Epic (Fierce)

by Voight, Ginger

  “You’re in the hospital,” I stated unnecessarily. “Of course I had to come.”

  She touched my face with her pale fingers, one of which was attached to an oxygen monitor. “Such a sweet girl. Joey would be so proud.”

  I felt another sob rise up in my throat, but I swallowed it back down again. She needed me to be strong. “Just relax and rest,” I said. “We’re here now. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

  She glanced at Jace who stood behind me. She gave him a smile, which he returned. The nurse came into the room to check her vitals, and at my request the doctor was quick to follow. He explained that Maya had a collapsed lung, the second she had experienced since her COPD diagnosis ten years before. He was all smiles and positive when we were in the room with Maya, but the minute we stepped into the hall, his demeanor took a more serious turn.

  “Your mother has developed pneumonia. This will complicate her treatment and recovery for the collapsed lung. I’m afraid this could mean an extended hospital stay at considerable cost.”

  “Whatever it takes, whatever the cost,” I said immediately. “I’ll take responsibility for the bill.”

  I felt Jace’s hand tighten around my arm, trying to rein me in, but I totally didn’t see this as taking advantage of my wealth for Maya’s own personal gain. She was sick and needed care. I was the only one who could afford to foot the bill. If I had the means but withheld it to protect something as temporary as money, I’d never be able to face myself in the mirror again.

  Jace’s concerns only deepened the minute that Sonny walked into the room. Unlike Maya, Sonny definitely gave off all kinds of sinister vibes. There was something calculating about him. Before, I may have chalked it up to my innate distrust of men thanks to what had happened with Shane. But Jace confirmed my suspicions as we drove back to the hotel. “I don’t like that guy, Jordi. Keep your distance from him.”

  “I plan to,” I agreed readily. “I can’t prove it but I believe he’s the reason Diego is so angry and withdrawn.”

  “I think Diego is angry and withdrawn because he’s grown up in fucked up circumstances,” Jace said. “But there’s something wrong with Sonny. I feel it in my bones.”

  I nodded. I felt the same way.

  Fortunately with Jace there, Sonny backed off from his friendly wannabe step-father routine. In fact, he barely hung around the hospital at all. He said he needed to work, but it sounded like an excuse even as he said it. I truly believed he would have found time to hang around and try to work me, had Jace’s presence not intimidated him. He was in and out within ten minutes, and he barely spoke to Maya before he left.

  Diego’s visit had been even briefer when he popped in that afternoon. He popped right back out again the minute he saw me sitting there with Jace. He brought Maya a modest floral arrangement from the gift shop downstairs, no doubt using what meager funds he’d earned from the gig the night before to brighten her day.

  He softened as he spoke to her. It reminded me once again that despite his persona, he was still just a kid. He was a kid who needed and wanted his mother, but thanks to her health and their history she hadn’t been able to give that to him.

  I understood that gaping hole in his spirit because it so mirrored my own. Where I had material goods, he had a mother with better intentions, but it still only filled the tank so far. What we had wanted, neither one of us had. In the end, my half-brother and I were far more alike than I had realized.

  I excused myself to chase after him. “Diego,” I called before he reached the elevator. “I came the minute I saw your update,” I told him. “No one had contacted me before.”

  “Well, you’re her contact now, aren’t you?” he spat. “New room. New doctor. All that’s missing is your fucking white horse.”

  “I’m just trying to help,” I insisted.

  “I told you before. Too little, too late.” The doors opened and he disappeared inside the elevator.

  I heaved a heavy sigh as the doors closed between us. He was pissed if I didn’t help and pissed if I did. How was I supposed to reach someone so determined to hate me?

  Jace and I had a quiet dinner in our room and I crashed by nine o’clock that evening, while Jace was on the phone with Maggie to learn more about Maya’s condition and what options there were for treatment and care.

  Like a trooper, she had flown in the following day to meet Maya in person and consult with the staff at the hospital. She used her connections to find a well-respected expert to care for Maya, but neither of them was particularly hopeful about Maya’s prognosis. Her condition was worsening, with other complications coming into play. Her high blood pressure was of particular concern for Dr. Singh. He warned that patients with COPD were at increased risk for a heart attack, so her weight, sedentary lifestyle and her high blood pressure could prove a fatal combination, especially with her medical history.

  That afternoon as I sat quietly in her room with her, I couldn’t help but see myself in her place. Our similarities were too striking. As I looked at her, so helpless and trapped in a sick body that was doomed to get even sicker and fail even more, I saw my future.

  And it scared the hell out of me.

  I instantly regretted every extra morsel of food I had eaten in the past few weeks to deal, ineffectively, with my stress and emotional turmoil. It was so easy to pile the food onto the hurt, but this was the consequence of my self-medicating. Suddenly every extra pound I had was more than just an occupational liability.

  I was a ticking time bomb.

  It affected me so profoundly that I couldn’t even force down a bite or two for lunch. Every single bite I took felt like a losing game of Russian roulette. When I pushed away the salad at the hospital cafeteria, Jace asked, “What’s the matter, babe? No good?”

  “Just not hungry,” I mumbled, opting instead for a bottle of water.

  “You know what we need?” Maggie asked. “Some fresh air.”

  We all headed outside for a walk at a nearby park. The surroundings were serene, complete with a pond, and it was like a balm to my spirit despite the oppressive desert heat. It made each step heavier than it would have felt normally but I kept walking, draining my water bottle dry in the process.

  Later that evening, Jace insisted we go out to eat rather than sit in our room. His rules were simple: we were forbidden to talk about our problems. This was a date night in every sense of the word. We were ushered to a private, candlelit table, where Jace pulled out my chair for me and kissed me while I sat.

  The food smelled wonderful, from the bread basket to the hors d'oeurvres. Though my stomach growled so loudly I was certain Jace could hear it, I could barely force anything down. With each bite I took, I saw myself laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a litany of wires, unable to live my life, care for my family or make any one of my dreams come true.

  Maybe the detractors were right. Maybe my failure to control my weight did invalidate everything else I did. What did it matter how well I sang if my body simply couldn’t withstand the strain of obesity? Maybe I did deserve their scorn, from Marianne Hemphill to Pilar Forrester… even Griffin Slade.

  I didn’t utter a word about it throughout dinner. Instead we talked about his concert and my recording sessions with Griffin. I kept mum on the difficulties I had encountered with the video, or how it totally wrecked my ego when Griffin acted as though he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Instead I smiled pretty for my love and focused the attention more on what he was doing than what I was going through.

  The conversation circled back around to Griffin anyway when Jace told me that he had offered to move the recording sessions to Vegas to accommodate my schedule. He’d gone directly to Graham to set up an alternative, which could come together the minute I gave the OK.

  I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. He seemed willing to move heaven and hell to accommodate me, but he couldn’t even bother to send me a personal text to touch base. I couldn’t fit all his contradictions in my
head, and the worst part was I was the only person he seemed to confuse. Everyone else thought he was the nicest guy they’d ever known, simply because he did shit like move a recording session across the country to accommodate a colleague’s schedule.

  I knew what the back of his phone looked like; or how proficient he was at texting every other known person under the sun when I was standing right in front of him. I also knew he was a pretty good kisser, but since I had no use for such information it was beyond pointless to know it.

  It soured my mood even more. By the time we made it made it back to the hotel, I feigned a headache and went to bed early. I could barely tolerate my own image in the mirror; much less feel Jace’s hands on my body, caressing every bulge I now hated more than any other point in my life.

  By the following morning I called Graham to let him know there was no point in moving the entire shebang to Vegas since I wanted to be on call for my mother. “Besides,” I offered as magnanimously as I could, “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”

  “Apparently there is no inconvenience. He’s already flown to Vegas and checked into the Hard Rock.”

  “What?” I shrieked.

  “They need this song in the can by the end of the month, Jordi. They want to use this single to promote the movie. Maggie already informed us that your mother’s condition will likely linger. That means you’re stuck in Sin City. So they came to you. I suggest that you find a way to accommodate them. This business is about relationships. Don’t burn bridges where you don’t have to.”

  I was sorely tempted to hurl my phone against the wall out of sheer frustration. Everything was coming to a head all at once, like the universe was converging in the middle of a neon oasis in Las Vegas. The only players missing were Shelby, Eddie and Coy. Everyone else was present and accounted for.

  “Fine,” I bit between clenched teeth.

  “Good girl,” Graham said warmly. I let Graham hammer out the details, and he sent me a schedule by the following week. It coincided, unfortunately, with Jace’s departure back to Los Angeles. He had business of his own to tend to, and after a week together we were once again ripped apart by our career obligations.

  We finally came together the night before he left. I was still fighting through my issues with my weight and with my relationship with food, but the truth was I needed Jace to make love to me. At the ends of his fingers I was perfect, and I desperately needed to fortify my spirit with this shot of self-esteem before I spent the next few days in the studio with Griffin.

  He never bothered to contact me directly, by the way. Emma, who had come with him to Vegas, did all that heavy lifting for him. She contacted me daily, just to check in and see if there was anything she could do to make things any easier for me. Not just with the video shoot, but with my mom as well. Through Emma, both Jace and I got an exclusive dinner invitation to join Griffin and his Vegas peeps – which I assumed were mostly showgirls. I politely declined and never even mentioned the offer to Jace.

  I prized our time alone. He was my rock, as always. I hated to see him go that Monday morning. But this was our life. I knew no matter how far apart we were that our bond was strong enough to endure. One day… if I ever got my shit together… I planned on marrying this man.

  As I cuddled the pillow, still warm from where he slept, I prayed that day would come sooner rather than later. In the meantime I had a song to record. I had to channel all my strength to deal with Griffin through this last collaboration.

  It was going to be a long week.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  July 12, 2012

  I didn’t hear from Griffin at all before I went to the studio that morning, which was par for the course. But it wasn’t like I needed to talk to him anyway. I already knew the routine. I’d walk into the booth, be consistently ignored unless he was directing my performance, so I could spend all day contorting myself into his as-yet undefined vocal standard for the song.

  Emma was all smiles as she greeted me, offering a cup of tea as I deposited my bag once I walked in the door. “Morning, Jordi.”

  “Good morning,” I responded. I glanced toward the booth, but Griffin was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Griffin?”

  “Late night,” she excused away with a knowing smile. “You know Griffin.”

  Actually, I didn’t. He hadn’t seen fit to give me that opportunity. But I said nothing as I got about the business of the day.

  If I thought Griffin’s absence would make the process easier, I was mistaken. The producer channeled Griffin’s recording process, trying out various ways to deliver the song. I was hoarse by the time a lunch break rolled around and I was allowed to escape that tiny, claustrophobic studio. Emma suggested we get a change of scenery. She wanted to try the hot, new vegan restaurant that happened to be in my hotel, so we used my rental car to head toward the Strip.

  She texted Griffin as we arrived, to let him know where we were. As if I needed the possibility of his joining us swinging over my head like the sword of Damocles. Not even a minute rolled by before he answered. He was at the airport, dropping off his latest conquest.

  Apparently if there was an acceptable reason to skip an early morning studio call, Monday morning nookie made Griffin’s list.

  Yet I was the one with the lousy work ethic.

  I said nothing and stuffed it down under a fake smile and slight nod of the head.

  After we were seated and our order was taken, Emma turned her attention to me. “So how is your mom, Jordi?”

  It still felt weird to hear Maya referred to in such a way. In many ways she was virtually a stranger. Genetically we were linked, but emotionally I still felt detached. This was even truer now that she was in the hospital. It was as though I knew better than to get too close, to prevent feeling even more of a loss should she die.

  Yet here I was. I came without a second thought the minute I heard she was sick. So there was an attachment of some sort. I just hadn’t figured it all out yet.

  Who had the time? I had a song to record.

  “Stable,” I answered Emma’s question. “She’s still in the hospital, but she’s responding well to treatment. She should be home by the end of the week.”

  “That’s great news,” Emma said. “We should be done with the song by then, too. Griffin was collaborating with Bryn this week, trying out different things. I think he’s circling the runway and will land this creative plane within a few days. Granted, they’ll be 25-hour days!” she laughed at her own joke. “But there’s definitely a light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “Bryn?” I questioned. “As in Bryn Golightly?”

  Bryn Golightly was another reality singing sensation who had won her competition a year or so before I made it to the Fierce finale. Ever since her win, she had topped the charts as a reigning pop princess. She was petite, brunette, and had the bluest eyes I had ever seen in my life. She was also as notoriously single as Griffin Slade. They had been paired in the media more than once. Somehow, knowing he had turned to one of his companions, most notably one who “fit” into a traditional pop music mold, to help him with the song I had assumed was mine hit further below the belt than I could have imagined. My interpretation had been inferior enough to work for days to get it right. After a hot weekend in Vegas with Bryn, Griffin had unraveled the mystery and was confident enough to skip a recording session. He put one more person in line between us, the producer at the studio, and – even with his “stellar” work ethic – didn’t bother to show up for work even though I had been forced to take time away from my family to do my part… which still wasn’t good enough.

  It occurred to me that Griffin didn’t come to Vegas for me at all. Like Emma had already warned, he simply decided he wanted to head to Sin City and used me as a convenient excuse. I could only imagine how he started his day, amid tangled sheets with Bryn, whereas I had to part with my true love and head down to the studio like some kind of background singer.

&nb
sp; Emma sensed how my mood plummeted. “Are you OK?”

  I waited until the waiter had placed our plates in front of us. I stabbed a piece of fake meat with my fork, and its savory flavor did nothing to coat yet another blow to my ego courtesy of Griffin Slade. “Not really.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your boss is an asshole,” I mumbled finally. She was immediately, and understandably, taken aback by my comment, so I elaborated. “First he tells me that he wants me for this project… no, wait. That’s not true, is it? He tells everyone else he wants me for this project, but hardly speaks to me at all, unless it is to tell me how I need to change what I’m doing. He’s so dissatisfied with me that he has to call in another performer, someone with more name recognition than I have, to fix all the bugs. He spends a week romancing said performer in Vegas and lo and behold… all the problems are fixed. He doesn’t even bother to show up to work with me, making me feel even more unnecessary. Meanwhile I’m juggling all these other issues, but I can’t miss one day of work or else I’ll get another lecture from him on my sucky work ethic. He’s a hypocrite and an opportunist, and frankly I’m tired of it. If he doesn’t want me for this project he should just tell me that and put an end to all the bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit,” I heard a familiar Australian accent murmur from behind. I whipped my head around to find Griffin standing behind me, his hands on the back of my chair. He and Emma shared a glance before she quickly excused herself to go to the ladies’ room and left Griffin and me alone. It was the last thing I wanted, but there was no escaping him as he hovered over me. He didn’t take her seat until she was out of view. His eyes were dark as they met mine. “I take it there’s been some miscommunication.”

  “Actually, there’s been no communication,” I pointed out. “The only time you speak to me is when we’re in the studio. When we’re out among the ‘real people’ I suddenly become invisible.”

  “That’s not fair,” he argued. “We hung out more than once in New York.”