Homecoming weekend is a huge deal at my school, and as I pin curls into place on my head for tonight’s ball, I think back to when I met Brian to beg him to donate to our fundraiser for this very weekend. I brush the thought away. I don’t want Brian in my head, especially not after seeing him sitting on Tess’s couch last weekend.
I don’t have a date for tonight’s ball, but I have Tess, who decided to bring Jason, and I know Justin will be there with Alex. Since the Homecoming football game is Friday night and the kids’ dance is Saturday, the black-tie ball and auction for adults is Thursday. This year, the grand prize is a Toyota Tacoma, but there’s trips and concert tickets and all sorts of goodies up for grabs.
I feel like Cinderella in my gown as I walk into the banquet hall located just minutes from my school. I make my way to the bar first—it’s an after school function and there aren’t any kids around.
I bump into Justin and Alex, who promise to sit at my table, and then I find Tess and Jason. As I talk to the two of them, my heart races as I spot dark hair and green eyes across the room chatting with my principal.
And it doesn’t race in a good way.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I ask.
Jason and Tess follow my line of sight, and as if he can feel our eyes on him, Brian turns and spots us.
“Since he was the single largest donor, they offered him a free meal,” Jason explains.
I blow out a frustrated breath. “He didn’t have to take it.”
“I’m pretty sure there was more than one reason he did.” Jason’s voice is quiet.
“Spill it,” I say.
He looks uncomfortable. “He wants to talk to you.”
I roll my eyes. “How nice of him to attack me first at my home and then at a work function.”
“It’s not an attack, Reese,” Jason says.
Tess puts her arm around my shoulders. “We’re here for you, babe.”
I don’t even get a chance to respond because Brian starts making his way over to us.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“We’ll leave you alone,” Jason says, tugging Tess’s arm. I give her a pleading look, but she follows Jason to the bar. So much for her parting words of we’re here for you.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt before he has a chance to speak. I avoid looking directly at him as I pretend to survey the room.
“I owe you an apology.”
“You owe me more than that.” My words taste bitter on my tongue.
“You’re right.”
I take a sip of wine for strength. “I’d like my dignity back, for one.”
“What I did is unforgivable, and I fully admit that. I was acting from a place of jealousy and hatred, and you got caught in the crossfire. For that, I apologize.”
“It’s not okay.” I look around the room and absentmindedly recognize some people.
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“You’re damn right about that.”
Brian sighs. “I hate this—I hate that my brother won’t talk to me, I hate that you hate me. I hate that I screwed you over so badly. You never deserved that, Reese.”
I cut him off again. “Blah blah blah. Like I believe a damn word out of your lying mouth.”
He looks wounded as he blows out a sigh. “I donated the Tacoma.”
My eyes dart to his. We both know the car will bring in a ton of auction money, and it was generous of him.
But I can’t help the cynical part of me that believes it all stems back to Mark. Brian didn’t donate anything except someone else’s money.
“I wish your brother was here.” The words are out before I can stop them. I know I’m saying them to hurt him, but there’s so much truth behind them that even I can hear the pining in my own voice. I’d love it if he were here—love to see what he had to say to someone who damaged everything we held so close to our hearts. I’d love to see him and rush into his arms and beg him to take me back.
Brian’s eyes flash with hurt, and I feel a little dart of satisfaction that I put it there.
“I’m worried about him, Reese.” His voice is low as he says the words just as I turn to leave, but I still catch the apprehension in it. It matches Lizzie’s tone when she expressed the same concerns to me, but it’s not my problem anymore and I can’t let it be for someone who wrote me out of his life.
I hurry across the room toward the table where I find Justin and Alex.
“What’s wrong?” Justin asks when I slide into the empty seat next to him.
“My ex is here.”
Alex laughs. “You’re sitting next to him.”
I can’t help my small smile. “A more recent ex.”
“Mark? Or Brian?” Justin asks.
“You’ve dated two guys since Justin?” Alex asks. She looks impressed.
“Brothers,” Justin whispers to her.
I roll my eyes. “It’s a long story.”
Alex looks around. “This sounds interesting.”
I give her the short version. “I met a guy, liked him, but we didn’t exchange numbers. Then I met a new guy, started dating him, and found out he’s the first guy’s brother. In the end, the second brother orchestrated our entire relationship as a way to get revenge on his brother.”
“So which one is here?” Alex asks.
I fiddle with the stem of my wineglass. “The one who used me to get revenge.”
“Want me to kick his ass?” Justin asks.
I glance over at Brian and then back at Justin. I narrow my eyes.
“What?” Justin says. “You don’t think I could take him?”
I make a face and Alex laughs just as Jason and Tess join us. To my complete and utter horror, Brian pulls out the chair next to Jason. Before he sits, he reaches across the table to shake Justin’s hand.
“Brian Fox,” he says politely.
“Justin Nolan. And this is my girlfriend, Alex Russell.”
“Nice to meet you,” Brian says as he sits.
Well this is certainly a scenario I never imagined. I remember thinking it would be strange to sit at a Thanksgiving dinner next to one brother while I pined for the other. I remember thinking Mark and I would share passionate glances across the table while Brian sat beside me.
In all those wild scenarios, I never imagined sitting at a school function next to Justin while Brian sat across the table from us as I pined for Mark.
A few awkward beats pass, and then Tess eases the tension by asking how Justin’s classes are going. He launches into a long spiel about how hard his kids have been working, and we lose Brian and Jason to their own work conversation.
When the interminable dinner finally ends, it’s time for the auction. This is the biggest fundraiser of the entire year, and the top ticket item is Brian’s donation.
Or so I thought.
The truck goes for a cool thirty thousand, but then Mr. Monroe says he has one final item up for auction.
“I’ve managed to keep this item a secret, but it’s the biggest valued item we’ve ever had. It doesn’t have a retail price on it, but I’ve been told it goes for upwards of four hundred thousand dollars.”
My ears perk up as I wonder who donated such a valuable item.
“When I was first approached about this item, I didn’t even know the person who called me. I had to ask my daughter, but she filled me in. Apparently, he’s the lead singer of a very popular band.”
My heart thumps and I close my eyes.
I know. I immediately know who the singer is, and I can suddenly hear my pulse beating in my ears.
“Let me hear a cheer if you’ve heard of the band Vail!” Mr. Monroe says.
The crowded room erupts in noise. Once the cheers die down a little, he says, “Our final auction item tonight is a private performance from the lead singer of Vail, Mark Ashton!”
Screams of excitement carry all around the room. I see people turning to those next to them as they figure out a way to pool their money together to win this once in a lifetime experience.
No one could possibly know what’s going through my head. Or my stomach, for that matter, which suddenly feels like it wants to toss its contents.
Did he do this for me? Did he do it when we were together or was it after I left him in Chicago? Is he trying to tell me something? And if he is...what is it?
I don’t know, but I need to get out of here.
“I’d like to start the bidding at twenty-five thousand dollars,” Mr. Monroe says as I stand. I see someone in the back of the room raise a hand as I move toward the door.
More hands go up as I pass by, but it’s all a blur. I don’t know who is bidding or how high the bids go or who will win a private performance with the man I love. I want that performance—just like everyone else in the room does, but I can’t afford it.
I can’t afford it monetarily, obviously, but worse, I can’t afford it emotionally. I step outside for some fresh air when I feel a hand on my arm.
I turn around and find myself face to face with Alex. Frankly, I’m a little surprised she’s the one who came out to see if I’m okay—not my roommate, Tess. Not my ex, Brian. Not even my ex-who’s-now-a-friend, Justin, for that matter. But Alex.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I draw in a deep breath and nod. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“It has to be weird sitting at the same table as two of your exes.”
I nod and shoot her a wry smile. “It’s a little weird, but I don’t have those feelings for either of them anymore.” I don’t go beyond that, don’t get into the real reason why I couldn’t sit at that table for a second longer.
“Because of the brother?” she guesses.
“Yeah,” I say vaguely, still not admitting who he is or how much the last auction item affected me. “I’m kind of hung up on him.”
“That’s what Justin told me.”
“I think I’m going to head home. I put in my time. Will you be at the game tomorrow?”
She nods.
“I’ll see you there. Say bye to Justin for me, okay?”
“I will.” She leans in for a quick hug, and it’s odd how much she feels like a friend even though she’s the new woman in my ex-boyfriend’s life. It’s nice to have a stable friendship since it feels like everyone else is abandoning me in different ways.
This time I really listen as Mark’s words wash over me.
You want me to let go, want me to leave
Told me you loved him, wanted him, needed him
But I couldn’t do it
Because it was only ever you
You told me to write about somebody else
then broke down in my arms, in my house, in my heart
I held you close to me
Because it was only ever you
You left me alone after a trying goodbye
Thought you’d run back to me, please come back to me
I need you now more than ever
Because it will only ever be you
Tears are streaming down my face in the middle of a parking lot as I listen to the words he wrote about me, about us. About our end and about how he still needs me.
I wonder when he wrote the song, when he recorded it and released it. Why he released it solo instead of with Vail. Did he write it before or after he kicked me out of Chicago? Is he doing a solo album? I think back to Lizzie’s words about Steve. Something is going on with the band, but it’s something I’m not privy to.
And that’s how it should be. I don’t deserve to know because I’m not part of his life anymore.
None of this is the solace I was seeking when I unwillingly left Chicago. He keeps coming back to haunt me, keeps coming back like a bad penny or the hair on my legs or the pile of laundry I need to do, and I think it’s because the two of us belong together. I’m just not sure how to get him back when he’s the one who ended it.
I blow out a breath as the tears start to subside. I clutch those last words to my heart. It will only ever be you.
A text comes through on my phone.
Justin: Alex wants to take you somewhere tonight. You free?
Me: Where?
Justin: Can’t tell you, but you’ll like it. Promise.
Me: Please tell me it’s not a double date.
Justin: Okay, it’s not a double date.
Me: Please tell me it’s not a threesome.
Justin: Damn, you guessed it.
Me: Not interested.
Justin: No offense, but I don’t think Alex would be into that. Invite Jill, too. We’ll pick you up at seven.
I’m curious what they’ve planned, but I don’t ask any more questions. I focus on trying to feel a little excitement for plans with friends instead of all the other chaos going on in my life at the moment.
I call Jill as I resume driving. Her voice fills my car speakers.
“Hey stranger,” she answers.
“Are you free tonight?”
“Beck’s taking me to dinner. Why?”
“Justin just texted me that he and Alex want to take me somewhere tonight and they said to invite you. Please don’t make me be a third wheel on their date.”
“Justin and Alex?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you, like, friends now?”
“Sort of. We hung out at the Homecoming ball and then the game the next night. She’s sweet.”
“And what about Justin?”
“What about him?”
She blows out a breath. “Are you still in love with him?”
I laugh. “No. I mean, part of me will always love him, sure. But my heart is firmly planted in Mark’s hands, and I sort of just need to be on my own for a while.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Okay. I’ll cancel with Beck and meet you at your place. What time?”
“They’re coming at seven. Come early so we can pre-game.”
She laughs. “I’ll bring the booze.”
“Deal.”
We hang up, and I can’t help but think how much I miss my best friend.
I pull into Tess’s apartment complex. This still doesn’t feel like home.
I thought Tess and I might carpool and I’d find myself growing closer to her. Instead, I feel like a burden taking over her guest room. I’ll take what I can get for now, but I need to find a permanent solution.
She’s not home when I walk in, which isn’t all that unusual. She’s been spending a lot of time with Jason, though she denies they’re getting serious.
I have no idea what’s planned for tonight, but I want to be comfortable. I pull on a pair of jeans, pair them with a black shirt, and slide my feet into my Converse.
I hear a knock at the door a few minutes later. “Your captain is here,” Jill says when I open the door, holding up a bottle of Captain Morgan.
We each have a few sips, and then another knock lets us know Justin and Alex are here. We share our rum, and then it’s off to our night of fun, wherever that may lead us.
We drive toward the Strip but take a left instead of a right off the highway. Justin pulls his car into the parking deck of The Palms, and the four of us get out of the car.
The second we step onto the elevator, my heart thumps in my chest.
There’s a poster in the elevator advertising tonight’s entertainment at their music venue.
One Night Only: VAIL.
I’m momentarily mesmerized by Mark’s eyes as they stare back at me. I finally pull my eyes from Mark’s to look at Justin as I feel Jill’s hand on my shoulder. His eyes are twinkling, and I feel like I might vomit right here in this tiny elevator car.
“You didn’t...we’re not...” I stutter.
He nods as he grins, and then he pulls four tickets out of his back pocket. “Front row!” He’s giddy with excitement. “Alex’s dad is a big spender at the casino, and they comped him four tickets to tonight’s show!”
“I can’t.” I back away from him and bump into the wall. I want to back further away but I can’t. Goddamn small elevator.
Mark is somewhere in the building, sharing the same air as me, the same space. He’s getting ready for his show.
I think of the toast with Jägermeister Morgan poured for everyone, and my mind drifts to Morgan for a second. I wonder if she knows what happened, if she misses the friendship we never got to have. I wonder if Angelique is smug in her knowledge that she was right—I was just another flash in the pan for Mark Ashton. I wonder if they’re toasting now, if Mark is leading them. I wonder if some other woman is standing behind Mark, ready to kiss him before he goes onstage, ready to go home and warm the place beside him in his bed. I wonder if she’ll tweet about him tonight or in the morning.
The thoughts are downright suffocating. I don’t even notice the other three people with me because my eyes are back on Mark’s in that advertisement. I’m about to tell Justin and Alex I need to get the fuck out of here when the elevator doors pop open.
“Are you okay?” Justin asks.
I don’t answer as I follow him through the casino. Somewhere in my periphery, I hear Jill say something to him, but it doesn’t register because a light up sign in the middle of the casino catches my eye. I’m drawn to the image displayed in the advertisement.
Mark stands in the center of the image with Ethan, Steve, and James flanked behind him. This one’s different from the advertisement in the elevator. They’re outside on some street with a blue sky extending forever behind them. Mark’s green eyes blaze, and whoever edited this image needs a promotion. The ink on his arms is dark, a stark contrast to the brightness of the sky behind them. He’s ferocious in this photo, like the man who took me to bed that night after the private performance in Los Angeles. I wish I knew when it was taken. I look at his hands—as I always do now because of Lizzie. The tattoos are there, which means this image was snapped within the past few months. I wonder if it was before me or after me or during me.
It doesn’t change anything, but I’d love to know what caused those emotions I see so clearly behind his eyes. Was he thinking of me, of us? I can’t name any of what’s there other than pure sex, but it’s a look he used in the privacy of a bedroom he shared with me. I wonder if it’s the same look he gives every woman in the bedroom or if I truly was different for him.
After the way he made love to me my last day in Chicago, I have to believe I was different.
Jill grabs my arm to pull me out of my trance with this photograph of a man who is so much more to me than just the elusive rock star performing on a stage tonight.
I draw in a deep breath and look up at the ceiling to ward off the tears I know are starting to form. If I’m already emotional and we’re not even inside the actual theater yet, I have no idea what’s going to happen once I see him on that stage, once his voice attacks my auditory system.
I’m trying to figure out how to explain this to Justin and Alex as we step in front of the Pearl theater. A sign in front of the entry says, “Video Recording in Progress. By entering venue, you agree that your image and likeness may be recorded for commercial use.”
“Is this okay?” Justin asks.
I clear my throat and look around wildly for a moment before I focus on his face. “The Mark I told you about, the one I dated and broke up with just a month ago—it’s Mark Ashton.”
His face goes white and his eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”
I nod. “You couldn’t have known.”
“We don’t have to go,” Alex says.
I don’t want to see Mark.
But I want to see Mark so bad it hurts.
The song I heard today on my way home plays in my head. Only Ever You. Does he still feel that way? Or was it just a song?
I don’t have time to allow the emotions to war inside me, because Justin, Alex, and Jill are all waiting for me to respond. I’m sure they all want to go in to see the multi-platinum band perform, but I’m also sure none of them have any idea the things going on in my head right now.
“It’s okay,” I say, forcing a fake smile.
Justin hands our tickets to the attendant and we’re waved inside. Another attendant leads us to our seats. “Usually Vail has a general admission on the floor,” I say once we’re seated. The row is full and we’re the last to arrive.
Alex nods. “This is a special performance they’re filming for some special on one of the music channels. I guess they’ve been on tour but this isn’t technically one of the stops.”
The theater goes dark on those words. Cheers rise up from the crowd in the darkness. The pluck of a guitar string causes the cheers to rise in a crescendo that becomes deafening squeals and screams all around me. Everyone in my row stands and moves against the wall separating us from the stage—including my friends and me.
A single light illuminates a lone figure in the center of the stage, and I immediately recognize his lean frame. Fog rises up from beneath him, casting him in a cloud lit only by a soft, blue light.
I stare at him, memorize him from where I stand. I’m not that far from him, yet somehow, I’m further than I’ve ever been at the same time. His eyes are focused on his instrument. He strums his fingers along the strings, and I recognize the song as one of my favorites. He gives it a good, long intro, and just before the first verse begins, bright lights flood the stage and the rest of the instruments join in—Ethan beats the drums, James slaps the bass, and Steve pounds another guitar all at the same time as Mark’s voice starts the lyrics.
I draw in a breath as if I’m breathing him in. I can almost smell the sandalwood and peppermint from here if I try hard enough. I can almost feel his arms around me again.
Seeing him there in all his glory, professional as always, doing what he loves to do, doing what he lives for...it sends a shooting pain through my spine at the same time it starts to heal my heart. He’s here. He’s okay. He’s doing well.
Maybe he’s doing well without me, but that’s beside the point. I’ve been living in this darkness, not allowing myself to move on—especially after Lizzie and Brian both told me they’re worried about him—but I can see for myself just in the first five seconds of a fully lit stage that he’s doing okay. He’s surviving. He’s singing the words I know so well, but I can’t bring myself to sing along around the lump in my throat. People are dancing beside me and behind me. Justin sways to the beat on my right and Jill belts out the words on my left. The crowd pumps fists in the air in unison on the refrain as they shout the words, but I stand stock still as I watch him.
First impressions told me he was fine, but the longer I watch him, the more I start to find the cracks. I wonder if Morgan and Angelique are here, backstage critiquing or even doing it from here in the crowd somewhere. I glance around for them, but then I brush the thought aside as I listen to his voice. It’s a tad grittier than normal. Maybe he has a cold, or it could be the sound system. My eyes trail down his body. He looks like he’s lost some weight. I can’t see his eyes, not from this distance, but I want to. I want to know if he looks tired and withdrawn up close like Lizzie said. Surely he’s been beautified by some make-up artist for this television performance and I wouldn’t be able to see those things in his eyes from down in the crowd.
The second and third songs are from their first album, but then they play a cover. I recognize the opening notes of “These Eyes” by the Guess Who. I listen as Mark puts his own twist on a classic song, as he sings the words about how he’ll never find another love like he had.
With me? Is he talking about me, thinking about me as he sings those words? Or is his band just covering a golden oldie?
It’s a sensual, smoky version of the song, slowed way down. His eyes are closed as his hand strokes the mic stand, up and down, up and down. He grips the microphone before he repeats the process. His voice gets deep and gritty, but then he bellows out the words with all the pent-up emotion of a man who lost the love of his life.
This is the Mark I know, the one who loves hard and passionately.
He’s lost himself to the words, to the emotions, to the music. My heart aches.
“Are you okay?” Justin asks me.
I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m too mesmerized by what I’m seeing on the stage.
Justin mistakes my silence for not hearing him. He puts his arm around my shoulder to pull me a little closer to him so I can hear him when he asks again.
I nod without taking my eyes off the man in front of me, and that’s when Mark’s eyes finally find me. When he glances up from his focus on his guitar and his eyes meet mine for the first time since I left his condo in Chicago, actual tears begin to fall down my cheeks.
I watch as his eyes widen in surprise to see me here. I listen as some of the grit disappears from his voice and he pours still more emotion into the words, as if he’s drawing strength from the line of vision connecting our eyes.
Is it just my imagination? Is it just that charming way he has about him, the way he commands a stage, the way he makes every person in the room feel like he’s singing directly to them?
Hope blooms in my chest. I want to see him, want him to know I’m here watching him perform, want to know what he’s thinking. I want to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him I’ll always be his. Forever. We didn’t screw this up. We can stop wasting time now. I was stupid to leave and he was stupid to push me away, but we can be smarter going forward.
Old emotions fire up in my chest—feelings I long buried with the death of what we had. Feelings I left on a rooftop in Chicago. Feelings that belong between Mark and me.
But then his eyes slide to the man beside me—the man whose arm is slung around me, and Mark’s eyes darken. He focuses on everything and everyone around me after that, purposely avoiding my eyes.
He introduces a new song, one I’ve never heard before.
“This is from our upcoming album. It’s called ‘Until You.’”
He strums his guitar, a single light on the stage only on him, just like when the concert began. He bellows out the first few bars, and then his eyes meet mine again. I hang onto every single syllable as his voice fills with pent-up emotions he never shares with anyone yet somehow shares with everyone through his music.
I didn't know what love was, didn't know what pain was
Until you
I didn't know what love was, didn't know what hate was
Until you
He glances away from me after he repeats the refrain. His words claw at me as I know without a doubt he’s talking about me.
I gave you a part of me, showed you what no one else could see
I let you in and held you tight, loved you all throughout the night
I handed you my trust, and it left me feeling crushed
I didn't know what love was, didn't know what pain was
Until you
I didn't know what love was, didn't know what hate was
Until you
I didn't deserve you anyway, told you that one fated day
Now I know why I never do this, and even though I still feel your kiss
I can't think of you anymore, it's the one thing I know for sure
I don’t know if there are more lyrics because my instinct is to flee. I can’t listen to more of his words, not when I know who they’re about. Not when I know he wrote them thinking of me—hating me or loving me or something in between.
I wind up in the bathroom, Jill close on my tail as sobs erupt out of my chest. I can’t think of you anymore.
He can’t even bear to think of me anymore. What does that say about the hope I allowed myself to feel for a few glorious moments? I’m a fucking idiot, that’s what it says.
Jill rubs my back, but it does nothing to comfort me. I just want to be alone. I push her away from me. “I need to get out of here,” I manage to say between the sobs that rack my body.
“Stay,” she says. “It’ll be okay.”
“Stay? Are you kidding me? Did you fucking hear what he just said?” My voice is hysterical and loud and women are looking at us with curiosity but I couldn’t give a fuck.
“I heard,” Jill says softly, soothingly. “It just means he isn’t over you.”
“He said he hates me. He said he didn’t know what hate was until me.” Those loud words draw a few more curious glances.
She puts her hands on my biceps to try to steady me, but it doesn’t work.
“Maybe he didn’t mean you,” she says. “Maybe he meant his brother.”
“Bullshit. He meant me. I can’t be here, Jill. He wrote an entire song about how I fucked him up. Stay if you want, but I’m done here.”
I head out of the bathroom. I hear cheering as I make my way up some stairs and find myself out in the casino. Justin and Alex are waiting near the theater’s entrance.
“I’m so sorry,” Alex says. She pulls me into a hug. “I had no idea.”
I shake my head. “You couldn’t have known. I never told either of you.”
Justin ducks his head sheepishly. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I shrug.
“I’m so sorry. I thought seeing your favorite band would be fun,” he says.
I press my lips together. “It would’ve been back before I met him.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Alex asks.
I shake my head. “I’d just like to go home.”