by Anthology
Good for him. He deserves everything great that is happening to him.
But there’s a weird tension between us that I can’t pinpoint. An awkwardness that has never been between us before. Maybe it’s the curious way he keeps looking at me while we talk about every non-important thing under the sun that has my overthinking going into overdrive. The new single of Evermore’s that has gone platinum. A weird co-worker of mine and his odd quirks. His upcoming tour that he is headlining for the first time. My new place down the street that I’ve promised to show him.
Little snippets of our very different lives.
But something is different about Lyric tonight.
Something . . . I don’t know, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. He’s quiet when he’s normally loud. He’s a bit distant instead of being in my face. On top of that, I keep catching him staring at me in a way that says he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to say it.
This is the last time we’ll be able to do this, Annie. I’m too busy. The rumors in the press about Cassandra Miller and me are true.
Those are the words I’ve made up in my own head. Words I’ve stewed over and a relationship I’ve basically conjured up after seeing an US Weekly article about him and the model. One that I’ve been too afraid to ask about yet.
* * *
Two Years Ago
The bar is loud and the whiskey I sip has a deep, rich flavor. It’s something I’ve learned to appreciate over the last few years. More like, it’s something that Lyric and I have promised ourselves we’d learn to appreciate.
I’m still not sure if I one hundred percent like this shit, but Lyric is coming soon, and I have to at least pretend to like it.
The funny thing? He knows that too. He knows that I hate the taste—especially after how drunk we got on it that first Friendsgiving, but that I drink it as a nod to that first time. And he’s taken up the hobby of sending me mini-bottles of it from his travels all over the world as a way to poke fun at me.
My phone buzzes, and my heart sinks when I see Lyric’s name on the screen. I know he’s not coming before I ever answer the call.
“Hey.” Where are you?
My ear is blasted with a cacophony of sound, and I recoil at its harshness through my cell. “Annie? You there?”
Tears already burn in the back of my throat as I wait for him to say it. As I wait for him to confirm my hunch.
“Annie? C’mon. I know you’re there.”
“Lyric.” I clear my throat. “Where are you?”
“Not there.” He gives a half-hearted laugh, trying to pull a joke off but it falls on my deaf ears. Especially when there is a feminine laugh in the background and then a shushing sound. “Look. Rehearsals are running late. Way late. We had issues with sound and then Trixie was struggling with her guitar and . . .”
“And it’s a shit show.” I swallow over the excuse that’s lodged like a lump of disappointment in my throat.
“Basically.” There is a sudden shutting of a door and the background noise is now muffled as if he stepped into a different room. “I’m so sorry, Annes.” He uses the nickname he has for me when he knows I’m upset. “We were supposed to be done three hours ago. Just enough time for me to catch the train to meet up with you. I lost track of time and didn’t realize how late . . . I don’t think we’ll be done until who the fuck knows when.”
“Okay.” My voice wavers, and I hate that it does.
“Can I make it up to you? Can we meet up tomorrow night? Celebrate Thanksgiving then?”
The first tear slips down my cheek, and I shove it away with the back of my hand, angry that it’s there. “I can’t. I have to fly out to Chicago for that deposition,” I lie.
“On Thanksgiving weekend?” he asks. “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”
Probably as harsh as I’m being right now. But I knew this was coming. I knew Lyric was going to move into his new life of stardom and that Little Annie with the crummy apartment was going to be a thing of the past.
I knew it was coming, but it doesn’t hurt any less.
“Yes. I volunteered to be the one to go so that everyone else could spend time with their families.”
Better to put space between us on my own terms. At least now I can feel like I have some control of the situation.
“But I’m your family.” His words hang on the line between us as my chest aches.
I think I’ve always been in love with Lyric Evermore. It sounds stupid, but it’s true. Maybe even since that first night he sat in the chair beside from me at the apartment complex and walked his way into my life. With his soft smile, cool arrogance, and gorgeous face.
And maybe after that kiss last year, I’d been holding out hope that he’d feel the same way about me someday. That he’d walk into the bar this year and realize that with his crazy lifestyle, I was the one who grounded him.
That I was the one he wanted.
Silly pipe dreams for a girl like me to think a guy like him would want me any time other than when he’d been drinking.
“Annes. Don’t be mad. I promise I’ll make it up to you. You know I’m good for it.”
“It’s fine. We’re fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“You’ve got a lot on your plate. You’re leaving for Europe at the end of the week, and I’m in Chicago. We’ll just have to do a rain check.” I try to sell the lie that I’m not hurt.
I don’t think I do.
“I’m sorry, Annie. You know I don’t say those words unless I mean them.”
My smile is forced, and I hope it reflects in my voice. “I know. Apology accepted.”
“So you’ll come visit me on tour in Europe then, right?”
* * *
“You’re distracted,” Lyric says and squeezes my hand, shaking me from my thoughts.
“Just thinking about that time I visited you on tour in Europe.”
His smile is half-cocked as he remembers too. The constant travel. The constant partying. The women who would beg, borrow, or steal to get a few minutes alone with him.
“We had fun, didn’t we?”
And we did. We stayed up talking long after the show was over. We explored ancient cities and ate food we couldn’t pronounce.
We grew closer in those five days. Closer and yet we never crossed the line past friendship.
I yearned for it. I willed it to happen. And then I walked away from him in the airport in Rome, with the heat of his gaze on my back, and mourned and grieved for what I knew would never be.
I was his little sister in a sense. And he was the big brother who was looking out for me.
At least I’ve tried to sell myself that lie for the past three years. The problem is every time he calls or I see him, I still get that flutter in my belly. I still close my eyes when we hang up or part ways and sigh. I still kind of love him.
“We did have fun.” I give a slight smile as I take a sip of my margarita, my thoughts from earlier returning. “And what about you and Cassandra? I’m seeing reports—”
“Nothing there. Just friends. We went for drinks so I could introduce her to Kieran. That’s it.” He shoves my shoulder playfully. “Is that what this is about?”
“Is that what, what’s about?”
“You’re being weird tonight.” He chuckles and dips a chip into the salsa. “I assure you, if there was someone in my life, you’d be the first to know.”
And I’m not sure if I’m relieved by that statement or upset.
Maybe a bit of both.
Then again, maybe if I have a few more drinks, I’ll build up the courage to let Lyric know how I feel about him.
Maybe.
Lyric
“It has a little balcony too?” I glance over my shoulder to where Annie stands inside her apartment and raise my eyebrows. The pride reflected in her expression is everything. “I’m impressed and a bit jealous.”
“Oh, come on.” She blushes. “Your house in Los Ange
les is probably twenty times bigger than this with a view of the ocean.”
She has a point, but big means nothing. It just means there are more rooms to be empty. More space to make you realize how alone you feel.
I shrug in response as I lean against the railing, my back to the San Francisco skyline, and everything I want to admire standing in front of me. “I’m proud of you. I truly am. I mean, this place is amazing.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.” She sniffles and then turns to make her hands busy as Annie typically does when she’s made to feel on the spot or vulnerable.
“Who would have thought, huh? Two young, crazy kids trying to find our way would make it to where we are right now. Successful. Living our dreams. Making a name for ourselves.”
“Who would’ve thought.” She fidgets some more. Straightens a few pictures on her bookshelf. Moves a pillow on her couch. She’s nervous about something more than me being proud of her.
Oh, fuck.
My gaze goes immediately to her hands. To her fingers. To one finger, searching to make sure there is no shiny damn diamond on it.
My heart stops in my chest until I get a clear view and see that there isn’t one there. That she hasn’t met the love of her life and not told me. That she isn’t lost to me.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” she asks, her eyes narrowed as she stares at me. Probably because I have a pained and relieved look on my own face.
“Sure. Yes. Please.”
* * *
One Year Ago
I sneak through the back door of the bar. It’s one we frequent often when we’re in town so the manager knows me well enough to give me some privacy.
That and the hundred dollar bill I slip him when I do, doesn’t hurt either.
But after missing last year’s Evermore-McIntyre-Thanksgiving, there’s no way in hell I’m missing this year’s.
Besides, it’s been way too long since I’ve seen her. And even longer since I’ve been able to sit with someone who knows the old me. Someone who will judge me and harass me and treat me like I’m fucking normal.
But confusion is the name of the game when I turn the corner to find Annie sitting there, a glass of whiskey in her hands, and a smile on her face as she laughs with the man next to her.
Come again?
“Annes?” I say, trying to hide the surprised confusion in my voice.
“Lyric.” She’s on her feet in a second and in my arms the next. “It’s so good to see you. It feels like it’s been forever.”
“Since Rome,” I murmur, holding onto her a little tighter as I worry about what her next words are going to be.
“You look good.” She eyes me up and down, her eyes going to my tattoos to see if there are any new ones. I almost wish I’d inked some more on there so she would find them. So she would notice me. “Lyric, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Richard.”
And there are the words I was dreading hearing.
Richard.
Hmpf.
Maybe we should just cut to the chase and call him Dick.
The smile is forced on my lips as I reach my hand out to the guy in the crisp white dress shirt and the stick up his ass. “Dick? Nice to meet you.”
“No. It’s Richard,” Annie warns as she puts her hand on my forearm and squeezes. “I thought it was time that the two most important guys in my life finally met.”
I feel like I’m swallowing glass as I pick up Annie’s whiskey off the table and help myself to a long sip of it. “Good. Great.” I nod as he shakes my hand. Can’t he get a better grip? “Shall we order more drinks?”
And as we wait for drinks to come, I watch Annie smile at Dick and grit my teeth every time she does.
Happy looks good on her.
So does love.
Then why am I hating this so much? Is it the invasion on our tradition? Is it that she never even mentioned Dick to me the times we’ve talked? Is it . . .
Oh shit.
I’m in love with her.
I love Annie McIntyre.
That’s what this is, isn’t it?
Jealousy and confusion own the polite nods of my head and the forced smiles . . . but the dread in my gut is heavy. The fear that maybe the one thing I never realized I wanted has been under my nose all this time.
Serves you right, asshole. You’re not good enough for her anyway. Annie is everything good that you aren’t. She’s the sunshine while you’re the pitch black night.
She notices my sigh and gives me a look that asks if I’m okay. I smile in response.
I’m fine.
I always have been, right?
Besides, I can get any woman I want.
But she just won’t be the one I’m pretty sure I’m in love with.
* * *
“Wine for you, fine sir.”
“Thank you, milady.”
We stand a foot apart, our smiles as soft as the light all around us, and the silence between us finally comfortable like old times.
But hell are my nerves running rampant.
Especially after I remember how seeing her made me feel last year. After realizing that no amount of touring or other women or losing myself in songwriting can take away the pull this woman has on me.
I tried to forget my revelation from that night. I attempted to bury it in my work and in my play.
But right now, I know it to be truer than ever.
I’m in love with Annie McIntyre.
“Why the sudden serious face?” she asks as a smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
I offer a chuckle as I take her wine glass from her and set both of them down on the table beside us. Her gaze narrows as she tries to figure out what I’m doing.
“Lyric?”
Somehow her hands are in mine. I’m so nervous, I don’t remember grabbing them but they’re there, and her fingers link with mine without me ever asking her to.
“I think it’s time we finish something we started years ago. Something I was too scared to follow through with. Something I was too chickenshit to tell you last year. I love you, Annie. I’m in love with you.” She opens her mouth and then closes it as the shock of my words hit her. And then I panic. Then I know I need to explain and make my case. “And this—seeing you—is the one thing I look forward to every year, but it’s not enough for me anymore. I want more. And I want more with you. I know my life is chaotic when you prefer calm. I know my life is unpredictable when you prefer structure. I know that you like discipline and I fly by the seat of my pants. I know—”
“Stop!” she says with a laugh that is deep and rich and puts color in her cheeks. “Just shut up and kiss me already.”
“What?”
She steps forward and presses her lips to mine. They’re even softer than I remember. And the kiss even better.
She tastes like home.
She is home.
Annie rests her forehead against mine as my head swims with a dizziness I’ve never felt before.
“I’ve been in love with you since that first night Lyric.” The heat of her breath feathers over my lips. “I’ve told myself I was crazy. That we’d never work. But you’re who I want to pick up the phone and call when things go bad or are good. You’re the bright spot in my life. So see? It’s official.”
I chuckle. I may not have remembered all the lines from that first night we met, but I remember this one. “What’s official?” I play along.
“This. Us,” she murmurs against my lips.
“Thank God, because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Forever more,” she whispers.
“Forever more.”
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Other Titles By K. Bromberg
You can find K. Bromberg’s whole catalog of books here:
Driven
Fueled
Crashed
Raced
Aced
Slow Burn
Sweet Ache
Hard Beat
Down Shift
UnRaveled
Sweet Cheeks
Sweet Rivalry
The Player
The Catch
Cuffed
Combust
Cockpit
Control
Faking It
Resist
Reveal
Then You Happened
Flirting with 40
Hard to Handle
Hard to Hold
Hard to Score
Hard to Lose
Hard to Love
Copyright © 2021 W. Winters
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Published by W. Winters
My Secret is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s twisted imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Scarlet
I don’t pity the men and women who line the bar tonight. As the snow falls behind the paned windows, barely visible with the darkened sky, they lift their glasses. Alcohol drowns out the thoughts of family and friends they aren’t with during the holidays. The din of the bar is far from somber though, the occasional laugh ricochets off the paneled walls of this old place.