Broken (The Guitar Face Series Book 1)

by Sasha Marshall

  Mom:

  I love you, baby girl. I’m here if you need me.

  There are no texts from Jagger. Everything we had is bullshit. It is all a fucking lie. He is living out some teenage dream. How do you say the things he said and not apologize? This hurts so much. I feel the anger rising up. I stand and find my MacBook to Google Jagger’s name. Lo and behold, the pictures from last night are staring me in the face. He is surrounded by women, most of them incredibly beautiful.

  Fuck you, Jagger. He appears to be having the time of his life. He is all smiles in every photograph posted.

  Broken heart, my ass! He is using that line to get laid. I slam the computer shut, and stand to pace the floor. Anger doesn’t cover this. Rage is more like it. I swipe the candles, pictures, and figurines off a nearby hall table. They crash down to the floor, and the glass breaks. It doesn’t make me feel any better, so I punch the wall.

  Ow! How do men make that look so fucking easy in the movies? Fuck you, Hollywood. Fuck all of you! I hold my hand. It throbs like a bitch. Shit, I have to play with that hand. I quickly wrap it in a towel and ice.

  I make my way to the walk-in pantry and turn the light on with a little more force than is really necessary. There sits a big, beautiful bottle of Crown Royal XR Heritage Blend. I open it and take the biggest gulp I can manage. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve. Ladylike, I know. I pick up my phone and reply to Koi.

  Yeah, I hit his ass. Then I kicked him off my fucking porch. And if you tell him to come over, I’ll gladly hit him again. I will run circles around his pretty boy ass. Fuck Jagger Carlyle! If you see him, you tell him I said just that. I hit send.

  I drink my whiskey straight from the bottle in my left hand and keep my right covered in ice. I need to smoke. I don’t normally smoke in my homes, but I find an ashtray in the kitchen, sit in the middle of my living room floor, and light up. I find the remote between swigs of alcohol and turn on a Five Finger Death Punch album. I turn the volume up as loud as it will go. My phone rings and Koi’s face lights up my screen. I send it to voicemail and send him a text.

  I can’t talk right now. It’s too loud in here, I text. I’m not turning down the radio to have a conversation with my brother about “Poor Henley.”

  Koi: Where are you?

  Me: Leave me alone, Koi. I don’t want to be bothered.

  Koi: I will hunt you down if I have to. You are pissed off, which means that motherfucker did something pretty damn bad to get you there. WHERE ARE YOU?!!!

  Me: I’m at home. I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Better than fine. Don’t come over here, Koi!

  Koi: That is not an option.

  Me: Oh, it is. I won’t let you in if you show up. I want to be left alone. Don’t bother showing up.

  Koi: I will break down the goddamn door!

  Me: And I will beat your ass too!

  Koi: I will see you in a few minutes.

  Me: Don’t come over here, Koi!!!

  He doesn’t respond. Fuck. I need to respond to Sam’s text.

  Me: I couldn’t care less what you say in your statement about Jagger’s behavior. Please issue a statement telling the world, which cares so fucking much about when I wipe my ass, that Jagger and I are announcing our split. You know, splitting as friends and all those stupid lies publicists tell to paint a pretty picture for our fans.

  Samantha: I’m coming to L.A.

  Me: Don’t bother. I’m perfectly fine with my bottle of whiskey.

  She doesn’t respond anymore either. Great.

  Me: Issue the statement before you get on the plane, please. I want this over with as soon as possible.

  I DRINK SOME more and smoke two more cigarettes before Koi starts banging on my door like a lunatic. If he thought for a second, he would remember he has a key. He can’t see me from the front door. Then I hear a tap on the deck French doors. Kip stands there with a sad smile on his face. He holds up his key asking for permission, and I nod. At least he is smart enough to remember he has the damn thing. He lets himself in and locks the door behind him. Koi continues to beat on my door. Stupid ass.

  Chapter 20

  KIP DOESN’T SAY a word. I hand him the bottle of whiskey, and he turns it up. He grabs a cigarette tucked behind his ear and lights up. We sit in silence while FFDP screams, and we listen to Koi attempt to beat the door off the hinges. Kip and I pass the bottle back and forth. Koi stops beating on the door, and I hope he will just go home. A few beats later, Koi taps on the French doors. We both look at him, and it is clear he is pissed that Kip is inside. Kip digs his keys out of his pocket and holds them up while smiling at Koi. Realization spreads across Koi’s face. He pulls his own keys out and lets himself in.

  He doesn’t scream and yell at me. He extends his hand in a silent request for the bottle. I hand it to him, and he sits on the ottoman. He lights up his own cigarette. We sit in silence and listen to music, smoke, and drink. My heart isn’t numb enough yet. Kip and Koi finally notice the mess from the hall table. Kip nods and smiles with approval. Koi sees the hole in the sheetrock and looks at my hand wrapped in ice. He bends down and takes the towel and ice off. I wish he hadn’t. It is a bloody, swollen mess. I hope I didn’t break it.

  Koi steps out onto the deck with his phone in hand. I don’t care who he is calling. I turn the TV on E! News, muting the sound. Kip and I drink more whiskey and read the subtitles. FFDP is still screaming. Angry music. I really like it. Koi enters the house again and re-wraps my hand with ice. Then the story breaks

  I turn the music off and the TV on.

  A statement has been issued by Henley Hendrix’s publicist saying the relationship between her and Jagger Carlyle has come to an amicable end. The two remain longtime friends and will continue to support each other musically and personally. I can’t say this split doesn’t disappoint me. Although they were still very early in their relationship, the pictures of the nearly four-month courtship show the two were clearly in love. What happened? Late last night, Jagger was spotted at The Airliner heavily intoxicated. He was all smiles and surrounded by fellow partygoers. He must not be taking this split too badly after all. He was sporting a black eye, but it didn’t slow him down. Is the bad-boy rocker returning to reclaim his title? Henley was spotted earlier today in Pacific Palisades at a local market. The photographers waited outside and bombarded her with questions regarding Jagger’s whereabouts last night. She didn’t comment. Earlier tonight ...

  I mute the TV. There it is. It is over. I can finish off this bottle, climb in bed, and wake up a single woman tomorrow. I can begin to reinvent myself. Koi opens my front door, and an older gentleman walks through. He carries a physician’s bag, and Koi directs him to me.

  He instantly notices the mess all over my floor and the hole in the wall.

  “Mr. Hendrix has some concerns about your hand. May I have a look?” He smiles at me.

  He must know a broken heart when he sees one. I put my hand in his. He moves it around and asks about my pain level. He asks me to move my fingers in several ways. He can’t be sure it isn’t broken without an x-ray, but his exam doesn’t lead him to believe it is anything more than bruised and beaten a bit. He advises me to take Advil for the pain and swelling and to call him if my condition worsens. I wonder if he has a miracle shot that can take away the swelling and pain in my heart.

  When the doctor leaves, Koi and Kip sat in silence for a beat.

  “So it’s over?” Koi asks.

  “It appears so,” I answer.

  “What happened?” he asks.

  All the words from the night before punch me in the gut. The look on Jagger’s face as he berated me and talked to me like I meant nothing to him, slaps me in the face. I wish I could forget how he looked when he beat his fists on the steering wheel. The tears stream down my face and Kip moves over to me. I throw my hand up to stop h
im, and he backs off. I can’t tell them what Jagger said to me last night. I won’t come in between them.

  “I know you guys are worried, but it’s over with now. I’m going to wake up tomorrow and live my life without him. I mean, it isn’t like we were together for years. It was only four months. I know it’s hard to see me upset, but this is between Jagger and me. You cannot let this interfere with the band or the music. This will pass just like each of your breakups has over the years. Just give it some time, yeah?” I hope that is enough to convince them to stay out of it.

  “Yeah. I guess I can do that, Henley. He may be my best friend and our guitarist, but you are my sister. I’m here. Breakups are rough. Jag being your friend for most of your life doesn’t help matters. If you want to talk, or if you need me, I’m here.”

  I hug Koi and Kip and usher them out the door with promises that I would go straight to bed and meet them for breakfast in the morning. I leave the mess in my living room for the morning and pad down the hall to my room, where I will sleep alone again.

  SUNLIGHT WAKES ME. I look out my windows to see a beautiful California day waiting for me. My heart still aches, but I’m bound and determined to get up and live today without Jag. I know better than anyone that time heals a broken heart, and this time will be no different. I sit up on my bed and stretch. Ouch, my hand hurts. It doesn’t look as bad I thought it would though. My phone chirps with a text message from Kip.

  Kip: You up?

  Me: Yeah.

  Kip: We still on for breakfast?

  Me: Definitely, I’m famished.

  Kip: Dogtown Coffee?

  Me: Can we take it down to the beach and eat?

  Kip: You know it.

  Me: Thank you.

  Kip: I will pick you up in an hour. Koi had something come up with a guitar he was having custom made. He is running into downtown to follow up. He says he will text you later.

  Me: K. No problem. See you soon.

  I open my closet, and a dress I bought years ago is begging to be worn. It still has the tags on it. I pull the blue Coachella dress from the hanger. The dress is a short halter dress with an open back. It is perfect for a warm November California day. I pull my long eyelashes out with the mascara and throw a little bronzer on my cheeks. Aviators on, I grab my phone and purse, and I send Kip a message advising him I will be out on the back deck.

  I head outside and sit at the patio table. I light up my morning cigarette and lean my head back to bake in the warm sun until Kip arrives. The sound of the waves and seagulls are so relaxing. I might just take a nap in the hammock after breakfast.

  “Hen?” I hear him say.

  I shoot up from my chair. Jagger stands in front of me with a black eye and scratches on his face and arms. He looks tired and disheveled. I scoff at him and turn on my heel to the French doors. If he thinks he can just show up at my home unannounced, he has another thing coming. I manage to make it a few inches from the door when he grabs me from behind. He pulls me back into his chest. God, I already miss his touch. My body attempts to betray me.

  “Let me go,” I scream.

  “Henley, just talk to me for a minute,” he pleads.

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  He turns me around and squeezes my body tight against his, places his hand on the back of my head, and the other around my back. “Please. I know I fucked up.”

  “Let me go, Jagger,” I demand with venom dripping off each word.

  “No. Not until you talk to me.”

  I push against him as hard as I can, but the solid wall of muscle that is Jagger doesn’t budge. “Let me go,” I scream again.

  “No,” he says softly.

  I pick my foot up and slam it down on the top of his foot. He doesn’t let me go though.

  “You can kick and scream as much as you want to. You can beat my ass for everything I’m worth. I deserve every damn lick, but I’m not leaving here until you talk to me.”

  “Fine. You want to talk? Let me go so I can see your face when you spew your bullshit at me,” I say, and he releases his hold on me slowly, obviously unsure if I will bolt on him.

  He finally takes a few steps back and gives me some space. I walk around him and sit back on the seat I vacated at the patio table. I don’t say a fucking word. Instead, I cross my arms and refuse to look at him, like a petulant child. He apparently has something to say, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of beginning this conversation. He sits in the chair across from me.

  “You look so beautiful. I always love your beach look,” he says.

  “Yeah, well, you didn’t come here to reminisce, so start talking, Carlyle,” I snap at him.

  “Why did you issue the statement, baby?”

  “I’m not your fucking baby,” I growl, and the hurt registers on his face.

  “Why?” he asks again.

  “I just saved us both a great deal of heartache and time. You think you can speak to me the way you did two nights ago, go on a bender with a smile plastered on your face, and take pictures with every pussy in the place, and not call? You think you get to do all of that and not bring your ass to me to show me the respect of saying you’re fucking sorry? You think all of that doesn’t end us? What world do you live in?” I ask.

  “Bab—. I don’t know what came over me. I have so much shit going through my head right now. The paparazzi pissed me off with their rude-ass questions, and I lost it. I unfortunately lost it on you. I went out on a bender because I needed to get my head straight. I didn’t call or text because I didn’t think you would talk to me. I was trying to give you time to cool off. I almost called you a million times yesterday. I haven’t seen you in over twenty-four hours, and I miss you.”

  “But you didn’t call. That told me everything I needed to know. You let me think what I wanted about the pictures from The Airliner, and you stayed silent. You let me sit over here to stew in my own misery, and you did nothing to fucking stop it,” I yell.

  “You are miserable?” he asks hopefully.

  “Yeah, I was. I got it all out of my system though. The shelf life is short. No more ‘Poor Henley.’ You missed out on your window of opportunity, buddy.”

  He flinches at his own words from two nights ago, but those words can’t possibly cause the same level of hurt that it caused me.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  “Now, that isn’t really any of your business anymore, is it?”

  “Yes, it is. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I want to protect you,” he says.

  “You did a really fine job of it two nights ago,” I say, and his shoulders slump. “I’m over it.”

  “No. You don’t stop loving someone overnight. Tell me you don’t love me anymore, and I will walk off your deck. You will never have to see my face again.”

  The thought of never seeing Jagger hurts like hell. I almost falter, but his words come back to me.

  Aww. Henley is crying. What, you can’t handle the truth? You aren’t the coveted diamond you once were, so don’t act like you’re above all the other women I’ve fucked. You’re irrelevant in this town. You think you can make an album after all these years without Caleb and it be worth a shit? Everyone is already starting to forget who you are. The only reason anybody is talking about you now is because I’m fucking you. Your fame now depends on whether I’m on your arm. Not the other way around. What are you crying for?

  It still hurts like hell, and they make me angry all over again.

  “I still love you, Jagger, but I don’t want to be with you.” I don’t even know if I believe the words coming out of my mouth. He looks at me with his poker face.

  “If you still love me, then this isn’t over,” he growls.

  “Yes, it is. Most of what you said the other
night has some truth to it, but it doesn’t mean I deserve it. Especially not the way you said it. But your words sparked something inside of me, something I’m so very thankful for. I will never put myself in a position to be recognized because you are fucking me or are on my arm. And, I can handle the truth. I will never be able to replace Caleb, and I won’t be able to make the same music without him, but I can make music that someone will love. You want to know how far I’m going to run this time. I’m running away from you and all that filthy shit you hit me with. I may love you, but I will never put myself in a situation where you can hurt me again. So, I’m going to run back to music, my career, and my life. I don’t need you to get there. I never did. I’m the Guitar Goddess. I earned that fucking title. It wasn’t handed to me on a silver fucking platter. I learned every note, chord, and song right on my very own. I will make it back to the top on my own, and I will look down at you from my pedestal. Get off my porch,” I bite out with rage in my voice.

  “Henley, I didn’t mean those things. You have to believe me. I love you.” Tears run down his cheeks.

  “She asked you to leave, Jag.” Kip says from behind me, and it startles me since I never heard him come through the doors.

  “Stay the fuck out of it, Kip. This is between her and me,” Jagger says.

  “I know it is, buddy. She made that very clear to me and Koi last night after she put a hole in the wall and busted up her hand. That’s also after she broke half the shit in the house. I promised her I wouldn’t get in the middle, and I won’t. She is hurting, you are hurting, and it is difficult to watch. I love you both. Let me take her to breakfast, and you go home and get yourself cleaned up. Give it some time, yeah?” Kip pleads.

  Jagger stands there for a beat and mulls over what Kip said. He turns to walk away, and as he hits the second step down, he turns back to me. “I meant every word I ever said to you, except what I said two nights ago. I have loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you in sixth grade. I won’t ever stop loving you. I won’t ever stop trying to win you back.”