Chapter Fifteen
The stormthat was Tierney Warren came through just as it always had when she was with us: fast, out of control, and confusing as hell.
After her news regarding her personal life came out, I had a hard time focusing on rehearsal. Eventually, Tate stood up from my kit and announced that we were done for the day. The others protested but Tate stood his ground, proving once more that I had picked the right man to spend my life with.
I didn’t say much at dinner or after everyone left. Tate did ask if I wanted to talk about it, but I told him I wanted a hot bath and to read a book before bed. He left me alone, thankfully. He knew I had to process Tierney’s news without interference from anyone else.
I wanted to be happy for her. She deserved success. She was a good singer. She could dance, and act, and I always knew she’d do well for herself. But this new look, the song, the hair, the clothes, or lack thereof, it wasn’t her. It was all the label. She pretty much was just opening her mouth and letting them take over. A chill ran over me as I wondered if she was still clean. Sober Tierney wouldn’t allow this to happen.
The lights were already off and I was covered up with my eyes closed when Tate and Cara came to bed. I felt a smidge guilty that I had abandoned them tonight, but I still wasn’t ready to talk about things. I said a silent thank you to the powers that be that Tate understood this.
I woke up the next day, hoping that I could pretend I hadn’t heard about her news. I got up like normal and made breakfast for the three of us. Everything could go back to how it was. I didn’t need to let it consume my thoughts. That was just feeding into what she wanted. I had my heart set on ignoring her new solo career when there was a knock on my door shortly after Elena picked up Cara for the day.
I was getting ready for practice when a loud, demanding pounding came. Who the hell was that? I hurried to open it and blinked. What was I looking at exactly?
Two men, buff, one black, one tan, both oiled, shirtless, and wearing the tiniest red shorts I had ever seen outside of the bedroom. I was confused at first until I noticed that the underwear had red hearts on the crotch. My cheeks went hot as my eyes returned to their faces.
“Uh, who are you?” My husband’s voice came from behind them. My eyes shot over to him, walking up the stairs. He was staring at them with a look of confusion and slight jealousy in his eyes. I knew because it was how he used to look at Ronny. The two men in front of me didn’t flinch. The one on the right smiled at me, his teeth were unbelievably white. He must have just bleached them. His arm moved from behind him, extending something to me.
“We’re here on behalf of Tierney. She is having a party to celebrate her new solo album,” the man on the left explained. I looked down at what they were trying to give me. It was a comically oversized envelope, red, with a darker shade of red heart sticker closing it. Like their underwear. I didn’t reach for it.
Finally, Tate moved forward from behind them and snatched it from his hand. They separated to let him into the apartment.
“Thanks, we’ll be sure to RSVP,” he said sharply before shutting the door in their faces. I peeped through the little hole in my door. Both men were completely unfazed by Tate’s rudeness. They were smirking as they shrugged their shoulders and left.
“Are you mad right now?” I asked, turning back to him. He tossed his backpack on the couch and was stalking to the kitchen. He threw the letter on the counter in disgust.
“A little, yeah.”
“Because I looked at those men? Tate, come on now. Really?” I crossed my arms. This jealous macho man shit was not him. Ronny, sure. But Tate? No. He grabbed a water from the fridge and then turned to me, his eyes incredulous.
“What? No. I don’t give a shit about that. Look all you want. I’m not interested in ever being that built. Or oily, for that matter.” He cracked a smile and I relaxed some. I uncrossed my arms and followed him into the kitchen. I sat down at the island and reached for the envelope.
“Then what’s wrong?” I asked. He leaned against the sink and took a large gulp of his water.
“What’s wrong is that she’s intentionally screwing with us. She’s trying to make sure you hurt like she did. Or still is, who knows. That song, ‘Guilty Pleasure’, we knew exactly why she titled it that. Then she makes sure to send… whatever the hell that was right at about the time I get home every day. What did she think you’d do? She wants to get us arguing. And the fact that she knows when I get home every day is alarming. She’s got someone watching us now? And for what? What does she plan to accomplish doing this?”
He had a good point. What was her end goal in all this? Sighing, I ripped open the envelope and pulled out the thick card stock invitation. It was red with hearts all over. It was an invitation to her release party, like the men had said. It was in three weeks, on a Friday night. It was being hosted at a hotel I was familiar with. It was a really nice one. I wasn’t too enthused.
I got up to toss it in the trash, but then hesitated. Maybe I should call the number and formally turn down the invitation. Would that just irritate her or would that be a clear sign from me that our relationship was over? We didn’t need to ever talk to each other again, as far as I was concerned. She went back to her rapist. In no world would that ever be okay to me.
I changed courses and took the invitation to my room. I’d decide on it later. I could hear the guys coming in now. I set it down and left to go rehearse.
Only after my friends left for the night did I sit down and call the number to tell whoever answered that I wouldn’t be coming. I wasn’t prepared for Tierney to be the one on the other line.
“Hello, Jimmy?” Her sweet voice sent shivers down my back. I had to swallow the lump that rose into my throat.
“Tier?” my voice cracked. Her voice sounded so innocent, but I knew her better than that. I forced myself to think about Tate’s suspicions that she was screwing with me. “I got your invitation.”
“Yes, everything is an aesthetic these days. Did you like Cruz and Grady? I got to pick them out myself.”
“Did you dress them too?” I smirked. Instantly I realized that was the wrong thing to say. Her voice hardened.
“It’s all for my new album. Have you heard the single?”
“I have. I saw the video too.”
“What?” she snapped. “I know you want to say something about it. Tell me. Let me guess, your little grunge band is way better, right?”
