Book4-56

Book:PLAY ME: Love With Sexiest RockStar Published:2024-9-6

I stayed at the Bellagio for a day after Jez left. I kept thinking, he would come back. That this was something we could work through together.
It wasn’t until Paige walked through the door that I realized he wasn’t coming back. He’d gotten Dennis to get a message to her, to come and get me. To make sure I was alright because he wasn’t going to do it himself.
I wanted to hate him for leaving. But I couldn’t.
I didn’t have room for any hate toward him. I was too busy hating myself.
I’ve been back in L. A. for a month. And I’ve barely left our apartment.
Paige has a nurse come visit every few days just to make sure my recovery is coming along as it should. She tries to fill my days with distraction, but there’s no changing what has happened.
I almost died. And Jez brought me back to life.
And now he’s gone.
Because I was the one who almost killed him.
Karma is one caustic bitch.
“Hey, watcha wanna do today?” Paige asks, coming into my room, pulling the curtains open. “How ’bout we do some shopping? A new pair of shoes might cheer you right up. My treat! Well… Daddy’s. He says hello, by the way.”
“Ugh,” I pull the blanket over my head, trying to cut out the light. “Just… can you just leave me alone!”
She doesn’t say anything, just sighs. I’ve heard that sigh a hundred times since I’ve been back. And I know the look that comes with it. I pull the blanket back over my head and she’s sitting on the corner of my bed, picking at a loose thread. She lifts her head to look at me, her eyes filled with hurt.
“I’m sorry. I’m not really ready to go out yet.”
“But you’re not going to get any better just sitting here.”
“I won’t, I’ll have to get a job soon.”
“No. You’re not ready for that yet. Absolutely not.”
“Paige, if I’m well enough to do Rodeo Drive, I’m well enough to find some mindless job. I’ve got to start paying you back, lord knows how though.”
“I’ve told you before, you don’t have to pay me a dime. I’m only glad we could help.”
“Thank you. I know I owe you everything.”
“Like, owe me a lunch date to Grimaldi’s. Puhleeaasssse! I’m having such a craving for their Cobb salad. I’ll eat super fast! I won’t even chew, promise!”
I sigh and slide my legs off the bed. “Fine. But then we’re coming straight home.”
“Yay!”
I smile at her excitement and reach for the dress on the floor. She can make me go, but she can’t make me dress up.
“Hey, Noemie? I’m sorry that you’re in pain, but I think it’s better this way. The way it turned out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… with the guy. He wasn’t the guy for you. It wasn’t ever going to work out, you weren’t right for each other. I knew he’d hurt you in the end. I’m sorry I was right.” She shrugs and leaves to get ready.
I don’t have the energy to tell her that she was wrong.
That I was the one doing the hurting all along.
And that in fact, we were perfect for each other.
I pull the flowery dress over my head, and try not to remember the last time I wore it.
“Paige?” I call out, and she appears in my doorway almost instantly. “I think… I think I’m going to go away for a few days.”
She nods and smiles “I think that might be a good idea. Just give me five minutes.”
She disappears and I can’t even begin to guess what she’s up to, always surprising me, never predictable.
She comes back with two sheets of people in her hand, grinning as she waves them at me.
“Forget lunch, we’re going to the airport.”
I knew it. “What? Where?”
“Duh, where do you think?”
I look at the tickets in her hand and the tears well up in my eyes.
“Home!” I gasp and she beams and nods.
“Yup, home.”
JEZ
The recovery is slow and painful.
Some days my progress feels like an impossibly uphill battle. Struggling to take three, four steps up, only to stumble and roll back down the mountain.
And then there are days I wake up, and I reach for a cup of coffee, and it’s empty before I realize my fingers are gripping the handle without shaking, without pain.
But there are no nights that I fall asleep without hearing the sound of her voice in my head, feel her fingers through my hair, imagining her warm body wriggling against mine as she murmurs in her sleep.
But the nightmares tell a different story.
I know the ending now, the aftermath of the flashing headlights and the screeching tires on the road before I’m flung into the air.
It’s her.
Her own bloodied body against the steering wheel, her blood mixed in with Scotch.
Almost killing me.
And worse, almost killing herself.
The urge to see her, to kiss her, to talk to her, to hear her play is trumped by the overwhelming urge to shake her, shake her until she gives up her secrets, to tell me why. How she could be this kind of person? To make her show me how she could hide this, even from herself.
It’s been a month since we’ve come back to L. A.
As part of my rehabilitation, we practice every day. My playing isn’t perfect, but there’s real hope for a full recovery.
Physically.
Mentally, emotionally, I’m as wrecked as I ever was.
And the only person who can fix me is the only person who ever broke me.
There’s a knock on the door and I ignore it. Preferring to sit in my dark room and stare out the window into the night.
Night is good.
Quiet.
Safe.
Alone.
The knock comes again, louder this time.
I sigh and call out, “It’s open.”
There’s a pause and the door cracks open, and light streams in through the gap, drawing a bright line clear across the floor of my bedroom.
I squint and can barely make out the shape of the person at the door. It’s Anca.
“Hey, Jezzy,” she says, quietly, as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her.
“Hey. Want a drink?” I hold up the Cognac decanter I’m swilling from.