all.”

  I just sit there, dumbfounded.

  Tears begin to fill my eyes and spill over, dripping into my plate.

  Wes’ face goes still, like he’s holding his breath; he looks at me, horrified.

  “Baby,” he murmurs, “open up to me. I’m here.”

  I push the hair out of my eyes and open my lips. Here we go. Let’s do this.

  “Today is not the day I die.”

  It comes out in this weird, hoarse voice, as if it’s coming from a deep, broken place inside of me. Wes opens his mouth, but then closes it again, pressing his lips together. He gets up and comes to kneel next to my chair. He places his hands on my knees and holds me there.

  I swallow hard. “That’s. . . that’s what I kept repeating to myself all this past summer. Trying to believe that it wasn’t happening—trying to stay alive by sheer force of will.” He shudders. “But in the end I couldn’t do it, you know that. You were there. You kept me alive in every sense of the word. But after it happened I didn’t know how to exist any more. I didn’t want to make you into that guy. . . The guy I needed. But I didn't know that you might need me too.”

  He looks up at me for a long time, his face upturned, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes hardly blinking. He doesn’t admit he needs me; there’s no need for him to, not after last night.

  “Be with me,” he says again.

  This time there’s no hesitation. “Yeah.”

  I lean down to kiss him, and he wraps his arms around me so tightly I can’t breathe.

  “You never said you forgive me,” I whisper into his neck. He hugs me even fiercer.

  “I never said a lot of things I should have said,” he whispers back, his chest shuddering against mine. “Like ‘I’m lost without you’ or ‘I’m the actual, utter idiot.’”

  I just shake my head. No need for words, no more need for apologies. This is it.

  Us.

  Just sitting here, our bodies pressed together until there’s nothing between us, finally; his scent in my nose, his lips on my hair, his arms around my waist. Just this.

  This sense of familiarity that envelopes me, of safety, of warmth. I know him. And he knows me. I’ve seen him at his worst, and he’s seen me at mine. I’m no longer scared of what’s happened to me. I’m no longer embarrassed of who I’ve been. At least not now, not with him. He saw me fall and he saw me rise. And I saw him.

  And, I realize as I bury my face in the crook of his shoulder, I’m planning on seeing more of his future. I’m planning on sharing it. I’m planning on having a future with him.

  I’m planning on having a future, period. I’m planning on it.

  ◊◊◊

  The shooting for Sweet Prince wraps up five days later. Ollie and Theo have already left, and Pan has to go back to school in New York soon.

  “Take care of my homeboy,” he tells me on his last day, coming to find me as I’m warming up in the wings.

  “Get bent,” I reply.

  “Keep it in your pants,” he winks.

  “Pan!” Wes’ voice roars from the auditorium. “Hands off.” Then, although they’re not even in the same room, they both burst out laughing simultaneously.

  Ugh.

  Before I know it, it’s time for me to leave as well. The Academy is opening in a bit, and so we spend the last day helping the crew clean up.

  “So, are you going with him?” Rosie asks me in a low voice as I’m helping her collect her pins and scraps for the last time.

  “Who?” I ask innocently.

  “Hamlet,” she says.

  She’s lost some of her bounciness since that night at the club, still she’s constantly trying her hardest to cheer everyone up. Let alone that she’s probably the hardest worker in here. Except Wes.

  I shrug. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, you’d better become sure soon,” she whispers, nudging me and nodding towards the door, where Wes’ tall, slim silhouette darkens the opening. He’s heard us.

  Crap.

  I walk towards him, grabbing my coat. Immediately he reaches out a hand and pulls the wig from my hair—it was the pink one today, the one with the cute, uneven bangs.

  “Hey!” I protest, but then he runs his palm down the slope of my neck and I shiver with pleasure. “Did you hear what we were talking about?”

  Instead of an answer, he lifts an eyebrow. Clean-shaven and rested, he looks almost a different person from the guy I found drunk out of his mind in the club five days ago.

  “I want to take you home,” he says simply. “Ollie wants to come too, if you’re okay with it. What. . . what do you think?”

  And that’s when I finally realize what kind of home he’s talking about.

  Corfu.

  My home.

  I start jumping up and down, squeezing my arms around him.

  “I thought so,” he smiles, his hands coming round my waist. “We leave tomorrow, after the do.” Of course there’s a goodbye party. They call it ‘a do’ for some inexplicable reason. I’m looking forward to it only because of Rosie. How I’ll say goodbye to her I don’t know. “Sounds good?”

  I squeal instead of a reply. He takes that as an invitation to start kissing me, right there in the doorway, as students are darting around us, this way and that, packing up the blue lights and the fog machine.

  tumblr.

  spencerstumblr

  I want to be the one who controls my body.

  Not vice versa. Alcohol, anger, girls. . . It’s all the same.

  I don’t want to be constantly forgiven. I want to be doing things right. I want to be someone capable of saving others. Of saving myself. Worthy. I want to be different from what I was. I want to be new.

  Be forgiven.

  Stay forgiven.

  #personal #man_versus_body

  701,569 notes

  NINETEEN

  It’s a crisp January morning, two days later.

  We’re home; we arrived in Athens yesterday evening, and flew to Corfu from there.

  The first thing I see when we touch down are thick, dark clouds, painting the horizon a grayish white. The sky is hidden behind them, and they look so heavy, their bellies touching the peaks of Mount Pantokrator. The humidity in the air is slicing at my bones and I shudder, breathing in a mouthful of salty sea air.

&n
bsp; “Welcome home,” Wes tells me, his eyes smiling. “Missed it?”

  I shrug. “Haven’t been away that long,” I say and he nudges me, but he doesn’t say anything more.

  But I have been away that long. He’s not talking about being back home in Corfu. He’s talking about being home as myself. He can see the change in me already. I can, too.

  I have been away for long, for too long. I have missed myself.

  Wes squeezes my cold fingers and I can feel his warmth seeping in through my woolen mittens. He understands, even without my having to say it.

  It’s time to come back. To be back.

  ◊◊◊

  Wes has already booked his old penthouse suite in town, but he drops me off at my house first. Dad hugs him fiercely and then turns aside although it’s too late. I’ve already seen his eyes go misty.

  “You’ll stay with us,” he says to Wes.

  “Thank you, not tonight,” Wes replies, winking at me. “First thing tomorrow morning, there’s something Ari and I have to do.”

  “There is?” I ask. This is the first I’m hearing of it.

  And then he leaves.

  A few hours later, after staying up late with dad, talking, I settle into bed.

  I’m finally home, I keep thinking, and Wes is here. I can’t wait to see Katia, finally. And pappous and yiayia. I’ve missed this so much.

  I haven’t felt like this since I was little and it was Christmas Eve, and I was so excited about all the people who’d come over and the presents we’d open and the games we’d play.

  My phone’s light blinks.

  Wes: Asleep yet?

  Me: not a chance. Remind me again why you’re there and I’m here?

  Wes: Because I’m an idiot.

  Me: can’t disagree there

  Wes: Tell me you’re happy.

  Me: u know I am

  Wes: You didn’t tell me Corfu winters were so vicious. I’d have stayed in good old England if I wanted to freeze my toes off.

  I sit up and groan. Weather? He’s talking to me about the weather?

  Me: srsly? This is what u wanna talk abt right now?

  Wes: No. What I want right now is to kiss you until neither of us can remember our names. But. . . it’s better this way. You need your rest for tomorrow.

  Me: What’s happening tmr?

  Wes: Trust me?

  Me: Dude u know I do.

  Wes: Good girl.

  Me: you’re a good girl

  Wes: Ok ok sorry.

  Me: not as sorry as u will be tmr when I kick your ass.

  Wes:…

  Wes:…

  Wes:…

  Me: having a hard time thinking of a comeback?

  Wes: Man, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

  Me: oh I know. you’re really making me mad saying those things over the phone. Get in yr car and drive over, would you?

  Wes: You’ll be the one to decide. In the morning.

  Me: decide abt what?

  Wes: Us.

  We stop talking a few minutes later and I try to get some sleep, which proves to be harder than I thought it would. My body is exhausted, but my brain won’t stop thinking.

  Good things, mostly.

  Dad looks good; he hasn’t lost weight. He said grandma is trying to fatten him up and he’s been fighting her off with a stick. He kept looking at me as though a question was playing at his lips, but he never asked it.

  He wanted to know if I was all right.

  I hope he got his answer by the time I came up to bed.

  I am all right. More so than I’ve even been. The words I read on that book on Wes’ desk keep playing in my head.

  ‘I don’t judge you guilty.’

  Forgiveness should be a synonym of freedom, I think. A weight’s been lifted off my chest; a weight so big I didn’t know I was carrying it around before I glanced at that book.

  But there’s a nagging feeling that won’t let me relax. Something unresolved. Something that needs to be faced and conquered.

  I don’t like leaving things around unfinished; I don’t like knowing there’s something out there that’s stronger than me. I don’t like there being things I can’t do.

  If only I could put my finger on what it is, I’d tackle it, is my last thought before sleep finally claims me.

  ◊◊◊

  The next morning dawns cold and wet, but by the time Wes arrives to pick me up, the sun is peeking behind the clouds and the paved stones of the kantouni below my window are quickly drying up. It looks as though it’s going to be one of those rare winter sunshine days.

  “Nice ride,” I say as I see the car he’s rented, barely able to contain my excitement. My fingers are itching to grasp that wheel.

  “No can do, Phelps,” Wes smirks, guessing what I’m thinking. “You’ll have a chauffeur today, my lady, whether you like it or not.”

  He gestures towards the passenger seat with an exaggerated flourish.

  “Some chauffeur,” I mumble.

  I knew he wouldn’t prefer to be driven around, given the choice, but this time he’s picked a beauty. It’s a Ferrari 360 Modena, a ride most of us only dream of even seeing in real life.

  About five minutes later I’m squirming in my seat, the new-found wonder of the Ferrari forgotten, as I look out the window anxiously.

  “We’re not. . . Are we going to. . . ?”

  Wes doesn’t answer, he just looks straight ahead, changing gears as he takes a steep turn carefully.

  I settle back. What are the chances of him taking me to that beach? No, he wouldn’t. . .

  Wes takes a left. “You all right?” he asks me.

  It feels like we’re driving to Pelekas, as though not one day has gone by since First Sentences.

  Suddenly I know. This is where he’s taking me.

  That’s the ‘surprise’ he was planning.

  And then another realization hits me: that nagging feeling of something unresolved that was keeping me awake last night? This is it, too. Pelekas. The Rubble. The dive.

  “Hey hey,” Wes reaches over and pries my white fingers from the dashboard. I didn’t even know I was gripping onto it so tightly. “Phelps?” His voice sounds clipped, as though he’s holding his breath. I turn around and meet his concerned gaze.

  “I’m fine.” I release my clutch slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was. . . doing that.”

  “Breathe,” he says. “We’re almost there.”

  Fifteen more minutes pass and then the yellow villa peeks in the distance as we take a sharp turn, and my heart slams in my chest. Impulsively I grasp for the door handle.

  “No no no.” There’s a hint of fear in Wes’ voice. “What are you doing?” He presses the lock down, and my panic rises. “Give me your hand, I’m right here.”

  I grab his fingers and press down hard enough to break bones. He bites his lip, watching me. He begins to slow the car down, but then he shakes his head, as though he’s having a silent argument with himself, and steps on the gas.

  “Let’s get there, at least,” he says calmly, trying to change gears and steer the wheel with one hand, since his other one is currently occupied. “Yeah?”

  I mutter “damn you” behind clenched teeth, but I don’t ask him to turn back.

  Before I know it, we’ve arrived at the familiar beach. The Rubble is looming in the distance. Wes gets out and comes over to open my door. I’m frozen on the spot.

  No. No. No. That’s all I can think.

  I feel water choking my mouth, the darkness and desperation closing in over my head. I hunch down, putting my head between my knees, my stomach rolling. I hear the driver’s door shut quickly and the next second Wes is next to me, his hand warm on my back, waiting for the panic to pass.

  In a minute I can breathe again, but then the beeping starts in my head. The heart monitors, the constant soundtrack of the hospital.

  Beep beep beep.

  Sometimes it gets deafening inside my
head when I try to sleep at night, but this is the first time it assaults me during the day.

  Beep beep beep beep.

  Stop it! I scream inside my head.

  Today is not the day I die. Today is not one of the days I’m sick. Today I’m fine, there’s nothing wrong with me. Today and tomorrow and the day after that, there’s nothing threatening me.

  “Ari,” Wes kneels down beside me. “It’s okay if you don’t want to get in the water. I’m sorry, I thought. . . But maybe it’s too soon.”

  I lift my eyes to look at him, and I’m surprised so much at what I see that I forget everything else.

  “What. . . what are you holding?”

  He hands me a piece of long, sleek fabric that almost looks like the costumes on the set of Sweet Prince, I finger the scales-like mesh. It’s a black wetsuit with a thin, orange line that goes down the left leg. He’s holding a similar one with a yellow stripe.

  “Oh,” is all I can say.

  He bends down to kiss my ear. “You didn’t think I’d let my girl dive into the sea in January with just a swimsuit on, did you?” he says playfully, but his eyes are watching me warily. “Even though she’s practically a mermaid. So. . . care to give it a go?”

  “Hell, yeah.” He knew that once he gave me the wetsuit I wouldn’t be able to resist it. “Did you plan this?”

  He gets to his feet, raising me with him. He looks so smug it’s pretty funny. “Went and bought them the day after I got out of hospital.”

  “I really hate you and love you right now,” I tell him and his face beams.

  “I aim to please,” he says. “Now get your cute little behind over here.”