CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Presley
My fingers tremble as I press send, my eyes on the screen in front of me.
On him.
I’m alone because it’s Valentine’s Day and Phyllis is on a date, although it might be a short one. Blind dates on the biggest dating night of the year have too much pressure on them from the start. I expect her to blast through my door at any moment, bottle of wine in one hand, ready to share a funny story.
Last night, I lay in my bed, thinking of all the reasons why this whole thing happening between Kace and me is stupid. While the show seemed to be helping Kace, it was tearing me down question by question.
And the jury of public opinion has been brutal. My life has become an open book with people thinking they have a right to tell me that I’m either a cold ass bitch for making him wait this long, or a stupid publicity seeking idiot for still sending him questions.
There are hashtags trending #takehimback and hashtags trending #runlikehell.
There are weekly “Has he proven it to her yet?” segments on the morning news shows, where the reporter goes back through my questions and his answers. “Will she or won’t she?” the reporter asks.
Bottom line is… I’m just too afraid to trust him again.
I’m afraid.
It’s taken ten years to put my pieces back together. Is it wise or foolish to risk another break? Another shattering of my heart?
I just don’t know.
What I do know is that I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep watching his face look at me. It had gotten to be too much. Watching him without touching him.
It’s cowardly to simply not send a question, but I don’t know what else to ask. I don’t know what to say. I hope my silence will say it for me.
I hadn’t planned on watching the show tonight, but extreme need had me turning it on.
I’m late logging in, and by that time, he’s pacing back and forth. He looks so panicky, so lost, that guilt hits me like a knife and I pick up my phone. I tell myself that I’m only going to email him so he’ll know I’m all right… and that I can’t do this anymore. It’s over.
But I can’t send it. I type out the words and just stare at them, unable to send them across the country.
I know where he is. He’s back home in Arizona. He has a week-long break from his tour, and he arrived there last night.
As I watch, he stops pacing and grabs his guitar, sitting back down. His face is lined with worry and… what? Is this what it looks like when hope drains out of a person?
He strums his guitar, then he begins to sing, and it feels like he’s making up words as he goes. I listen. Closing my eyes, I feel his raw voice penetrate me.
I’ve never heard the words before, but they feel familiar at the same time. Tears stream down my face as his voice cracks and shreds during the chorus.
But I won’t stop
I won’t fall
I did that all before
No, I won’t stop
I won’t fall
Because
When nothing else matters
It matters the most.
What am I doing?
Am I really that ice cold bitch who enjoys watching him suffer? Am I planning on making him prove himself for the next ten years — an eye for an eye and all that?
I won’t stop
I won’t fall
I find myself singing along with him, as he retests the words, reworks the chords. I remember watching him do this same thing many times. I was there when he scratched out “Lie With Me.”
My heart is beating so hard in my throat, I can barely breathe or swallow as I open a new email.
“Be brave,” I tell myself as I type in the words I need to say.
With trembling fingers, I hit send. A few seconds later, the ringtone I remember from years ago blares out.
Kace freezes, his thumb hovering over the strings.
Then, he closes his eyes and begins to cry.
These aren’t silent tears. These are great, wracking sobs that shake his entire body.
I crawl from my sofa to my television and put my hands on his face.
“Shhh…” I tell him, knowing he can’t hear me. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
He’s still crying when a door bangs open behind him. I jump more than he does at the sudden noise.
Two men rush inside.
No… one of the men is practically dragging another man.
I recognize them both.
Stephen, Kace’s current manager. And James… my stomach churns just looking at him.
What are they doing?
“Tell him what you did,” Stephen says, shoving James in Kace’s direction.
Kace puts down the guitar and stands, and all I can see is his body on the screen. I can’t see his face, but I see his hands clenching into fists as he faces his cousin after I don’t know how many years.
“What’s going on?” Kace shouts.
“Tell him,” Stephen says, his voice low and dangerous.
“Fuck you,” James mutters and Stephen grabs him by the back of the neck and throws him on a couch.
Stephen points a finger at him. “You tell him the truth or I’m calling the police and you can tell them the truth.”
It’s hard to breathe. What’s going on? What truth?
James mutters, “Fuck you,” again, but he sits up straighter. He’s farther away from the camera, and I watch him scrub his face with his hands.
Kace moves closer to him, and I can see his entire profile now as he looks at Stephen, giving him a what the hell? look.
Stephen pulls out his phone. “Okay, police it is.”
“Wait, man. Just wait a second.” James scrubs his face harder and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. He looks up at Kace. “Hey, cuz.”
Kace’s hands tighten, but he doesn’t say a word.
“Shit. Okay, here’s what went down, but you gotta know I was doing it for your own good.” James stands, and Stephen shoves him back down. He scowls at the older man and turns to Kace again. “I did it for your reputation, man. That bitch had your balls in a noose, and I knew you’d regret getting tied down.”
If it is at all possible, my heart hammers harder, and I wonder if it will explode. Behind me, a key rattles in my door, and I’m not surprised to see Phyllis come rushing in.
“I’m here, girlfriend,” she shouts, a bottle of wine held over her head.
“Shhh…”
She holds out her phone. “I’ve been watching.” She falls to her knees beside me and puts a comforting arm around my shoulder.
“What did you do, James?” Kace asks when the other man just sits there.
“Fuck. I hired prostitutes and slipped you some drugs that night. It was mayo in the condoms.”
I just stare at the screen.
Beside me, Phyllis whispers, “Oh no.”
Kace sinks into a chair, and his face falls into his hands. His entire body shutters, then he raises his head. His voice is stone cold when he asks, “Why?”
James rolls his eyes, and I want to slap him. I want to claw at his face. I want to crawl through the screen and stab him with my fingernails until he’s blind.
He shrugs, like it’s the simplest answer in the world. “Rock stars can’t get married, man.”
And as I watch, Kace launches himself at his cousin.