Catch Me (33 page)

“Do drugs bother you?” I counter before I give him my response.

Shrugging, he drops my hand and places it on his lap so that he can switch gears. “Not really. I’m around them enough that they don’t, but I wouldn’t want the woman I’m with to be into them.”

I nod, trying not to read too much into the meaning of his words, even though my heart can’t stop from skipping a beat. “I haven’t done any since I got out of rehab. I’ve come close, usually when I’ve been drunk, so I try not to let myself drink too much, just in case. I really never want to be that girl again, you know? The one that depends on something that only tears her down,” I say in a whisper, surprised at how candidly I’m speaking about it. I haven’t been able to talk to many people about this. Hendrix loves me but is too judgmental since he’s never been in the situation. Nina doesn’t care for drugs either; drinking is her thing. Allie doesn’t get it because I don’t think the girl has ever been upset in her life. She’s always been the star daughter, exceptional student, good friend and has never found a reason to try anything—she doesn’t even drink much. Shea practically lives with a joint over his mouth, so he’s not the best person to speak to about it. And Ryan was into them, as well as the rest of the friends I forced myself to shy away from. Nick is the first person that’s made me feel comfortable enough to talk about it, other than my sponsor, and Nancy doesn’t count because she deals with real addicts every day.

We pull into the front of the hotel and Nick puts the car in park. “Good enough for me, baby,” he says, leaning into me and placing his lips softly on mine.

After leaving the car with the valet, we ride up the elevator quickly and go to our room. Once I change into a pair of skinny jeans, a shirt and my favorite ivory scarf, opting for boots instead of heels, and throw on a bunch of chunky bracelets, I’m ready to go. Chunky bracelets or a nice necklace are my answer to all wardrobe disasters. If you look like a bum, throw on chunky bracelets and a nice necklace. If you’re hair is a mess, put it up, put on chunky bracelets and big earrings. It works for me, and from the sound of Nick’s whistle, I know he approves.

He walks up to me with heated eyes and lets out a breath as if he’s looking at the book with the answers to every solved mystery on earth. “So beautiful,” he murmurs as he pulls me into him, his lips instantly molding around mine. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers against me, breaking the kiss and brushing the tip of his nose against mine softly.

I smile. “Thank you,” I respond quietly. I’ve never really been good at accepting compliments from anybody, but the way he tells me I’m beautiful makes me not question it.

“You have a lot of these, huh? What does this say?” he asks, tugging at my scarf. I love that he pays attention to detail. Nobody else has ever noticed so many things about me, not the way Nick does.

“It’s
The Raven
,” I say. “Poe,” I continue when he gives me a confused look.

He tightens his grip so that I stop walking and holds it in his hands to read it. Once he reads a few lines and decides it’s cool, we continue to make our way to Shea’s door before we head downstairs to see how he’s doing.

“Waddup?” Darius says, opening the door for us.

“BK!” Leo bellows from the balcony when he sees me walk in. As usual, he runs toward me and practically mauls me, and Nick has to let go of my hand so it won’t break.

“Leo,” I greet with a muffled laugh against his chest. Everything about Leo is bear like, which is why I love his hugs so much.

“You look damn near edible,” Leo says when he backs away from me. I slap him on the chest playfully and roll my eyes. Leo loves to say shit that he knows makes me uncomfortable. He laughs when I give him what he wants and shift from foot to foot, my lips pursing to contain my scowl.

Nick is beside me in a heartbeat, his arm draping my shoulders. “Leo,” he says, his voice clipped, his body rigid beside mine. I almost want to laugh. I know if I look up at him, he’s wearing a full scowl on his face and his eyes are narrowed at Leo. I don’t even have to look at him, I just know it, and Leo’s deep laugh confirms it.

“Aw shit. Does Shea know about this?” Leo asks, completely amused.

I love Leo like a brother. I love him more because ever since Shea started working with him and Fern, his drug abuse yielded. I’m not stupid. I know he still uses, but not like before. Not like we used to.

I let out a breath, my heart beginning to pound a little louder, a little faster. I don’t want to hide anything from Shea, but I’m scared of his reaction. Not because he’s interested in being with me, because I know he’s not, but I know how his mind works. I know that he sees me being with other guys as yet another person bailing on him. I understand him, despite his stupid reasoning, since I felt the same way about him for a long time.

When I look at my life, I see it as a series of songs. I’ve classified Shea and my relationship as a terribly sung version of “Ex-Factor” by Lauren Hill. Mainly that one line: y
ou said you’d die for me, why won’t you live for me?
Every time things went south in our relationship, whether it was the first or the fifth time, I always clung on to that song and that line. And just like it, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be on hold forever and I don’t want to be. I love him so much, and he loves me so much, but we need to let go of the idea that we’re it for each other. We’re not. God forbid we were actually IN love, which I don’t think we ever really were.

A relationship based on sex, drugs, and the wrong kind of love isn’t much of a relationship at all.

“We’re built on friendship,” Shea used to argue anytime he wanted me to get back together with him, or more importantly, back in his bed.

“We’re built on heroin and cocaine,” I used to counter, right before letting him have his way with me in a bathroom stall.

As if hearing what’s going on, Shea walks out of his room, pulling a shirt over his head. The redhead that was all over Nick the night before is trailing behind Shea, with lipstick still smeared on her face. My stomach curls when her eyes widen as she sees Nick standing here. I wish it wouldn’t bother me and that I could say that the question of whether or not they’ve been together in the past doesn’t cross my mind, but unfortunately it does. I steal a glance at Nick and see him shaking his head at Shea in amusement, and that makes me feel slightly better, even if it doesn’t mean anything.

Shea’s face isn’t amused when I look back at him. His eyes are glued to Nick’s arm around me and he gives me a questioning look as he walks up to us. I answer it, tilting my head a little. There is so much communication in unspoken words sometimes that you don’t even have to voice anything at all. He raises his brows as if impressed, but doesn’t say anything at all. Nick drops his arm and says hi to Shea with a sideways hug, and then I say hi to him with a kiss on the cheek. He puts his arm around my shoulder, the same way Nick had it, and it feels foreign there. The smell of marijuana reeks off of him, but it doesn’t bother me. I just take a deep breath and let it out, as if I’m taking a hit of him, glad to see my friend is in one piece after a night of partying.

“You ready for the show?” Shea asks.

“Yup. Let’s do it,” I reply, beaming at him.

He smiles back and begins to lead me out the door, but I stop halfway there so that I can wait for Nick. My hand feels bare without his in it and that scares me. Shea notices my pause and frowns at me, then looks at Nick and shrugs as if he gets it. He drops his arm from my shoulder and walks out in front of me.

“I’ll listen to what you sent when we get back,” Shea tells Nick over his shoulder. “Maybe we can work on those tonight.”

“You wanna go to the studio after the show? Is the bus here yet? I know Hendrix said there would be a small booth in it. That’s all we need,” Nick responds. He falls in step beside me and threads our fingers together, squeezing my hand slightly. I tilt my head up to look at him and smile at the boyish grin he gives me: my smile. It makes me want to kiss him to death and take a detour back to our room, but I restrain myself, only squeezing back with reassurance.

Shea shakes his head and turns toward us, opening his mouth to respond to Nick’s question, but his eyes zone onto our hands and he stops mid-answer. I internally kick myself for not telling him about Nick and me. I should’ve hinted at it at least, but something tells me he knew. I can read him well enough to think he saw this coming and I want to ask him that as well, but now I’ll have to wait.

Shea clears his throat, bringing his eyes to mine and he looks more hurt than pissed. “The bus isn’t here yet. It’ll be here tomorrow night and they didn’t book a studio. You think your pops will let us go to one of his?” he asks Nick.

Nick lets go of my hand and runs his through his hair, letting out a breath. “Will he? Yes. Do I want to ask him? Hell no. You wanna go to my house?” Nick suggests. My heartbeat slows down and I can hear it pulsing slowly in my burning ears.

“Yeah, we can.” Shea shrugs. “Brooklyn, would you mind that?” he asks, staring into my eyes. The spots of mud are more visible in his eyes now, and I can tell he’s testing me with his hot-headed attitude. Shea’s always been a bit of a spitfire; thankfully he uses that energy on stage or when he writes his raps. He saves his melancholy and broken heart for his ballads. You can say he’s a mix of J Cole and Bruno Mars, which is pretty eclectic for one artist and exactly what I love about his performances.

“I’ll go.” I say, narrowing my eyes slightly at him, daring him to say something stupid.

Nick’s posture has changed now too. Noticing the tension, his thumbs are tucked into the pockets of his jeans and his fists are balled up a little. Leo and Fern are either completely oblivious to it all or are just ignoring us with their cell phones. For all I know they’re texting each other about this. Darius is just looking straight at the elevator door. Thankfully the ride is short and we reach the ground level before anybody says anything else. Shea’s assistant meets us there, an older woman the same age as our mothers. She’s another reason he’s kind of been in check for a couple of years now. He’s more scared of letting her down than anybody else, I think.

The show starts off with a woman named Tracey performing alone: just her and her piano. Her voice wavers as she sings the way only a handful of people can, and it’s beautiful. After her set, I pull her to the side and take a demo and her information, talking to her for a little bit about signing and what she’s looking for. Of course, as usual, at the sound of the name Harmon Records, she’s all ears and wants to know everything I have to offer. Others perform but I only speak to one besides Tracey—the rapper Shea told me about. The man is on another level. His raps are poetic and on point, and he has a look that I know will sell.

Talking to him, I find out about his background: single mother, six siblings, grew up in a bad neighborhood. The amount of untold stories and undiscovered talent there is out there never ceases to amaze me. It’s also one of the things I love about what I do. I give them a chance to be heard, to get out of their struggles, even if that often means falling into a bigger heap of them. Notorious BIG said it best: more money, more problems. I’ve had money my entire life and even I know that to be true. By the time I’m finished talking to everyone, I’m completely exhausted, I would never leave without watching Shea perform, though. As I head backstage to his dressing room where everybody is hanging out, the poignant smell of marijuana hits my lungs. I visibly take a step back when I turn the corner and Darius laughs at my surprise.

“You not used to it anymore?” he asks with a hearty laugh that makes him cough.

I shake my head. “Please.” I am so not used to it anymore. Not that I mind it. I’m fine with that smell and having people around me smoke it, for some reason it doesn’t give me the urge to do it. It’s one of those drugs that I can take up and put down whenever I want. Not that I do it anymore. Unlike the heavier things, there’s no temptation in weed for me.

When I pull the door open, the smoke instantly swirls around me. Shea is lounging on the couch, playing Xbox with Nick. There are at least eight people, including four women I’ve never seen before. This life has to get old. How many different cities, girls, and drugs can you possibly do every night? For Shea, I know the answer is: unlimited. He’d rather be doing this than anything else. I know he does it for the thrill he gets when he’s onstage, but this extra shit is just too much.

“Shea, you’re on,” an older man with a headset says from the door as he waves the smoke away from his face.