After flushing the toilet, I went to the sink, running the water. I stared at myself in the mirror, noting the dark circles and lack of makeup.
Horrid. I looked fucking ragged. Is that what obsession did, starve the soul and feed the damned?
Washing my face, I made sure to gargle water and clear out the bile in my mouth. While brushing my teeth sounded nice, going back to that pub from the other day sounded more appealing.
My phone rang in my purse. Part of me wanted to answer, the other part wanted me to ignore. Sometimes, being a people pleaser hurt me more than it helped.
Looking at the caller ID, I immediately clammed up. Donnie Oswald.
“Hello?” I answered, thinking of the last time I spoke to him three years ago. He wanted me to talk to Madden, convince him to sell his half of Windowless Skies.
I refused.
It wasn’t my place, and the fact that Donnie seemed so determined to get the other half had me wondering why. What was the reason to get rid of the half split?
“Andy dear,” he chortled, his voice too strung tight. His voice was like a cartoon character’s. Too airy, childlike, keeping the calm but hiding the darkness beneath.
“Oh, hello, Donnie,” I faked surprise. Since the late two-thousands, everyone had caller ID. If you didn’t, it was weird.
“I was calling to see where you were.”
“For what reason?” My guard automatically came up. I straightened my hair and left the bathroom, needing air.
“I came by your apartment and they stated you weren’t home. Then your work mentioned you resigned. Just seemed odd to me.”
My hackles rose as I finally made it outside, sucking in a deep breath, the brine and stifling air hit my lungs like a cold and bitter punch. Why was he looking everywhere for me?
“I’m on vacation,” I lied, knowing if he simply called anyone in my life, they’d say the same thing.
“Interesting,” he mused, his voice deepening a bit. Maybe it was aggravation, but I almost wondered if it was somehow darker in tone. “I heard you were getting married. Amazing news.”
“Yeah,” I said on a swallow, holding back the bile. “I’ll be back in a few weeks. Cancún this time of year is amazing,” I mentioned, wondering why the hell I didn’t just say I was on tour with Madden.
The sliver of me that thought he betrayed Dox when he passed couldn’t offer anything that would put Madden in harm’s way, so I simply kept it close to the vest.
“Well, I’ll call you in a few weeks. We need to catch up.”
Catching up with him was the single worst idea he had. “Of course.” My voice sounded like a wounded child with that. After Dox died, the strength and security he offered me seemed to be nonexistent. Royce was great when it came to worrying about my well-being. But having someone famous as your brother? Who would die to protect you? There was nothing comparable.
I kept toward the east side of the building, hoping I’d get back to the pub I’d accidentally wandered to the other day. Pulling up Google Maps, I searched for Herald’s House, luckily remembering the name.
Switching to walking navigation, I set my phone’s GPS. It was a two-mile journey on foot. Apparently when angry, I could walk it without noticing. Heading in the direction of the bar, I kept the app open, knowing I’d need further directions once I weaved through the streets.
England was much different than home. Where we had sunny skies and way too hot of summers, this place in the summer wasn’t as warm.
Today, specifically, it was a bit gray. Not so much solemn with rain, but readying for a storm, maybe. I kept walking the roadways, realizing how different everything was here.
In Brightmore, everything was brand new. People rebuilt houses constantly. Here, every cobblestone path and building ahead seemed weathered, aged by time, loved through the ages, history written and engraved in the very foundations.
Some needed TLC, but many just appeared loved.
My phone went off again, I’d been walking for at least fifteen minutes. “What do you want, Toland?” I grumbled, letting him know happiness wasn’t a capable emotion at the time.
“Where are you?”
“Busy.”
He scoffed, his irritation loud in my ear. I couldn’t say I’d acted mature. This was his work—his livelihood—and I acted like a spoiled kid. I knew this much, accepted it, but couldn’t allow myself to care too much.
“I’m at the fucking hotel, Andy. You are gone.”
“Yep,” I said, popping the P. “See you when I have time.”
“When you have time?” he bristled, anger emanating even through the phone. “Where the fuck could you have gone?”
“Out.”
“These one-word responses are starting to annoy the fuck out of me. Do you need a collar, a tracking device so I can know where you are at all times?”
“Fuck you,” I spit, nearly bumping into a man on the street.
“If you were here, I would be. I bailed on stage setup to dick you down.” Momentarily, I felt sad, almost regretful. After all, him with me was exactly what I wanted.
Him and me.
Not stupid fucking Candy.
“Well, I’m headed to a pub I got lost at when we first got here.”
“What’s the address, I’ll pick you up?”
“Maybe just come be with me.”
“I can’t tell if I want to yell at you for being childish or fuck you into submission. Give me the address. I’ll see you soon.”
By the time I gave him the address and was scolded, I arrived at Herald’s House. It was a small building, brown with a flagstone alleyway. It sat pretty lonely on the street, a forlorn kind of aura around it. Much like a lot of the buildings around, it was dilapidated. It could use more tender love and care than any other establishment.
Seeing the OPEN sign on the door, I went inside. It wasn’t as busy this time, which made sense since it was only four in the afternoon.
The ambiance seemed familiar. Dark, cozy, like a bar equivalent to a mom-and-pop restaurant. Hostin, Herald’s son eyed me.
“Miss Lost, have you misplaced yourself once more?” he asked, his accent not British, but not quite Scottish either. It lay somewhere between but I appreciated the kindness behind it.
“Not lost this time,” I reassured, coming to the bar top. It was much nicer than last time. The haze of sadness must’ve clouded my vision. That or how jam-packed it was. “Whatever is on tap,” I asked.
“Seems a bit early, no?” He brushed a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, the rough curls caught in his fingers. The five o’clock shadow he sported scratched as he dragged the same hand across his jaw.
“Not at all,” I let out, the breath leaving me heavily. It wasn’t easy existing in this world of fame. I knew it would get to me, but so soon? It wasn’t something I prepared for.
He went to the tap, grabbing a pint glass from beneath the counter, filling it up. The liquid was somewhere between caramel and root beer. Which meant it’d be bitter and I’d hate it.
Seemed fitting for a shitty day. I hated beer on good ones.
“It’s on the house, love,” he said, sliding it to me. I met Herald’s son last time. He told me about his dad opening this pub for an escape. His mom and Herald didn’t get along and it kept him sane while raising a wild Hostin.