Colt
Something’s off with Alexis after she gets back from her latest meeting with Delores. But she won’t tell me what. She smiles and acts like everything is normal, but she’s not nearly as excited as I expected her to be when she tells me about the contract offers.
And even though I secretly want her to turn them both down and commit to going indie with me, I don’t ever voice that. Instead, I make us a delicious meal to celebrate—steak and pan-fried vegetables, with her favorite wine, and brownie sundaes for dessert.
“I won’t be upset about you taking either contract, you know,” I tell her quietly as she finishes her dinner.
She freezes with a bite of carrot halfway in her mouth. Slowly, she closes her lips around her fork and pulls the vegetable into her mouth in a move so unconsciously sexy that I can’t wait for the rest of my celebration plans. Eyes on her plate, she doesn’t say anything until after she’s swallowed. “Thanks. I know we said—“
“Alexis,” I cut in, “this is an amazing opportunity. If it were me, I’d want to see where it goes. I’m happy supporting you and continuing my own career. You getting a contract doesn’t change anything between us, though.” I reach across the table and cover her free hand with mine. She flips her hand over, her fingers gripping me surprisingly hard, like she’s clinging to a lifeline in stormy seas. My brows furrow, and I give her a questioning look, but she doesn’t say anything. “I’d still love your help choosing songs, though,” I tell her. “And I wouldn’t object if you wrote more for me too.”
She gives me a smile that almost doesn’t seem forced. “Of course,” she says. “I love helping you.”
That at least sounds genuine. And I hope that maybe that’s why she hasn’t been as excited as she should be. That she was worried I’d be upset. Now that I’ve reassured her that I’m not, maybe she can settle into the thrill of choosing between two contract offers.
And even though we spend the rest of the night in our favorite way and everything works right when we’re naked, during the day, she’s more reserved. And she’s writing more songs, even though she has a whole album’s worth all ready to go.
Maybe the contracts stipulate that she can’t use anything that we’ve been performing? Or maybe she just feels the need to make herself more impressive?
She didn’t say anything about making a counteroffer, but maybe this has to do with that? I know one offer was only for one album, so maybe she’s trying to get a jump on another one to show them she’s good for a better deal since that one offered more money?
I don’t know, and she’s not letting me into what she’s thinking. All she’ll say is, “I’m still weighing all my options,” when I ask her about it.
It’s several days later when I stumble across the real reason for her behavior.
She’s out for a run, which is something she’s started doing since both offers came in. On the one hand, I’m hoping it’s helping her get some clarity. I know it does for me. But on the other hand, I’m worried that Delores is still riding her about losing five pounds.
But I’ve just gotten out of the shower, and I dropped my ring on the floor next to the bed, and when I bend to retrieve it, I find an unmarked manila envelope. Curious, I open it and pull out the papers to see what they are, wondering if it’s something important that got bumped off Alexis’s side table. I don’t want her losing important paperwork.
It takes a few seconds for my brain to make sense of what I’m seeing.
On the top right, Alexis’s name is typed next to the word Petitioner. And mine is next to Respondent.
Huh?
I pull the papers out even farther.
Divorce.
These are divorce papers.
This is why she’s been so weird.
Delores told her she needs to drop me. And she’s been trying to figure out a way to tell me.
Stunned, I drop to the bed, the papers falling from my fingers.
And just like that, it’s over.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Alexis
I breeze into the apartment, fully expecting a mostly-naked Colt to greet me with a kiss like he’s done every time I get back. He never cares that I’m sweaty from running. Nope, he wraps me up in his arms and offers to join me in the shower. I usually turn him down, because the couple of times we tried shower sex, it was a big fat fail. Slippery floors, tiny bathtub/shower combos, plastic shower curtains sticking to wet skin … it’s a recipe for disaster, not sexiness.
But he waits for me, a hungry look on his face when I leave the bathroom wrapped in a towel which he peels off me and captures any stray beads of water with his tongue.
Just thinking about it makes me wet with anticipation and an irrepressible smile on my lips.
I know Delores wants me to at least counter the offer from Bad Wolf, but she’s pretty sure they won’t accept Colt as part of the package. And the thought of presenting him with the divorce papers she took the liberty of preparing for us? It makes me want to puke every time.
I love him. He’s the best thing that’s happened to me in years, and while it’s possible that what we have won’t last forever, I’m not prepared to throw it away on the basis of one contract. Not when I have another one on the table. And not when I could tell them both to fuck off and really dig into the indie scene with Colt.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have options. Like I’m in control of my destiny. I’m not willing to give that up, not even for a record deal. I’ve already proven that I can do this without them.
And I don’t get why they think Colt would drag me down. Did they not see the same concert footage I did? Because those audiences fucking loved him. They loved us.
And that’s why I can’t take Bad Wolf’s contract. I’m not even sure I want to counter. Why would I want to continue working with someone who’s still trying to dictate my personal life?
Taking a deep breath, I feel immediately more settled. I’ll let Delores know. But first I want to see Colt.
My smile fades when he doesn’t immediately appear. It’s a small apartment, and even if he’s not in the living room, he usually pops out of wherever he’s hiding once he hears the door.
Maybe he’s in the bathroom?
“Colt? I’m home.”
No response. I glance at my phone to see if I missed a text letting me know he’d gone somewhere, but there’s nothing. The lights are off in the bedroom and the bathroom, and he’s not in the kitchen.
Perplexed, I fill a water glass while considering where he might’ve gone. Did he tell me he was going somewhere before I left and I missed it?
Or maybe he just ran to the store to pick up something for dinner and thought he’d be back before I finished my run and that’s why he didn’t text me.
A pile of papers on the kitchen table catches my eye. Actually, it’s the glint of metal next to the pile of papers. A key.
Why is there a key sitting on our table?
Slowly, dread pooling in my gut, I step closer.
The papers lie on top of a pale yellow manila envelope. It’s the divorce papers that Delores gave me. The bottom sheet sticks out, and there next to the sticky flag, is Colt’s signature.