Reckless: A Bad Boy Musicians Romance Page 18

  ‘Oh, you know,’ she says, not looking up from her phone. ‘One of Hale’s… companions? Conquests? Lovers?’

  Partners. Girlfriends. Soulmates.

  Too far, perhaps, but it’s all I can think of: the idea of being just ‘one of’ anything, especially after the night I spent with him, leaves my stomach tied in knots. It didn’t feel like I was just ‘one of’, not then – not when I had Hale’s full attention, not when I could have sworn that we were the only things in the world that mattered.

  Things had all seemed so simple, then. Right.

  ‘I’m not…’ I begin, but Meredith casts that professorial glance my way again and cuts me off in an instant.

  ‘Sure, sure,’ she says. ‘Whatever the party line is, that’s fine with me. But you did go to bed with him last night, did you not?’ She leans across the counter, like we’re engaging in some conspiratorial girl talk. ‘Your man at the grill might not have noticed, but I’d recognise that glow anywhere. You, if you’ll pardon me saying so, got lucky last night. Seems the date was a little more romantic than I’d anticipated. He’s quite the charmer on the quiet, isn’t he? Once you get past the whole smouldering thing.’

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ I snap.

  Meredith smiles. ‘You’ve forgotten what I do for a living, Carrie. It’s precisely my business. If Hale finds himself doing something that could possibly damage his brand…’

  ‘And is that all you think I am?’ I can’t stop the blood from rushing to my cheeks, can’t keep my voice level no matter how hard I try. ‘Just something that’s getting in the way of Hale and his goddamn concert?’

  For a moment, I can almost believe that Meredith recognises she’s gone too far. She takes a slow swallow of her sandwich, wipes the crumbs from her face, and looks me dead in the eye with a face like a department store mannequin: beautiful and expressionless.

  ‘Oh, honey,’ she says. ‘You don’t… I mean, you don’t think you’re special, do you?’

  And just like that, the elaborate house of cards I’ve built up around myself on the foundation of Hale’s soft, sweet kiss comes crashing to the ground. All it takes is that look in her eyes and the wry little smirk that crosses her lips. It’s not cruelty, not jealousy: that, I could cope with, although I wouldn’t be thrilled. It’s not even amusement, as though she’s revelling in my discomfort. It’s not even the pity that bothers me, although it’s thick as molasses and just as cloying. It’s the fact that the expression on her face seems so familiar that gets to me. I’m not the first person she’s had this conversation with. I’m not the first girl who let herself think there was something there beyond empty words.

  I want to argue my case, to tell her that she’s wrong, that of course I’m special, that Hale would never, but the words stick in my throat. How am I supposed to know what Hale would and wouldn’t do? Until three days ago, he was practically a stranger to me – an almost-forgotten memory of times past. And it’s not like I thought he was a saint or anything, but…

  But what? I think. You know Hale. Charming. Handsome. Good with a guitar. Why wouldn’t he have racked up a whole raft of women? Why wouldn’t he be with a different girl every night, if that’s what took his fancy?

  Why would you be any different?

  ‘I know what it’s like, sweetie,’ she says, breezing past me. ‘Believe me… after Hale and I split up, I was positively distraught. But life goes on, you know? Onwards and upwards. Keep on keeping on, all that.’

  Muhammad Ali could have learned a few things from Meredith about the one-two punch; first I felt winded, but now it’s like I’ve been knocked on my ass.

  ‘You and Hale?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t he tell you?’ she asks, her voice just a little too high to be sincere. ‘Well, I suppose that’s to be expected. I mean, he wasn’t going to tell you all the gory details about all the women he’s been with. That would rather spoil the mood somewhat, don’t you think? And you seemed to be having such a nice little…’ She pauses, and I see a sadistic little glint in her eyes. ‘Well, what would you call it? A “date”, I suppose? Is that even the right word?’

  It was easy to deny it to Pete; a little too easy, in fact. In hindsight, under Meredith’s wilting smirk, I want to take it back. Of course it was a date. Of course it was – and a perfect date at that. The kind of memory I would have hoped to treasure forever, but for the hope that it would be the first of many. I won’t let her take that from me.

  And yet it’s already gone. Rotted from the inside out. Now, I’m just one more distraction. One easy lay. Jesus Christ, all he had to do was click his fingers and I came running. I was all over him like white on rice. My God, he must have thought it was so easy…

  Stupid, I think to myself. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let myself there was anything more to it than that?

  And yet the answer is clear. It’s because that’s what I always do. I always dream big. I always aim higher than Eden, than the diner, than the men I’ve dated in the past. Than this crappy job in this crappy town.

  Than my crappy life.

  But no matter what, I won’t let Meredith see me cry.

  ‘Are you OK, Carrie?’ she says sweetly, and in that instant it takes everything I have in me not to slam her face down onto the countertop, to break that expensive nose, to chip all the teeth in that perfect smile, and I know – I know – how Hale felt all those times when we were kids, when he’d get into fights because it was the only way he knew how to channel that kind of desperation outwards, because if he kept hold of it there’s no way he’d be able to stop it burning him up from the inside out.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I want to say, and I want her to believe it – anything to not give her the satisfaction – but when the door chirps and my mother walks in to take over the afternoon shift, I find myself pushing past her at a run, my cheeks already wet and the world a blur around me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  @candygirllll: where was this taken? In NY? X

  @Fischerwoman88: Dunno… I don’t recognise it. Maybe Brooklyn?

  @candygirllll: and who is she??!!! Does Hale have a gf??!!! X

  @RachHeart435: cant be. She’s not even pretty!!!

  @Fischerwoman88: I know, right? Maybe she’s his cousin, lol

  @RachHeart435: only explanation!!!

  And so it went on.

  For five hundred and eighty comments.

  Relentlessly.

  Unceasingly.

  I knew I should have stopped reading; I knew there was no point in me continuing to scroll down the page, that there was nothing in that endless diatribe that I’d want to read, but I couldn’t stop myself. I spent the afternoon running down that list, and then when I finally reached the bottom I found myself going right the way up to the stop and starting again. Every cycle through was just as crushing.

  So plain.

  Not even pretty.

  Who even is she?

  Maybe she’s his cousin…

  What does he see in her?

  That’s the one that stings the most, even after I manage to put my phone down, because it’s the one that hits closest to home. What does Hale even see in me? I’ve never been able to figure it out, not really. I wasn’t the only person interested in him in high school, not to mention the fact that he was a year older than me. I wasn’t especially good looking, didn’t put out at the drop of a hat like Kitty Ellis. And now what? Now he’s an up-and-coming music star, and I’m… what, exactly? I mean, I’m not bad looking, but it’s hard to look like a catwalk model when you spend all day working your ass off in a diner.

  And then there’s Meredith, of course. She’s more his speed, and she knows it. God, she seemed to enjoy rubbing it in my face. I can still hear her smug British accent ringing in my ears: every sweetie, every honey, every good girl. The goddamn nerve of her, to come into my restaurant, to try and pick away at my happiness. And for what, eh? So the woman who
has everything can take the last little scraps away from the woman who doesn’t have much of anything at all? Even a vulture wouldn’t go that far.

  The doorbell buzzes, but I don’t get up to answer it. There’s no one I’d particularly care to speak to at the moment. Not my mother, who’s already called three times, no doubt to see if I was OK after I ran out of the diner in tears. Not Pete, even though I don’t think he’s in the business of making house calls on his boss after work.

  Not even –

  ‘Hey! Hey, Carrie! You in there?’

  Shit.

  Hale’s voice carries through from the street and sails right into my open window. Yesterday, I would have killed to have him turn up randomly on my doorstep, but now, after everything…

  ‘Sorry I’m late. I stopped off to pick up Chinese food. You interested?’ There’s a long pause, a pause in which I know I should be running to the window and throwing aside the drapes, but instead I just sit there, numb and motionless on my bed, cradling my phone in my hand until the screen turns black. ‘Carrie!’

  Just ignore him. Ignore him and he’ll go away eventually. After all, didn’t he ignore you for ten years?

  ‘Carrie!’

  Jesus Christ…

  It’s almost more effort than I can stand to pick myself up and head to the intercom, but I somehow manage to buzz him in anyway. He bounds up the stairs with all the enthusiasm of a puppy, kisses me tenderly on the lips and slips his hand around my waist with no self-consciousness whatsoever. And why shouldn’t he? If there was anything startling about last night, it was how easy it all was – how well our bodies still fit together, even after a decade apart.

  It’s almost funny how quickly things can change.

  ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming over. I would have called, but…’

  But no phone. No way for him to know there was anything wrong, even if I’d thought to tell him. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No, I don’t mind.’

  I can still feel his hand on my stomach, the kiss that lingers even after he walks past me and into the apartment. They don’t feel the way they did that morning. Now they’re tainted by Meredith, and by everyone else who’s come before.

  You don’t think you’re special, do you?

  No. No, it’s safe to say that I don’t think I’m special at all. Not anymore, at least.

  ‘Plates?’ he calls over from kitchen counter, where he’s already arranging cartons of takeout.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Do you have plates?’

  ‘Oh. Yeah, sure.’

  ‘I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got a bit of everything.’ He tosses a piece of shrimp into his mouth and makes an almost orgasmic face. ‘God, that’s good. Really good. You fine with chopsticks?’

  ‘Sure, I guess.’

  Five minutes later, we’re eating. Hale is gamely doing his best to cheer me up, telling me about his day, trying to raise a laugh or a smile, but none of it sticks. The problem is, he’s still trying to impress the woman he left that morning, and I’m not entirely sure she still exists.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asks at last.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘When I left you this morning, you were a goddamn sex kitten, and now you’ve barely said three words to me since I got back. What gives, Carrie?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Is it something I said?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because if you don’t want me here, I can go.’ He’s standing already, quick on his feet, the food in front of him half-eaten and all-forgotten. ‘I mean, I don’t want to, but I’ve still got the trailer keys for another couple of days. I can always –’

  ‘Stay,’ I say. I don’t know what I want right now, but I sure as hell don’t want to be alone. ‘Please.’

  ‘Then talk to me, Carrie. What’s wrong? Honestly, now.’

  And how the hell am I supposed to tell him that, exactly? Oh, by the way, your ex-girlfriend was in the diner today and she oh-so-casually pointed out that I’m just one of a long line of floozies you’ve used to get your rocks off over the last ten years, no big deal. How was your meeting?

  ‘Meredith came into the diner earlier,’ I say.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘She mentioned that you two used to be a thing.’

  He pauses, sets the chopsticks down on the side of the plate. ‘She said that, did she?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And that bothers you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Carrie…’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know, really. Yes. I guess. A little. I know it shouldn’t, but…’

  ‘But it does.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The look on his face tells me everything I need to know. She wasn’t lying – and if she wasn’t lying about that, how do I know she’s not lying about the rest of it?

  ‘We weren’t a thing,’ he says eventually. ‘That’s really overselling it. It was one night, about a year and a half ago. She was really busting her hump trying to get people to notice me, and… Jesus, I can’t even remember what we were celebrating, but we went out for a few beers and one thing led to another, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in her apartment. But it wasn’t a thing. If she made you think that…’

  He doesn’t finish the thought, and I’m not sure how it would have ended. ‘Then she’s talking shit’? ‘Then you misunderstood’?

  So I say nothing. It’s easier that way.

  ‘It’s not like I can undo it, Carrie. I know that. But it meant nothing. It was just two people blowing off some steam, that’s all. And then, in the morning, they realised it was a mistake and moved on. Are you telling me you don’t know what that’s like?’

  I can feel hot bile rise up in my throat – not at the thought of Hale and Meredith, but at a long-suppressed memory of my own. Yes, I know what that’s like. I know only too well.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I know, it shouldn’t bother me. It’s just…’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Nothing. Really. Just me being dumb.’

  He puts his hand on mine, the way he did at the restaurant, slipping his thumb against my palm and giving a gentle squeeze. ‘Don’t say that, Carrie. You’re one of the smartest women I know, and something’s got you spooked. I don’t think you got all riled up over me and Merry. It was ancient history. One night, a long time ago. Didn’t mean anything. So what gives?’

  Something in that squeeze loosens something inside me, quiets the little voice that tells me not to worry, that I’m being ridiculous, that Hale and I are a lost cause. He’s here, right now, and that’s not nothing. That matters more than anything she might have said.

  And so I tell him. I tell him about the photo Meredith took, and about her posting it online, and the comments that followed; that’s enough to strip the smile from his face. ‘Show me,’ he says, and I do. He holds my phone delicately, as though he doesn’t want the grime of what I’m showing him to rub off on his fingers.

  ‘She shouldn’t have put this online,’ he says eventually. ‘Not without checking with you first.’

  ‘What about checking with you?’

  He shrugs. ‘I know what I’m getting myself in for. It’s my career she’s helping. You didn’t ask for any of this. It’s not right for her to just throw you into it.’

  ‘It’s not about the photo,’ I say. ‘Not really. She…’ He doesn’t prompt me to continue, but he keeps his gaze fixed on my face, waiting for the dam of my reluctance to burst and let it all come flooding out, for better or for worse. ‘She told me about the other women,’ I say at last. ‘All of them. That I was just one in a long line. That it was pointless for me to think this was anything else.’

  ‘And you believed her?’

  ‘I don’t know, Hale. I know that’s not the best answer, but I just don’t know right now. I wish I did.’

  ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Right.’ Already, he�
�s pulling on his jacket, and there’s a look of steely determination in his eyes; when he leans down to kiss me on the cheek, it’s as though he’s looking through me rather than at me, suddenly barely aware that I’m even there in front of him.

  His coldness scares me. I’ve seen him at his most charming, and at his most hot and angry, but this… this is new.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I ask.

  ‘To see Merry. We need to have a little talk, just the two of us.’

  He doesn’t wait for me to try and stop him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It’s almost an hour before he arrives back at my apartment, but it feels like almost a week has passed. I can feel my mood swinging back and forth, first convincing myself that going after him is the right decision – the only decision – and then deciding that I’d only get in the way. The minutes creep past one by one, each tick of the clock reminding me that there’s no guarantee when (or even if) he’ll be coming back.

  I am alone, and I might very well stay that way.

  But then, as I’m just about ready to pull on my shoes and head out into the street to look for him, the intercom chirps and he’s back with me.

  ‘Hey,’ he says as he slips into my apartment. ‘It’s OK now. I sorted everything.’

  ‘What happened? Where’s Meredith?’

  ‘Gone,’ he says simply.

  ‘She left?’

  ‘She didn’t have much to stick around for. I told her she was fired. Once she realised I was serious, she decided to get on the first plane back to New York.’

  ‘You told her she was fired?’

  He nods.

  ‘And you didn’t stop her from leaving?’

  ‘Why would I? I didn’t want her around anymore. She went too far this time, Carrie. I could deal with most of the shit she dreamed up, but this… it was too much. Not when she brought you into it.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have fired her,’ I say. ‘Not on my account. You can call her. You can get her to come back. You –’

  ‘I didn’t do it for you.’ It’s a simple, unadorned statement: just a plain old fact. The way he says it, it makes it sound obviously, as though it couldn’t be any other way.