The Duet(77)
“I am.”
He shook his head. “Say the truth.”
“I don’t have to,” I said, feeling the first tear slide down my cheek. “I wrote it down in the lyrics.”
His eyes pinched closed as he absorbed my words and how final they felt. I studied his features, so contorted in anger and sadness that it was hard to make out just how beautiful they were. When his eyes opened again, he didn’t say a word. Our eyes locked for three seconds. Three long seconds. Three… Two… One. And then he was gone. He was gone, and my door was slammed shut so hard that the hinges rattled, and I was left to crumble to the floor.
I stabbed the heel of my palms into my eyes and cried, letting loose the emotion that I’d felt the entire time I’d been with Jason, but was never allowed to show. I was supposed to be the cool, confident girl that could have the sex without the commitment, have the orgasms without the relationship. In reality, I was as much of a fraud as Jason was.
“Wow. Did I just hear you break up with Jason Monroe?” Cammie asked from across the condo.
I laughed at how wrong she was. “No. That was the end of our collaboration,” I clarified, trying to soak up my tears with the back of my hands before pressing up to my feet.
“Wow. No wonder you’re a solo artist then,” Cammie said, tilting her head to the side and studying me with a wary glance.
I rolled my eyes and did my best to pretend that everything was fine. I’d lived a long life without love and now I would just go back to that. Simple as pie.
“Where’d you put that bag of Jolly Ranchers?” I asked.
She tried to hide her smile. “You took the bag over to your neighbor across to hall and told him he could use them in his orgy because you were done with them.”
Oh shit. “No, I did not.”
She nodded solemnly. “You definitely did.”
I clapped my hand over my eyes. “Great. I have to move now.”
…
The next morning a courier arrived and slapped me with a document from Jason’s legal team that detailed certain facts that I was and was not allowed to say in public or to the press. Our relationship as a whole was off-limits. During press for the Grammy performance, I was advised to keep the conversation platonic. No mention of Lacy or Kim would be allowed to go to print. If I slipped up, there would be a lawsuit.
I didn’t have to sign. If he wanted all of that private, he should have explained everything beforehand and had me sign at the beginning.
Still, that two-page document took my broken heart and tore it apart all over again. I was merely a loose end that needed to be tied up.
After two hours of stewing over it, I signed the papers and mentally added a “fuck you” to the end of my signature.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Yes, I regretted letting Jason leave my condo that day.
Yes, I knew that the correct decision wasn’t always black or white.
Yes, I looked down at my phone every morning and wondered if I should give him a call.
No, I never did.
Put on my clothes, they’re the same as before
Count to two, and then to four
Each day I know is new
but still you’ve left me, turned my whole world blue
You can stay hidden forever
No one can pull you out
I told myself never say never
But now I’m starting to have doubt
I told you where to find me
I told you where I’d be
You left me there, waiting
Waiting with a plea
You can stay hidden forever
No one can pull you out
I told myself never say never
But now I’m starting to have doubt
So won’t you find me
This is my final plea
Because for you, I’ll wait
But please, don’t be too late
The music paused, the red recording light flipped off. I tugged the thick headphones down off my head. The vocal booth was small, but after recording a half dozen albums inside the four walls, it’d become a second home of sorts.
My team was sitting on the other side of the thin glass: Summer, my agent, and the studio director, Tom. He always helped mix my music and I didn’t trust anyone else behind the studio dials.
“I love it. It’s been a while since you’ve done a break-up song,” Tom said, pressing replay on the song I’d just sung into the condenser microphone. It was hard to listen to the lyrics. They were still raw, the sadness was so easy to decipher in my voice. I hoped they just thought I was acting for the sake of the song. It wouldn’t work if I didn’t sound tormented by loss, so what did it matter to them if that loss was real or not? Just as long as I sold records, right?
“It’s gold, Brooklyn. I’ve gotta run. Don’t forget that your rehearsals for the Grammy performance start tomorrow,” my agent said before answering a call and stepping out of the studio.