CHAPTER EIGHT
Kace
“Oh, say can you see…”
Bright flashes of light come from every direction, the football stadium seemingly alive like a million stars. I feel the lyrics rise from my chest as the Pride of the Southland Band plays along.
This isn’t where I want to be, but it’s exactly the right place. Presley was right. I need to fulfill this obligation, do my best. I don’t need to let anyone else down.
“…by the dawn’s early light.”
How many concerts got cancelled in the past because I was too drunk or stoned to go up on stage? How many fans did I puke on? I don’t even know.
I’m ashamed.
“What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming.”
I wasted so many years chasing a high I’d never find after the first one. I became a puppet to the craving. A puppet to the need.
As I continue to sing the anthem, watch people watch me belt out the notes in a voice that has been called edgy and raw over and over, it feels raw. I feel raw. I feel as if layers of skin are peeling away, threatening to expose my insides.
“And the rocket’s red glare…” I close my eyes, letting the heart of this song sink into my chest as fireworks explode up from the stadium walls, “…the bombs bursting in air.”
I open my eyes… and there she is. I see her immediately, standing on the sidelines, her red hair whipping across her face in the breeze.
“Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave.”
Hope fills my chest. She’s here.
“O’er the land of the free…” The note comes deep from every cell in my body, and I can hear the crowd cheer and scream as I hold it with all the hope I dare allow myself to feel.
Presley lifts a hand and wipes at her face, a soft smile on her lips.
“… and the home of the brave.”
The crowd roars, the camera’s flash, but there’s only one person I see.
Even as I wave to the crowd. Even as I hand over the mic and shake hands with officials, she stays in my line of sight. And when I’m done, I go directly to her.
It’s a terrible risk, I know, but I hold out my hand in silent invitation.
I don’t blame her if she rejects it, but when her fingers meet mine, I rejoice and feel as if I’m able to breathe for the first time in ages.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
If I could have planned this better, I wouldn’t have subjected Presley to this level of scrutiny. When we were together ten years ago, the press was hounding, especially during those six months after “Lie with Me” hit big, but it was nothing like it is today. And I know that, within seconds, our images will be trending and going viral, and there will be reporters and bloggers and vloggers and cut-throat paparazzi hounding her for a tell-all for the next few days. At least they will until a newer, better story comes along.
But I couldn’t have planned any of this because I’m still amazed myself that we’re here together right now. Her hand still in mine as we walk off the field and back into the tunnels of the stadium.
“One hour,” she says and pulls her hand away the moment the tunnel consumes us.
“Can we go to my bus?”
She stops, faces me when I stop beside her. “No. I won’t be alone with you like that.”
I take a step toward her, and she backs away. “Pres, I’ll never hurt you. Ever. Not like that.”
She huffs. “You’re an idiot.”
I shrug. “That’s pretty damn clear.” I gesture around us. “Is this where you want to have this discussion?”
She leans against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s as good a place as any.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
She lifts her chin. “You’ve said that already.”
“I mean it. I was fucked up back then. You know it. I was fucked up while we were together. I was fucked up after you left. I’m not fucked up anymore, Pres. I’m clean. Clean.”
“Where have you been all this time?”
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “After getting out of rehab after the sixth or seventh time, I went into a deep pit of depression. Didn’t get out of bed much for about a year except when I was forced on stage to sing. Tried rehab one last time, and it stuck.”
She hugs herself tighter, but it seems more for self-comfort than self-protection now. “I’m sorry. How did you pull yourself out of the depression?”
“I fired everyone.”
Presley blinks. “I thought James left you.”
I scoff. “Yeah, that’s what he told everyone, and I was just too damn tired to tell them different.”
“Why?”
“Why fire him?”
“Yeah.”
I remember him laughing, shoving more alcohol and drugs in my direction. I remember him telling me that Presley’s leaving was for the best. Telling me how she’d ruined my career. How panty-tossing groupies didn’t like their rock stars off the market.
“I don’t know how to say this without it seeming like I’m placing blame, but James is one of the biggest reasons I couldn’t get better.” I meet her gaze. “He’s the one who put those girls in my bed.”
Presley snorts, disbelieving even now. “Is that still your story?”
I don’t waver. Whether she believes me or not, it’s the truth. “Yes.”
The silence stretches between us, the roar of the stadium crowd echoing through the tunnel sounding more like a rush of wind than a hundred thousand voices cheering or booing as one.
“What if I say that I believe you?” she asks, pushing her hair away from her face. “What if I say I forgive you?”
I’m afraid to believe that what I’m hearing is true. I take a step toward her, and she doesn’t move. The look on her face doesn’t change. “That would be wonderful, Pres.”
She stands up straighter. “Then… I believe you and I forgive you.”
I reach for her, my hands landing on her shoulders. “Thank you. I—”
Pain explodes in my balls, rocketing up my spine and into every cell of my body. Her knee was a direct hit, and the fire low in my gut builds in intensity with each passing second.
She sidesteps out of my reach, but she doesn’t leave. And when I can breathe enough to look up, she’s standing only a few feet from me, her arms across her chest again.
“I said I forgive you,” she says when I’m standing halfway straight. “I didn’t say you can touch me. I said I believe you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still hold you accountable for your actions.” Her face twists in pain, but she goes on, “How many times before that night did I beg you to stop drinking? To stop the drugs?”
I shake my head, attempting to stand taller, but can’t quite manage it. “I don’t know. Constantly.”
“Every choice has a consequence, Kace, and you chose that lifestyle over our life together. I forgive you, but I don’t trust you. And without trust, love is like a kite on a windless day. It has nowhere to go but down.”
She turns. She’s leaving. Desperation rips at me, and I stagger after her. “Presley, don’t go. Please. I love you.”
That stops her, and she turns slowly. So very slowly back toward me. “Love isn’t enough, Kace. I wish you well. I wish you success. I even wish that you can find love without all the baggage and pain attached.” The pain returns, contorting her features, and she pushes back her hair with both hands. “Will you just go? Please. Go, and let this go. Let us go. You move on with your life and I’ll move on with mine.”
I stand taller. “No.”
She blinks. “No?”
“No.”
She crosses her arms protectively over her chest again. “Then you’ll just have to get over it.”
Even as my gut sinks at her words, something stirs in my heart. Life. Because I know what I need to do. Trust can be rebuilt, I know it. And I’ll prove it to her.
Today.
“I, Kace Anthony Rymer, promise thee, Presley Elizabeth Collins, that I will be the man you deserve.”
A tear seeps past her tightly closed eyes. “Kace. Don’t.”
“I will prove to you that I am the man you can have and hold, in richer and in poorer, in sickness and in health. I’ll prove it to you, Presley. I don’t care how long it takes.”
“Why are you doing this?”
I step toward her and she doesn’t back away. “Because I love you, Presley. I’ve loved you since I was twenty years old. Even through the worst darkness, I loved you. I just wasn’t man enough to deserve your love in return.”
“I did love you.”
I nod. “I know. And I believe you still do. The love is just buried under all the rubble I caused.” I took another step closer. “Let me unbury it. Let me prove to you that I’m here now. Late. Stupid late. But I’m here.”
Another tear falls, and she doesn’t flinch when I brush it away. She doesn’t pull away when I cup her cheek in my hand.
“I spent the first half of the last ten years lost in a fog of drugs and darkness. I’ve spent the second half of the last ten years regaining life, trying to heal whatever was broken inside of me.” With my thumb, I wipe away another tear. “Let me prove it to you, Presley.” I take her face between my hands, and God, I’m touching her hair. The hair I love so much. I lift her face until all I have to do is lower my mouth.
When my lips are only millimeters from hers, she opens her eyes, and says, “No.”
The word isn’t said with venom, but the bite of it sends the poison through my system, moving faster with my rapidly beating heart.
Raising her arms, she circles my wrists with her hands… and pulls them away.
“Goodbye, Kace.”
Then she turns and walks away. She stops and digs into the pocket of her pants.
There’s a ping as she drops something on the concrete floor.
The ring.
The thing is… even as I watch her move farther and farther from me, even as I pick the ring up and stuff it in my pocket, the hope remains.
“I…” I whisper after her, “Kace Anthony Rymer, will win you, Presley Elizabeth Collins, back.”
When she turns the corner, I vow that I will.