I don’t want that for her. To become a recluse because of our baby, but I can’t promise this won’t blow over. She’s almost eight-weeks pregnant now—the baby the size of a blueberry (Sulli Googled it on the car ride here). And the intensity of the press, the media, the world will explode when she does start showing.
Right now, Sulli and I are sitting in the third row of an old but beloved theatre in New York. Popular rock bands frequently play here, and today, The Carraways are auditioning drummers on stage.
Potential drummers stand in a long line that streams through the aisle and out the double doors. Most are cradling drumsticks and nerves as they anxiously await their turn.
The Carraways aren’t a small punk band anymore. Their label houses big named alt-rock bands that fill arenas and sell-out international tours. And they’re currently promoting the crap out of Tom and company. I saw four posters of Tom’s skull-and-crossbones half-painted face on bus stops while driving here.
I keep an eye on the drummers. Once they’re vetted by security, they’re allowed to take a seat in the back of the theatre.
Banks had to help his Uncle Joe fix some old Mustang, so I’m alone on Sulli’s detail.
And I’m aware she’s here, now, to watch her cousin’s band auditions so she can spend time with Luna before she does have to “hole up” at the penthouse.
“Upside,” I tell her and reach into the bag of chocolate cereal. “You won’t have to hear the rise and fall of The Carraways at Summer Fest.”
As soon as I say the words, a horrible clash comes from the stage.
A white guy with a shaved head steadies the cymbal. “Oops. Sorry, fuck. I can try again?”
Tom Cobalt sits in the front row, two ahead of us. He seems more nervous than the drummers. “That’s okay, dude. I think I’ve seen enough.” He anxiously scans the line, hoping someone meets his impossible standards.
“Really? But—” He stops talking as Tom’s bodyguard, Ian Wreath, walks over to escort him off the stage.
Sulli winces, then leans into my shoulder. “It’s been an hour already, right? Fuck. Why are they all so bad?”
“Because they’re trying out just to see Tom Cobalt.” I pop the overly sweet cereal in my mouth. “They’re all probably beginners or worse.”
“It fucking sucks,” Sulli grumbles.
I toss a piece of cereal at her nose. As it bounces off, powdered sugar remains. I laugh, and she elbows my ribs.
“Be fucking careful, Kits. You start a food fight with me, you start a war.” She sticks her hand into the bag.
“Are you Sulli or is this Sulli’s alter ego?”
She makes a confused face.
I smile more, tossing cereal in my mouth. “Pullivan the Powdered Sugar-Nosed Princess—” I grunt, then gasp as she slugs me hard. “Pullivan.”
“The name is Sullivan.” She’s a close second from tearing the cereal box out of my hands and pouring the contents on my head. And I wouldn’t mind that—but I just picture my dad sweeping my mom off her feet with an impromptu slow-dance and sweet, unexpected gestures like poetry and neck kisses.
And I’m tossing cereal into my girlfriend’s face and calling her a powdered sugar princess.
I almost groan at myself.
What am I doing?
Ex-girlfriends—I never teased the way that I tease Sulli. Not to this extent. But I also never really loved any exes like I love Sulli. And it’s not like I’m overly playful with every friend the way I am with Sulli either.
Flirting.
I’m flirting with her. How the heck did I never see that from the beginning?!
Denial.
Well, I’m not in denial anymore. I know what the hell I’m doing and why I’m doing it, but does she?
I chew cereal more slowly and sink back into the theatre seat.
“Kits?” Sulli touches my bicep where she punched. “Fuck, did I hurt you?”
“No.” I try to force a smile, and I hate that too. I’m not okay—and she doesn’t need me to try to be. Banks is right; I just need to be more open with Sulli. “This is hard for me,” I breathe softly.
She frowns. “What is?”
I scan the theatre as a lanky drummer with a giddy, fanboy smile takes the stage. He’s clearly infatuated with Tom.
Back to Sulli, I try to express what I know, “You think I’m better at relationships than Banks, but I’m not. Not really. And I feel like a fudging fraud every time I recognize how badly I actually suck.” I shake the cereal box a little.
Sulli turns more towards me. “I mean, aren’t you better than Banks? You’ve been in more relationships than him and me.”
I shake my head a few times and try to keep my gaze on hers. “For every girlfriend I had, I don’t think I ever let myself be that vulnerable. I understand how to make women feel good in bed. I knew sex, but I don’t think I ever knew love.” I extend my arm over her seat as she leans closer to me. “Until you. And I loved you before we ever slept together.”
Sulli nods me on when I grow quiet.
“In past relationships, if something bugged me, I’d convince myself it’s not a big deal and I’d just move on. Never make anything too personal. Everything’s A-okay.” I keep my voice quiet, even as the drummer bangs harshly. “I thought that made me the ace at relationships. There were never any big issues. But there was never anything under the surface either.”
“That’s the past, right?” Sulli tries to whisper. “That’s not how you are with me, Akara.” It’s strange hearing her say Akara and not Kits.
Don’t panic.
She’s fine.
We’re fine.
I take a breath. “You were my friend before my girlfriend, Sul, and I’ve always had an easy time talking to you about my dad. My life. But the crappier the media, the more hellish your surroundings, I find myself defaulting to bubble-wrapping you and keeping you out of my crap. And I’m scared I’m turning us into one of those surface things that you don’t deserve.”
“And things…things aren’t okay between us?” Sulli questions.
Seeing her concern is what I hate, but I’m starting to realize these conversations are part of being in a relationship that runs deep.
That lasts.
“Things are okay,” I reassure quickly, “but I can be insecure.” I have to look away every few seconds when I wish I could just duct-tape myself to her green eyes.
Sulli chews her lip. “About my fucking love for you?”
“No,” I say even faster. “No, I know you love me, Sul. You do a great job showing me you love me, and Banks does an effing stellar job showing his love for you. He runs circles around me, and I’m over here throwing your hair in your face, chucking cereal at you, pushing you off paddleboards—”
“I love all that,” she interjects with certainty. “I’ve fucking loved that since I was sixteen.”
My chest concaves, and our hands find each other. “We’ve talked about this before,” I add quickly, almost nervously. Like I’m one of the panicked drummers lining up for the audition of a lifetime. Only, I’ve already auditioned for the role of Sulli’s Boyfriend, and I’m here—so why am I freaking out? “On the sleigh ride, my birthday—you told me I don’t need to be romantic any other way than I am.”