Damn it.
I threaded my way through the crowd of people as Marcus left to find Kristine. Nodding and muttering as I did so—I didn’t need to offend everyone this weekend, even though this kind of thing had never been my scene.
I found the bridge, and a guy who looked too young to be driving this thing ignored all the noise around him, focused on the space in front of him.
“Excuse me?”
He turned. “How can I help you, sir?”
“When are we getting back to land? Where are we docking next?”
“Los Cabos, sir.” He gave me a smile. “We have great weather all the way down.”
“I’m sorry,” I shook my head a little. “Did you say Los Cabos? How long is this cruise?”
“We’ll be down there tomorrow, and there’s another show with Jazmine and fireworks, and we head back right after that. We’ll be back in LA by Sunday evening. Earlier rather than later.” Another perfect grin.
“I really, really need to get off this boat before then.”
The grin fell away like ice in hell. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re not scheduled to stop anywhere. It’s basically one long ride.”
“Oh, shit. Is there any way I can use a phone?”
“I’m sorry,” he really did look sorry. “But this trip was designated no phones, no cells, no cameras. All of the guests agreed to it.”
I waved a hand and turned and walked from the bridge. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered. “It’s like the digital dark ages here.”
Who was in charge of this thing? I had the guy’s name…on my phone. That was in a bucket, locked in the ship’s safe.
It had been a big deal when they walked the bucket downstairs. I looked around. I knew, if I didn’t want to get the hell out of here, that I would enjoy the chance to be out on the water with people who wouldn’t be after something from me—there were mostly other people in the entertainment business here—and no pictures. While this was basically an industry thing, I’d seen plenty of young, scantily dressed men and women that suggested there was full-service entertainment as well.
And again, with no cameras.
A treat most of us didn’t get very often outside of our homes and private compounds.
But a complete pain my ass at the moment.
I took a drink off a waiter passing by with champagne, needing something to hold onto. How was I going to get out of this?
Maybe there was somewhere on the boat where a computer was open or something. Anything. It couldn’t be a complete communication blackout.
I prowled around the main deck, and then slipped down the stairs on a stairway I found almost hidden away at the back of the cabin. There had to be a computer somewhere.
An hour later, I had to give up. I’d snooped everywhere I could, including all the cabins. There was one with my name on it, I’d noticed. How had this happened without me realizing it? How did I not even clue into the fact this was a weekend gig? I hadn’t packed a thing, but curiosity led me to check out ‘my’ room, and there was everything I would need. Marcus and Kristine had one, too.
Damn it to hell.
“Okay,” I said to myself, “This is not the end of the world. She’ll understand when I explain to her. It was just a mistake, and I’ll make it up to her.”
But I hated that she would worry. That’s what normal people did when someone didn’t show up. They worried. And I couldn’t find any way to get word to her. When they’d said no communication, the planners obviously took this shit seriously.
I didn’t get that—why try and be famous if this was what you wanted to do? Much better to party like a crazed person at your own place. I could tell, just by the atmosphere on deck that this was going to get crazy.
I’d have to make sure to keep myself out of it.
As I came back on deck, I found the bar. “A sparkling water with lime,” I said. I wanted to stay sober, so I didn’t do anything stupid.
She handed it over with a beaming smile. “Here you are, Mr. XTC.”
I turned away. That smile came loaded with all kinds of offers, none of which I was interested in. But I didn’t want to be rude or ruffle any feathers. I just wanted to get through this damn thing.
* * *
Sunday morning, I was one of the first people awake. Last night had been insane, and I’d had to run and hide in my cabin. Someone of the feminine persuasion had banged on my door in the middle of the night, but I pulled the pillow over my head and ignored them.
I’d had to run and hide. Before I’d finally fled, I’d been sitting on the deck, minding my own business, making small talk with, of all people, Jazmine Sullivan, who’d gotten me into this mess by being awesome, and a gaggle of the young women I’d seen moving around had stopped.
“You’re XTC,” one of them giggled.
She was a little slurred in her speech, but I made nice. When you made nice, people would usually move along.
“I am. And I can see you’re having a good time, so don’t let me stop you.”
“Oh, no,” she took a few steps forward, and then turned and fell into my lap, causing Jazmine to scoot away with a look of annoyance on her face. So much for making nice getting her to move on.
The girl threw her arms around my neck and planted a sloppy kiss on the face. It would have been on my lips had I not seen it coming.
“I’ve been looking for you all day,” she whispered loudly. “I’m your biggest, hugest, best fan.”
“Christ,” I muttered, glancing over at Jazmine. She snickered and got up.
“Traitor!” I yelled at her back.
“Wha?” The girl in my lap said.
“I need you to please get up,” I said. “I am delighted you’re such a great fan, but I’m heading off for the night.”
“Oh, I can head off with you,” she tightened her arms around my neck and pulled me close to her.
I could hear people talking behind her friends, and without warning, the girl was moved from my lap. Two men in white uniforms pulled her away. She was protesting, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying, and I didn’t care.
I got the hell out.
So now that it was Sunday, I was restless, waiting to get back into LA and a phone and Olivia. I’d been pissed as hell that I’d been trapped in this, but Friday night, I’d decided that there was no getting around this, as it had been planned so well.
So I talked with other singers, got a couple of recommendations for managers, shot the shit and didn’t drink. Me and the sparkling water got real cozy.
I also saw how out of control some of my fellow entertainer types got, and I wondered when I drank and partied like normal, if I was that bad. That much of an asshole. Normally, I wouldn’t have been all that bothered by lap girl. Regardless of my relationship status.
But now—it all seemed hard and desperate.
Maybe it was just this thing and my irritation at being trapped here.
I headed for the bridge. A different guy, older this time, was in what I guessed was the driver’s seat.
“Can you tell me when we’ll get our phones back?” I tried really hard to keep the irritation from my words.
“We’re about three hours out, sir, so about an hour before we dock.”
“You can’t—”
“No, sir, I’m sorry. That was part of the contract.” He looked forward again.
Clearly, this conversation was over.
I went back on deck to find a safe spot to wait it out. We were almost back. Then I could get on with the business of repairing the mess of my weekend.
12
Olivia
I stared at the picture. I’d made coffee, done my laundry, and everything I could to stop myself from going back to add salt to my wound.
But here I was.
Xavier had a drink in his hand, and the woman—girl—was pulling him close to her, looking like she was about to kiss him.
Son of a bitch.
Momma wa
s right to be worried. I remembered that I’d asked him if he cheated, and he’d said no. Better to just end things.
Was this what he meant? While I felt a lot more than I wanted to let on for knowing him such a short time, I wasn’t sure I’d call this a relationship, either.
But it sure as hell felt like one, and damn it, he’d treated it like one. So had I.
The tabloid site I’d been reading—okay, obsessing—said the cruise ended today. When? Would he call me?
It was only 11:30 in the morning. How would I manage for the rest of the day?
Why would he do this to me?
Was he really this bad?
Why was I so insane?
All these things went through my head, swirling the like tornadoes you saw storm chasers filming. Every little tidbit, every piece of trash—it all went into that tornado and became part of the oncoming storm.
He was a hell of a con man.
He just didn’t want to be with me.
I was stupid, and I’d been taken in.
The tears came again, and I dashed angrily at my face. I was tired of crying over lying, faithless men. Royce had taken ten years from me and tossed it back, making sure to tell me how everything I’d done wasn’t good enough. From the time we got engaged, I was always told that I needed to try harder, try more, do better, give more.
It was never enough.
I’d know Xavier maybe a month? And he’d taken what I freely gave, said things that implied promise, implied future, and then at the first chance, jets off and starts canoodling women my momma would call a hussy on a good day.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair to the girl I’d seen. She probably didn’t know that Xavier was dipping his toe—and other things—into something with another woman. I’m sure he didn’t tell her.
You know, in the interest of keeping things ‘casual’.
I was working myself into a snit of royal proportions. I knew it, knew it wouldn’t do me any good, but I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to.
Fuck this.
I thought it, and those were words I usually didn’t use.
I tried it aloud. “Fuck this.”
It sounded harsh and angry in the silence of my home. The home I’d worked to build, design, and make my own. For what I thought was my future. And then when I found it wasn’t, I’d invited someone in who might have a place in that future.
But he’d spurned me.
“Fuck this,” I said again. I took a deep breath, and screamed at the top of my lungs, “FUCK! THIS!”
The words seemed to echo round and round the empty, lifeless house like the growing, growling tornado in my head.
From my bedroom, I heard my phone ringing. Probably Momma checking in, but it would be worse if I ignored her.
I padded to my room, and when I turned it over and looked at the caller ID, my heart leaped up into my throat right before it plummeted to the floor.
It was Xavier.
I almost hit the green button, but my finger hesitated. I debated, the tornado raging, and then the ringing stopped.
I’d missed him.
But hadn’t I wanted to?
While I pondered this, the phone rang again. It was him again.
Did I want to talk to him? I couldn’t even think straight. And did I care what he had to say? What was that saying? ‘A picture is worth a thousand words’? That picture had been. What could he say to counter the thousand words I’d already heard in my head?
Thanks to the tornado, those words were now on repeat status.
Because I wasn’t enough.
I’d never been enough.
There was no room in his life for someone like me, and there would always be women like that, women with more, younger, better in ways I couldn’t even compete with.
I let the phone ring again.
When the ringer stopped, I turned it down and set the phone down on my bedside table.
I would go and work on something—anything. Anything to take my mind off this, off this rebound gone so wrong.
That’s what I would do. I’d Google How to survive your rebound, and I would work on healing myself.
Alone. With no man.
Because fuck this.
Xavier
She wasn’t answering. She was pissed. I didn’t blame her. I didn’t leave a message because if she was pissed, I needed to see her.
“We’re going to Nashville,” I told the pilot. He’d been worried, leaving several messages on my phone. He’d laughed when I told him what happened.
If he only knew.
“We can leave right away,” he said.
“Do it.”
I strode into the cabin and tossed myself into my chair. I felt gross. I needed a shower. I’d had a change of clothing on the boat, but I’d changed back into my own things before I left. I wanted nothing to do with the cruise.
Marcus wasn’t with me. Apparently, he and Kristine had gotten married early this morning at sunrise. The captain had performed the wedding. He told me later and asked if I could do without him for a week or so. I told him to take two.
He beamed with such happiness that he’d not even asked me anything about myself. That was fine. It wasn’t always all about me, which I needed reminding of from time to time. I did tell him to call when they were ready to come back, and I’d send the plane. It wasn’t his fault I was in this shit fest.
It was my own for not reading details. Much as I wanted to blame him. To blame anyone else.
But the guy was deep in the love thing, and whether it was I was getting old, or soft, or both, I couldn’t fault him for it.
I sat in the seat and closed my eyes. For the first time since I’d stepped foot on the damn boat, I could relax. At least here, I knew that no one would bother me.
The only good thing about the damn boat was that there were no pictures, no media. There’d been a few paparazzi hanging around when we docked, but I’d called my car service before we got back and I hustled my ass to the car with glasses on and head down.
I’d also managed to escape the roving herd of younger women.
Thank God. The paps would have gone nuts over pics of that.
A little sleep would be a good thing. I needed it. Something told me that this was going to be a tough reunion.
Byrne woke me with a gentle touch on the shoulder. He knew that I didn’t like to be startled awake. Long years of waking up to shit made my fists fly first, with questions later. So I warned the people who might have to wake me to be low key.
“We’re almost there, Xavier. You might want to…er…tidy yourself up.”
“I showered this morning,” I protested, stretching.
“Well, you look a little worse for wear.”
“It’s because I’m stressed,” I groused. “Damn it.” But I went to the restroom and did what I could. I looked like someone who was worried and hadn’t slept well for a couple of days.
Which is exactly what I was.
When I came out, Byrne said, “I arranged for a car. It’s waiting for you now.”
“Good. Thanks, man. You’re the best, as always.”
He smiled. “I hope it goes well today.”
He didn’t know what was up, but he’d been working for me long enough to know that something was.
“You and me both.”
In the car, I gave the address to the driver and sat tensely tapping my fingers on my leg as we drove to Olivia’s house. What was I going to say? Big apologies weren’t my style. Particularly when it wasn’t my fault—no. I stopped myself. If there was a fault, it was mine for not paying fucking attention. I needed to own my shit.
As the car stopped outside her house, I didn’t wait for the driver but flung the door open and bounded up to the door.
Ringing the doorbell, I send up a prayer—to who or what, I didn’t know—that I would say the right thing. Just not fuck it up more.
She opened the door.
“Olivia, can I come in?”
&n
bsp; She looked me up and down, and I looked at her as she did so.
She looked terrible. I could tell that she’d been crying.
It was like a knife in the heart.
When was the last time I’d seen a woman cry over me? Despite what people thought, I was honest about my casual involvement. Like I’d told Olivia, it made for some bitchy episodes at times, but there weren’t usually tears.
There’d been tears here, and she was plainly still angry.
Finally, she spoke. Her voice sounded lower than normal, and a little hoarse. “Come in.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned, expecting me to follow.
Which I did, shutting the door.
“In here,” she said, stopping and gesturing to a room.
“Thanks,” I said. “I missed you.”
Her eyebrow—just one—went up, and she crossed her arms.
“Really?”
“Yes. Can I tell you what happened? I’m sorry to seem like a dick. Unlike before, this was not through me being a dumbass.”
She walked past me and sat down in a chair. She didn’t offer me anything or invite me in further, but I sat down across from her.
“Please tell me what happened. I was worried about you.”
Her face looked pissed in spite of her words. But I’d been right. She was worried.
“When I made arrangements to do this cruise, I thought it was a one-night thing. No biggie, go sail around and come back in after dinner and a show. But I was wrong. I didn’t bother reading all the details, and missed the fact that it was a weekend thing entirely.”
“And you couldn’t call?”
“No, they took all our phones. I tried. I asked the captain, and the crew, and went through the whole boat. It was on lockdown.”
“So no pictures or anything?”
Why did her voice sound so weird?
“No. Marcus asked Kristine to marry him, and they got married this morning, though. That’s positive.”
“So what did you do all weekend?”
“Drank sparkling water and tried to stay low key. I got a couple of recommendations for a new manager, talked to some old friends, nothing big.”
Forgotten Wishes: Djinn Everlasting Book Two Page 16