Suddenly John’s overly enthusiastic character assassination of Dalton this morning became crystal clear.
He knew. He damn well knew and didn’t say anything.
Hurt welled in my chest. Dalton might have been a douche, but John wasn’t. I trusted him. He was the only friend I could be myself with, tell anything to, and know that he had my back without question. Why hadn’t he had my back with this?
Anger built inside me like a tornado, overtaking the hurt and obliterating the calm composure I was so damn famous for.
There was only one thing to do.
Setting my jaw, I rage-dialled.
“Grace,” John answered, his voice all warm and light as though he actually cared.
Asshole!
“Don’t you Grace me, you bastard!” I shouted into the phone. This had been the biggest donkey’s balls day ever, and damn if I wasn’t going ram my wrath down his lying, two-faced throat.
“Ah hell,” I heard him mutter.
Realising I was attracting an audience, airport security in particular, I lowered my voice and hissed, “How long have you known?”
He hesitated. Either he didn’t want to say, or my sudden, uncharacteristic outburst had rendered him speechless. “A couple of days.”
“You hesitated,” I growled.
I heard him take a deep breath through the phone. “A couple of weeks.”
“Two weeks!” I shrieked.
Airport security started towards me, obviously becoming aware of my emotional instability. Could they arrest you for that? One thing I knew for sure—I wasn’t planning on finding out. With my guitar still slung over my back, I grabbed my bag off the floor and hustled towards the nearest restroom. Finding a vacant stall, I wedged my way inside and locked the door, breathing heavy from the sudden exertion.
“… you needed to know.”
“What?” John had been talking the entire time I was making my escape and I’d missed his entire explanation.
“Your voice sounds tinny. Where are you?”
I set my guitar down against the wall and hung my bag on the hook of the door. “I’m barricaded in the airport toilet.”
Oh God.
I was barricaded inside an airport toilet while my life collapsed around me like a house of cards and all I could feel was relief.
Amidst the odour of urine and lavender-scented deodoriser, I realised I wasn’t even angry at Dalton. Knowing he’d cheated wasn’t a burning hot poker to the heart. Okay. Scratch that. I wanted to rip his philandering dick off. But it was anger at myself that overshadowed the need to start tearing appendage’s from Dalton’s perfectly muscled, lying, cheating body.
I wasn’t the person I wanted to be, and this wasn’t the life I wanted, so why was I still living it?
I paused. Was it really that easy?
If so, why hadn’t I done this earlier? I needed to get with program. I also needed to boot Dalton from my life. Modelling was something I’d never wanted to do. Living out of suitcases and different cities was lonely. I couldn’t even comfort my loneliness with excessive booze or chocolate, because gaining a pound meant getting fired.
Being able to leave all that behind to play a guitar was like some … some unforeseen liberation. The opportunity to become emancipated from everything that made me who I was had just been served up on a silver platter and I wanted it.
“What?” John barked in my ear. “You’re barricaded in an airport toilet? Why?”
I want to be the girl I was supposed to be. I want to live life like my mother did. I want to… to…
“I want to eat,” I hissed into the phone.
“You’re barricaded in the airport toilet because you want to eat?”
I rolled my eyes. “Now’s not the time to be ridiculous, John. This is serious. And I’m trapped in here because airport security was giving me funny looks.”
“Funny as in har har, or funny as in this girl’s on crack?”
“It doesn’t matter, John.” I huffed impatiently. “What matters is that I trusted you to be my friend and you didn’t tell me about Dalton. I found out through Selena who had the bad taste to send me a photo. Oh God, I’m such a chump!”
“She did that? Fuckin’ bitch.” I heard him light a cigarette and exhale a plume of smoke. “I won’t be doing a shoot with her ever again.”
John was a hot commodity in the fashion industry. Anyone he photographed hit instant fame. His declaration meant bad news for Selena but feeling sorry for her was a bit of a stretch right now. “At least I know! Were you ever going to say anything, John?”
“Grace,” John said so softly I wanted to weep. “Remember what happened just ten days ago?”