Abandon

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Even when she’d said she was just going through some things.

  Her parents had divorced, but they were still really supportive of her, so I could never for the life of me understand why a girl who had it all acted like someone had broken her in half.

  “Welcome,” she whispered against my neck.

  I tensed at the feeling of her breath on my skin.

  Too late, she pulled back and made her way around the breakfast bar, grabbing a plate and piling it high with food. My stomach did a stellar job of distracting both my brain and my heart from the conversation. I dug in with fervor and almost proposed.

  Then felt my stomach clench.

  Ha, been there, done that. And wonder of all wonders, she slept in the T-shirt.

  I let out a growl of frustration.

  “Is the food okay?” She looked worried.

  “It’s perfect, Abs,” I said honestly. “I just ate too fast.”

  “Some things never change,” she teased, not realizing it just made me feel even sicker.

  “Yeah.” I offered a small smile. “Why don’t I clean up a bit and you can tell me all about the bird video.”

  She burst out laughing. “Demetri was attacked.”

  “That guy really needs to get over his fears. They’re more afraid of him than he is of them.”

  “Right, but Zane had put a piece of bread in Demetri’s hoodie, thus the aggressiveness of the bird.”

  I burst out laughing. “Oh, tell me he screamed like a girl. Nobody sent it to me yet.”

  “What’s your number?” She laughed. “I’ll text it.”

  My throat closed up again.

  Why would I change my number?

  Funny story…I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  Because I was waiting for the day that her name would flash across the screen. Had dreamt about the moment and then hated her more each day that it didn’t happen.

  “It’s the same,” I said in a gravelly voice.

  Her eyes shot to mine. So many questions. “Oh, okay.”

  Well, that was my answer, wasn’t it? She hadn’t even tried calling on someone else’s phone just to hear my voice or to check in on me.

  Ten years of hope.

  Wasted.

  The room went from relaxed to tense as she quickly sent me the video. I felt my cell buzz in my pocket and was transported back to all the times I prayed it was her and was disappointed when it wasn’t.

  So many countless women.

  So many drugs. So many things that did nothing but make the ache grow.

  I pulled out my phone and set it on the counter, then went about cleaning everything up, storing the food in plastic containers.

  We worked together in silence.

  And then I gave her a quick hug to say thank you. “I need to write, so I’ll just be in my room, okay?”

  My fight had officially left me.

  I’d spent so many years keeping the anger in front of me like this giant shield that I forgot all about hope and how it was the strongest shield of all. It was the reason I could even feel the anger.

  But now that the hope felt shattered?

  The anger wasn’t strong enough to take its place.

  It was too bruised, wasn’t it?

  Because anger was just another name for fear, rejection, and sadness all wrapped up in one shiny package.

  My fight had left.

  The last thing that had separated her from me. And now? All I had was the music to keep me sane. Either that, or default and find some local girl to bang.

  But even that didn’t sound like it would do anything except make me more depressed. So I walked numbly back to the guest room, grabbed my guitar, and started to play.

  Chapter Eleven

  Abigail

  I messed up.

  I wasn’t sure how or when it actually happened over the course of the meal, but we went from joking and actual conversation to him completely shutting down. And as much as I wanted to blame his typical Ty Cuban temper, he wasn’t angry.

  He looked devastated.

  Hurt.

  My throat burned as I stared at his closed door.

  I’d made dessert but was afraid to rock the boat even more. Why couldn’t I do anything right when it came to him? I was trying, shoving out that olive branch and attempting not to wave it in front of the pissed-off bull.

  Gathering up some courage, I went over to the fridge and pulled out the tiramisu. I knew it was his favorite, even though it was store-bought. He hadn’t touched his wine for obvious reasons. I knew his triggers, each and every one of them. Wine had never done the trick. If anything, it just made him fall asleep after a few sips.

  I grabbed my glass in one hand and a plate in the other and slowly walked over to the white door.

  It’s just a door.

  Just one door.

  And your first love, sitting on the other side, feeling things because you messed everything up like you always do.

  No big deal.

  Arghhh.

  I kicked the wood with my foot then winced. It sounded louder than I predicted, more aggressive. Like I was angry again.

  It slowly opened to reveal a shirtless Ty with his arms crossed, his sweats slung low on his hips, Calvin Klein underwear making their appearance near the very deep V of his abs.

  He was gorgeous.

  Would it have been so hard for him to just…you know, let himself go?

  “Hey.” My voice cracked.

  “What’s up, Abs?” His eyes flickered from mine to the plate then back up. “You’re still hungry?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No, not really. I just bought your favorite cake and figured you might want some. I mean, it’s not homemade…”

  He chewed on his lower lip, his face pensive as he took the plate from my hands and mumbled a thank you before moving to close the door again.

  “Wait!” I spoke too soon. What was I going to say? “Sorry for upsetting you. Again.”

  He stared me down. And for the first time, I didn’t recognize the look he gave me. I couldn’t read him. I’d never seen that look before. It wasn’t his typical hatred or even his narcissistic smirk.

  It was just…blank.

  The whole face.

  I suddenly felt like someone had punched me in the stomach and then kicked me off the balcony for good measure. It was like he was finally letting me see the hurt behind the mask, and it evoked the worst feeling I’d ever felt in my entire life.

  Worse than walking away and crying myself to sleep.

  Worse than all those times I’d seen his face flash across the media with a new model on his arm.

  It was a million times worse.

  I opened my mouth, but all that came out was, “I hope you like it.”

  If possible, his face fell even more. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

  The door closed.

  I stood there and stared at the white wood, wondering how many fights had taken place in that room, by that door. How many kisses, how many laughs, how many tears? None of that emotion compared to how he was feeling, how I was feeling, seeing that.

  Seeing the real Ty Cuban staring back at me like that.

  And instead of all my old insecurities flooding back, I felt shame. So much shame that it was hard to catch my breath. And when it was hard to breathe, I needed to sing, touch my guitar, write, do something.

  I went to my room, grabbed my guitar, then went back on the couch and started strumming out a few notes.

  It didn’t take long for it to start like it always did when I played the song. The same one I’d written the night of our breakup. The night I’d thrown everything away.

  The night I’d made the choice for both of us because I knew it was best for his career, for mine. For his heart, for mine.

  Selfish. So selfish.

  I set down my guitar and grabbed my phone as a few stray tears ran down my face. My mom answered on the second ring.

  “Abigail? Is everything okay?
”

  I sniffed. “Yeah, yeah, you know me, just singing. I get emotional.”

  “Oh, honey, you’re just like me.”

  Didn’t I know it?

  “Yeah.” My throat constricted. “How are things?”

  Her sigh was long, it said more than words. “Oh, you know, your dad’s on bimbo number five. She’s your age. I’ll at least admit she has a nice rack.” She laughed. “I wish he didn’t have such a wandering eye, but we can’t change the flirts in our life, can we?”

  I stared at the door. “I don’t know…”

  “What’s really wrong, Abby?”

  “Do you remember Ty Cuban?”

  She cursed. “The guy who broke your heart?”

  I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. “He didn’t necessarily do anything wrong, Mom…” It was like a repeat of our last conversation.

  “The man was a walking, talking manwhore, just like your father. You found him kissing a backstage dancer, groupies, I mean…the list you gave was long and extensive.”

  “He always pushed them away,” I said defensively.

  “Oh, honey, you made the right choice. I don’t want you to end up like me, with a broken heart because you didn’t trust your gut. He never loved you…not if he let other women touch him.”

  My mind was fuzzy as it conjured up all the times he’d pushed the girls away or got an annoyed look on his face before flashing a perfect smile. “Maybe he was just a really good actor?”

  “You don’t need to defend him, Abby…”

  “Right. But, Mom, what if I was wrong about him? What if he wasn’t cheating? What if our future was solid? What if I didn’t see what I thought I saw?”

  “Honey, you were already growing apart. The band was just breaking out. Do you really think it was going to get better? Do you really think that he wouldn’t eventually start using like the other members of the group? Or cheating?”

  She had a point. Because he did start using.

  But I blamed myself for that, too.

  “Ty wasn’t like Dad, Mom…” He wasn’t like my father, whom I loved, but who never seemed to fill that void in his life once he left my mother for someone younger. Had I gotten them confused? My dad was a good guy. Ty had been a good guy. But he hadn’t seen, he didn’t know. “Walking in on them was the worst thing I’ve ever seen…” I said in a choked voice. No girl should have to walk in on her dad with someone younger. No daughter should have to recognize the face as the girl who hit on her boyfriend the day after—the same girl who’d kissed him.

  It hit too close to home.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Mom sniffled. “I know, I tried so hard, but you know men…they take and they abuse the power and love they have.” Yeah, but did they? Would Ty?

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “All right. Well, I’m going to go to bed, okay?”

  “Happy dreams, sweetie!”

  “Night, Mom.”

  I set my cell on the table and then felt like I was being watched. I slowly turned to the left to see Ty standing, plate in hand, with such an intense look of anger on his face that it almost made me sprint in the opposite direction.

  “What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck?” he seethed. “Did I just overhear?”

  Well, at least he was angry again.

  So very, very angry.

  “How much did you hear?” I asked in a small voice.

  “Oh, you know, only enough to want to murder both your parents, bury their bodies, then shake you until you understand that I would never, ever cheat on someone that I loved, especially with groupie skanks who just want a piece of me so they can post it on Instagram. I mean, what the hell, Abs? I knew your parents had divorced, but this? This is why I’ve spent a decade in misery? This is why I spent countless hours hating you? Because you were scared?”

  When he put it that way, I felt even worse. The sickness in my stomach roiled until I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “We were so young.”

  “Bullshit. Love doesn’t recognize ages. Try again.” His gaze landed on me.

  “I caught my dad with a girl my age, the same one I saw at our concert the next day kissing you. And yes, you always pushed them away, but you liked the attention. You basked in it. You never wanted to upset your fans, so you played into it, and it was only a matter of time before you broke my heart!”

  “So you broke mine first?” he roared. “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “No, I mean…yes. But that’s not everything!” I stood and slammed my hands against his chest. “I saw!”

  “Saw? Saw what? Me getting hit on? Again? It happens on a daily basis when you’re a rock star!”

  “NO!” I screamed. “I saw you getting high with Drew!”

  His face fell as he shook his head. “So I make one mistake at twenty-two and, boom, we’re done? We don’t even talk about it?”

  “You don’t remember,” I whispered. “Do you?’

  “Remember what? Getting high?”

  “The thunder.” I started to shake. “Why I’m afraid of thunder.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. It was the end of our summer concert series, the final leg of the tour. There was a huge thunderstorm, you were bawling in your hotel room, and I came and slept with you. You said it was loud and you were scared of all the fans that had tried to attack you earlier in the day. Things were getting really crazy for all of us, it was totally understandable.”

  “No.” I felt my body sway. “I mean, yeah, that time… But I’m talking about the other time when I went to tell you I was late, and you laughed about hoping it was yours.”

  His face paled. “What?”

  “You laughed!” Tears blurred my eyes. “And you said, ‘hope it’s mine,’ in front of Drew and a bunch of dancers I didn’t know. And then you passed out, high as a kite, and didn’t remember it the next day. I ran out into the thunderstorm and got disoriented. Thankfully, our manager was out talking on his cell phone and waved me over. I took a test, it was negative, and the next day, you didn’t say anything about it. Just pretended like it didn’t happen.”

  He looked ready to puke. “Because I didn’t remember it happening.”

  “Right.” My teeth clenched. “Because you were spiraling already, and I knew it was only a matter of time before you ended up just like my dad!”

  “Bullshit! I’ll own up to being a complete dick, but you don’t just run away from someone you love because they do something shitty. You work it out. You hold them accountable. You don’t run!”

  “What else was I supposed to do? Stick around and cross my fingers?” I roared.

  He reared back as if I had just slapped him. “What were you supposed to do?” He hung his head and turned towards his door then looked over his shoulder. It was a look I would never forget. “You were supposed to believe in me…the way no one else did—the way no one else ever will in my life. That’s what you were supposed to do.”

  “Ty—”

  “The day you left...” His voice cracked. “I had a ring in my pocket. You didn’t see it, of course…it was sweaty, between my two fingers. I was ready to get down on one knee and beg you to marry me. I was ready to leave the fame behind because I knew it was ruining me. I was ready for a family. Ready for you. And…now.” He shut the door behind him so quietly that it felt like a slam.

  I ran into my room and sobbed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ty

  “What crawled up your ass and died?” It was the first thing Trevor said to me when I walked into the studio and threw my guitar case on the floor along with my bag. I’d slept like shit, looked like shit, felt like shit.

  Spoiler alert: everything was fucking shit.

  “Forget marmalade flavor. She went from barely tolerable to a glass of vegemite all within the span of a single conversation with her mom. And the worst part?” I threw my hands up into the air. “I used to love her mom! I mean, what the hell? I sent her a Mother’s Day card, with roses, mind you, and even asked her
dad permission to marry her! And this? This is how they repay me? By punching me in the dick?”

  Trevor made a face.

  “Whatever.” I ignored him. “You don’t have any hard drugs in here, do you? Rubbing alcohol? Mouthwash?”

  Trevor still stared.

  I kept talking.

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Okay.” Trevor nodded slowly as I sat down, only to shoot back up onto my feet and stomp over to my guitar and jerk it out of its case.

  “I don’t get it. I mean, we all make mistakes. I wasn’t perfect. I’m still not perfect, but you don’t just abandon someone you love because you’re scared. You fight for them. You fucking dig your feet in, your nails, your teeth if you have to. You don’t just give up.” Rage filled my line of vision as I grabbed my guitar and slammed it against the chair, causing a fine dent in the front of it and sending the chair spiraling backwards.

  “Feel better?” Trevor asked in a bored voice a few minutes after the incident.

  “No.” I grunted and then slammed the guitar down again.

  “How about now?”

  “I hate her.”

  “You don’t hate her.”

  “Tell my,”—I slammed the guitar onto the ground—“that!”

  I didn’t realize I had an audience until I heard a throat clear. Slowly, I turned to see Drew giving me a concerned look as he ushered a kid of maybe ten into the studio. “Everything okay?”

  “Of course,” Trevor said smoothly. “Ty was just testing the durability of his two hundred-thousand-dollar guitar.” He eyed the pieces on the floor and the solid part in my hand. “Good to know you can go full rock star on a Gibson and it will still semi hold up. Right, Ty?”

  “Right.” I sucked in a breath and tossed the neck of the guitar to the floor. “It’s important to make sure your instruments are always…” I gulped as the boy gave me a wide-eyed look. “Solid. Right, Drew?”

  “Yeah, I go full rock star at least once a month.” He smirked and then mouthed, “You okay?”