by Shandi Boyes
“It wasn’t roses and sunshine, but we got there—eventually.” Her smile falters at the end of her confession. She twirls her engagement ring before returning to the court we’ve been playing on the past fifty minutes. “What about you? Have you ever been married?”
Ignoring the clawing pain hitting my chest, I shake my head. “Emily and I were engaged, but we never made it down the aisle.”
Our second anniversary was the day before Emily’s birthday. We had planned to get hitched that day but postponed so I could remain attainable to my fans. How stupid was I to agree to that? If I hadn’t, we would have continued planning our wedding, and Emily wouldn’t have been killed traveling to surprise me.
I take a few seconds to settle myself before the tightness around my neck turns into a sob. Just thinking back has me all torn up. I was in San Diego on Emily’s birthday. I arranged for a florist to take the biggest bouquet of white lilies to her gravesite. I should have visited her myself, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Just the thought of her being buried under all that dirt fucking kills me.
Although I was a coward that day, I manned up and called Emily’s mom. It was the first time we had spoken since Emily’s funeral. She had left several messages inviting me home for the holidays, but I never replied.
She sounded happy to hear from me and made me promise I'd keep in contact more regularly. I was shocked. I thought she’d blame me for Emily’s death like my mother blamed me for Michael’s, but I heard nothing but genuine concern in her voice during our ten-minute conversation.
I stop reminiscing when Dr. Miller leans over to squeeze my knee. “You did well today. Let’s pack it up and try again tomorrow.”
With Patrice still on my mind after my counseling session, I head to the payphone in the lobby to keep the promise I made to her the last time we spoke. Patrice answers on the very first ring.
“Noah, I’ve missed you so much.”
Chapter 53
Noah
“Today we’re going to try something different.” Dr. Miller lowers the privacy blind on the two-way glass in the counseling room before nudging her head to a daybed. “Lie down.”
My brows stitch when the room plunges into darkness from her switching off the lights.
“Are you fucking serious—?”
“Language, Noah; I will not tell you again,” Dr. Miller growls as her shadowed outline heads my way. “Swearing indicates a lack of intelligence, which we both know isn’t the case for you.”
I roll my eyes before lying on the daybed as requested. Today is day thirty-five of my three-month stay in rehab. Dr. Miller, or Rachel as she's permitted me to call her, has been using me as a guinea pig while striving to “open my lines of communication.”
As required by law, I’ve attended my twice-daily sessions without fail. I miraculously shared the story about Michael’s death without breaking down, and Dr. Miller was aware of Chris’s suicide, hence me being on suicide watch, but any time Dr. Miller switches the focus to Emily, my throat closes up.
After waiting for me to get comfortable in her incredibly uncomfortable daybed, Dr. Miller sits in the chair next to me. “Close your eyes and listen carefully to me speaking. Take in slow, deliberate breaths as you feel yourself relax. Relax your toes, your legs, your chest, and your shoulders until all the muscles in your body relax.”
As I slowly drift into a calm state of awareness, memories of Emily bombard me. They don’t haunt me as they usually do. She seems happy, almost peaceful. She’s even smiling.
“Em... ”
“Good job, Noah, keep breathing in and out, in and out. Can you see Emily?”
I nod. She’s standing in front of me, as beautiful as ever.
“Is she happy?” Dr. Miller’s question concludes with Emily breaking out her breathtakingly beautiful smile.
“Yes, she is.”
I’d reach out to touch her, but I’m too scared she’ll vanish. Instead, I ball my hands into fists and keep them planted at my side.
“Keep breathing, Noah, in and out; suck in a nice big breath, hold it in, then breathe it out.” Once Dr. Miller has my heart rate under control, she asks, “What do you want to tell Emily?”
“I’m sorry.” My whisper is barely audible over the hammering of my heart. “I’m so sorry for everything I did, for all the time I wasted.”
“Breathe, Noah, keep breathing, in and out; try and stay calm.”
When Dr. Miller curls her hand over my clenched fist, I lurch up from the daybed. “I can’t do this.”
The pain is so unbearable, I feel like I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. I can’t sleep. I can’t live another day without Emily in it.
“It’s okay, Noah; continue breathing. You did well. I’m so proud of you.”
Dr. Miller praises me over and over again until the heaviness on my chest lessens enough, I can suck in my first breath in what feels like minutes. Confident I have a handle on things, she raises the blinds, illuminating the room with artificial light again before crouching down in front of me.
When her lips twitch, like she’s preparing to speak, I cut her off. “I fucked everything up.”
I wait to be reprimanded for cursing again. It never comes. She just watches me cautiously, her face marred with both confusion and concern.
“I let jealousy waste our last two months together.”
I let a man unworthy of Emily steal her away from me...
“Come on, Noah, stop being a pussy and come out with us.” Slater slaps Nick on the shoulder before messing up his hair. “Even Nick is coming out.”
Nick’s lips straighten, but he keeps the peace by not retaliating to Slater’s tease. It’s the least he can do after everything he put Slater through.
Although I wouldn’t mind watching them make fools out of themselves at a new karaoke bar that opened a few blocks down from our hotel, my day has been so hectic, I haven’t had time to call Emily tonight. I’m dying to hear her voice, so there’s no chance I’ll skip calling her just to get proof I’m the only singer in my group. I’ve called Emily every night since the day we became a couple. Tonight will be no different.
“I have to call Em.”
Slater whips me with an invisible whip. “Pussy-whipped.”
I give him the finger before digging my cell out of my pocket and dialing Emily’s number. I’m dying to see her face, so I FaceTime her instead of calling her.
“Hi, baby.” Emily adds to her greeting with a blinding smile, nearly blocking out the dozen or more people surrounding her. She must be out and about.
“Hey, Beautiful. Sorry I’m calling so late. Things were hectic in the studio today.”
“When aren’t things hectic for you?”
I smile at the laughter in her tone. She’s forever optimistic, never letting a lack of face to face time dampen any conversations we have. Things are taking off for the band. I’m stoked, but it sucks I no longer have weekends off. It kills me not seeing Emily as regularly as we did at the start of our relationship, but technology has made it more tolerable.
“I miss you, baby, so fucking much.”
Her face breaks into a traffic-stopping smile. “I miss you too.”
My heart thrums against my ribs when Emily all of a sudden moves out of frame. Not even two seconds later, a male voice shouts, “Emily, baby, I’ve missed you so much!”
I don’t know if he’s mocking me or not, but just the fact someone other than me is making Emily giggle while caressing her has my anger reaching its boiling point.
“Em...” I tilt my head since her phone is being held upside down. “Are you there?
Put off by the unease in my voice, Marcus joins me at the side of the living room. When he glances down at my screen, he curses under his breath.
“What?”
He points to a man whose smug grin is filling the screen of my phone. “That’s Zander.”
“Zander? As in, Emily’s ex?” When he nods, I sneer, “Are you fucking kidding me?
”
Out of all the guys in the world, why does the one who took Emily’s virginity get to smirk in the background like a smug prick?
Marcus’s lips purse. “He’s aged since I last saw him, but that's Zander. No doubt.”
I try to keep my anger under control. I tell myself time and time again that I trust Emily, and that she wouldn’t break my trust like this, but the more she giggles under the hooded eyes of her ex, the more my resistance slips.
When I hit the end call button with enough aggression, I almost crack the screen of my phone, Marcus removes it from my hand. “It doesn’t mean anything—"
“Then what the fuck does it mean? Why is he there with her? She said he went to school in another state.”
Marcus shrugs, his anxiety palpable. “I thought he did too. Maybe he switched schools—?”
“Or maybe Emily lied.”
“Noah...”
Marcus’s reply is cut short by Slater exiting the bathroom. “Ready?”
“Let’s go,” I answer on Marcus and Nick’s behalf.
While gathering my leather jacket, I dump my ringing cell phone into the fruit bowl on the dining table.
“Yee-ha! Pussy-whipped Noah is coming out for a drink.” Slater stops whipping me with his invisible whip when I throw open our hotel room door with enough force the door handle smacks through the drywall.
“Noah, wait up!” Marcus catches up with me at the elevator banks. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret tomorrow. Things may not be as they seem.”
I consider what he’s saying during our short walk to Mr. Mix’s karaoke bar. It doesn’t weaken my anger in the slightest—especially not when I see a couple getting friendly in the alley.
Is that what Emily and Zander are doing right now? Are they sucking face?
I stop watching the couple getting hot and heavy when Slater says, “It’s packed; do you think we can get in?”
I take charge of the situation like I wish I had my phone call. “Come on.” When I saunter past the hundreds of people lined up to go inside, the boys follow me. The bouncer on the door is a huge son of a bitch, but his size has nothing on the chip on my shoulder.
“Noah Taylor, lead singer of Rise Up.” We’ve been working our asses off, so shouldn’t we start getting some benefits for our hard work?
“I know you,” The bouncer’s white teeth gleam in the moonlight. “Come on in.”
Numerous patrons stuck in the line let out a loud, angry gasp when he opens the red velvet rope for us to enter.
“Fuck yes.” Slater’s tongue peeks between his teeth when he struts into the VIP entrance. “About time we got some pull in this industry.”
As I follow his peacock strut, my eyes drink in the surroundings. A karaoke stage takes up a majority of the back wall; a glass bar is on our left, and stacks of tables and chairs take up the right. A handful of plush booths flank the bar, revealing why the line outside is so long. There are several well-known actresses, actors, and musicians sitting in the roped-off VIP section.
We lift our jaws from the floor when a short, tubby man stops in front of us. “Good evening, gentlemen, I'm Tony, owner of Mr. Mix’s. It’s a pleasure to have you in my bar this evening.”
Tony is so short, the top of his head doesn’t even reach my chin, and his shoulders are as wide as he is tall. His inky black hair is slicked into place with hair gel, and his eyebrows are penciled on.
“Noah Taylor, nice to meet you.” I accept the hand he’s holding out. Shockingly, his handshake is firm.
“Would you like to sit at the booths or in the regular seating?” His nose screws up during the last half of his question.
I do a quick flyover of the people in the VIP section before returning my attention back to Tony. “Regular seating will be great, thank you.”
Just because you’re famous, doesn’t mean you need to be a snob. Without fans, you’re nothing. Most of the people in the VIP booths need a reminder of that.
Once we take our seats, Slater buys a round of shots. I’m not usually a fan of hard liquor—beer is my drink of choice—but with my blood still thick with jealousy thinking about Emily and Zander, I need something more potent than beer.
“To success and getting Noah smashed!” Slater clicks his shot glass against mine before downing his shot in one hit.
I follow suit with that one and the many that follow.
Once I've lost track of time, I've also lost count of the number of shots I've downed. Alcohol is dousing the rage burning me from the inside out, but it does sweet fuck all for the jealousy heating my blood. Even if Emily and Zander are just friends, I hate that he gets to see her when I can’t.
The more we enjoy the endless bar tab Tony supplied for us, the more crowded our table becomes. Eager fans hover close, loving the opportunity to party with someone famous. We sign a few autographs, and I even sign one girl’s cleavage as per her request.
I’ve just returned her permanent marker when Nick yanks me back into my seat. “What the fuck, man?”
Marcus adds to Nick’s disappointment. “You’re better than this.”
Anyone would swear I’m getting a blowjob from the way they’re acting.
“You should sing, Noah.” A pretty blonde whose breasts are dangerously close to escaping her tight tank top flutters her eyelashes at me.
“You want me to sing?”
As her tongue darts out to lick her top lip, she nods.
I bring my face to within an inch of hers. “What do you wanna hear?"
“Umm... I don’t know. Something sexy? Like you.”
“Sexy, hey?” When she nods again, I nudge my head to the stage. “Alright, go pick something for me to sing, and I’ll sing it to you.” I tap her nose. Well, I think I’m tapping her nose. I’m so fucking drunk, I could be poking her in the eye for all I know.
While she makes a beeline for the DJ, I slump low in my seat before shooting my hand out for my drink. Slater removes it before it gets within an inch of my mouth. “I think you’ve have had enough.”
He’s pissed. For what? I don’t know.
When I seek assistance from Marcus and Nick, I notice they’re giving me the same filthy look Slater is. I can read Marcus better than both Nick and Slater combined, so it doesn’t take me long to realize what has him so worked up.
“It’s a song! I’m not fucking her.”
Hating their babying, I stumble out of my seat and head for the stage. When I accept the microphone the fan is holding out for me, I attempt to curtsy. I say attempt because I trip over my feet, which has me crashing into the screen I’m supposed to read the lyrics from. Fingers crossed she picked a song I know, or I’m screwed.
After gathering my footing, I take my spot at the front of the stage. I begin to wonder how many wrinkles the fan is hiding with makeup when the intro to the song she selected booms out of the speakers. She’s gone for an old classic with Bon Jovi’s “Always.”
It’s the perfect song to reflect how I’m feeling, so I have no troubles belting out the first few lines, but when I reach the chorus, all I hear are the promises I made to Emily. How I’ll love her forever, and that I’ll never let anyone come between us. How she’ll be my wife one day.
The microphone drops to the stage with a donk when I stagger back to my table to search my jacket for my phone, forgetting I left it at the hotel.
“Here.” Marcus shoves his cell into my hand.
While dialing Emily’s number I know by heart, I seek privacy outside.
Emily answers just as I break through the line still waiting to get inside. “Is he okay, Marcus? I’m panicked out of my mind. I’ve been calling him nonstop—”
“It’s me.”
She sucks in a relieved breath. “Oh my god, thank goodness. I’ve been calling you for hours. Where are you? Are you okay?”
“Why did you lie to me?”
The panic in her tone switches to suspicion when my question comes out with a slur. “Are you drunk?”
/>
“Yes! But answer the goddamn question! Why did you lie to me?”
She exhales before replying, “I haven’t lied to you.”
My anger takes a step back. When she breathes like that, it means she’s about to cry. Even though I’m mad at her, it still kills me knowing she’s upset.
“Where are you?” she questions between sniffles when the bass from the karaoke bar is distinguishable in our silence.
I drag my hand across my tired eyes. “I just left a bar.” Too drunk to stay upright, I sit in the gutter. “Why him, Em? Out of everyone in the world, why him? You deserve so much better.”
“Who are you talking about—?”
“Fucking Zander!”
My slurred words gain me attention I don’t want. People leave the line when recognition dawns on why I appear so familiar. Regrettably, they’re the only ones focused on me. Emily is as quiet as a church mouse. If it weren’t for her tiny inhalations of air, I’d assume she had hung up.
When I spot Marcus heading my way, I prompt Emily to answer me. “Em—”
“You have no right questioning me about my past—no right at all! I live knowing the countless women you slept with before me, but you can’t handle me having one man in my life before you!”
“The past?!”
Zander was so much in the past, he was standing behind her, smiling at the fucking camera like he had the world at his feet. I guess he did since he had Emily in his sights.
“Yes, Noah—the past! You’re being an immature, jealous, insensitive jerk.” Her huff rumbles down the line. “Call me when you're sober. If I’ve forgiven you by then, I might answer.”
When she hangs up, I scream my frustration into the street, startling those brave enough to approach me, but not brave enough to interrupt my heated conversation.
“You know Emily, Noah. She’d never break your trust like this.”
Marcus helps me out of the gutter before walking me back to our hotel. Because I’m so intoxicated, I go to bed angry.
That never ends well...
What Marcus said that night was true, I trusted Emily, but Zander’s presence played on my insecurities that Emily would one day leave me for someone better. It reminded me that she deserved more than I was giving her, and it was the reason I worked so tirelessly the two months after our fight. I wrongly believed money would bind us together, where all it did was divide us more.