“Unless he doesn’t want to.”
“He has to.” Summer tossed the magazine aside and checked her phone again. “Why are you so worried about your birthday? I mean, really?”
“Is there a reason you keep checking your phone?”
“I’m not.” Summer passed the phone to her other hand.
“Okayyyy…”
“So what’s the deal with your birthday?” Summer took a deep breath, focusing on Jeanette.
Jeanette picked up the magazine and flipped to the ad she had shown Summer. “See the eye in this close up?”
“Yeah?”
“Look closely.”
Summer squinted to get a better look. “Beautiful. It’s—”
“Not mine.” Jeanette plopped the magazine down.
“What?” Summer picked it up, staring again.
“It’s not mine. Eyes don’t photograph well after twenty-five, so…”
“That’s a thing?” Summer raised her eyebrows. “Good grief.” Summer’s phone vibrated, and she nearly dropped it looking at the text. Her shoulders slumped, and she fought back tears when she read the reminder text from her dentist. For an appointment that was over two months away. Darn it. Sometimes she really hated technology. “It uh,” she fought hard to remain calm. “It’s crazy. Why would you stop photographing eyes over—”
“He hasn’t called you yet today?”
Summer shook her head, terrified if she spoke, she would begin sobbing and never stop.
“That’s why you’re not dressed?”
Summer nodded.
“Oh, Sum.” Jeanette moved closer to her on the couch. “I’m sorry. I feel like a jerk for sitting here like this.”
“No, no. You look gorgeous. And Elijah is your boyfriend. You should be going to this party. The chances of Malcolm asking me as his date…we both knew that was nearly impossible. I’m sure he’ll bring that girl from your agency…what was her name? The one who went out with him for publicity.” Summer’s throat ached, and the tears mounded in her eyes. Although she didn’t believe in romantic love or heartbreak, she sure believed in physical pain stemming from severe disappointment. She glanced at the dress Jeanette had given her, hanging on the door of Jeanette’s closet. Summer clutched her stomach, her dinner threatening to come back up.
“Sometimes the choice isn’t his, Sum. Sometimes his management picks his date.”
“Well if that’s the case, they’re certainly not going to pick some five foot six country girl with big hair and giant boobs.” Summer sank back into the couch, pulling the pillow onto her lap.
“You don’t have big hair…” Jeanette sat beside her. “And you’re beautiful. And being Connecticut born and raised hardly makes you a ‘country girl,’ thank you very much. And yeah, okay, you’ve got big boobs, but I’ll bet he likes them.”
“Who knows?” Summer turned to Jeanette. “I sure as heck don’t. It’s not like he ever tries to see them.”
“Summer…” Jeanette’s voice was soft. “There could be a million reasons he hasn’t called. He’s incredibly busy. He’s Malcolm Angel.”
“I know.” Summer’s words were broken and weak. “Sometimes….sometimes I just wish he wasn’t.”
Jeanette reached out and wrapped her arm around Summer’s shoulders. “Want to come with me?”
Summer shook her head no. “Thanks. No. That’s the last thing I want to do. It’ll look like I’m stalking him.”
Jeanette nodded. “Want me to stay home, and we can order in?”
Summer smiled at Jeanette, knowing Jeanette would do just that. “No. Thank you, though. I’m going to stay here and do some reading. I have some medical journals to catch up on. Hanging out with a rock star all summer has kept me from my real world.”
“Okay.” Jeanette stood, smoothing her little black dress and running her hand down her long, silky ponytail. “And don’t worry. I will give you a full report on who she was and what she looked like.”
Summer scoffed. “No thanks. I’ll pass. All I want to do right now is escape back home to my clinic and get lost among the animals. I can trust them.”
“You can trust the right men, too.” Jeanette put her hand on Summer’s and squeezed.
Summer shivered from the cold. “You’re freezing, Jean. You should eat more.”
“Please, I’m almost twenty-nine. If I started eating…” She laughed, not finishing her thought.
Summer shook her head, exhausted from all the worry that fell on her today.
“Okay.” Jeanette checked her phone for the time. “I’m going to head down to meet Elijah.”
“He’s not coming up?”
Jeanette’s eyes flashed with hurt, but she threw her head into the air, laughing. “Nah. We’re past all that. I meet him on the street. He’s so busy, you know?” She leaned down and fixed the sling-back on her ultrahigh, black pumps.
“Yeah…” Summer did her best to sound convincing. “I can imagine.”
Jeanette smiled at Summer and placed her hand on Summer’s cheek. She stroked it, gently. “Men can be real assholes, Sum.”
Summer moved to speak, but Jeanette held up her black clutch, stopping her.
“Even if they don’t mean to be. That goes for both of them. Elijah and Malcolm. I am positive he’s just busy. And whatever it is, is out of his control. I mean, look at you…” Jeanette picked up a piece of Summer’s hair and tossed it behind Summer’s back. “You’re the real deal, gorgeous and brilliant. And if he doesn’t appreciate you, well screw ’em.”
Jeanette smiled at Summer in a way that made Summer shiver. The way Jeanette said those words, there was no doubt. It—whatever it was with Malcolm—was over.
****
Malcolm paced around his apartment while Winston napped in his dog bed. Winston opened a wary eye, his iris following Malcolm back and forth as Malcolm wore down the polish on his marble floor.
Malcolm got to one end of his massive foyer and immediately turned and walked back the other way.
Winston whimpered.
Malcolm turned to Winston. “Yeah, I know. I know.”
Malcolm scratched at his arms, certain his skin was covered in imperceptible bugs. He reached up and rubbed the sweat off his brow, which immediately replenished itself. He tried to take deep breaths to calm his racing heart, but he was unsuccessful. His shoulder blades knit together as a whisper of cold brushed up and down his spine. He placed a hand on his chest, trying to stop the palpitations. If it wasn’t that he had experienced an anxiety attack before, he would be convinced he was having a heart attack.
Winston whimpered again and sat up in his bed. He barked.
“I’m okay, boy…” Malcolm fought to keep his breath calm as his pacing became quicker and quicker.
Winston began a low howl, and Malcolm snapped himself around to face Winston.
“Winston, what is it?”
Winston only continued his low guttural growl as Malcolm tried to calm him.
“Shh,” Malcolm petted Winston, attempting to soothe the dog, but nothing helped. Winston continued to howl. “Winston, please…”
Malcolm stood up and walked away, feeling heat settle in the base of his spine and climb upward across his chest. He clamped his hands to his ears as Winston’s howl cut through his brain, lobotomizing him.
Faster and faster, Malcolm moved until he grew dizzy. The marble suddenly looked very close as he swayed, dangerously close to falling over. Winston howled louder.
“Winston, shut up.” Malcolm’s voice was sharper than he meant it to be, and Winston growled even louder in response.
Sweat dripped into Malcolm’s eyes as he raised a shaking hand, and ran it through his hair. “Winston, please, not tonight.”
Winston let out his loudest moan, and Malcolm jumped. He began to sprint, back and forth, trying to run off the demons clutching his throat and chest. Winston wailed.
“Goddamnit, Winston.” Malcolm was too loud. He grabbed his own throat, immediat
ely terrified of the damage he may have done. Good. Fuck it. Who gives a crap anyway? How many old musicians fade away, and no one gives a damn? Well, no one should care. Because he wasn’t worth it.
Winston moaned again, this time his cry of agony snapped Malcolm into a more lucid state. No, he wasn’t worth saving…but Winston sure as hell was.
Malcolm grabbed his cell from his pocket and dropped to a corner of his foyer. The cold marble floor and walls were cool against his burning skin. He lifted a shaking finger. No, he’d never let anyone see him like this—but looking at Winston, Malcolm knew they needed help. Fast. And he knew there was only one person he trusted enough to let help.
“Hello?” Summer answered on the first ring.
“Can you come?” His voice was shaky, and his jaw chattered as he spoke.
“Where are you?” Her voice was serious and determined.
Malcolm choked out his address and hung up the phone. He let his head slump back with a bang against the marble wall, his thoughts drowned out by Winston’s howl.
****
Malcolm wasn’t sure how long he sat there before his doorman buzzed, but judging by the strength of Winston’s persistent howl, it couldn’t have been long. Damn it, he should have met Summer downstairs. Carefully, he pulled himself up to his feet, his body trembling, and made his way to his intercom. He lifted the receiver.
“Mr. Angel, sir, there’s a girl—”
“Let her up.” Malcolm’s voice was scratchy, and it hurt to speak. “Clear it with security, and let her through.” He leaned against the wall by the side of the door, waiting, his hands shaking so badly he shoved them into his pockets. He knew he looked a mess—weak and disheveled, but the growing calm in his stomach told him she wouldn’t care.
Her knock was forceful and quick.
He pulled open the door, and she stood there looking up at him, her green eyes taking him in, her eyebrows knitted together.
He stepped aside, and she walked in without a single word. Almost immediately, Winston stopped howling. Malcolm stared at her, and they stood facing each other in Malcolm’s foyer. Summer surveyed Malcolm’s face, studying him, trying to make sense of the mess he was. She took him in without judgment, his disheveled hair, his sweat-stained t-shirt, his eyes red and tired, aching with forbidden tears.
“Have you taken any drugs?” Her voice was monotone.
“No.” He shook his head.
“Are you drinking?”
“No.” He looked down at the floor between them, embarrassed.
She let out a relieved sigh. “Has this ever happened before?”
“Not like this…”
She nodded as if she understood it all. As if, without speaking, she was somehow able to grasp the pain he was in. Her chest rising and falling quickly, she held out her arms, and he walked to her, falling into her embrace. She leaned up onto her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She pressed herself against him, tightly. He clung to her, terrified.
Summer dropped to her flatfeet and gently guided Malcolm down to the ground with her. She backed herself up against the door and pulled him to her again. She readjusted so he leaned his head on her breasts, and that’s when the tears began.
Chapter Twelve
Malcolm pressed his head against her, feeling the softness of her sweater and the swell of her breasts, cushioning his pain. Nearly twenty years of repressed feelings began falling out of him, and he saw it before him as if it were all happening again—right now. Malcolm clung to her, wailing into her chest. The louder he wailed, the harder she held him. She never tried to quiet him; never said it was all okay. She just held on.
His dizziness subsided and the itching stopped, but the hard, crushing pain in his chest assured him he was going to die of a heart attack here, against Summer’s breast. He gasped for air, clutching at his chest, and immediately she sprung into action.
“Malcolm, can you hear me?”
He nodded a yes.
“You’re clutching your chest like you’re having a heart attack…we have only five minutes to get you to a hospital.”
He grabbed at her arms.
“I understand it’s scary, and I know you can’t let…” she struggled for the word, “…anyone know, but this is your life. Think, Malcolm. Do you have aspirin in the house?”
He nodded, pointing to the nearest bathroom. She exhaled and slipped him onto his back. His body shaking, he turned his head to watch her run to the bathroom and emerge with a bottle of aspirin. She yanked off the cap and pulled out two pills. She stuffed them into his mouth.
“Chew them. Don’t swallow them whole.”
Malcolm crushed the pills, choking on the powder and the wretched, bitter taste. She produced a bottle of water from her bag and lifted his head to help him drink.
“Sip, don’t gulp.”
Malcolm did as she instructed, his shaking beginning to subside, his breathing returning to normal.
“I don’t think it’s your heart, Malcolm, but we can’t take any chances. We need to get you to a hospital.”
He shook his head ferociously. She looked off as if considering the options. Her head sprung back quickly.
“You must have a private doctor. Someone who can check you out without anyone know—”
Again Malcolm shook his head. He couldn’t be dying. He died seventeen years ago, on this very night. Summer slipped under him and drew his head onto her lap. She stroked his hair, calming him.
“Malcolm, we need to have you looked at…”
Staring up at her, he knew this was his only chance. This would be the only time he could ever admit what had happened.
“I…”
He started convulsing again, and she leaned over him, warming his body with hers.
“I…I killed…”
He felt her breathing quicken.
She held on, looking into his eyes. “Malcolm, did you do something tonight?”
“No, no…”
Strangely, she stayed. Even when she thought he may have done the unthinkable.
“Sev…seventeen years ago… I…I…Oh, God…” He grabbed at her again and rolled into her. He buried his face in her soft chest.
She held him, stroking his back. “What, Malcolm? Tell me. Let it out.”
He pulled back and looked at her, feeling her sincerity, knowing she would take his secret to her grave.
He cleared his throat. “Seventeen years ago, I…I killed someone…”
“Malcolm…” She took his hand.
“It…it was an accident. We were driving…new car.” His words were slurred and broken. “A…a convertible.” He coughed, and the violent shaking returned. “Two seats. I…I was driving.”
“Accidents happen, Malcolm…” Her words were soft.
“No.” He shook his head, pulling away. He sat back from her and drew his knee up under him, resting his elbow on it. His eyes darted around the room, like a wild, unbroken bull, harnessed to be ridden. He needed distance…and clarity. He didn’t deserve for her to make him feel better. He just needed her to listen.
“The police…they ruled it an accident…” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The shaking lessened, but his voice ached to speak. “But I should have known better.” He looked off, seeing the airbag deploy, reliving the impact to his head, feeling his muscles strain as he desperately pulled at the boy—trying to free him from the wreckage and the suffocating air bag. Malcolm looked directly at Summer. “I never should have had a child in that car…I never should have had my child in that car…”
Summer lifted her hand to her mouth, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, Malcolm.” Her words were laced with empathy, but nothing more. “How old was he?” Her voice trembled now, and tears began to roll down her cheeks.
“Almost three.” Malcolm clutched his stomach. “Oh, God…”
Again, Summer sprung into action. “Come on.”
She was on her feet and guiding him to the bathroom before Malcolm kn
ew what was happening. He felt the color drain from his face, and the bathroom was cold—so cold his shaking grew more and more violent.
“It’s…c—cold…” Malcolm fought to say the words through a clenched jaw. He bit down, trying to control his chattering teeth. His stomach clenched, and the muscles in his shoulders and arms tightened. It was nearly impossible to move. He struggled to lift his arm to wipe away the damned sweat, but his arm wouldn’t obey. Panic shot up his spine as he fought for a breath. His heart rate raced and dizziness overwhelmed him. His legs began to give out, but Summer helped steady him, wrapping her arm around his waist as he clung to her, his sweat staining her sweater, her own perspiration dripping from her temples.
She held him through the violent seizures and vomiting, until the seventeen years of repressed pain were completely out.
Malcolm fell next to the toilet, his arm draped over the bowl. He watched as Summer dampened towels and placed them on his forehead and behind his skull, cooling the burning. His eyes leveled on Summer. “I was nineteen when I became a father and twenty-two when I stopped.”
She patted the cool cloth on his forehead. “You never stop being a parent, Malcolm. No matter what. It just…changes…” She smiled, sweetly. “That’s all.”
Her arm was hovering over his head, and he needed…contact. He needed her. He reached up and grabbed her arm with such ferocity, she pulled back, surprised. He gripped her arm tighter, sure she was the only reason he was alive. Without a word she grimaced, and immediately, he lightened his grasp on her. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her.
Still holding her lightly, he drew her arm to him. He pulled her down beside him. They leaned back against the wall, sitting side by side on the cold marble floor of the bathroom.
“How come…how come I’ve never heard of this?” Summer brushed her hair back from her face as she spoke.
“Because it never existed.” His head rolled toward her.
Summer of Irreverence: The Rock Star (The New York Artists Series) Page 10