Hard As Rock (2 page)

“It was just this once – it was
one goddamn time,
Kaitlyn – I didn’t sleep with anybody else since you showed up, I swear to God.”

“You
really
need to stop swearing to God,” I snapped. “That’s how I know you’re lying.”

“Okay, fine – I
promise
you, I didn’t sleep with anybody else the last six weeks. I’m telling the truth.”

I believed him.

But I didn’t care.

“And you think that makes it okay?”

“I – no – JESUS!” He was angry now, like a spoiled little boy, frustrated that his puppy-dog eyes hadn’t gotten him out of trouble. “I said I fucked up – I said I’m sorry – what more do you want out of me?”

“I don’t want anything out of you,” I said coldly. “I don’t want anything from you ever again, except to stay the fuck away from me.”

Now he was back to pleading. “Kaitlyn – I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I fucked up, I know I fucked up – I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Just give me another chance – PLEASE – just give me one more chance. I won’t cheat on you ever again.”

“Now we both know you’re lying,” I hissed. “Want to swear to God to make it official?”

The look of rage that came over his face terrified me. He bellowed like a bull, turned and swung at the wall – and his hand punched a hole through the painted surface. When he drew it back out, his knuckles were smeared with blood and white dust.

“YOU cheated on YOUR boyfriend,” he seethed. “YOU cheated on him with ME. But I guess since it was YOU doing the cheating, that makes it alright, huh?”

It was like he had plunged a knife into my stomach… then twisted it and ripped it out the side.

It almost hurt worse than finding out he’d cheated on me.

Almost.

My eyes blurred with tears, but I saw the look of regret and panic on his face.

“Kaitlyn – ” he said softly, and reached out to me.

I flung up my hands, warding him off.

“Stop,” I choked out. “Don’t.”

“Kaitlyn, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – ”

“I can’t do this,” I said, the tears running down my face. “I can’t do this right now.”

He tried to touch me again. “Kaitlyn – ”

“Please, STOP,” I cried out. Now I was breaking down, physically shaking and bawling. “I just… stop.”

He stood there, his arms by his side, looking like he was in agony, unsure of what he should do.

“I… I have to go,” I sobbed, and I walked past him and out the door.

He didn’t try to stop me.

I went back to the hotel and hurriedly threw my things in my suitcase. I was a sobbing wreck the entire time, barely able to see because of the tears streaming out of my eyes.

I didn’t want Derek to come back and find me here. I wanted to be gone.
Now.

For the same reason, I didn’t want to say my goodbyes to anyone else in the band. I felt bad about it – especially about not saying goodbye to Ryan – but any extra second that I spent in the hotel was another chance Derek had to find me here and start the whole nightmare over again. I couldn’t take that risk. As soon as my bags were packed, I called the front desk, took the elevator to the lobby, and jumped in the cab they had waiting.

I bawled all the way to the airport. It got to the point where the cab driver, an immigrant from some Eastern European country, looked at me in the rearview mirror like I was a dying puppy dog.

“Lady, lady – you okay?”

I assured him I would be as soon as I got out of Vegas.

That turned out not to be true. But at least he got me to the airport in one piece.

At the Delta counter, I bought the last seat available on the next non-stop to New York. It was expensive, but I had the cash, thanks to Derek’s generosity and Miles giving me a thousand dollars of spending money.

At least the cheating asshole bought me my plane ticket,
I thought bitterly.

I bawled the whole flight home, too. I was sitting between a guy who looked like a linebacker and an older man who might have been an accountant. They both acted intensely uncomfortable, and did their best to ignore me by putting on headphones and watching the little TV screens in the seats in front of them. I tried to keep it together, but I kept bursting into tears every few minutes or so. The stewardess came by like clockwork to give me more airline napkins to wipe my eyes and blow my nose.

I finally got into JFK just after midnight. By the time I got to baggage claim I thought I was numb. I thought I had gotten it all out.

Then I switched my phone off of airplane mode and saw that I had 50 texts and twenty missed phone calls. Ryan was a good third of them. However, the other two thirds were a number I didn’t recognize.

But I could guess who they were from: the Rock Star Without a Cell Phone. Probably borrowing somebody else’s.

I listened to the first one while I waited in line outside for the cabs.

“Kaitlyn, where did you go?! Look – please – I know I was a dick and an idiot – but please, babe, call me. PLEASE. Don’t leave me.”

I burst into tears as soon as I heard his voice.

The grizzled old New York cabbie wasn’t fazed at all to have a blubbering woman in his back seat. Didn’t say anything the entire time except “Where ya wanna go?” and “That’ll be 37 bucks,” which I paid him out of the remainder of my money from Derek.

New York City – where nobody looks anybody in the eye, and everybody minds their own goddamn business.

Home sweet home.

After a nearly sleepless night, I awoke the next morning to the sound of polite knocking on my apartment door.

It baffled me at first. I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming or not, partly because it stopped as soon as my head was up off my pillow.

Then, just as I was about to lie back down, the knocking started again – steady, light, but insistent.

When I realized I really
was
awake, I was terrified.

Oh no – they’re going to evict me,
I thought, until I remembered I had paid the current month’s rent while I was on the road with Derek.

Then I thought,
Oh SHIT – it’s Derek!

To be honest, that last thought made my heart soar at the same time that it scared me to death. I wasn’t thinking properly, having just been jerked out of the only hour of sleep I’d had all night. My thoughts were ping-ponging back and forth between the dread of
I can’t let him in, he’ll never leave
to the bitterness and hatred of
That cheating, lying asshole
to the hearts and flowers of
Oh my gosh, he came all the way to New York to see me!

As I shuffled from my bed to the door, though, I realized it couldn’t be either – because neither my landlord nor Derek would have been politely knocking. They would have been pounding with their fists and yelling at the top of their lungs.

I glanced at the crappy microwave on top of the ancient refrigerator in what passed for my kitchen. 8:17 AM.

“Who is it?” I yelled as I got to the door.

“Ryan,” came the muffled voice from the other side.

All the terror left me, to be replaced by shock and bewilderment and confusion.

I undid the half-dozen locks on my door and opened it. There he was, dressed exactly as I’d last seen him yesterday morning in Vegas. Expensive jeans, badass shoes, an ancient Ramones t-shirt, plus a leather jacket slung over his arm.

I goggled up at him. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled. “Oh, you know… I was in the neighborhood.”

As soon as he said that, I
knew
why he was here.

To comfort me.

And I burst into tears.

“Hey… hey,” he said soothingly. He stepped forward, his arms open wide.

I just melted into him and let him hug me.

And bawled my eyes out again for the thousandth time.

He just held me for what seemed like ten minutes as my entire body was wracked with sobs. His strong arms encircled me, and he just let me
be
– just let me get it all out.

Finally I stepped away, somewhat more composed and entirely embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I… I got your shirt all wet.” I pointed at his t-shirt, where I had left an impressionistic portrait of my face, painted with tears.

He looked down at his torso and shrugged. “Kind of looks like the shroud of Turin, doesn’t it?”

For the first time in almost 24 hours, I laughed. Just for a second – but it felt like a sweet mouthful of water in a bitter, heat-cracked desert.

I stood there, self-conscious… and super-thankful that I had worn my XXL pink t-shirt to bed, which came halfway down past my thighs. At least I wasn’t indecent.

“Um… you want to come in?” I asked hesitantly.

“Sure,” he smiled.

I led the way – and now I was
really
self-conscious. Ryan had always lived in a nice suburban home, and now he was touring the United States as a rock star and staying in luxury hotels. By contrast, my studio apartment was a piece of crap. The kitchen was basically a dorm refrigerator, a battered microwave, and a sink. It also had the smallest oven range and stove in the world – not much bigger than the Fisher Price playset I’d had as a preschooler.

I exaggerate a little… but not much.

My furnishings were all pretty much courtesy of Goodwill – although I’d gone to considerable ends to make sure all the furniture matched. There just wasn’t much of it. I ate and wrote at a small wooden table with two battered chairs. Five feet away was the sofa, and across from it the wooden dresser on which sat my TV and DVD player. Five feet away from
that
was the rickety metal frame for my bed. At least the mattress was new, as were the sheets and flowery comforter. The walls were ugly and the paint was chipping, but I’d tried to distract from that with a number of watercolor prints in frames.

“My humble abode,” I said, sweeping my arm facetiously.

Ryan looked around. “I like it.”

“You’re so sweet to lie.”

“Hey, it’s not the crack den where we lived in Athens for a year, but it’ll do.”

Oh my God, I’d forgotten about that. Okay, he
had
lived someplace way worse than this.

But as soon as I thought of the house, I thought of that night when I’d dropped Derek off after dinner at Ryan’s – and my eyes started to blur again.

Ryan noticed. “Aw man – I’m sorry.”

I shook my head as a couple tears ran down my cheeks. “No,
I’m
sorry. I’m just being stupid.”

“You’re not being stupid, Kaitlyn,” he said softly.

I choked back a sob, then forced a smile. “So… just in the neighborhood, huh?”

“You know. Connecting flight.”

I arched one eyebrow. “Uh-huh. So, New York’s a connecting flight for South Dakota.” I paused for effect. “From Vegas.”

He shrugged. “I’m really bad at booking plane trips.”

I burst out laughing and covered my mouth with my hand. God, that felt good.

But then reality returned, and I sighed heavily. “So. You know, huh.”

His face took on a serious expression. “If it’s any consolation, he’s pretty much going out of his mind right now.”

I wanted to say something acid like,
He fucking deserves it,
but I was pathetic instead.

“Did he… did he send you?” I asked with the tiniest bit of hope, in a sickeningly forlorn voice.

Ryan glanced down at the floor, and I had my answer.

I completely deflated, all hope gone.

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Ryan explained as he looked back up at me.

I frowned the tiniest bit. “Not that I’m not grateful, but… why
are
you here?”

“To apologize.”

I stared at him in confusion. “For what?”

“I can’t help but feel that part of this is my fault. If I hadn’t told you all the things I did that first night, maybe you wouldn’t have… I don’t know. I feel like I told you to do something, and you did, and bad things happened because of it.”

“Ryan… I’m a big girl,” I said, though I realized how idiotic that sounded, considering how I’d been blubbering like a baby the last 24 hours. But I powered ahead anyway. “I went in with both eyes open. I knew what I was getting into.”

He raised
his
eyebrow this time.

I sighed. “Okay, no, I was a complete idiot, but that’s not your fault. In fact, I seem to remember you warning me. About being careful. About not giving too much of myself away.”

Only now did his words come back. If I’d only heeded them at the time, maybe I wouldn’t hurt as much right now.

As his words came back, though, some of the other things he’d said came back, too.

Derek wasn’t the only one who fell for you years ago.

Suddenly I knew the other reason he was here.

And it scared me.

He watched my face carefully, and seemed to know the jump in logic I’d made.

But he was very, very clever. He avoided it completely.

Instead, he started walking around my tiny apartment, looking at the watercolors on the walls. “So… what are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“Life, I guess. Have you written the
Rolling Stone
article yet?”

Oh God.

I had pretty much pushed that to the back of my mind. The trauma with Derek was powerful enough to overwhelm everything else. As soon as he said it, though, I began to have a panic attack. I had virtually nothing written – scraps on Killian and Riley, yes, and a few other pages of incidental stuff – but that’s not what my editor Glen wanted.

He wanted Derek Kane.

The entire
world
wanted Derek Kane.

And it was my job to deliver him.

Even though he had ripped out my heart.

In an instant, I saw the next two months as clearly as though I were watching a movie: me slumped over my laptop and little wooden table, crying and shaking, unable to write a word.

I clutched my arms over my chest like I was dying of cold, and began to hyperventilate and sob at the same time.

“Kaitlyn?!” Ryan asked, alarmed.