Still (Grip Book 2)(27)

Typically, she would say, Is that a promise? or offer some smartass comment, but the other end stays silent.

"Bris, come on." I bang my fist into the wall. "You know this isn't true. If she were a guy, I would kick Angie's ass."

"Well she's a girl," Bristol says, her voice hardening. "And I do plan to kick her ass where it will hurt most."

"What do you mean?"

"Meaning I'm calling her producer. That shit was way beyond the scope of what we agreed to, and I want her head on a platter."

"That isn't the way to handle it."

"The hell it isn't." Bristol's indignation and resentment nearly choke  her words. "She thinks she can come for me-for us like that with no  consequences? She's about to learn differently."

I squeeze the bridge of my nose, bracing myself for a fight I really don't want right now.

"Bris, you're not doing that."

Her voice drops. "What did you say?"

Aw hell.

"I said you're not doing that. That's what she wants."

"Then she'll be very happy to find herself out of a job because if she  wants a fight, I'm her girl, and she should know better than to bring a  fucking tweet to a gun fight."

"You don't want beef with this chick. It'll only turn the tide against you."

"Why? Because I'm white? Because everyone's looking for a reason to turn  against me anyway since I'm with you? Like the tide wasn't already  against me."

"We're in the twenty-first century, and nobody should still hold these  views, but it's just a few, Bris. They are just the vocal ones. I know  it's hard. It's hard for me, too."

"I'm so sorry I'm making life hard for you, Grip."

"Stop it." Anger flares in my words. "We're not doing this. Us fighting won't make things any better."

"No, what will make things better is teaching Angie Black that I'm not  the bitch to mess with. She's firing shots? I'm firing back."

"You're not," I say, barely holding on to my calm. "Not representing me, you're not."

An ominous silence swells from the other end, reaching across the country to suffocate me.

"What did you say?" she finally asks.

"Look, it's my career," I force myself to reply. "And I determine what will or won't be done on my behalf, and I say no."

"I see," she says, suppressed fury embedded in her response.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. I know  this will only push Bristol away, will only make her angrier, but I will  not have her embroiled in some beef with one of the most influential  figures in the socialsphere. They want to come for me? Let them, but I'm  not having them hurting Bristol. I should have just said that; it would  have gotten a better response than this.

"Bristol, look, I – "

"I should go," she cuts in. "Kai's almost done with her segment, and Aria's here with me. She just woke up."

I sigh, resigned to not making this right until she comes home.

"Okay. Can I pick you up from the airport tomorrow? What time does your flight land?"

"I don't think I'm coming." Her voice is cool and distant. "Things are  still hectic for Kai. Luke's reality show starts production this  weekend, and I'm thinking I should stay here for that. I'll come . . . I  don't know, next week."

This is bullshit. I know it, and so does she. Does she not feel how this  distance is killing me? Not just the three thousand miles separating  us, but the chasm opened up by this asinine fight.

"Are you sure that's why you're not coming home?" I ask, letting my frustration leak through the words.         

     



 

A baby's cry cuts off her response. Aria.

"I have to go," Bristol says hastily. I hear her shhhh-ing our goddaughter.

"Bristol, wait."

The line dies, and there is nothing but silence on the other end, a  gaping hush swallowing all the things I wish I'd said instead of all the  wrong shit I spoke. I consider calling her right back, but I don't want  to distract her when she's taking care of Aria for Kai. Besides, I need  to get to the studio in Harlem for a session. I glance at my watch to  see how much time I have to get there. I stare at the piece-of-shit  watch I never take off, only to find that it has died. After almost a  decade, this watch that has never failed me decides to die today. I'll  never forget the night Bristol gave me this watch, the night of our  first kiss, trading hurts and hearts a hundred feet in the air, stuck on  a Ferris wheel. The watch may have finally stopped working, but we  still work. We'll always work. In a world of pieces that never seem to  fit, we do. We work. We make sense when nothing else does, and I have to  remind her of that.





15





Bristol





I messed up.

As soon as I told Grip I was staying in LA for work instead of returning  to New York, I knew it was the wrong thing to do. The voice in my head  calling me a fool is so loud and insistent, I can barely focus on  anything else. Sitting here on the set of Luke's new reality show, I'm  not really needed. I mean, it's good for me to be here, sure. Luke  appreciates it, but he doesn't need me. Grip, however, does need me.  Even across the country, I feel his need, the desperation to make things  right. I need him, too. I feel it, too. It hounds me. After yesterday's  disaster, another public dragging, the only place I want to be is in  his arms, reassured that we're okay and, no matter how many stupid  fights we have, will always be okay. Where am I instead? Here suffering  indigestion from bad craft services food.

"That sound good, Bris?"

My unfocused gaze locks in on Luke, who watches me, both brows lifted in query.

"Uh, sure." I shake my head to pull myself back in. "Wait, I didn't  actually hear what you said. What are they asking you to do?"

For the next few minutes, he details a segment the producers have set up  showing him in the recording booth of the studio where we're shooting.

"Yeah, that sounds great." I glance at my phone, checking for missed  calls or texts from Grip. Nothing. We don't fight often, but when we do  it's a conflagration, burning everything to the ground, and right now  I'm charred. Grip is usually the first to apologize. He's a better  person than I am, the bigger person, but not this time. I'm making the  first move, and it's on the next plane out of LA.

"I need to go to New York," I say abruptly, cutting in on whatever Luke was telling me.

Luke's startled expression morphs into understanding.

"Is this about that Angie Black thing yesterday?"

Oh, that's right-Luke knows. Everyone knows, because my life is an open  book-and not the fairy tale kind, more like a Stephen King novel.

Misery maybe?

"Yeah." I gather my iPad and bag. "I was supposed to be there by now, but . . ."

I let him fill in the blank with my cowardice and avoidant behavior.

"You do realize most people don't feel that way, right?" Luke asks with a  kindness not typically found in this industry. "The things Angie said .  . . I know there are some who agree, but most don't. Look at all the  support you guys got afterward."

I was pleasantly surprised by all the flak Angie received, lots of it  from black women wanting us to know they didn't agree with Angie. It  came from groups Grip has donated to, from cops he's worked with who  defended him. It was actually pretty amazing. There were, of course,  those vocal in their support of Angie's position, but it was heartening  to see the support for us, too.

That still doesn't fix the fact that I messed up.

"This is some high-profile shit, Bris," Luke says. "But you can take it."

"Taking it is easier said than done when ‘it' is blasted all over every  social media platform and your relationship is reduced to tacky hashtags  by people who want to see it fail."

To my absolute dismay, my voice shakes and I'm blinking back tears. I  hate being reduced to this weak, teary girl. This time it's not what  they did to me. It's how badly I've handled things.

"Hey." Luke takes both my hands in his and dips his head to catch my  eyes. "I was there the week you and Grip first met. I saw him love you  for years, and I saw you try your best not to love him back. It's never  been more obvious to me that two people belong together. This is a bump  in the road, and not even a bump of your own making. Somebody else's  biases shouldn't be causing problems between you."         

     



 

Right now, Luke isn't my client; he's the friend I've known for more  than a decade, since before the money and the fame, and he's right.  Urgency to make things right quickens my breath and smolders in my  blood.

"You're a wise man." I pull my phone back out of my bag, my mind and  fingers already racing ahead while I start searching for a flight. "I'll  have Sarah on set tomorrow, but I need to get to New York tonight."

"Maybe." Luke aims his megawatt smile over my shoulder. "Or maybe New York will come to you."