“Sometimes we make the right decision. Sometimes a bad choice. At the end of the day it’s how you handle it that makes the difference.” ~ Johnny Outlaw
“Why did you hang up on me?” Dalton asks, his voice sounding as tense as I’m assuming his body must be.
I search for a reasonable lie, one that won’t spoil the surprise, but I suck at lying. “I had a call I had to take.”
“Why didn’t you say that?”
“I don’t know. I was flustered.”
“You sound flustered now. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired and need to eat something.” There’s that awful silence lingering between us. It shows up when he’s thinking too deep for this to turn out any good.
“Can we talk about the video?” I’d be hesitant to bring it up again if the role was reversed, but he asks, his words steady.
It’s something we need to talk about, so I reply, “We can talk about it.”
“Things are changing for you and for Limelight. I’m just wondering if you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“We’re growing. I see it as a positive, my hard work paying off.”
“But when celebrity gets involved, it shifts the intent.”
“I’m not doing this to become famous,” I say, remembering how much I’m hounded already. “Hell, I already get more attention than I like.”
“Then why put yourself in that position, Holliday? You know the outcome. The writing’s on the wall. You picked a guy that already has his own set of media baggage, then throw our relationship into the mix. What result did you think you’d get?”
“I don’t understand why me growing my business has suddenly become a negative thing.”
He sighs, clearly misunderstood. I can picture him running his hand through his hair, frustrated. “It’s not. That’s not what I mean.”
I don’t want to fight with him and I know he wants the best for me and Limelight, so I back down the defenses and ask, “What do you mean then?”
“I’m not saying don’t do the video. Just be careful and remember that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.”
I could tease him for using such a cliché, but his point is taken, hitting me hard. What I do affects more than just me and even my best efforts could backfire in ways that I can’t predict. “Point taken,” I say. “I’ll keep that mind.”
The silence creeps in between us again, and he asks, “What’s wrong. Talk to me.”
“Just thinking about what you said. That’s all.”
A charm works its way in, and he says, “I support your decisions, Holliday. And I have no doubt the video will be amazing.”
He’s struggling with giving me the freedom for the world to perceive me in a whole new way, the most gracious way he can because he loves me. “Thank you. That means more to me than you know.” A yawn slips out just as my stomach growls. “I’m starving and tired. I’m gonna go to bed early.”
This time he talks to me with love and concern. “Do you want me to order you something?”
And my heart goes mushy for this man. “You’d order me food when you’re out of town?”
“Sure. I know what you like. I have the restaurants programmed into my phone. You’re tired and you sound like you need rest. Go do that and I’ll order one of your favorites.”
“You spoil me,” I say, lying back on the couch.
His voice gets quieter. “I wish I could do it more.” A smile is heard through his tone when he says, “Go relax. Dinner will be there in less than thirty.”
“It always takes an hour.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, laughing. “I’m gonna offer them a big tip to rush it.”
Grinning from ear to ear, I plop down on the couch. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“All the time, but I can always hear it again.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
We leave for Manhattan the next evening and arrive late that night. Tracy and I are tired and after grabbing a snack, we go straight to bed.
Gasping, I sit up when the alarm goes off. “Damn it!” I turn it off, pissed from the annoying intrusion, my hands still shaking.
Tracy cracks the door open, and sounding way too chipper sings, “Good morning.”
“Morning.” My stomach rolls and I hurry to the bathroom…
After the usual bout of morning sickness, I brush my teeth and take a shower, and then brush my teeth again in the shower just to be on the clean side.
I slip on my robe and walk into the living room. A few production people have arrived. Some are moving the furniture. Two others rush past me into the bedroom and start working on that room. The set designer is talking to Tracy who waves me over. “There’s decaf over on the island for you.”
“Thank you.”
On the kitchen island the caterers are setting up trays of pastries, fruit, and juices. Coffee is brewing and a warm mug is waiting for me.
Getting the final touches by makeup and hair, I sit in a chair by the window when Sebastian walks into the apartment. He greets everyone with self-assuredness and sends a wink my way. All the thoughtfulness from the other day is gone and The Model is back.
Gracie gets me from the living room and talks to me about positioning on the bed and what angles she’s going for. Sebastian is in the bathroom with hair and makeup while we wait. When the door opens, he fastens his eyes on me and walks to the end of the bed. His clothes are dropped in the middle of the bedroom, in front of me and the crew. Wardrobe hands him the white Bite Me boxers, but before he puts them on, he says, “Good morning, Holli.” Then he bends down to put the boxers on. Whoa! Not only is he not shy, but he has reason to not be shy. I send my gaze to the window before he catches me looking.
He climbs under the covers and leans forward, trying to kiss me on the cheek. Even with my head moved back, away from him, he still smiles. “Good to see you again.”
“I can’t say it’s that good of a morning at this hour.”
“Well, you look beautiful no matter what the time.”
“Thank you,” I reply, suddenly feeling my cheeks heat from the compliment. His good mood is actually a nice change on him.
After being directed, we lie there, his chest to my back, his arm over me holding me. He kisses my neck as I stare out the window. I try to block out the fact that this isn’t my husband. I’m going for content, not sad right now.
With the sun barely sneaking in through the tall buildings, I’m pressed against the glass forty minutes later, Sebastian’s hand under the hem of my lace tank top. His hand caresses my side and the back of my head goes to the window. We’re told to freeze as wardrobe rushes in to lower his boxers enough to expose the side of the deep V of muscles pressing against me. Dalton’s words come back about Sebastian’s dick on me and I shift, trying to shake away the thought. It isn’t against me now, so that’s good. I roll my head to the side as instructed and he kisses my neck. I don’t fall under any spell, the kisses feeling all wrong. I stare into the camera, keeping this centered on business, then close my eyes again, needing to block this out.
As soon as cut is yelled, I grab the robe from the bed and walk into the kitchen for a bottle of water. Tracy whispers, “You okay?”
“No,” I whisper between gritted teeth. “I’m not okay. You guys have me practically making out with him. He’s not my husband. I feel like I’m cheating. It makes me feel like shit.”
“It’s business. Remember that. Johnny’s done the same and worse in videos.”
“I don’t need you to justify it,” I snap, feeling exposed though I’m completely covered by the velour robe. I tighten the belt around me. “I need you to understand I’m not okay. This is not what I do.”
“I’ll check on the next scene and see if I can cool the heat so to speak.” She leaves me there to cool down. Returning a few minutes later, she hands me my phone. “Call him. I think that will make you feel better. I’ll tell them we need a ten minute break.”
She’s right. I do need to talk to him. I call despite the early morning hour. When he answers, I say, “I’m sorry. I know it’s early. I needed to hear your voice though.”
“I like hearing yours too. How’s it going?”
“I’m sorry, Dalton. I’m sorry for doing this video,” I say, sniffling, my emotions getting the best of me.
“Hey,” he says, his voice becoming intimate, speaking directly to my heart. “Why are you sad? What’s wrong?”
“He’s not you.” My confession comes out, traveling the distance between us and making my heart ache.
The phone cracks, the pause longer than I want. He whispers though he sounds like he wants to yell. “That makes me want to kick his ass for touching you like I do—”
“He doesn’t. No one can touch me like you do. Doing this makes me feel guilty.”
It’s instant and unexpected. The man whose jealousy sometimes drives me wild and sometimes drives me mad knows exactly how to make me feel better. “Just imagine me, Baby. That’s what I do. I picture you. It makes it easier to get through.”
It’s not easy for him to do this kind of thing either. Somehow hearing this makes me feel better. My body calms and I hold the phone a little tighter, and whisper, “I wish you were here.”
“I can be. I’m close. I’m in Jersey.”
“You are? I thought you would have left already.”
“Tommy’s still trying to get a meeting moved. We leave tonight to fly to Phoenix, but if I can get there. I need to see you too.”
Wanting to see him more than anything, I ask, “You do?”
“I had a shit night.”
“What happened?”
He stalls. “Nothing to worry about.”
“I worry about you anyway, so please tell me.”
His gulp is heard. Silently, he whispers, “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I’m going through the motions, pretending I want this. I don’t think I do.”
Worry is now an understatement. “Babe, it’s going to be okay. You can do this and then you take all the time off you want.”
“He’s not here. You’re not here. They want us to sign another three record deal. They want us to play Super Bowl next year. I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize me anymore.”
My problems seem to pale under the weight of his world as it crashes down around him. He needs to come first. “Dalton, you left Texas on your own. You worked hard, practiced, and wrote songs on your own. I know you believe Cory and Rochelle made you who you are, but they didn’t. They just brought out the best of who you were already.”
“With Cory gone, what’s left of me then?”
I gasp, but it’s quiet. Until now, I hadn’t realized how bad off he really was. I thought we were past the darker days, but touring seems to have stolen the light right out from under him. “Come see me. Please. Take a later flight if you have to, but come see me before you leave.”
His pause is too long, but I exhale when he says, “I will. I promise.”
Gracie calls me, “Holli, we’re ready for you.”
“I’ve got to go,” I whisper into the phone. “But keep your promise.”
“I will.” Before I hang up, he adds, “I Love you. And, Angel, don’t let him pull any shit with you.”
I want to giggle, but the tension lessens the response. Instead I smile and reply, “Don’t worry. I won’t. I love you.”
I hesitantly hang up and return to the set, counting the minutes until he arrives.
I’m exhausted by three. I’ve been up for twelve hours and I’m feeling it. Sebastian and I are jumping on the bed having a pillow fight when I hear Tracy raise her voice, “Please stop, Johnny. Don’t go in there. Please.”
Johnny?
I stop jumping, but Sebastian doesn’t and a pillow smacks me in the face. When it drops, he says, “Yikes, sorry, Holli.”
But I barely hear him.
Dalton stands in the doorway, his chest heaving as harsh as his breath. Devastation lies heavy as his eyes pierce my middle. I’m held captive to the spot where I stand, seconds feeling like exaggerated minutes as he seems to be processing something I’m not privy to.
When his eyes meet mine, his face has drained of color, his eyes are cold and heartless, causing me to flinch. Dalton has only ever given me love. He would never look at me as if I’m his mortal enemy.
But he is…
He knows. He knows I’m pregnant. But where’s the smile? Where’s his joy? His striking features have been replaced by the wreckage of something tragic.
I’ve only seen this expression once before. When Cory died.
My heart starts to race, panging to reach him, but for the first time in our lives, I’m scared and hesitate to go to him. A heavy blink blocks out the pain on his face I’m witnessing, but only momentarily. Anger gets the best of him and he points at Sebastian. “Motherfucker.” The room is dead silent, and he says, “We’re gonna have a talk, but first I need to speak with my wife.”
As soon as his gaze hits me, a look of disgust blindsides me. My hands drop down and cover my belly as if I can protect the baby. Thoughts run through my mind to why he’s looking at me as if I’ve hurt him. Why he’s looking at me like I’m guilty of something unforgivable. Although my fears are wrapped around my neck, strangling me, I step off the bed anyway and go to him. For someone that seems to have a million emotions pent up inside by the look on his face, his tone is even… too even, when he says, “In the other room. Now.” He turns his back to me and walks across the living room into the other bedroom.
I gulp heavily, knowing something is wrong and hoping his devastation isn’t because of our baby. I quietly shut the door after I enter. He stands at the window with his back to me and I feel sick, but for a different reason than this morning. “What’s wrong?” I ask, afraid of his answer.
When he turns to confront me, his eyes narrow and he holds up a magazine I failed to notice. “This! This is what’s wrong!” He struggles to get the next words out. “You, you’re pregnant!”
Storming closer, he shakes the paper in my face, the rattling sound making me nauseous. “Dalton, calm down.”
“I can’t fucking calm down!” I reach out to touch his hand, but it drops away and he throws the paper. As he speaks, “This story is everywhere,” I glance down to see the magazine cover of Sebastian and me in front of my doctor’s office. The headline is in bold white—Holliday and Sebastian Having a Love Child. I look up at Dalton when he says, “I can’t live like this. Not knowing.” When he turns, his green eyes penetrate mine. “I need to know, Holliday.”
“You need to know what?” I ask confused to what’s really going on.
His face is flawed, contorted in pain that makes him unrecognizable when he snarls, “You know.”
This is not the man I married. This is not my life, but the anger over the allegation is overtaking every other emotion I might have had, ones that would have me cling to him, to comfort him like he needs. Those emotions are lost to darker ones that have eaten him up and now he feels this need to spew at me. I cover my stomach, protecting the baby from his rage. “Dalton…”
“Tell me, Holliday.”
Then I realize, the picture becoming clear. I see the hope in his eyes—hope that I will say what he wants to hear. But the hurt he’s instilled inside me wins out. “If you’re asking me what I think you are, I want you to leave.”
“I’m not leaving until I have answers. Did you fuck him?”
My heart has never been so wrecked, so betrayed. I walk to the door and hold it wide open. “Get out!” I scream, my anguish morphing into rage.
“Shut the damn door!”
“No! Not if you’re gonna come in here with insinuations or accusations.” I don’t recognize the man before me, the one who has decided to destroy our lives while his crumbles. “Get out, Dalton. I want you gone before this gets worse.”
His sarcasm is dripping. “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart. I don’t take threats lightly.”
How have we come to this? How did we get here? Sadness shrouds my clearer thoughts. “It’s not a threat.” My anguish comes in tears that slip down my cheek. I wipe them away, hating the weakness. “If you have to ask me who the father of my baby is, there’s nothing more for us to say.”
Flipping from one emotion to the next, he grits his teeth. “Say it’s not true. Deny it!”
My insides are black, set on fire by the man I love, burned by the man I thought would always be on my side. I refuse to be part of this downward spiral and placate on the back end of his insults. “I shouldn’t have to!”
“Do you know how humiliated I am? A roadie was reading this trash.” His head drops down, his own anguish eating away at him until he’s left with the ugliness of this, what lies between us. Trust is gone, shattered by our pride. I can’t give him what he needs when he sucker-punched me with this accusation. And he knows I won’t, too stubborn to admit fault sometimes. In this case, there is none so I won’t win anyway. But he won’t walk out of here a winner either. I know him too well. Regret will take hold soon enough, but I won’t take the brunt in the meantime. “Leave,” I say, a slight plea has set in, making my throat ache with rawness. Another tear falls and then another. I let them.
“If I walk out that door, I’m not coming back.” His threat appears idle on the surface, but even if regret sets in later, he has his ego to deal with. When he looks up, his eyes are a bright green, shining through his own tears. “I need you to tell me. I need to hear that this is all made up, that they faked the photos.”
I can’t deny those photos. “They’re real, but the story is—”
In one fast motion, he swings and punches a hole in the wall. I jump, flinching from the action as the plaster falls in bits and pieces to the floor at my feet. His hand is bloody and I gasp from shock and fear as he barrels over in pain. I cry, “Babe, what are you doing?”
Dalton stands, knocking my hands off of him and walks right past me and straight out the apartment door. I follow him. “Dalton. Don’t go!”
He doesn’t bother stopping or looking back. He doesn’t even bother with the elevator though I’m twenty-one floors up. He kicks the stairwell door open and disappears, leaving me with the tears of heartache, the worry of my marriage, and the obliterated plaster on the floor.
In the middle of Manhattan, my husband leaves me and I think it might be for good.