by Brittany Bly
Hear Me Now
Brittany Bly
Copyright © 2019 Brittany Bly
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781711002019
Also by Brittany Bly
anything but mine
Table of contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Chapter One
I, unlike many people, am not a morning person. Each morning is a struggle. It honestly takes great effort to even get my ass out of bed when my alarm goes off. It bewilders me how people can spring up from the bed in the morning and go on their merry way. Me, it’s like waking the dead. But several years ago, I discovered something that helps. If I jog through Volunteer Park as part of my morning routine, it gets my adrenaline pumping, and that is just what I need to be productive and get myself motivated.
My feet thump against the sidewalk as I round the corner. Mist clings to my face as I run along 10th Avenue East, the miles ticking by.
I moved to Seattle five years ago after a short visit, compliments of my mother’s second marriage. That trip was enough for me to know this is the city for me, so I made the move and haven’t had any regrets.
My running playlist suddenly stops my ringtone replacing it. I glance down, my best friend’s name flashes across the screen. I answer saying, “This better not be work-related Rissa.”
Her bubbly voice comes through my earbuds “What if it is?”
Marissa and I met at an indie rock concert one of my first nights in the city and we bonded instantly. Later that week, she’d seen some of my framed work around the houseboat after dinner one night. She’d been quite persistent about hiring me as a freelance photographer after that, and well, the rest is history.
“Then this conversation ends now,” I say continuing to maintain my running pace. “Did you forget I’m on vacation?” I ask with as much attitude as I can muster.
“You know it’s not technically a vacation considering you aren’t going anywhere,” she replies, sounding awfully cheerful.
“There’s something called a staycation bitch,” I say trying to keep my breathing even. “I can’t help that all the flights were canceled because of a hurricane.”
“It’s okay, mother nature knew I would need you.”
“I’m hanging up now,” I reach to end the call.
“Lila Adair, don’t you dare! You know I wouldn’t call you if I wasn’t desperate,” she says, her voice rising with irritation.
Rolling my eyes, I huff loud enough for her to hear it, “What do you need?”
“Oh, I’m so glad you asked,” she chirps, “I need your expertise.”
“Eh, you did hear the part about me being on vacation, right?”
“No, did you mention it?” she says, but her sarcasm quickly turns serious “Lila, you know I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice. The photographer I lined up for this job backed out at the last minute, and Brian is on-site for another shoot.”
“When is it?”
“Today…” she draws out the word as if she hates to say it. “But if you do this, I swear I won’t call or text you for the rest of the week… well about work anyway. Oh, and drink tonight! My treat!”
“Today! Rissa, I’m sweating like a pig, and I haven’t even made it back to the house yet.” I continue along my daily path crossing the road and then onto my street “What time is the shoot?”
“You have plenty of time, it isn’t until lunch,” she says reassuringly “So… is that a yes?”
I groan, “I’m almost back to the house, send me the details. I’ll shower and get ready.”
“Oh my god! I love you, thank you!” she squeals. I can hear her clapping through the phone.
“Umhm, remember drinks later your treat – better bring your credit card. The one that isn’t maxed out.”
“Nothing but the best for you, dear!” she says as I end the call.
×××
With my limited time, I decide on comfort rather than professional attire. Throwing on my favorite pair of skinny jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt, I pull my long strawberry blonde hair into a ponytail. I quickly apply a layer of foundation and mascara forgoing any eyeshadow or lipstick, I make going simple the executive decision. Rushing around, I make sure I have everything I need stashed in my camera bag before heading for the door. I pull out my phone as I go to confirm the address hailing a cab in the process. Leaning back, I catch my breath I should make it I think as I watch the city pass by out the window.
Apparently, I’m going to photograph a rock band called Ashes for their upcoming tour. Their popularity has grown over the last couple of years, according to Marissa. I’d never heard of them. I grab my bag and exit the cab following Marissa’s instructions. One of the attendants points me in the right direction to suite B, and I’m grateful to hear silence when I open the door. I exhale a big breath as I walk over and begin unpacking the items from my bag. The quiet doesn’t last long though, minutes later, a group of guys burst through the doors laughing and shouting at one another. I don’t turn but continue setting up my equipment without acknowledging them. This isn’t my first time doing this and up-and-coming bands can be the worst. They tend to be cocky from their short-lived success and sometimes forget themselves.
As I finish, a middle-aged man dressed in a suit walks over. His russet-colored brown hair is styled in a backward swoop allowing full access of his handsome face. Extending his hand, he says, “Hi, I’m Todd, and you must be Claire.”
“Uh no, I’m Lila. Claire had something come up, so I’ll be your photographer instead,” I replied, shaking his hand.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Lila. Whenever you wish to begin, just give the order.” He smiles and gestures to the men behind me.
“Let’s do this” I turn to discover what I’m working with, but I don’t see past a pair of deep emerald eyes staring back at me. Eyes that I would know anywhere… and that I hoped never to see again.
Chapter Two
My breath hitches and I stumble a step but quickly recover. Turning back to Todd, I ask, “Okay, who is who?”
Todd shouts around me, directing his attention to the rowdy men, “Guys, come on now. Let’s make the lady’s job a little easier by introducing yourselves.”
I carry on as if nothing has happened and ignore the green eyes that I know are currently locked on me. Placing my hands on my hips, I wait for them to begin with their introductions. One of the guys steps forward, his long sandy blonde hair brushes against his white tank top, tattooed sleeves run the length of each of his arms from shoulder to wrist. His blue eyes twinkle with misch
ief as he says, “I’m Axton, the best damn guitarist you have ever met.”
He’s rocking the shaggy look and making it look damn good. Raising an eyebrow, I say, “Someone’s cocky.”
Axton lifts his hand and runs his fingers through his long beard. His face splits into a gorgeous smile that I’m sure has made many panties drop “I like you.”
“Move out of the way, dickhead,” the largest guy of the group says pushing past Axton. Now standing directly in front of me, I must crane my head due to his staggering height. He’s a massive wall of muscle, his bald head shining under the fluorescent lights “Hi there, I’m Cohen.” Pulling his drumsticks from his back pocket, he nods toward them with his head.
I nod and say, “Drummer, gotcha.”
I glance around Cohen to the next guy, who smiles sweetly, lifts a hand, and says softly, “Hensley. I’m the bassist.” He adjusts his wavy black hair under his beanie to move it out of his eyes before lowering his gaze to the floor.
Taking a deep breath, I look over, acknowledging the man I never thought I’d be standing in the same room with again. He doesn’t move at first… he just stares at me as if he’s as shocked as I am to be standing here. I can see the moment he decides how to handle this. Drawing his shoulders back, he takes a few steps toward me, extending his hand and saying, “Blaine. Nice to meet you.”
I nod, ignoring his hand, I avert my eyes before turning to Todd, instructing him on what I need. I turn my attention back to the guys and begin ordering them into various positions, posing them to achieve the image necessary for their band and the tour.
Photography is my passion. It always has been for as long as I can remember. My father was a photographer, also… I guess you could say it flows through my veins. He taught me everything there is to know about cameras and what it takes to get the perfect shot. Those moments of learning from him are some of my most precious. I can remember every detail. Even now, I hear his voice instructing me on how to deal with these guys. No matter what I’m photographing, the world falls away as soon as I pick up my camera – leaving only me and the click of the shutter with each press of the button. The shoot passes quickly. I only occasionally look up from the viewfinder to direct each one of them in the pose I need. Each guy is a beautiful work of art in itself, tattoos run along with the canvas that is their skin. Which only adds to their rockstar vibe.
Breathing heavily, I look up from the camera; running is not the only thing that gets my blood pumping, “Okay, we’re done. Thanks, guys.” I walk a few steps toward Todd. Lifting my camera strap over my head, I say, “I’ll get these edited and sent to Marissa as soon as I can.”
“Nice, thanks again for coming on short notice,” he says, looking up from his phone.
“No problem.” Dismantling my camera, I place each piece in the camera bag – each in their place. I feel his eyes on me. I’ve felt them since he first walked in the room, but I refuse to acknowledge him. Once I’m packed, I’ll leave this room never to see him again… for good this time.
“Hello, pretty lady,” Axton says as he slides up beside me.
I cut my eyes to the side looking at him briefly, then I resume my task at hand and ask in a bored tone “Yeah?”
“Busy tonight? We’re in town for a week or so, interested?” he says, leaning in a little closer.
I zip my bag, I throw it and my hair over my shoulder before straightening “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Oh, come on now. It’ll be fun,” Axton says in a sexy tone as he raises both eyebrows.
I shake my head, smiling sweetly as I push past him and make my way toward the door, away from this room. As I pass, Cohen shouts, “Hopefully, we’ll see you again, Miss Lila.” I don’t reply but continue on my path only raising my hand in a dismissive wave.
I reach the door and fling it open. Unfortunately for me, I was doing such an excellent job of ignoring Blaine that I collide with his solid chest during my escape.
Reaching out, he takes hold of my shoulders, steadying me. “Sorry about that,” he says, his hands lingering.
I stare at the base of his throat for a moment, unable to look at his face. His throat bobs as he swallows. He’s still holding my shoulders. Stepping around him and out of his reach, I lift my eyes looking into his handsome face. My heartbeat increases. I ignore it. I don’t linger – I turn, leaving him standing in the hallway without a backward glance.
Chapter Three
The universe is laughing at me – what a hilarious bitch she is. I hadn’t thought of Blaine Shaw for some time now. I’d be lying if I said that he didn’t cross my mind every once in a while, but hey, I am only human.
My mind drifts into my last memory of him so many years ago. We dated in college during our junior and senior years. He was working on his Artist diploma and me I was working on a Bachelor of Arts in Photography. After all the studying and mental exhaustion that comes with finals, we decided to go to a party and let off some steam. Everyone on campus was partying. Celebrating the passing of the dreaded finals and the joyous day of graduation in the future. We didn’t party often, but it was a time for letting go of all the stress we endured through our time there.
That ended up being one of the worst nights of my life. In one moment, my life as I knew it shattered. After several drinks, I had walked down the hall in search of a bathroom in whoever’s house we were in. I wasn’t sure where Blaine had wandered off to, but I hadn’t worried too much about it since I knew several of his friends were there. In my drunken haze, I turned a corner and found him leaning against a wall with his ex-girlfriend pressed firmly against his body. Their lips were locked together and moving in sync with each other. I was frozen, unable to move despite the rising panic and tears threatening to explode. But once I was able to move, I ran – ran as fast as I could without looking back. I can almost feel the wind on my face now as I remember those moments.
Pulling away from my memory, I remember the rest without actually experiencing it. When Blaine came back to our apartment later that night, I wasn’t there. After that, I didn’t go back I crashed with my old roommate until graduation. He was angry and he pleaded his case more times than I could count during those last few weeks. He explained he didn’t kiss her, but she had kissed him, catching him off guard in his drunken state. I laughed at his lame excuse and told him it was over – that was five years ago… right before I moved to Seattle.
There are billions of people in this world, what are the chances that I would see him again. The universe sure loves to fuck with me.
Had I loved him? Hell yes. I had been deliriously happy and completely blindsided when faced with the truth. It was a time that I had to grow up and learn that shit happens. You have to be able to roll with the punches that Miss Bitch throws at you and continue on with your life. But I was off to get shit-faced drunk with my best friend to forget all this. On her tab, of course.
I walk through the doors of the bar and spot Marissa immediately. Two guys are standing on either side of her attempting to buy her a drink. Both are average looking for Marissa’s standards. The one closest to her seems to be awful sure of himself like he knows she’s a sure thing. His button-up shirt matches well with his khakis and his spiked blond hair. The other guy lets his friend do all the talking. He stands back, sipping on his beer, donning a more casual appearance – jeans and a t-shirt – his brown hair just combed through.
This is nothing new, she draws attention whether she’s trying or not. She’s beautiful. Her fawn-colored skin always has a tinge of pink as if she couldn’t go without blush, but that’s not the case. It’s just her perfect skin tone. For around five-two, she’s quite voluptuous for such a petite woman. Her long hair is always a different color; this week, it’s rose gold. All these things combined just draws people to her.
Marissa smiles when she sees me wading through the crowd. After much effort, I reach her taking the barstool beside her that has been left empty despite the crowd. She
turns, smiling sweetly at each of the guys saying, “Sorry guys, she’s here, so it’s time for you to leave. Thanks for keeping me company while I waited.”
“You sure you ladies don’t need any company tonight?” Mr. Overconfident asks not accepting her dismissal. His gaze wanders to her bare legs, ogling her openly.
“No, thanks though,” Marissa replies, turning her body fully toward me and away from them, dismissing them completely. This time, they do walk away without another word, only looking back once to make sure she hasn’t changed her mind.
“Well, sweetie, pick your poison,” she gestures toward the bar.
I don’t need to look, I know what I want… need. I order two shots of whiskey, downing them within seconds, then ordering an Old Fashioned to sip on for a little while.
“That bad?” she asks, raising an eyebrow when I glance her way.
“You have no idea,” I reply sipping on my drink.
“Well, now you have me intrigued,” she scoots closer, saying, “Spill bitch.”
So, I do. I explain the shoot today and everything in between even how my heart still had some attachment toward Blaine unbeknownst to me. By the time I finish, so is my old fashioned. I signal to the bartender to bring me another. Marissa had been quiet through my venting session, which for her, is unusual. She eventually seems to come out of her trance whispering, “You’re her… the one all their songs are about.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask more concerned with her odd behavior than her actual question.
“Have you heard any of their songs?” Marissa asks, looking at me like I’m the insane one.
“I had never heard of them until you sent me on this job.”
“Oh my god! You’ve got to hear them!” she exclaims, pulling out her phone.
I grab hold of her hand, stopping her before she can unlock it, saying, “No, I don’t want to hear it.”