25: INTERVIEW
Thursday. I find out the interview with Mila Taylor is Thursday. I never stressed over these things before. The person on the other side of a conversation was just one more acquaintance in the long parade of personalities I dealt with. I treated them the same as everyone else. If I liked them, they got charming, witty Wes Alton. If I didn’t, they got smart-ass Wes. I didn’t give a shit either way; it was their call how they wanted to play the exchange. Plus, there was always Holland to smooth things over and my volatile reputation to hide behind.
This is different. This is the first public exposure of New Wes, and I have no idea how he handles interviews.
I stare into my coffee mug, elbows resting on the cool granite of the kitchen island. So much rides on this moment. It’s a lot carrying two souls I’d protect with my life, in addition to the scrap that’s left of my own.
My healthy fingers tap a disjointed cadence, waiting for my phone to ring. This device I’ve come to despise is now going to decide my fate. Fucking irony, man. Just one joke after another.
I startle at the shrill eruption and draw in a deep breath when I see the foreign number. Yorkshire, England I was told.
Here we go.
“Hello. Wes, here.”
“Hiya. It’s Mila. How goes it?”
Her clipped accent makes me smile, especially the soft tone I never saw coming. I guess I figured she’d speak in ogre grunts.
“Thanks for agreeing to this.”
“A cozy chinwag with the infamous Wes Alton? No way was I missing that chance.”
I force a chuckle. “Yeah, well, thanks for making me infamous.”
“Nah, mate, that was all your doing.”
Deep breath. New Wes.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk about. I’m not sure who your sources are but I have an idea. They have a personal vendetta that has led to some bad information.”
“Ooh, how intriguing. Tell me more.” She doesn’t sound intrigued. At all. Why exactly did I think this was a good idea?
“Look, here’s what’s really going on, and you can do with it what you want. Yes, I’m leaving Tracing Holland, but Holland and I are on great terms. I’m pursuing another project we’re all really excited about, including Holland. We’re still going to write together, and we’ll even play together on occasion. ‘Swan Song’ is our last album as a band, but we’re still going to work with each other.”
Her silence leaves me drumming broken rhythms again. Shit, and you can’t read body language over the phone. I have no clue what’s going on over there in Yorkshire.
“Also, you should know no criminal charges are in play. I’m going to guess you got that from my father? He hates me and owns the world of PR so be careful with anything you get from him. Same with Miranda Rivenier. We went out a couple times, and I broke it off. She didn’t take it well.”
Still no response. Did we get disconnected? I swear this is the worst interview ever, and now I’m babbling like a teenager to his school newspaper.
“You there?” I ask.
“Yep, I’m here.”
Am I bombing or killing it?
“As for Hannah Drake, she’s an amazing woman. I have a ton of respect for her and would appreciate it if you left her out of this.”
“I see.”
Shit.
“Okay, well, any questions for me?”
“Nah, mate. I think I have what I need. Thank you for clearing things up.”
Things are clear? That makes one of us.
My fingers resume their song from earlier until my phone lights up with a message. Hannah.
How did it go?
I unlock my phone.
No clue.
∞∞∞
Mila posts the next day.
Peeps, have I got news for you! You'll never guess who came begging at my door. It seems our vicious little pit bull, Wes Alton, is just a toy poodle at heart wanting a pat on the head.
There there, Wesley Boy. Put your lip away. Don't let those meanies spreading nasty rumours see you cry.
You see, he claims the rumours aren't true. He's still on good terms with his bessie, Holland Drake. They're even going to continue working together. Do I believe him? Maybe. Did I laugh my arse off as I listened to the legendary bad boy snivelling into his phone? Abso-friggin-lutely.
I'll tell you one thing, though. As much as I wanted to hate their final album "Swan Song" when I previewed it, I didn't. It was actually bloody good listening and Tracing Holland fans are in for a right treat.
So for those of you that are about to lose the plot, Wes style, take a leaf out of his handbook. This is the way to do it.
Well, good luck with your new "project," Wesley. Still sounds like shite to me, but you never fail to entertain. –Mila out
Well, fuck.
I grin and lean back on the couch.
∞∞∞
Pam calls first. The Label is thrilled. They must have been watching for the post as well, and they’re shitting their pants at the way this hype should skyrocket interest in “our final album together.” The article was only up for an hour when promoters were reaching out to book the band, and other publications wanted details on “the real story.” She also praised me for what she called “forgoing my ego.” Whatever.
Holland is next.
“Did you see it? Mila endorsed the record!”
“It’s great.” I drop to the couch and settle my head against the armrest.
“Seriously, it couldn’t have gone better. I just… Thank you, Wes. And sorry she said those other things about you. I know there’s no way you came off like that.”
“Ha. It’s Mila. Can’t expect anything different. Enjoy the ride.” We quiet under the weight of my words. I’m happy for her. I meant every syllable; it just happened to be a ride we always assumed we’d take together.
“No matter what happens, Tracing Holland will be your legacy,” she says finally.
I let it sink in, but it doesn’t quite feel right. “Well, part of it. I have Viper Rising to build now.”
“Right.” I hear the smile in her voice. “Speaking of which, Hannah is on her way over there now.”
How does my heart still react to that fact after all this time? “Sounds good.”
She’s silent again, and I imagine the irresistible purse of her lips when she’s pondering something. “You really like her, don’t you?”
Oh boy. “I do. A lot.”
“She likes you too.”
“I know. Hol?”
“Yeah?”
“I will die before I hurt your sister.”
“I know.”
My breath escapes with relief. “Good. She’s special.”
“I know that too.”
“I guess,” I say through a laugh. “She’s your sister.”
“No, it’s not that.”
My humor wanes as I wait for her to continue.
“You and I have been close for most of our lives. Inseparable for a lot of it, but I feel like I was a crutch for you. It wasn’t me; it was Hannah who pushed you into the man I knew you could be. No matter what happens, remember that.”
It’s true. And it’s Hannah I’m dying to have in my arms right now.
∞∞∞
I don’t have to wait long. I’m not sure why she didn’t tell me she was coming, but I figured she wanted to debrief over the events in person. When the door clicks, I’m glued to the opening like the little dog Mila says I am.
I take her in my arms and plant a kiss on her forehead, then… I step back in surprise. Her face. A frown. Concern. Why is there concern?
“Geoff called.”
Fuck no!
“He misses me and feels bad about what happened between us. He wants to make it up to me.”
Brute Two’s fist struck me with less force than that blow.
“Really.”
She lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah. He’s booked us a cruise and everything. Can you believe it?”
I’d take you anywhere. I thought you knew that. “Wow. You going?”
Her pause cuts deep. “I don’t know.”
Nothing moves from my head to my mouth while she waits so she continues.
“Things haven’t been good with Geoff lately, but we’ve devoted three years of our lives together. Hell, I thought I was going to marry him at one point. How can I not hear him out? Then again, we have that Viper Rising audition. And you… God!” She locks her fingers on her head, pain flooding her eyes. It’s too much, and I have to look away.
Ahh!
I can’t breathe. I should be screaming a defense, it’s right there, but that was Old Wes. New Wes wants Hannah to be happy, hates the distress on her face. He wants her to go on a fucking cruise with a douchebag if that’s where her heart will shine. The fact that we’re even having this conversation tells me what I thought we had was a warped fantasy in Selfish Wes’s head.
Even as the words come out they sound foreign to me. “We can always push the audition. They’re not going to be in a hurry to move on things while I’m injured and we’re still sorting out the Tracing Holland drama.”
“True.”
I can’t tell if it’s the answer she wanted since she won’t look at me.
My heart is pounding. Impressive considering I’m pretty sure it’s in a dozen pieces right now. “If you really want to go with this guy, we can make it work.”
If he’s the one you want, I will let you go.
She watches me, eyes round, waiting for… I still don’t know what, but I’d do anything to give it to her. My blessing? Fuck!
She searches my face. “It’s just… You said we’re fooling ourselves with this—whatever it is. You said we’re wasting our time, that it could never work between us, and I can’t afford to pretend anymore. I’m twenty-six. If I’m going to start over with a new future I have to get serious.”
I did say that. I’ve said a lot of stupid things in my life.
“I love our friendship and I don’t want to hurt you, but I was thinking about it last night. What are we doing? Am I just going to keep playing around like a teenager. And then Geoff calls. First the Viper Rising opportunity, then Geoff comes back out of the blue? It has to be a sign that it’s time to move forward, right?”
Has to be the universe fucking with me again. “I did believe that then, Han. But…”
But what, Wesley? But I love you so much that if you leave with this guy I’ll implode? “I was wrong. I see things differently now. I think we can make it work.”
Her smirk slices into me. “Yeah? With the groupies and strippers on the side? Right.”
I feel sick. Even worse when her eyes fill with pity.
“Crap. I’m sorry. You’re serious, aren’t you?” She sighs and covers her face. “I… I don’t know.” Her beautiful features come into view again, and I swallow the urge to beg. “I’m afraid of you, Wes. Of us. What I feel for you is so… It’s not safe. Not stable.”
Blood rushes to every part of my body.
“It’s so much. It’s like, I do things without thinking. Every time we’re within a few feet of each other, my brain shuts off.”
I close the gap and tip her chin. Fine. I’m a dick. I’m not losing this woman to fucking Geoffrey. “No it doesn’t. You just open yourself up to the part of you that’s been cut off for most of your life.”
“I become a rebel.”
“You become a viper.”
I kiss her then. I have to if this is the last chance I’ll have to show her that she’s better than who she thinks she should be. I part her lips with my tongue and find hers. She groans as her body responds to my demands.
“This is real,” I breathe against her mouth. I reach for her top and pull it off. Even with the splints on my fingers there’s no fumbling with clasps and straps. She’s mine. Mine, and Geoffrey better be ready to fight his ass off.
We’re on the couch now. I have Hannah pressed into the cool leather. Every muscle is tensed and ready for battle. I move against her, enjoying the way the reservation slips from her guard at each push of my hips. Her fingers spread over me, sinking into my flesh.
“I want this every day,” I say. My lips trace down her neck to find her breasts. She’s delicious, especially when she arches in unison with the pressure of my mouth. I don’t stop until her hands are threaded in my hair, guiding me with an urgency that would make any man hard. Me? I’m granite.
“Wait, ahh!” She cuts off with a moan.
“You want me to wait?” I work my way down her smooth stomach and caress the skin along the edge of her jeans.
“No, don’t wait. Just…” Another jerk of her body when I run my hand up the inside of her thighs.
“Just, what?” I free the button, slide down the zipper to expose the most mouthwatering black satin I’ve ever seen. This is viper fabric not country-club fabric.
I tug the elastic with my teeth and let it snap back with a playful grin. Her gasp is everything a guy lives for.
“Still want me to stop?” My lips come down hard on the soft material.
“No,” she breathes.
I nibble harder with each shift down.
“No, because this is…” She’s panting now. I can barely understand her through the short breaths. Until, “This is my point.”
I pull back, eyes locking on hers. Her expression softens into a brutal plea. “You make me crazy, Wes. I lose control. Do you have any idea how scary that is?”
I live my entire life on that precipice. “That’s living, Han,” I manage, even as I watch her slip away. Her gaze drops to the floor.
“For you, maybe. For me…” She shimmies back and straightens on the couch.
Panic sets in. Fear that’s not remotely eased by the sympathy on her face.
“For me, I need control. I need to let my brain make decisions. There are rules, Wes. An order. There’s a way things are supposed to be.”
“Yeah? Like locking yourself in a career you hate? Or dating some dude for his trust fund? That doesn’t sound safe to me. That sounds like a recipe for lifelong depression.”
What the fuck is wrong with you, Wes?
She bolts up from the couch.
“Han, I’m sorry. Hannah!”
I reach for her, but she backs away, throwing on clothing and shoes with careless fury.
“Will you just…”
She spins around, gaze searing into me. “Thanks for making this easier. Tell the Label we can do the audition in a few weeks when I get back.”
And I’ve lost.