“Tell me about it,” he murmurs, sounding as sad as I feel.
“And you?” I have a feeling I’m slurring my words.
He glances briefly over his shoulder before answering me. “I think I might be in love,” he confirms in a low voice, and I wonder if he’s afraid of someone overhearing or if he’s just afraid of admitting it to himself.
“Good for you.” I throw back my drink.
“She’ll never be mine,” he adds, draining his own drink. “Fate fucked me over too.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“Tell me it gets easier. Tell me I’ll be able to move on,” he continues, his voice laced with pain.
“You want me to lie or you want the truth?”
“Fuck.” He buries his head in his hands, and we’re both quiet for a few beats. When he lifts his head up, I spot the torment written all over his face. “How do you deal with it?”
I shrug. “I do everything I can to numb the pain. Bleed my emotions onto the page and infuse it into my music. Work nonstop. Fuck around, get drunk, get high more than I should, but nothing works.” I tap my temple. “She’s embedded so far into my psyche that I’ll never be able to forget her, and there’s a sick part of me that doesn’t want to. A part that clings on even when there’s no hope of anything changing. But it doesn’t seem to matter. She’s the love of my life.”
I pause to draw a breath because I’m close to losing it, and this conversation is already weird as fuck. Sawyer and I don’t usually do this, but I’m figuring he needed this night as much as me.
“I knew it the minute I met her,” I explain, “and I know there’ll never be anyone else. She’s it for me, but she’ll never be mine, and I have to live with that knowledge every fucking day, and every fucking day it almost kills me.”
“Fuck me. I wish I’d never asked.” Sawyer sighs, dragging a hand through his black hair.
“I never imagined you could have it all yet have nothing at the same time,” I muse, resting my head back. “My success, my life, means absolutely nothing without her, and I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this—just existing, not living.” Pain is a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. “I just want to hold her and touch her and wake up with her lying by my side.” I snort out a laugh, and Sawyer pins me with a questioning look. “I sound like a total fucking pussy.”
He smirks, looking over his shoulder again. “Just making sure there’s no reporters around. Imagine someone overheard us; we’d never live it down.” He chuckles.
Mention of reporters makes me wonder if he knows Zeta. I’m sure he does.RockOutcovers all the main events. But I don’t ask him because he hasn’t offered up the name of his mystery love, and I’d rather speak in hypotheticals. “I can see the headline now.Bad boys of rock struck with the lovesick bug!” I joke, even though there’s nothing amusing about it.
Sawyer seems to agree as his smile fades. Silence engulfs us for a beat, and I sigh. “This fucking blows, man.” He slides out of the booth, and I think I might’ve run him off.
“You going somewhere?”
“I’m not nearly shitfaced enough for this conversation.” He jerks his head in the direction of the nearest bar. “I’m getting us another bottle.”
19
Zeta
“Hell no.” I shake my head. “No way.” My boss has just summoned me to his office and informed me I’m to attend the press conference and private interview with Torment later on today. “Why isn’t Kayla going?”
“Because she’s gone into labor.”
“What!?” I screech, jumping up and knocking the chair to the ground. “But she’s still got two weeks to go!” My tone is borderline hysterical.
“All I know is her water broke an hour ago, and she was en route to the hospital when she called,” Harrison says, and I bolt out of his office door, racing back to my workstation.
I shove papers off my desk onto the floor, desperately searching for my cell. I’d switched it off this morning because I was trying to finish an article for this week’s edition, and I didn’t want any distractions.
“What’s wrong?” Brody asks from behind me.
I don’t look up, grabbing my bag and rummaging through it. “Kayla’s in labor, and I can’t find my cell.”
“It’s right there.”
I look over my shoulder, following his pointed finger. My cell is sitting on top of the small printer on my desk, right where I left it. I hate feeling flustered, but I’m worried about my friend. I make a grab for it as Brody’s hands land on my shoulders, and he starts rubbing the corded muscle he finds there. “Don’t touch me.” I shirk his hands off, still hating it when anyone touches me uninvited. And Brody’s been very touchy-feely since we had sex, and it unnerves me.
