It’s time for me to intervene.
I grab her wrist as Tristan slides out of the booth after her. “You cannot go anywhere with him.”
“Chill out. He’s just escorting me to the restroom.”
“I can do that,” I say as I slide out of the booth.
Senia throws me a look like I’m being a total buzzkill. I don’t want to let her go anywhere with him. The last thing she needs right now is another heartbreak. But maybe she just needs to get this out of her system. Having meaningless sex after a breakup seems to be a ritual we’ve all come to accept as normal.
I sit back down and Julie’s head is resting on top of the table. She’s passed out. I would sit next to her so that Abby and Ben aren’t squished together, but I’m afraid of what will happen if she wakes up and finds Tristan gone.
About fifteen minutes later, Tristan returns without Senia. He slides into the booth as if nothing happened.
“Where’s Senia?”
“Is that her name?” Tristan replies, looking completely bored. “She’s still in the restroom.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I mutter as I leave and barrel through the crowd toward the restroom sign in the corner.
I make it to the door with the gold handle and shove it open. Four girls are standing in front of the mirror washing their hands and fixing their makeup and all the stalls are occupied.
“Senia?”
“What?” she calls back, and I can tell she’s crying.
I knock on the door of the stall and she fumbles with the latch before it opens. She’s sitting on the toilet, fully-clothed, with a giant wad of toilet paper in her hands. Almost all her makeup is gone and caked on the toilet paper as tears stream continuously down her face.
I lock the door behind me and kneel down in front of her. “What happened? Did Tristan do something to you?”
She laughs then blows her nose. “I was so ready to do it,” she slurs, “but I just kept thinking, ‘That’s not how Eddie would kiss me. That’s not how Eddie would touch me.’ Then I started crying and he left. Totally pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic,” I say as I grab a clean bunch of toilet paper off the roll and exchange it for the filthy wad in her hands. “You and Eddie loved each other. Even if he did turn out to be a royal asshole, I know he loved you in his own way. It’s okay to feel lost right now, but you’re beautiful and smart and you will find someone else. And not Tristan, who’s an even bigger asshole than Eddie.”
“Ugh. He is. But I must admit that he has a bigger… bass than Eddie.”
“See? You’re still cracking jokes. You’re gonna be just fine.”
She chuckles as she wipes off the rest of her eye makeup then looks up at me. “He said something horrible to me.”
“Who said something horrible?”
“Tristan. He said, ‘I guess you’ll do.’”
“He said that to you?!” I stand up, ready to storm out of the stall and give that douche a piece of my mind, but Senia grabs my arm.
“No, you can’t say anything.”
“Why?”
She grimaces as she replies, “I think he was talking about you.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get out of here before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”
Chapter Three
Chris
THIS IS MY SECOND TIME in London, and I never travel with a bodyguard overseas, but I think that policy has officially changed.
As soon as I step out of the cab in front of the hotel on Warwick, I’m swarmed by five girls who are waiting for me at 7:30 a.m. Tristan and Jake didn’t come with me to play this gig in London. I booked this show for one reason and it has nothing to do with the current tour or my UK fans.
I sign autographs for them while a girl with teased hair and too much eye shadow gently squeezes my bicep. Why do girls wear so much fucking makeup? I wonder if she put all that shit on her face before she came here thinking it would impress me. Another girl with auburn hair gazes at me with a dazed expression as I sign a picture of me she obviously ripped out of a magazine. I hand the picture back to her and she smiles.
“I love you so much,” she says in a breathy English accent. “Relentless is my favorite song of all time.”
This shit gets old. How do you pretend to be excited to hear the same phrase you’ve heard a million times before? I’m a musician, not a fucking actor.
“Thanks. It’s really close to my heart, too. Have a great day, ladies.”
I take off quickly before they can start jabbering. I make it to the room and pull my phone out of my pocket before I collapse onto the bed. The curtains are pulled tight so the room is nice and dark even though the morning sun is shining bright outside. I glance at my screen and scroll through the six new texts I’ve received since I left the airport. Nothing from Claire.
If she wants me to stop texting her that’s exactly what I’ll do. And not because I know it will drive her nuts. I’ll do it because I’m willing to do pretty much anything to get her back.
But also because it’ll drive her nuts.
I text Tasha to let her know that Claire is okay with Tuesday for the meeting then ignore Tasha’s smiley response as I dial the number of a local tattoo artist I met during my last visit to London. Arthur is the only reason I’m here, so I’m super stoked when he picks up on the third ring.
“Chris ‘Fucking’ Knight. Why the fuck are you calling me at this bloody hour?”
“Hey, Art. You think you can squeeze me in today? Just a quickie. A name.”
Claire doesn’t know I covered up the tattoo of her name I got on my shoulder blade three years ago. I can’t do much about that, but I can do something else even better. Not sure how or when I’ll get to show her this new one, but I’ll find a way.
“It’s Sunday, mate. The shop’s closed. Stop by at eleven.”
I should take a quick nap, but I’m too wired from the flight and the excitement of some new ink. I open the photo app on my phone and scroll to the bottom of the list of folders. I touch the folder labeled ‘CB.’
The first photo is of Claire and me sitting on a piano bench. She’s smiling as I kiss her forehead. This was taken at a show in Toronto; one of the last shows she attended with me before we broke up. The next picture is of her sleeping on the sofa at our house. Her mouth is hanging open and she’s clutching the throw pillow in her fist. I close my eyes and lay the phone next to me on the bed because I’m finally starting to feel tired.
Maybe I’m just exhausted from everything that’s happened the past three weeks. I had resigned myself to a life without Claire. I was certain she wanted nothing more to do with me. But nothing she says to me now can erase that kiss.
I felt it in the curve of her mouth, the way we fit together, the way she leaned into me, seeking me. She still loves me and, despite the fact that she majorly fucked me over, she’s still the one and only future I’m certain of. Claire and I were made for each other. I’m determined to make her remember that.
Chapter Four
Adam
THE FLIGHT IS UNCOMFORTABLE, BUT I’m sober by the time the plane hits cruising altitude. Just knowing that I’m going to be home soon, and that I had enough sense in me not to book that flight to Raleigh, fills me with relief. By the time I pull my truck out of the lot at Wilmington International, I’m feeling 100% back to normal.
I always knew Claire would be my downfall.
The twenty-minute drive home is spent in silence. I realize now why Claire always hated listening to the radio whenever we were together. Now I’m the one avoiding the radio, but I left my iPod in my backpack in the hotel room so I have to suffer in silence.
It’s ridiculous how much I hate Chris’s music now. Just remembering how I bought his album and watched his videos fills me with shame. It’s alternative with a rock-blues edge, but it’s all washed out by pop vocals. At least, that’s what the article I read about him in Entertainment Weekly said.
I smile a little as I remember that review in Entertainment Weekly.
When I enter my apartment I’m hit with the scent of that fucking coconut-scented oil Claire put in a dish on my coffee table. It’s six in the morning. I have just enough time to take an hour-long nap before I check on Cora and head to Shell Island to teach the Sunday session. I take a five-minute shower then lie down in bed with my phone to shoot Claire a text.
Me: Knock, knock.
Claire: Who’s there?
Me: Me… in five days unless I can get this fucking time machine to work.
Claire: Guess what I’m doing?
Me: Lying naked in bed?
Claire: Close. I’m changing into my pajamas. I just got home. Senia broke up with Eddie and made me go out with her. It did not go well.
I trust Claire, but it seems like the universe is pounding the hundred-mile wedge between us deeper into the earth every day.
Me: Is she ok? Are you ok?
Claire: She’s passed out. I didn’t drink, but I’m about to pass out too.
Me: Sleep tight, babydoll.
Claire: I’ll call you when I wake up.
I wake up from my nap and head over to Cora’s apartment feeling much more relaxed now that I know I’ll be hitting the breaks soon. I knock on her door and it takes her almost ten minutes to answer. Though Claire and I both have keys to Cora’s apartment, we try not to barge in unless it’s obvious Cora can’t make it to the door.
The door swings open and she’s already walking away toward her recliner. “Tina’s coming over today. She’s rescheduling all her patients this week; something about a birthday party on Tuesday. I think she’s lying.”
“Tina’s always lying,” I say as I shut the door and make my way into the kitchen to check on the things Tina, Cora’s caregiver, never checks on; the things Claire taught me to check on when we first met. “Do you have anyone coming to look at the apartment this week?”
The apartment below me has only been empty for three weeks, but I’m going to have to sneak some extra funds into my rent check if Cora doesn’t find a new tenant soon. I can’t let her go broke just because Claire went back to school. After all, even though I’m pretty miserable over it, I am the one who encouraged her to go. I have to accept responsibility for the emptiness of Claire’s old apartment, and the void it’s left in Cora’s bank account as the landlady of this building. Of course, paying double the rent will cut into my savings, but I can do it for a few months—for Cora and Claire.
Everything is in order in the kitchen, but when I enter the living room Cora is already leaning back in the recliner with her eyes closed. For a moment I fear the worst.
“Cora?”
She waves me off. “Go home, honey. I’m not up for any fun and games today. All I can handle right now is a long senior citizen siesta. Tina will be here soon. Go do your water tricks.”
“You sure? I can hang out if you need some company. My class doesn’t start for ninety minutes.”
“Get out of here before I sick Bigfoot on you.”
Cora’s been more tired than usual lately. Tina says it’s normal for someone her age to have bouts of lethargy. I don’t like to think of Cora as any age, but I suppose there are certain truths one has to come to terms with when you reach the age of eighty-six. I haven’t told Claire. As far as she knows, Cora’s as spunky as ever. She doesn’t need anything else to worry about.
I make it to Shell Island an hour before class so I immediately jog out across the sand, surfboard under my arm, to get a feel for the surf. The water is choppy—it’s hurricane season—but I paddle out and chill on my board for a while as I watch the waves break on the shore.
The water ebbs beneath me and I think of Claire’s crazy meditation habit. It’s not much different from my need to surf. I can’t function if I’ve gone too long without immersing myself in the water, without feeling the power of the water pushing me. Surfing is a healthy addiction, like meditating.