Twisted Love (Blinded Love Series Book 3) Page 19

  Here again. I can’t do this. Here again.

  No. Not him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Life couldn’t be this cruel. I wasn’t strong enough. My soul could not even begin to fathom the weight of his loss.

  There is a good chance he might not wake up. That was the exact phrase the doctor finally admitted to us about my father, and only a few hours later he was dead. They knew he was brain dead but gave us hope instead. I couldn’t go through it again. I hadn’t even been strong enough to get through it the first time. People thought I was strong, but I wasn’t. They didn’t know.

  Run! Get on that plane. Leave! Voices in my head and heart screamed at me. Leave before it’s too late! Chris has friends, other people who care about him. They’d be better for him. Could handle this. Go home! Run!

  Everything was waiting for me in New York. What the hell was I doing here? This was not me. I was shallow and fun. I slept around and had champagne brunches…not this.

  Not this again.

  Shaking, I pulled out my phone, staring down at a number. I heard other voices, crying up from my soul, yelling at me, but I ignored them. Wrapping a force field around myself until I no longer heard them…I pushed the button.

  “Hey, Stevie.” Whiskey’s voice came through the phone. “We were going to head to Doug’s soon. You change your mind?”

  My mouth opened, but nothing came out, as if a Brillo pad was stuck in my throat.

  “Stevie?” Jayme’s tone lowered in alarm like she could feel my emotions pumping through the line.

  My lids squeezed together, the familiarity and comfort of hearing her only poked at the holes in my armor. A tear splashed on the smooth floor.

  “Stevie…what’s wrong?” Anxiety clipped her question.

  “I-I can’t do this.” My muscles shook under me as I rose from the floor, still not feeling attached to my body. My mind going to such a dark place.

  “Do what?”

  All of it. Be here. Watch him die.

  Last night he was so full of life, his fingers sliding through my hair, his mouth on mine. And now that person was gone. An empty shell. The contrasting images fought in my head. I could not accept my body was still sore from the weight of him inside me, while his body lay comatose. It was the same confusion I fought with my father. How I could go from seeing him that morning, smiling and animated as he kissed my head, to never seeing him again.

  No.

  Run.

  Can’t be here.

  “I’m s-s-sorry.” I clutched my chest. “I can’t do this again.”

  “What Stevie? Talk to me!” Jaymerson begged, fear upping her vocals. “You’re scaring me.”

  “It’s Chris.” I choked, my mouth moving, but my body and mind were scattered in all different directions, like a collision. “Hospital.” My lids squeezed together, feeling my words cement the truth. “He needs you guys… I can’t.”

  “What?” Jayme heaved. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Please…just come. I have…I have to go.” I stared around, feeling the walls close in on me.

  “What’s going on, Stevie?” Hunter’s voice growled into the phone, sounding as if worry was straining it. Hearing his deep timbre in my ear broke something in me. He had been through so much horror and pain, but he still was the epitome of strength and protection. I was everything but.

  He’ll take care of Chris. He’s his best friend.

  “Stevie,” he said my name like a demand.

  “He-he’s in a coma…” My mouth and brain tripped and fumbled like a newborn calf, not syncing together. “He needs you.”

  “Coma? What?” He exclaimed, terror climbing over him.

  “Tumor. Like his mom,” I whispered hoarsely, every muscle twitching so violently I started to jog. I hadn’t even noticed that I left the waiting room. Hunter inhaled sharply. He was the only other one who knew about Chris’s past. At least some of it. “They’ll explain better. I can’t, Hunter…please. Just come.”

  “We’re on our way.” He gritted through his teeth, sounding as if he were trying to hold back the terror inside. “Don’t move, Stevie. We’ll be right there.” The phone clicked off.

  His last sentence felt like a taunt. They believed I was a good person.

  I wasn’t.

  Terror gripped me and strangled the last bits of my soul, and I did the only thing I could.

  I ran.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Stevie!” I heard my name ring out across the train station, and two figures darted for me, their arms waving for my attention.

  Tristen’s frame smashed into mine, his arms tightening around me in a hug. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”

  Andy shoved Tristen away, hugging me next. I stood there, reacting more like a zombie than a human and stood stiffly in their embraces, unable to feel anything.

  The last few hours I had moved in a haze. My mom had pleaded with me to stay longer, knowing I had my return flight, but not understanding my desperation to leave right then. I had turned off my phone. Jayme, Hunter, and even Jones had been calling and texting nonstop. I blocked out the world. Put one foot in front of the other.

  “Is this about Chris? Did you guys fight?” Mom sat on my bed, watching me stuff my clothes in my bag with rushed desperation.

  I couldn’t respond. From the moment I stepped out of the hospital, I went almost mute, only uttering a few words here and there about leaving.

  “Stevie.” She sighed. “Running from him won’t help. You love him. It isn’t something you can simply run from.”

  Watch me.

  She sighed, noticing nothing was stopping me from getting the hell out of there.

  “Your father would hate that your heart is so closed off. He’d want you to be happy. To let love in.”

  She had no fucking clue I had, and it had burned me again.

  “I know how stubborn you are. And since you take after me in that, I know nothing will stop you from leaving right now. But I hope you eventually come to your senses. That you won’t look back on your life and wish you made a different choice. I love you so much, Stevie. I hate watching you hurt yourself because of fear. The greatest things in life come from the scariest leaps.”

  Damn, she sounded like Grandma Penny.

  “I know I have no room to talk, but I’m trying.” She tried to fold a top I chucked in. “I got the job at the music store. And I joined that bunco group; you know the one Penny is in. Thought I should start making myself happy.”

  “That’s awesome, Mom.” I hugged her. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “It’s all I wish for you.”

  “I know.”

  Even against the nagging rip in my soul, the utter disgust in myself for leaving him, the desperation to get far from here overrode everything else.

  Now back in the bustling city, my city, I felt out of place and foreign. Like a farm girl just stepping off the bus into the craziness of this city. It usually excited me, but now I felt an unwelcome punch of adrenaline.

  A passing man in a sharp business suit rammed into my shoulder as he rushed past, and I had to grip Andy to keep upright.

  “You okay?” Tristen’s brows furrowed. Dressed in dark designer jeans and T-shirt with a tailored blazer, he looked impeccable. It could be a hundred degrees with ninety percent humidity and he still looked styled and ready to go out.

  “Yeah.” I nodded, the lie falling from me. “I am now.”

  “Yeah, girl…because you’re home with us.” Tristen flung an arm around me, Andy taking my duffel bag. “There’s a new place we’ve been wanting to check out on Twenty-Fourth and Fifth. And if we don’t like it, we can go to Eataly. Maxine said to say hi. She’s working but will come with us tomorrow night.” He herded us for the exit.

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah, did I forget to tell you about the huge party in Chelsea? Like a mini-reunion with everyone from school. It’s going to be a-ma-zing. We’ll blow the place up! Perfect, si
nce we’ll already be celebrating your interview with Aiden.” He jabbered on so fast it gave me whiplash. When I went back home, I usually found the slow southern talkers annoying, but Tristen’s chattering was making me dizzy. “We have so much to catch up on. Besides prepping you for your interview tomorrow, I want to know about all the hookups with all the different southern-drawling riders.”

  Hookups. That wasn’t what Chris felt like at all. “No hookups.” I shook my head.

  “Whaaaattt?” Both Andy and Tristen responded, their mouths parting in shock. “Seriously?”

  I didn’t want to talk about Chris, about the guilt I’d been fighting since getting on the plane.

  “Nope, no one,” I replied.

  “Well, we have to remedy that tonight. So many hot girls and guys will be out tonight…not that I’m looking, sweetie.” Tristen held his hand up at Andy, like don’t worry. “But our girl needs wingmen. Our mission tonight is to get her laid. I’m sure being home for two weeks and celibate, you need it badly.”

  Celibate…right. Flashes of the night before rushed into my head without warning. The intimate moment as I shaved his head, the feel of his hand running up my thigh…

  I cringed at the idea of sleeping with some stranger. Nothing sounded worse to me. It wasn’t their fault, usually I would be cheering on the notion. They had no idea about Tarzan or the situation I had run from. In that moment I realized it was me who drew the lines. Put people in boxes, not letting them even try to be more of a friend to me. I knew both these boys would be there for me, if I needed them. It was me who kept them amusing and vapid.

  But the lock on my heart had rusted over the years.

  “Sounds great.” I forced a fake smile on my mouth. “But a drink sounds even better.”

  I wanted to be numb. To ignore the fact I had done the most unforgivable, selfish thing anyone could ever do. Chris was in coma, and I just walked out. No, I ran. I left him.

  His friends are there now. You are not built for dealing with that. He’s better off without you.

  “Drinks we can certainly do.” Andy nudged my side, linking arms with me, leading me into the lively city, where you could lose yourself. Exactly what I wanted.

  “Stevie?” Tristen’s head flicked forward. Sweat dotted my hairline and lower back as I stood, patting down my seventies inspired boho dress. I had paired it with funky ankle boots and was now clutching my portfolio under my arm. The dress harmonized well with the type of music The Devil Inside played.

  Tristen, Andy, and I had gotten pretty drunk the night before, but instead of hunting for a piece of ass, I got Tristen on the topic of my interview, getting every detail I could to prepare me. I still felt unready for this huge opportunity. When I got home, I tried to shut off my brain, get some sleep, but it never came. Night terrors and restlessness kept me up all night.

  I had fourteen missed calls and texts from Jaymerson. I didn’t have the guts to listen to the messages she left me, nor read most of her texts. All I could respond with was:

  I know what I did is unforgivable. I’m so sorry.

  It’s not about being forgivable or not--to me. He needs you, Stevie. Please call me.

  I can’t. I know you don’t understand…I just can’t…

  You’re right. I don’t understand. But that’s because you won’t let me.

  I felt the knife twist in my gut. Chris had said pretty much the same thing to me. Now at dinner I sat across from two of my dearest friends and not once did they know my world was shattering. I had gotten good at hiding. Too good.

  “Stevie.” A thirty-something man stood up from behind his desk, his hand reaching out for mine. Aiden was short but well built with brown hair and eyes, his hair brushed back perfectly. I wouldn’t even notice him walking by, except for the impeccable clothes, wealth, and importance he wore like banner. Dressed very similar to Tristen with dark jeans, button down shirt and a nice blazer, he was casual in the “I’m fucking wealthy as shit” kind of way. An expensive Rolex glittered on his wrist, and he wore the finest leather belt and loafers. He met my gaze with a confident one of his own. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”

  “And none of them lies.” Tristen winked at me, setting a folder down in front of Aiden. “You have a meeting in an hour, and Kendal needs those signatures before you leave for the day.”

  Aiden nodded, opening the folder as Tristen headed for the door, squeezing my shoulder on the way out. I was keenly aware of the click of the door closing behind him.

  “So, Stevie, tell me what made you get into graphic design.”

  I blinked, nothing coming to my mind. What made me get into it? I needed an elective was all my mind could stir up, my gaze going around the room to all the golden records and awards hanging on his walls. Posters of bands with signatures, the gods of the music world, paraded all over his office.

  I felt so out of my league. And I’d never felt that before.

  “Uhhh.” Heat coiled up my neck and I swallowed. “I…don’t…” I tapered off. This was my chance to impress, and I felt vacant. Empty of anything. As though I left everything respectful, capable, and decent back at the hospital. I was sitting here trying to show my best self and she was nowhere even close by.

  Aiden stared at me, his intense gaze causing the sweat to drip in trails down my back.

  “I started in music, songwriting actually.”

  “And you didn’t like it?”

  “No, I loved it…but…it didn’t fit, exactly. I don’t know.” My voice came out unsure and wobbly. Especially in New York, you should never show weakness. A thousand people stood behind you in line for the same opportunity and would cut your throat to get it. Being confident and sure of yourself was the only way to survive. I never had a problem with it before.

  Aiden sat back in his chair eyeing me warily as though wondering what Tristan had gotten him into.

  I cleared my throat, pushing my portfolio toward him, hoping my work would speak for itself.

  “I don’t need to see it.” He shoved it away, placing his ankle on his opposite knee, steepling his fingers against his mouth. “I know you are talented. But so are a thousand others. That’s not why you’re here. I want to know about you. This is a brutal business. You will probably pour your heart into something and either myself or the band will reject it, tearing it apart. I need to know you can take direction. Can handle extreme timelines and critiques of your work. I don’t care if you spent hours on a design you love. If I ask you to start from scratch with very little direction, I expect you to step up,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, which I appreciated. “So many sit in that chair and say they can handle it, but when it happens…they can’t. I don’t have time for fragile egos and whining. I will not coddle or pacify your inner insecure artist. The cover of an album isn’t everything for an established artist, but it still can hurt sales, which is very important to me. For a newer band or artist, this could mean the difference between someone picking it up or setting it back down solely because of the design on the front. I’ve seen designs that fell flat, not connecting with the audience, and the sales plummeted. We already struggle in this industry with pirating. Do you understand the importance of this?”

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Listen,” he sat up, leaning his elbows on the desk, “Tristen has bent over backwards getting me to look at your work, telling me about you…how amazing you are and not someone to wobble under pressure. He’s put himself out there, and I will be honest…I’m not feeling so sure about you. All I see is a girl pretending to be something she’s not. In this business, being hesitant or not a hundred percent behind your own talent, is like blood in the water. You will get eaten alive.”

  My mouth parted, his statement like a punch. I had hardly said more than a dozen words, but it was as if he could see through me, see what a mess I was inside. A house built on sand.

  Scared. Weak. Shamed.

  A fraud.

&n
bsp; “Tell me one thing before you leave here. Change my mind.” He rocked back in the chair, folding his arms with the challenge.

  Yeah. No pressure. I knew he was doing it on purpose. Seeing how quickly I could respond under stress.

  “I won’t give you promises like the others, only to not live up to them. That would be easy to do. You can take the chance on me or not.” I stared him straight in the eyes. “But to me graphic design is like writing a song.” My mouth spoke without having any idea where I was going with this idea. Usually never a good thing where I was concerned. “A picture is a song without words. You need to evoke the same emotion, the same twisting in people’s souls when they hear the perfect song that speaks to them. A cover is a distillation of all the lyrics the artist wrote in one picture. We don’t have three minutes to invoke a response or get across our idea. We have seconds. And that’s why I enjoy designing over writing. I want to let you decide what to think and feel from my design, not tell you. Music is powerful. It can heal, break your heart, create joy, mystery, make you feel sexy, happy, sad…force you to see yourself. I want to do that, but I want to create that same guttural response in an image. My creation will be the introduction to what’s inside. The cover of a book leading you to the beautiful story inside.”

  Aiden watched me, his face blank, but I could see him contemplating what I said. After what felt like hours, he finally cleared his throat.

  “Okay. I will let you know my decision when I get back from LA.” He stood up, reaching out his hand again. “It was nice meeting you, Stevie. Thank you for coming in.”

  “Thank you.” I shook his hand, grabbed my portfolio, and walked out, trying to hold my shoulders high.

  I had blown it.

  Biting my lip, I slipped out of the office, not wanting to see Tristen. My anger and disappointment in myself rose higher, the levee barely keeping it back. Part of me was mad I foolishly let this opportunity slip from my fingers, and another part thought I deserved it.

  Maybe karma was real... because I had just been bitch-slapped with a heavy dose of it.