The Moments We Share

by Barbara C. Doyle

  I down half my bottle of water after wiping myself off.

  “You want to talk about it?” she asks knowingly, gesturing toward the machine that’s probably worn out now.

  I sit down next to her, legs limp from the intensity. Teagan is my longest lasting friendship, starting before we had any thoughts of fame and fortune. She always wanted to act and I always wanted to sing. Back then we thought it was a far-fetched dream to have. Our goals consisted of watching cheesy teenage romances and junking out in her parents’ living room while gushing about our celeb crushes.

  She’s had my back from the beginning, and it’s rare to keep that type of friendship after success tries hindering it.

  “Not really,” I answer honestly.

  “You shouldn’t push your body so hard. It looks like you’ve lost weight, and you didn’t have much to you before.”

  I peer down at my body, dressed in a black sports bra and spandex shorts. My clothes have been fitting a bit looser lately, but I haven’t had much of an appetite with all the buzz about me in the media. I never liked having my life researched and put under a microscope for everybody to study. It just piles on the stress that I don’t need to carry on my shoulders.

  “I’m okay, Teag. Promise.”

  She smiles. “I know you are. You’re tougher than most girls I know. Especially the people around here. These chicks break a nail and cry like they’re dying.”

  I giggle at the thought. “Hey, you chose to move to LA.”

  She smacks me with a clean towel. “I never said I regretted it. It’s definitely been eye opening.”

  She just shot her second movie, and this time she’s a supporting role—unlike the first small role she played in some indie film a while back.

  “I better be invited to the premiere,” I tease half-heartedly, knowing there’s a red-carpet event that she’s looking forward to. “You might break my heart if you forget me.”

  She shoves my shoulder playfully. “Oh, please. You’re unforgettable, Ash. Plus, you’re already added as my plus one to the event.”

  My face screws. “Don’t you want to take a date? Maybe one of the male variety?”

  “Subtle,” she snorts. She shakes her head. “I don’t have time to find a date for the event. I don’t have time to date period.”

  “Well there’s always time for a little fun in between projects.” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively until we’re both cracking up.

  “You’re such a dork.”

  I grin. “I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

  Her expression goes somber. “I’m glad Rhys didn’t take that from you. Don’t give me that look, I won’t bring him up again. I’m just happy to see that you’re not letting him get to you. He isn’t worth the breakdown the press wants.”

  I stare at the ground. “Don’t you think that’s … odd? Six years is a long time to be with somebody. I should be sadder than I am. Furious. But I’m not.”

  She squeezes my hand, drawing my attention to her warm, amber gaze. “You may have been with him for six years, but that doesn’t mean you loved him the whole time.”

  I let that soak in.

  “He changed,” she notes. “You didn’t. You guys weren’t on the same page anymore. It happens.”

  I frown. “I was going to marry him.”

  A small smile forms on her lips. “Yeah, you dodged a bullet with that one.”

  “Not sure that’s what I’d call the affair.”

  She stands her ground. “Let that bimbo have her taste of him. It’ll never last anyway.”

  I crack a grin. “Thanks for being a good friend.”

  “We promised we’d always have each other’s backs,” she reminds me. “I’m a woman of my word.”

  I give her a small side hug.

  “And as your friend, I think you should move on from the douche nozzle that is Rhys Alden. You should totally hookup with one of the Relentless guys. It’s practically fate you’re working with them now of all times.”

  My nose scrunches. “Um, no. It’s never a good idea to mix business with pleasure. And anyway, it’s not fate. We both have a lot of press around us right now, so they think it’d be a good collab—use the press to boost both of our sales.”

  “And get a rebound.”

  “Teagan!” I laugh.

  She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying, girl. Maybe a good lay is all you need. And those men are fine specimens. Especially Ian Wells.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure he’s dating somebody.”

  She huffs. “Well fine. There are still three others to choose from. What about Dylan? He’s hot.”

  I stand up, throwing the towel across my arm. “He’s also a huge asshole.”

  Her eyes flash a golden brown, a sure sign her thoughts are anything but innocent right now. “Most men are. But maybe that huge asshole also has a huge dick.”

  I wince and she laughs. “Please stop. I’m not sleeping with any of them. Or anybody else. I just broke up with Rhys. Even if I stopped loving him a while ago, there are still feelings. Faded, but they’re there.”

  She gives me an understanding nod. “Well, when you’re ready to put yourself out there, I know some people.” She winks at me.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I start to walk out but she stops me. “Can you promise me not to keep running? Or at least start eating more. I don’t like being worried about you, Ashton.”

  “I promise.”

  We smile at each other remembering the shared promises of the past. Tiny pinkies twisting with the biggest test of friendship. We may have been young, but our innocence was what made our friendship untouchable in the end.

  The feeling of the piano keys beneath my fingers causes the melancholy previously plaguing my body to melt away, my fingertips running across them in a soft melody.

  The piano is my favorite instrument, even more than my guitar. It’s the first thing I learned to play, my grandfather teaching me when I was just eight years old.

  There’s something about the way the sound echoes throughout me, filling the cracks of my conscious where my problems like to hide. It undoes the knots that form in my muscles, causing my body to surrender itself to the music.

  Sitting in front of the piano is my therapy when I need it most. When I close my eyes and let the music take over, my memory shifts to late afternoon lessons with Grandpa in the house I called home back in Tennessee.

  He’d be sitting next to me on the worn bench that he built himself—a bench I carved my name into right where I always sat—and patiently taught me his favorite songs.

  Despite his efforts to keep me playing classics like Mozart or Beethoven, my tastes quickly changed when I discovered the radio dial. Our lessons became fewer when he realized I wasn’t interested in playing the same music anymore, but he always listened to me play even when he pretended not to.

  My fingers abruptly stopped on the keys, and I opened my eyes remembering his last day, the feeling constricting my heart. He entered hospice care when his pancreatic cancer became too advanced to cure, and he refused to go to treatment and be held up in the hospital when he could be living what was left of his life his own way. We had nurses come to the house every day, and when it was his last he made sure everybody knew it.

  “I want you to promise me, something,” he told me, brushing my hand with his.

  “Anything,” I whisper, fighting back tears.

  “No matter what comes your way, only do what makes you happy. Play what you want, what makes your heart full. What makes your soul complete. Be around people that make you laugh on your worst days. And never settle for anything.”

  My smile wavers. “I promise.”

  He squeezes my hand. “You’re going places, baby girl. I wish I could be around longer to see everything you accomplish.”

  A tear slides down my cheek, but he reaches up and brushes it away.

  “None of that, darlin’,” he chides t
iredly.

  “You’re the reason I’ll be able to go places.” I sniff, trying to stay strong. “The competitions I won were all because of you. The agent that reached out to me loved the song that you taught me to play.”

  He stops me. “And you’ll grow off that. You don’t need me to make it. You’re going to do that all on your own. Now go play me something, Ash.”

  “What do you want to hear?”

  “Whatever makes your heart happy.”

  I reluctantly let go of his hand and walk over to where the piano is by the window. I stare at my carved name and brush my hand against it before sitting in Grandpa’s usual spot.

  Shakily, my fingers graze the keys, slowly starting to play Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” Knowing that it’s one of his favorite songs makes my heart happier than he could ever imagine.

  I close my eyes and let the tears stream down knowing he can’t see my face as the music plays. Halfway through the song, he starts coughing, and I stop playing. The nurse helps sit him up, propping a pillow behind his back.

  “Grandpa?” I croak.

  His eyes grow heavy, but the pride shining in them is evident.

  “Keep playing, baby.”

  Wanting nothing more than to please him, I did.

  And I watched him as he drifted off completely.

  I stare at my still fingers just resting on the ivory, waiting for them to find the will to start playing again.

  But the memory jarred me, and whatever was willing me to play before was now gone.

  I release a heavy sigh and pull away from the piano, letting my hair fall from the tight ponytail it’s tied in. Turning around on the bench, I allow my gaze to take in the small music room.

  It hasn’t changed since I last visited, but it has gotten homelier. Every time I come to LA, I tell myself I’ll stop by the private studio, but knowing who runs it, I was always afraid to make myself at home.

  Especially now.

  “I was wondering if you were going to show up while you were here,” a hoarse voice called from the doorway.

  My eyes snap to the white-haired lady smiling at me; a homely feeling crawls through the empty places my old memory cracked.

  “Stella,” I greet, finding myself smiling.

  She walks in, arms open, and engulfs me in a bear hug. Pulling me up from where I sit, she gazes down at me, tsking and shaking her head.

  “You need meat on your bones, missy,” she chides, forcing me to spin around for her.

  I laugh. “You always tell me that.”

  She puts her hands on her boney hips. “Well now I really mean it. You aren’t losing weight because of my idiotic grandson, are you? Going through some post-breakup meltdown?”

  I can’t help but smile despite hearing about Rhys. Stella has always been brutally honest, even when it comes to her own family. And as much as she loves Rhys, she’s never been his biggest fan.

  “No,” I assure her. “It’s not because of Rhys. I’ve just been stressing about a lot of different things. There’s no need to worry about me.”

  “I’ll always worry. It took you splitting from Rhys to come here. I told you before you were always welcome. No matter what.”

  “This is his studio, though.”

  “It’s mine,” she corrects. “And I always keep to my word. I know Rhys didn’t treat you like he should have, and I know he was raised better than that. But—”

  “I don’t need your pity,” I cut her off, letting her words tear through me. “You’re right, Stella. Your grandson treated me like crap, but I was stupid enough to let him. That’s on me. I fully accept that I could have ended things long before the scandal. I don’t want, nor do I deserve your pity.”

  Her grey eyes hardened. “Have I ever made decisions based on pity before? I know Rhys kept us at a distance while you two were together, but you know me better than that.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but she holds up her hand. Clamping my lips closed, I wait for her lecture.

  “I don’t like what that boy did, who he’s become, and who he’s upset in his path to self-destruction. And you’re right, Ashton. You could have ended things with him long before this, but you didn’t. I’d like to think it was because you saw something in him that a lot of people don’t see anymore. He’s changed because of the attention his music has gotten, but you’ve always seen the best in people.”

  Looking away from her stern expression, I stare blatantly at the floor.

  “So as long as you’re around, use this studio to make the music that you want to play. I know for a fact Rhys was holding you back from a lot because he was afraid.”

  I scoff. “Afraid of what?”

  Her smile reappears, cutting through the seriousness that was carved into the lines of her face.

  “You becoming bigger than him.”

  I stare, eyes wide, not wanting to believe the truth in it. Believing that Rhys is capable of holding me back means that I spent six years supporting him with nothing in return. Love made you blind, clouding your judgement when you needed it most.

  Deep down, I knew Rhys was capable of anything, but accepting it meant I was foolish enough to fall for it.

  “I can see you don’t believe me, but I know my grandson. He’s a lot like his daddy. He doesn’t believe that anybody is better than him. But you?” She nods. “I think anyone who knows you can easily see how much better you’ve always been. In more ways than one.”

  It’s comical that she brings up his father, because Anthony Alden is one of the biggest producers in the industry. Considering Rhys is known for building up my success, he’s no different. He was born into this lifestyle, with his father making him who he is today.

  Yet he gets all the credit, unlike me.

  Funny how life works.

  My eyes cast down again, avoiding the glint in her eyes that scope out mine. “That’s nice of you to say, Stella.”

  “I’m not just saying it to make you feel better,” she informs me. “I’m saying it because it’s true. You know I’m a family woman, and even though you aren’t with Rhys, you’ll always be a part of the family. Secretly, I’ve always preferred you over that hothead.”

  A laugh bubbles out of me.

  She joins in. “Learn to laugh, kid. You’re too young to be this withdrawn. And if the press sees you affected by the breakup, they’ll eat you alive.”

  She turns to walk out.

  “The press has already tainted whatever reputation I had because of the breakup. It’s why my label wants me to work with Relentless.”

  She stops and looks over her shoulder. “I heard about that. Do me a favor, kiddo. If you fall in love with one of them, make sure he’s worth your while.”

  My jaw drops. “I’m not going to fall in love with anyone!”

  She chuckles. “That’s what you said about Rhys. For the record, I hope it isn’t true. You deserve to fall in love and know what that feels like. Love isn’t easy, kid. Handing your heart over is probably the hardest thing you’ll ever do. And you know you finally found it when you realize the battle to get there was a warzone, and the person you’re handing that medal to was fighting the battle right there beside you the whole time. Rhys … he was too proud to fight. He didn’t deserve that medal you gave him. I just hope next time around you find a guy who will cherish it when the war is over.”

  I blink a few times, unsure of what to say.

  I’d never heard love compared to a warzone before, but leave it to Stella to make that connection.

  “What if you’re not fighting the same battle?” I question as she walks toward the exit.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she answers simply. “What matters is that they’re willing to get dirty for the right reasons. Nobody who isn’t willing to get a few scrapes and bruises is worth your time. They need to know what kind of heartache is out there to understand how precious love is to have when you find it.”

  My lips part to respond but she leaves before I can say anythi
ng.

  Sitting on the piano bench, I think about the battle that I had so far. I’m just not sure if I know anybody willing to get that dirty in order to find something beneath the grime.

  Sometimes I wonder if love is worth it.

  Dylan

  The techno shit blasting from the speakers is horrible, but it does the job drowning out the pestering thoughts that echo in my skull. It doesn’t seem like the alcohol I’ve been drinking all night is helping. Although the amount of vodka I’ve drank is making me looser than I’d been all day.

  The redhead in a short skirt grinding her ass against my dick like her life depends on it seems to know I’m too drunk to really care about her desperation. So when she turns around and ropes her arms around my waist so our bodies meld together, I let her. When she feels me up—my arms, chest, and abs—in the middle of the club, I let her. And when she pushes her fake tits against me then pulls me away to an empty hallway, gets on her knees, and takes me out of my jeans and boxers, I sure as hell don’t stop her.

  The end game is all the same. Get in, get off, get out.

  I know if the guys were here, they’d give me shit for letting a girl go down on me out in the open. And maybe if they actually decided to join me instead of staying behind at the hotel, I would have pulled myself together.

  But after the makeshift intervention they held for me at the hotel, I had no interest in caring that they didn’t want to hangout. They all thought I had a problem.

  Maybe my problem was them.

  My hand grips the back of the girl’s head as she takes me farther in her mouth. My head tilts back against the wall behind me as a guttural groan escapes my mouth. No doubt she has plenty of experience, because she knows exactly what guys like.

  “Fuck,” I curse, gathering a fistful of her hair in my palm and lightly yanking on it.

  She moans at the move, my dick vibrating in her mouth. If she keeps that up this is going to be over quickly.

  Taking what I want, I thrust my hips forward so she takes me fully in her mouth. I repeat the movement a few times, seconds away from coming when a surprised gasp snaps us out of the moment.