by Dover, L. P.
My phone rings and I fumble to get it out of my coat pocket. I look to see who it is, and Emerson’s name is on the screen.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hey, girl. You on your way?”
The snow feels like it’s getting deeper. “Yep. My legs are getting a workout. I hate to see what it’s going to be like when I try to walk home tomorrow morning.” It usually only takes me about ten minutes to walk to her apartment building, but I’ve only made it past one block, and it’s been over ten minutes.
Emerson giggles. “Callum and I will walk with you. I, for one, will need the exercise. You wouldn’t believe how much food I have here. We’re going to be pigging out all night.”
My stomach growls. “Can’t wait. I’ll probably eat more than I drink.”
“You and me both. I’ll start my diet in a couple of days.”
I pick up the pace and make it past the second block. “Same. Although I’m not going to call it a diet. I’ve decided my only resolution this year is to make better choices.”
She snickers. “Hopefully, I can help you with that. Callum has a guy from work coming over tonight to meet you. Since you don’t like any of his friends, we figured it was time to change it up.”
I shake my head and laugh. “When are you two going to give it up?”
“When you find happiness again,” she retorts. “Callum works with some nice guys at the station. I could see you getting it on with a police officer. Just think of what you could do with those handcuffs.”
“Oh my God, Em. You need help, you know that?” I’ve never dated a police officer before, but it could be pretty interesting. I have to give her credit. Emerson’s a good friend.
“That I do,” she agrees, “but you love me. Oh, and speaking of loving me, do you mind doing me a huge favor?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“We need more beer, Callum didn’t get enough the other day, but I do have our wine. Do you mind picking some up since you pass the store on your way here?”
I see the store up ahead, and luckily, it’s open. “No problem. I’m almost there. Do you know what you want?”
She sighs. “No clue. You know I don’t drink that crap. I’m a wine and vodka girl.” So am I.
“All right, I’ll see what I can find,” I say, “but tell Callum if the beer sucks it’s his fault he didn’t get enough.”
“Will do.” She giggles again. “Be careful out there and I’ll see you when you get here.”
We hang up and I trudge the rest of the way through the snow to the store. I open the door and it’s vacant, but the heat feels amazing against my face. I’m too frozen to push my hood back so I keep it on my head. There’s a young guy at the customer service desk and he nods at me as I walk past him. Everyone else was smart enough to stay inside during a snowstorm. I walk over to the beer aisle and there’s a worker buffing the floors and another man standing by the beer, looking at the different brands. He’s just as bundled up as I am.
Taking a deep breath, I glance over all the different beers. I try to look at the selection in front of the man, but I don’t want to invade his space so I stick to what’s in front of me. Callum likes different types of beer and not the usual Budweiser or Corona. That’s what makes this so difficult. He always picks out unusual flavors. One time, he had a fixation on a peanut butter and jelly beer. I tried it and it really did have a peanut butter taste.
“All right, let’s see,” I say quietly, perusing all the different specialty beers. The man beside me tenses as if he’s standing beside a lunatic talking to herself. Oh wait, I was. I’m pretty sure it’s not the craziest thing he’ll be witnessing tonight.
Closing my eyes, I reach out and grab two packs of beer. Callum’s just going to have to deal with what I get. I open my eyes and look at what I picked. One is an apple cider beer and the other is an IPA.
I turn to the man and clear my throat. I can’t see his face because it’s hidden by the hood of his coat. “I am so sorry to bother you, but have you by any chance tried any of these? I just want to know if they’re good or not.”
He freezes and steps slowly away from the beer as if I scared him. He doesn’t move or reply, which is strange and makes me regret asking him in the first place. Now, all I want to do is get away from him. But everything changes when his face comes into view.
My eyes go wide and my breath hitches in my lungs. A set of familiar brown eyes meet mine and it’s as if everything around me disappears. “Oh my God,” I whisper, trying to catch my breath. My arms go weak and I can feel the beers slipping from my grasp, but the man in front of me saves them.
He sets the packs of beer on the floor and stares right into my eyes. “I thought I was imagining things when I heard your voice.”
My heart skips a beat. It’s been years since I’ve seen him. Brennan McLean. I knew him as my high school boyfriend, but the world knows him as a superstar. I never thought I’d see him again, certainly not after he rose to fame. Letting him go all those years ago was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But, he needed to follow his dreams, and they all came true for him.
“What . . . what are you doing here?” I stutter. “I figured you’d be in New York City or somewhere like that for New Year’s.” He lowers the hoodie and now I get a good look at his face. He hasn’t changed a bit. All the memories from our past come flooding back.
“My flight got canceled,” he says, his voice low.
The intense way he looks at me makes me tremble. “Did you visit your parents?”
He nods and his lips pull back into a smile. “Yeah. They don’t want me to leave.”
That makes me grin. “I bet not. They probably don’t get to see you much. I’ve been keeping up with your career and reading up on you. You’re always on the road.”
He snorts. “Don’t believe everything you read. There’s a lot of shit said about me.”
The tabloids love following him around, and I’ve seen all the pictures of him with all sorts of famous women. “Is it everything you always wanted?” I ask.
He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slow. “Yes and no. What about you? Did you get everything you always wanted? In high school you wanted to be a nurse.”
I nod. “Looks like we both followed our dreams. I work at the hospital now. I was lucky enough to get the night off.”
Picking up the two packs of beer from the floor, he tucks one under his arm and holds the other so he can grab another pack off the shelf. “And how are you celebrating this New Year’s?” he wonders.
He looks at me curiously and I smile. “I’m going to a party at my friend’s apartment. Her husband forgot to stock up on enough beer, so they asked me to stop here.”
Brennan glances down at the beer I picked out. “Oh, and to answer your question, I’ve had the apple cider beer before. It’s pretty good.”
We walk up to the guy at the service desk and the poor boy’s mouth flops open. “Holy shit, you’re Brennan McLean,” he gasps. Brennan’s face is known around the world. The guy pulls out his phone and looks sheepishly at Brennan. “Do you mind if I get a selfie? My friends aren’t going to believe this.” Brennan smiled and obliged.
I try to pay for my beer, but Brennan pushes my card away. The cashier bags it all up and hands it to Brennan, still staring at him as if he’s a god. Once we’re outside, I stare at Brennan and he acts as if none of that happened.
“It has to be weird having strangers fawn over you all the time,” I say.
Brennan’s smile fades. “It is. Took me a while to get used to it. I can’t go anywhere without someone recognizing me.”
“The price of fame,” I state.
He shrugs. “Yeah.” Silence fills the air, but there’s so much I want to ask him. He nods toward the sidewalk. “Which way you headed?”
I point to the high-rise just a couple blocks away. “There.”
Brennan’s eyes widen. “I’m going there too. I’ll walk with you.” He walks slowly thr
ough the snow and I’m glad. I’ll probably never see him again after tonight and I don’t want it to end. Our arms brush against each other as we head toward the building. “How’s life treated you, Nat? I’ve wondered how you’ve gotten along these past few years.”
His words make my heart flutter. No one has called me Nat since him. “Well,” I begin, “there’s not much to tell. I graduated nursing school and got married, only for us to get divorced two years later.”
I look over at Brennan and he shakes his head. “Damn fool. What’d he do?”
I shrug. “He cheated on me with another nurse. I’m just glad it’s over. We’ve been divorced a year now.”
Brennan bumps me in the shoulder. “He’s an idiot.”
“What about you? I saw pictures of you and Rayna Reynolds together.” The woman is gorgeous and one of the highest paid female actresses in the business. I bet she has men lined up to be with her.
He groans. “It’s nothing but publicity. I was supposed to be at her party tonight.”
A part of me is happy he couldn’t make it. Not like it matters anyway. Brennan and I might have a past, but I’m not like the women he wants now. I’m not rich or model beautiful like those women in Hollywood.
We arrive at our destination and walk inside. I stop in the lobby to take off my coat, but it’s also my way of stalling. Brennan sets the beer down and takes off his coat as well.
“Who are you visiting that lives here?” I wonder.
Brennan shrugs. “Don’t know the guy actually. Jordan invited me. You remember him, right?”
“I do,” I answer. I had no clue Brennan still kept in touch with him. I haven’t seen Jordan since we graduated.
He sighs. “Jordan said it would be chill. Guess we’ll see.”
“If it’s not, you can always come with me to mine.” The words slip out and I can’t believe I said them. There’s no way he’ll want to hang out with me and my friends.
Brennan smiles. “We’ll see.”
And that right there is my answer. I drape my coat over my arm as we walk toward the elevators. Once inside, I press my floor and he presses his, which is the floor above Emerson’s. The ride up goes quick and the doors open. I turn to face Brennan and he hands me the two packs of beer.
“It was good seeing you, Brennan. I’m truly happy for you.”
He nods and his smile fades. “It was good seeing you too.” The doors start to close, and he steps in the way. “Do you mind if I get your number?”
“Sure.” Again, my heart does that flip-flopping thing again, but I know it’s silly. The last thing I need to do is get my hopes up. I hand Brennan my phone and he hands me his. I plug in my phone number on his and he does the same with mine. Deep down, I know nothing will come of it. Our worlds are too different. I’m in Boston and he’s all over the world.
Brennan smiles again when I hand him his phone. “Have fun at your party tonight,” he says, stepping back into the elevator. “Don’t get into any trouble.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh yeah, you know it. Lots of wine and a blind date. Good times. Have fun at yours.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but the doors shut. There’s an overwhelming sense of sadness that creeps its way into my heart. He’s gone and I know I’ll never see him again.
3
Brennan
The elevator doors closed before I had a chance to tell Nat I fully intend to call her. Well, not call, but definitely text. I can say so much more in a text than I can a phone call, although the intent of the messages aren’t always clear. Like, if I tell Rayna I can’t wait—for whatever it is she’s doing or planning—I mean it in a sarcastic way. I loathe spending time with her and hate that we share the same publicists. Whoever created the superstar fake relationship angle should be fired and hung from the gallows. It serves no purpose, other than making one party look like a cheating asshole if they were to dare try and spark up a conversation with a member of the opposite sex.
Natalie O’Brien was my high school sweetheart and the one I let slip through my fingers. We wanted, and it seems, achieved different dreams. Our relationship started when we were sixteen. It was during the summer leading into our junior year of high school. We’d known each other for a while and hung out with the same crowd, although I was a bit of a music geek back in those days. The jocks liked to taunt me, but whatever.
The nerd in me liked to throw these dumb garage parties with my rag tag band. I always invited the whole school, hoping ten or twenty people would show up. My first one yielded mine, the other band members parents, and a neighbor, who only came over to tell us to quit with the racket. But that summer, the one where Natalie came with her friends . . . it was life changing.
I knew from the moment I tripped over the amp cord and busted my knee open she was my angel. She, the cute brunette with brown eyes full of caring and expression, expertly cleaned and bandaged my knee so I could perform. All night, every song I sang, I looked directly at her. The next Monday at school, I made sure to stumble and fall, right in front of her. It was sly, but I knew no other way to get her attention. My clumsiness worked and we started dating—right up until August after we graduated high school. By then, I had a following. During the middle of our senior year, some media student asked if he could make videos of me performing. Sure, why not, I had nothing to lose. He helped me create a video channel and overnight I had thousands of people listening to me sing. By weeks end, I had a million followers and several offers from labels and agents.
When you’re eighteen, you shouldn’t have to face life altering decisions. I wanted to, but never asked Natalie to come with me to Los Angeles. She wanted college and never asked me to go with her. Back then, maybe I would’ve. Ask me today, and the answer is yes. I would’ve followed her anywhere knowing what I know now. Life’s funny that way.
The elevator doors open one floor above where Natalie is. I pull up Jordan’s text and look at the number. It’s obvious by the loud music playing. “Low key, my ass,” I mumble as my knuckles wrap on the door in quick succession. It swings up, the person on the other side is holding a beer and his eyes go wide.
“No fucking way . . .”
Yes, fucking way.
“. . . when Jordan said . . .”
The guy doesn’t finish his sentence. Really, what’s he going to say? Jordan is a liar? Not likely. While I don’t keep in touch with many friends from high school. By many I mean more than one, Jordan has always been a good friend to me. He doesn’t care about my life, my status or any of that shit. He cares about me. I spot him across the room and head in his direction. He puts his arm around me and introduces me to the woman he’s speaking with, Carmen.
She shakes my hand, a dainty and not firm shake. She bats her eyes, her long fake lashes looking like butterfly wings and I want to ask her if she has something caught in her eye. She puckers her lips, almost as if her drink is sour.
“Nice to meet you,” I say to her. I’m polite, even if my thoughts aren’t.
“The pleasure is all mine,” she purrs. I feel my lips form into a thin line as I nod. Great, perfect.
“I’m going to mingle,” I tell Jordan. I’m not, but standing here is not an option either. I take the six-pack I bought into the kitchen and open the fridge. There are multiple buckets of ice with bottles, cans, different kind of drinks, and bottles of champagne spread around, but I prefer mine out of the refrigerator. It’s safer this way.
After taking a bottle from the pack, I pop the top and slip it into my pocket. Call it hazards of the job and whatnot. Aside from the loud music, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of people here. Maybe as it becomes later, more will show up. With my beer in my hand, I survey the apartment. It’s nice, with a great view and some classic artwork on the walls, which interests me. While it wasn’t how I thought I spend my New Year’s, it’s better than sitting at my parents, alone.
I peruse. Check out the art, and look—but don’t touch—the decorative vases and such on the t
ables. Whoever lives here seems sophisticated and if I had to guess probably holds a nine-to-five in the banking district, especially to be able to afford a place like this.
The apartment has an impressive view of the harbor. I try to count the boats out there having parties but lose track after ten. It’s crazy how people in New England treat storms. The nonchalant attitude of “eh, it’s just snow” doesn’t deter anyone from changing their plans. Evident by my parents going out and the boats anchored not too far from shore.
“You’ll be able to see the fireworks from here,” a voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn slightly to find a well-dressed woman standing beside me. She has one arm crossed under her breasts and the other holds a glass of white wine. “Jordan told me he invited you. This whole time I thought he was kidding when he said you were friends.”
“I’m assuming this is your place?”
She sighs, drops her arm down to her side and looks over the party. I follow, wondering what she sees. “It is.” She looks around and smiles. “The view makes the price worth it.”
I would agree with her, although there isn’t much to look at except for the lights coming from the boats. It’s pitch-black and thankfully has stopped snowing. She walks off without introducing herself and heads over to another guest. I think about leaving, or at least heading downstairs to where Natalie is. Right now, I’d rather spend what little time I have left in Boston with her than be up here.
Jordan approaches, slaps his hand down on my back and says, “Happy fucking New Year, man.” He’s drunk. Drunk Jordan is usually the life of the party, unless you’re in Los Angeles and he’s drunk at a social event. Over the years, he’s come out to visit and we’ve gone to a few events. Tuxedos, open bars, the whole Hollywood glam lifestyle, and while I enjoy having him there, sometimes he’s too over the top for these stuffy executives.