Incite

by Heather Leigh

  “Alright boys, it’s our turn next. Are you ready for the greatest night of your career so far?” Our manager, Ross, is clasping his hands and grinning.

  Hawke, Dax, and Gavin all cheer and make noise while I sit there and mope. We all decided to forgo bringing dates tonight. Since none of us are in a serious relationship we thought we’d make a show of solidarity and arrive together. I take a couple of deep breaths and ready my game face, the ever present, happy go lucky Adam that the fans and the media love.

  “Let’s do it!” I put on a smile and straighten out the jacket of the Armani tux that I decided to wear with just a tight grey T-shirt underneath instead of shirtsleeves and a tie. Full on tuxedos are just too stuffy for rock stars. I brush my fingers over my chest, right where my heart is, and get ready to face the madness.

  The limo glides to a stop, the valet rushing over to open the door for us. When we start to climb out, the flashbulbs and crowd explode, surrounding us with delighted squeals and blinding strobe lights. Our names are being yelled from so many directions it’s hard to know where to look.

  “Christ, it’s insane,” Dax says loudly so I can hear him over the noise.

  I smile and nod at him, walking forward so the whole band can get together on the carpet for photos.

  A nearby group of teenaged girls screams Hawke’s name and his head whips around in reaction. The young ones really love him. He’s all innocent and boyish looking on the surface. He didn’t even bother dressing up today, wearing his usual shirt, dark trousers, and chucks on the red carpet. If they really knew him, they’d die of shock. Innocent and boyish aren’t words that I’d use to describe one of my best mates.

  Gavin seems especially nervous tonight, his eyes darting left and right, scanning the crowd anxiously. I can’t even compare my problems to his. He must be a wreck, but if he is, he’s hiding it well.

  We make our way up the carpet, doing the usual interviews, answering all of the same boring questions. I catch Ross’ eye and he smiles at me, obviously pleased with my attitude and my responses to the reporters’ inquiries. He probably thought I’d come stomping down the carpet scowling, but we all manage to make it inside unscathed and without scandal.

  “Hey, we’re up in two,” Gavin says from behind me. We’re already an hour into the ceremony and it’s time to play our nominated song. I face my friend and see that some color has returned to his previously pale complexion now that we’re off the carpet.

  “Yeah, I’m ready.” We have to wait backstage for our turn to perform. Naturally, we can’t just wear our red carpet outfits, we have to change into something else before we take the stage. Sometimes, I feel like a damn woman with all of the wardrobe crap I have to deal with.

  “Alright man, this is it. The big stage!” Hawke is practically bursting with giddiness as he moves to my side.

  I eye him strangely. “You alright? You’re, I don’t know… too happy or something.”

  He cracks a giant grin and winks at me. “I’m great Adam, just great. Hey, it’s our turn.”

  I laugh and shake my head, following Hawke onto the stage, Dax and Gavin right behind us. The applause from the crowd is more enthusiastic than it has been all night.

  We take our places and I slide the guitar strap over my head, the familiar motion taking me right into the frame of mind I need. This is where I’m most comfortable, on stage, singing. Even though I’m on display for thousands or, like tonight, millions of people, performing makes me feel invisible somehow. Like I’m just another one of the nameless, faceless people out in the audience.

  My music is an extension of me. The emotions I feel when I’m writing each song just as strong one, two, hell even ten years later when I perform it for the millionth time. I get lost in the lyrics, let the pain or joy or whatever I felt at the time I wrote it, escape out of me a tiny bit at a time. It unburdens me, frees me somehow.

  The crowd is wildly enthusiastic as Hawke and Dax start the intro to our nominated song, the platinum selling Unconscious Devotion. Gavin and I join in on our guitars and at my cue I start to sing.

  How could I know that we’d be like this

  Me drinking in your closeness

  Worshiping in every thing you did

  With a cautious awareness

  I thought in circles in my mind until it brought me to my knees.

  The never-ending heartbreak I felt when you vanished in the breeze.

  You didn’t know that I’d never let go

  Memories replay in slow motion

  Hidden thoughts tapping on the door

  Of my unconscious devotion.

  I feel the loss

  I feel the loss of you

  I should hate you but I can’t

  You remain untouchable

  That fateful day that you walked away

  Was always unavoidable

  Couldn’t purge the thoughts of us becoming more than we were

  Didn’t know I wanted it until I was shown the door

  You didn’t know that I’d never let go

  Memories replay in slow motion

  Hidden thoughts tapping on the door

  Of my unconscious devotion.

  I pour my soul into the song, the one and only song that I wrote while I was in rehab. The one I wrote for myself, to heal, to get out of the dark place I went to after Ellie, and that’s the one that gets us the Grammy nominations.

  I laughed when we were told, because if I didn’t, I’d crack up and turn back to the bottle. We’ve definitely lived up to our band’s name, the irony of this wasn’t lost on me. The worst event in my life turns into the song that the world loves to hear the most.

  Dax’s guitar finishes the song and the crowd of fancy suits and gowns cheers enthusiastically. I wave and smile, giving them what they want, before removing the guitar and walking off stage with my mates.

  For a moment I allow myself to wonder if Ellie’s watching. Has she heard the song? Does she know it’s about her? Then I come to my senses and force myself to think of something else. Nothing good ever comes from going down that road. I’ve learned that the hard way.

  “Hi, that was beautiful.”

  I turn to see who’s speaking and see Ellie standing next to me. My Ellie. Backstage, at the Grammy’s. I blink hard and look again. It’s not Ellie, and she’s not mine, but damn, she could be her twin.

  “Thanks,” I finally manage to say stupidly. Smooth, Reynolds. Real smooth. Grammy-nominated tosser.

  “I hope you win tonight,” she says sweetly, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “And you are?” I hold out my hand to find out who this gorgeous girl might be.

  “Oh, sorry, I’m Kiera. Kiera Radcliffe. I’m just hanging out, watching. My dad is the director of this whole thing.” She casually waves her hand to indicate the entire theater.

  “Lovely to meet you, Kiera. I have to get back to my seat for the nominations. Will you be at any of the after parties?” She’s beautiful, well connected, and obviously wealthy so she’s not after my money, what’s not to like? Oh, and it’s like having Ellie even though I can’t actually have her.

  Dangerous road to travel, Reynolds.

  “I’ll be sure to make my way to yours,” she purrs boldly, pursing her lips sensually before smiling.

  I smile back, genuinely. She’s adorable. I like her confidence, and it seems as if she goes after what she wants without apologies. I’ll definitely find her later. I was going to skip the parties, since I have to limit my drinking to one or usually zero beverages and being around a bunch of drunks is irritating if you’re not one of them. Kiera makes the idea of the after party sound much more interesting.

  “Be sure you find me,” I tell her as the rest of the band closes in behind me.

  “Come on, Adam,” Gavin says, shoving me from behind.

  As we walk away I turn to look at the beautiful Kiera one more time. Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she was Ellie. This could be a very bad id
ea, getting with someone who will dredge up all of the demons that I laid to rest in rehab. The temptation to be with someone so similar-looking to Ellie? It seems worth the risk.

  I’m sure I’m mental for even thinking about it. The guys would kill me if they knew what I was doing. I know I’ve already made my decision. I’m going after her, tonight, and it’s for all the wrong reasons and I don’t care. It’ll hurt so good that like the sick fuck I am, I want the pain.

  chapter 32

  Ellie

  “I’ll be there after work, Mum. I can’t talk now, I’m still at the hospital and I have too many patients to deal with,” I say with an exasperated smile even though my mum can’t see it.

  “Alright Ellie. I’ll see you at seven.”

  “Bye Mum, love you.”

  “You too honey.”

  I hang up and slide the phone into the pocket of my scrubs. My coworker, an older woman named Agnes, speaks to me from her spot at the break room table.

  “Plans with your mum tonight?” she asks as she takes a sip of her tea. Agnes is old school British. She takes her tea every afternoon regardless of the patient load or the lack of nurses. It’s admirable yet supremely annoying at the same time.

  “Yes, just dinner.”

  “Hmmmm.” Agnes flips a page of her red top magazine.

  “What?”

  “Oh nothing, dear.” She resumes sipping, humming a random tune.

  Okaaaay, what’s the deal with her? “Agnes, clearly you have something to say, so just say it.” I roll my eyes at her before she can look up.

  She carefully places down her, yes real china teacup, and dabs her mouth with a napkin before fixing her steely eyes on me. “You finally going to tell her that you’re never going to marry that James bloke?”

  I gasp and my mouth falls open. “W-w-what? Why would you say that?”

  Agnes doesn’t break her eye contact with me as she answers. “Because you’ve been with the poor boy for what… let’s see…” I can see her doing the math in her head.

  Three and a half years, I think to myself.

  “Three years, give or take,” Agnes continues, “and you’ve yet to set a date for a wedding.”

  I can feel the blood drain from my face. “Loads of people have long engagements, Agnes. We’ll only have been engaged two years this April.” I cross my arms stubbornly.

  “Two years,” Agnes repeats as she sips her stupid tea. She pays better attention than I thought. I wonder how many other people have noticed that I’ve been putting James off and I’m suddenly embarrassed, which sets off my defenses.

  I cross my arms and huff loudly. “Is there a point to this, or are you just trying to make me angry by poking at my private life.”

  She waves her hand carelessly, “I’m not trying to make you mad, Ellie. You just need to be happy, and if you don’t want to marry the bloke, then quit kidding yourself and call it off. Does he even let you have any friends? I never hear about you going out with the other girls on the unit. Keeps pretty close tabs on you, doesn’t he?”

  My defenses raise but I quickly deflate, knowing she’s right but I’m not in a state of mind to admit that to myself. “I am happy,” I say to Agnes, but I have to drop my eyes from hers because it’s total crap and I know it. I don’t have any friends now that I think about it, but it’s not because of James, is it? He does insist I text him every break and when I leave work, but it’s because he cares, right?

  “If you say so Ellie. If you say so.” Agnes focuses back on her magazine, freeing me from her probing stare.

  I flee the break room as fast as I can without it looking like I’m running, and jog up a flight of stairs before ducking into the toilets. Better to not use the ones on my floor when I want to have a good cry because then no one I work with will find me sobbing in the loo. I learned that the hard way once. It’s tough to explain your middle of the day weeping to someone you only know through work.

  I head for the largest stall and shoot the bolt behind me. Dropping heavily onto the closed toilet seat, I grab a wad of toilet paper and pat at the tears and snot that have already started a steady flow.

  Crap. Agnes knows I don’t want to marry James, which means I haven’t been hiding my feelings as well as I led myself to believe. That means James probably knows too, but he hasn’t said a word. Three and a half years and not one word about the fact that his fiancée isn’t in love with him. He’s in as deep of denial as I am.

  Is he keeping me from having friends? I’m not sure. I know that I haven’t really felt like going out socially since the attack, but now that I think about it, I haven’t really had any friends since I started dating James. Shit! He decided we would live together, he decides when and if we go out, he pretty much runs the show.

  I steady my breathing and blow my nose one last time. Then I gather my courage to put my happy face back on so I can clean up and head downstairs.

  As I wash my hands, I think back to a few days ago. After James left our flat to go to a crime scene late at night, I searched the computer for the American Grammy Awards that were on the night before and watched as Adam sang a heart-breaking song. The song that I first heard last autumn and instantly knew that it was about us, our relationship.

  Bundled up on my sofa in a thick afghan on a cold February night, I watched him sing at the Grammy’s and knew he was singing to me. Adam still thinks about us, a lot. He still loves me. That’s what the song said, and since then, my ability to keep up the façade with James has slowly degraded until people like Agnes can see right through it.

  I dry off my hands, step out of the bathroom, and head back to work, vowing to do a better job of keeping up appearances.

  “Mum?” I call out after entering my mum’s little flat. I helped to upgrade her to a nicer one near mine after finishing school. That, and she got a promotion to office manager of the small company she works for along with a nice salary bump.

  “In here El. I’ll be out in a minute!” she calls from the bedroom.

  Her flat smells wonderful, I walk over to the tiny oven and open the door. Ooohhh, Shepard’s pie, my favorite.

  “Close the oven, you’re letting out all of the heat!” Mum says from behind me.

  I slam the door shut, rattling the teakettle on top of the stove. “You scared me to death!” I grab my chest as it pounds wildly.

  “Sorry dear,” she laughs as she pulls me in for a hug. “I didn’t think I was being sneaky.”

  “It’s okay Mum. I’m just a little on edge today, that’s all.” I return the embrace and she pats my cheek lightly before releasing me. “So, how did I earn the pleasure of your Shepherd’s pie tonight?”

  She grins, her eyes crinkling in the corners. Her hair, a shade or two darker than the golden blonde it was before the chemo, is pulled into a low knot at her nape. “I knew you were coming over El. No other reason.” Mum shoves her hands into two big oven mitts to take the pie out of the oven so it can cool off.

  “God that smells good.” My mouth is watering for a taste. “I missed lunch at work so I’m starved.”

  “You know that’s not good for you, skipping meals.” Mum gives me a stern look. Then she grabs a couple of wine glasses and some biscuits and hands them to me. “Get the white wine out of the fridge and we’ll chat while dinner cools.”

  I pull out a somewhat pricey bottle and obediently fill our glasses. We sit at the small table that divides her kitchen from her lounge. She sips at her wine, staring at me while I eat my biscuit, as if waiting for me to say something.

  “What?” My hands brush at my mouth. “Have I got something on my face?”

  “Huh? No,” she laughs. “Not at all, love.”

  “Why are you looking at me funny?”

  “I’m not, Ellie? You’re dreaming things up.”

  I take a sip of my wine and decide that it’s much better than the cheap stuff I usually get, making a mental note to check out the label so I can buy some later. When I look back up, my mu
m is staring at me oddly again.

  “Okay, that’s it. What’s with the look? Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You’ve made my favorite dinner, you bought a bottle of posh wine, and now you’re looking at me queerly. What’s going on?” I put my hands on the table and give her a petulant look.

  My mum sighs and puts her glass down, but not before taking a giant gulp of wine first. “I wanted to talk after dinner, but you’re just too observant.”

  I chuckle sarcastically, “That’s strange because I feel as if I’m the most unobservant person on Earth. Just today, Agnes at work told me that everyone knows I don’t want to marry James and…”

  The hair on my arms stands at attention at my unintentional admission, and my mum’s eyebrows have shot up into her hairline. I’ve broken out into a light sweat even though it’s February and not that warm in here.

  “Ummmm…” is all I can come up with to say.

  “It’s about time,” my mum says in a manner that one would use to ask you to pass the potatoes. ‘Oh look, pass the potatoes, and it’s about time you broke off your sham engagement’.

  “What?” Now it’s my turn to look shocked.

  She clucks her tongue at me and waves me off with her hand. “I’ve known for ages that you don’t want to marry James. It’s about time you’ve admitted it to yourself. That boy’s not stupid either, he knows it as well. He just doesn’t want it to be over. Not on his end, anyway.”

  I pick up my wine and quickly gulp down the entire drink. Then I get up, fetch the bottle from the fridge, refilling my drink to the top edge of the glass. Then I plunk the bottle down in the middle of the table.

  “What do I do? It’s so complicated. I mean, I live with him, Mum. He saved my life, twice. I owe him so much. I love him, I’m just not in love with him,” I confess.