But how the fuck did I escape the life I’d built?
Being with Brandon, at his firm, and anywhere near him? That fucking scared me more than him seeing my tattooed tit.
Hell, if I had to do this rehearsal tonight and kiss him... Madden would walk away.
I couldn’t do this.
I didn’t text him back.
Getting off my bed, where I’d spent so much time in the last few days, I went to my kitchen, grabbing the bottle of Merlot that Les got me for my last promotion. It wasn’t until I got it that I’d realized my fucking my boss gave me perks I never asked for. I got second chair at all his hearings if I wanted and first chair on cases others above me should’ve gotten. He used my body and then offered me a slice of work ethics red flags.
I popped the top of the wine bottle, not letting it air out before taking a big-ass gulp. This entire shitfest would create an alcoholic out of me.
My phone vibrated again. Brandon.
I’m starting to think you’re blowing off our wedding.
If you don’t want to do this, let me know. Don’t embarrass me.
Andy, talk to me. You’re being a child.
Fuck, Andy. What the hell?
Those were the last few messages, but the very last one had just popped up. I avoided opening them, knowing my read receipts were on and he’d know.
What did I tell him? I wanted my nephew... he wasn’t the one... he didn’t pleasure me to the point I became a fucking noodle?
How did one tell the person they were to marry that this entire thing was a lie and I’d only stayed so long to keep myself from being alone.
I didn’t want to die alone.
So, I settled.
It was worse than that, though. I couldn’t imagine being with Brandon past today.
Here in lied my answer.
Taking another gulp of the wine, I closed my eyes, thinking of Madden. The way he’d looked so different than he had five years ago.
Plugs in his ears, two lip rings, a nose ring, and the fucking tattoos.
I didn’t get the full visual, not yet, but I could imagine they covered him. I wanted that—to be forever inked by him in my most private places—ones he’d owned for nearly five weeks now.
A knock sounded at my door as I went to swallow my last gulp. Wine didn’t appease my desire to get fucked up. Not until the next-day hangover, that was.
“Who is it?” I asked, not wanting to peer at the security camera. My phone wasn’t nearby, so it wasn’t exactly easy to see.
“Delivery.”
I opened the door, seeing a man on the other side. He held a box, a black one. The color alone had me smiling. “Andy Black?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Here you are, kid.”
I didn’t correct his kid remark but I did take the package. Closing the door behind me, I dragged my feet to the kitchen. Since Madden came here, it felt off. Without him sprucing up the place, it felt empty and it started to make sense why I always filled it with men or avoided it altogether.
Loneliness was a disease I’d never conquer.
Madden was the cure to my problems and it wasn’t fair.
Getting my scissors, I opened the box, wanting to know who could have sent it. Unlike how I used to, I tried to not order too much from online corporations. Always shopping local since I could afford to help them.
Opening the box, tissue paper was the only visible thing. Which made me excited. Reminded me of the birthdays that I’d long since stopped celebrating. Under the first fold was a black envelope. When I picked it up, it read “Miss Andy.”
Was this from Royce?
The black lace of the card felt fragile as I removed it from the envelope, but I loved the details. It was shaped like a half doily, all frilly and elegant. Way too fancy for someone like Roy who enjoyed the simple things in life.
Dear Miss Andy,
I need you to open this blind. But I also need you at hanger 289.
Bring this with you.
You’re his girl and somehow, you’re all of ours now, too. We protect him and he needs you. Be there.
-Stony
I thought of Madden’s bandmate, Stony. He reminded me of Carson in the way he cared so much. Cars might have been iced out like me, but he sent me updates on our guy.
He told me meeting Stony reminded him why being a part of Madden’s life mattered too much. We kept him alive and he did the same for us.
I set down the note and then slipped my finger beneath the fold. Prying off the tape, I unwrapped the rest of the tissue paper. Inside was a jean jacket. I gasped as soon as my fingers grazed the Anthem Riot logo.
It was one of their special band jackets. I’d seen the guys wear them in posts they were tagged in. Well, everyone but Madden. He didn’t show up in photos and avoided all the meet-and-greets. The world loved him, would fuck anyone to get a chance with him, but he couldn’t care less.
He loved his distance and kept it from everyone.
Especially me.
Pulling it out of the box, I unfolded it, seeing all the details. It was a dark gray—nearly black. There were studded seams and patches all over. Tour dates, places they traveled, and even pins of slogans that reminded me of the old Madden.
Especially the Fuck the Patriarchy! One that sat above the breast pocket. I realized this was his and they somehow sent it to me.
On the arm, from the elbow to the wrist, was a written note. Little demons make the heart beat faster. I melted. Right there, holding the jacket. Across the right arm sewn in, Reaver. Like his tattoo.
Right there, thinking of my nephew and how much he cared without showing it. I knew my choice. Rushing to my room, I grabbed my duffel and packed it full of shit. It had no rhyme or reason; it was simply a pile of things I needed, things I’d need, and maybe ones I didn’t. Either way, I stuffed it full and then grabbed that jacket, placing it on top.
And as I drank the Merlot, all I thought about was the fact that Madden would finally touch me. He’d know he was my only choice.
Telling Brandon, on the other hand, was another story that made zero sense. Missing the rehearsal tonight should be answer enough for him. If not, he was shit out of luck in that department.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Forgive and Forget – A Day to Remember
Madden
She hadn’t spoken to me in days.
No word.
Her wedding was tomorrow.
Tonight, I left for London.
Hours.
Or rather, an hour and a half.
My stomach churned with the anxiety built over days of nothing. No texts. No calls. Nothing. Even Cars kept silent. Which probably had more to do with our last conversation and not the fact that he was avoiding me.
“Ready?” Memphis asked, his eyes glazed. He more than likely smoked before coming here. He tried to pretend he didn’t do drugs for the escape they provided—didn’t use alcohol as a crutch—but much like me, being sober meant nothing but pain.
“Yep,” I said, not meaning it. The plane was full. We were waiting on Carrig and Royce, but besides that, we were ready to go.
I didn’t think she’d come, but I thought I’d get a text as an indicator of her choice. She knew when my plane left. I made sure to text her that information in advance, just so she could have all the opportunities to see me off.
She wasn’t here.
“Hey, you all right?” Memphis asked, noticing my lack of conversation. He folded his arms across his chest, pensive but curious. It wasn’t like I chatted often, but I did feel a bit off. He went to clap my shoulder but I flinched naturally, forcing his hand to stop midair.