It was nine forty-five p.m. I couldn’t find my fucking car keys. I was supposed to be at my grandparents’ at ten. We hadn’t talked much and definitely hadn’t had phone sex. I just couldn’t bring myself to talk to her, so I told her my mother said the phone calls were too expensive and that my aunt wouldn’t appreciate the bill. That may have been a small lie—my aunt would never have cared about the money.
Anyway, I soon figured out that River had taken my car without asking. Again. My mother was sleeping and it took me forever to find her keys. The whole trip to my grandparents’ I was still trying to figure out how I was going to tell her I wasn’t going to Chicago, that she had to go without me. She couldn’t stay in LA and let her mother continue to guide her career—she needed to get away from her. At one point I even considered begging her to stay in LA with me, telling her how much I needed her, but I knew that was selfish. No, I had to tell her she had to go without me. I knew I had to do right by her.
Just as I was signaling to pull into the driveway, she went speeding by me in her mother’s car. At first I thought she had to get home because her mother never let her take the car, but when I pulled on into the driveway, I saw my car parked there. I walked around back and through the window I’m sure I saw what Ivy had seen—River with Tessa. I sat there forever, contemplating going after her, figuring out what I’d say. Wondering why she’d left in such a huff. In the end, I decided not to. If her mother was home, she’d be pissed as hell at me for showing up that late, and she’d take it out on Ivy. No, I would go home and call her. But when I got home and tried to call her, no one answered. Just as I was hanging up the phone, Bell came rushing into the kitchen.
“Xander, there you are,” she squealed. “Ivy called. She said you and Tessa can have a nice life. What’s she talking about?”
Her words told me everything. I walked out of the kitchen without answering Bell. Why would Ivy assume that was me with Tessa? I would never do that.
But in a moment of both anger and clarity, I decided to seize this chance. To use this to my advantage, that maybe what happened would be for the best—it would get her to Chicago. That stupid poem came to mind. I didn’t know the whole thing, but the part I knew was enough—If you love someone, set them free.
And I did. She ended up going without me—it wasn’t the way I planned or wanted. But once it happened, I let it. I let her go. How was I to know I’d be left feeling like half of me was missing after I did it?
As I exit the club, the smothering night not only suffocates me, but also threatens to steal what I have left of my composure. I’m tired, worn, and seething with anger. I’ve had enough. I’m pushing my guilt aside and letting all of this go. As of right now, I don’t give a flying fuck what any of them do—Ivy included. I move from the shelter of the awning above me. It’s still pouring, but I decide to walk back—letting the rain cool me off.
CHAPTER 10
All I Want
Ivy
Everything is closing in on me—my mother’s constant calls for more money, Damon’s harassing texts about my career, Xander’s unyielding scrutiny. It’s all too much. Tossing back drink after drink, I let myself go. I surge into the crowd and sway my hips. And as the music starts to breathe life back into me, all I want to do is forget the world. I think about the outdoors—the sound of the never-ending rain, the strength of the wind, the ominous color of the sky—I focus on those calming things. But Xander’s features that draw together in a dark triangle whenever he looks at me tonight, that’s all I see and I want so much to be the one to smooth them out.
Leif moves close and together we find the beat. We dance to forget—two friends who need each other. We’ve been companions for so long, he’s really the only person besides Xander who I’ve ever really confided in. I’d have been lost without him to talk to these last few years among the stresses of album production, demands on my career, and the need my family has for more and more money.