Love Exactly (15 page)

I paced the room for an hour as the pre-show for the Grammys echoed through my living room. The show was buzzing with whether or not Evan would be bringing his mysterious lover with him. I knew the answer, and I knew when they questioned why I wasn’t there it would kill him. I wondered what he was doing as I stared at my phone for the hundredth time. I texted him good luck and let him know I would be watching, but I had seen no response. The idea he wouldn’t know I was watching made me physically ill. I hadn’t eaten all day. I knew that would make him madder than anything else, especially with my already thin frame. I looked at the count down on the TV and decided to make some popcorn in the ten minutes remaining until the show began. I was sick of them guessing who I was anyways.

 
I shut the microwave with a little too much force and leaned my back against the counters as I listened for the popping to speed up and then slow. Everything felt like it was in slow motion as I waited, tapping my leg to one of his songs. I burned myself as I grabbed at the bag and rushed into the room. Half-way through the show the popcorn still sat on the coffee table unopened and with each performance and award I found myself edging closer to the TV.

It was only one more performance by some crappy rapper that talked about being stoned senseless more than anything and then after an amount of commercials that drove me nuts, Evan was up. All I could see as the camera focused on his face was the pain in his eyes. When his voice began to reverberate through the surround sound it was strong, clear, with no hint of the cloudy darkness showing in his eyes. I was sure girls where swooning at the look, thinking it added to his mysterious bad boy persona. They didn’t understand it like I did. They didn’t know him like I did. That look wasn’t one of sexiness; it was one of pain being covered up by an amazing voice, and it was all because of me. Because I had refused to let my pride go and just be his.

The tears came hot and heavy as the song ended and he hung his head, exhausted from the effort of always pretending. I wished I could stop pretending I really gave a shit what anyone thought anymore. They thought I was bad for him. They were right; I could ruin him, but it wouldn’t be because I was with him.  I’d accepted him for all his faults, and he for mine. That was what gave me the power that his critics would never have.

What critics say and do is often just actions aimed at open wounds. I was the one who could create them, and as I watched him walk off stage, adjusting his suit jacket in agitation, I knew I had done that already. It didn’t matter if he got the award or not, either way the fact I wasn’t there would hurt him. Instead of congratulating him, or reassuring him there would be a next time, I sat wallowing in my self-pity while burning my retinas out because I was so close to my TV. The feeling only worsened when they announced the Artist of the Year Award. When it came to his nomination the camera focused on him standing in the darkened backstage, his eyes distant, brow furrowed and jaw taut with anxiety. It made me wonder if it was over the chance at the award, me not being there, or both. The band stood in the background, looking just as anxious as him. When they announced the band as the winner he walked on to the stage without even attempting to mask his sadness. All they saw was what I saw; a man who should have been incandescently happy, miserable. When he took the award and looked up at the camera it was as though he was right there in front of me. He swallowed and offered the crowd a weak smile. My whole body had numbed; it felt as though the only thing that existed was my scarred soul, staring into his. He let the rest of the band say their quick thanks before he stepped up to the microphone.

“This is to the only person who matters—who couldn’t be here tonight.” He looked down, taking a deep breath before continuing as his voiced cracked, “Emma, I know you’re watching and I need you to know…I love you.”

My head went into my hands as a sob racked my body, the crowd was silent before bursting into a solid awe that ripped my heart out. God, I was such a fucking idiot.

Once the tears had subsided I stared at my phone trying to decide if he had his on him; if he would answer it, and what I would say. I took a deep breath and dialed the number just as the camera focused in on him in the crowd with the band. The fact the others had their wives with them wasn’t lost on me as I watched Evan stand and slip his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey,” he said, and I could see the look of anxiety on his face as he stared into the distance without knowing the camera was focused on him.

“Hey,” I replied, “I can see you.”

He looked up at the camera and blew me a kiss.

“You’re amazing,” I commented as I burst out laughing.

“I try.”

“Are you allowed to have a cell phone there?” I asked as the camera moved away from his laughing face.

“I’m Evan Levesque, I do what I want.”

“I miss you,” I whispered, the elation from his happiness disappearing.

“I miss you, too,” he replied. “As soon as this press crap is over I’ll be on the first plane to you. Maybe I can rearrange some of it to be in Boston.”

“If you can…just don’t push too many buttons,” I replied.

“I’m starting to really like Boston,” Paul yelled in the background.

“Me too!” Ryan chimed in.

“Anything that gets us a Grammy!” Paul added.

“The guys say thank you,” Evan said, and I could hear them slapping at each other.

“I called to congratulate you. You deserve it,” I answered, watching the screen as another award was given and the room burst into applause, so I couldn’t hear his response.

“Em, I should probably get off the phone before someone comes and rips me a new one,” Evan’s voice was sad. I knew he was expecting more.

“Alright—if you’re not too tired call me when you get back to the hotel? I don’t care what time it is.”

“You know I won’t wake you,” Evan commented.

“Call me first thing when you wake up tomorrow then?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, and Evan—I’m going to start sending out queries for my manuscript as soon as I wake up tomorrow.”

“Where’s that camera when I want it on me?” Evan replied, and his voice showed his smile.

“It’s always there when we don’t want it, right?” I replied.

“Shit! Someone is waving me off the phone. Love you, Em,” he said and the line went blank before I could respond.

“I love you too, Evan,” I said to the air.

As I stared at the blinking cursor hovering over the send button I realized that it was scarier to admit my hesitation had nothing to do with my past—it was the uncertain future that stopped me now. Was I a real writer, or was I just a fool playing into a child’s dream? I had thought I was about to find out. I clicked the mouse and cringed as if the response would be automatic. It wasn’t, in fact, silence is the best slap across the face you can ever get and that was what I received.

Evan had stopped asking two weeks in, but I was actually glad no one had read the novel. I could say I tried and resolve myself to just never knowing. The issue was the guilt that was eating me up inside each time I talked to him and now as I waited outside the airport terminal it was even worse knowing it was the first time I would see him since I had taken the plunge with the send button. It was also the first time I had ever waited for him at the airport—it was meant to be a surprise, but it was making my nerves fray every time I saw a camera. The media knew just as well as I did where he was going to be. It was his first break after the press frenzy that was the Grammys, yet they were still stalking him as they tried to find out who I was.

When he came off the plane he was wearing aviators, a black button-up, dark wash jeans and those Converse shoes I hated on anyone but him. He lifted his sunglasses and broke into a smile as I ran into his arms. He dropped his bag and spun me before setting me on the ground with his hands tangled in my hair.

“How did you know?” he asked, breathless.

“You told me what flight you were on.”

He shook his head. “I’ve always wanted to have someone to wait for me—to spin them around and then do this.”

He let his fingers trace the line of my jaw to my chin and then lifted it until our lips touched—soft at first and then we remembered it had been over a month since we had last touched one another. The only thing that could pull us apart was the whistle that echoed through the terminal and then the incessant flash of cameras.

“Crap,” Evan hissed, his forehead pressed to mine with his hands on either side of my face so they couldn’t get a good picture of me. “You don’t want them to know who you are yet, do you?”

I shook my head but said with my voice shaking, “I knew the risk.”

He swallowed and then smiled. “Tilt your head down so your hair covers your face from view.”

I did what he said and then felt his hands slip the glasses over my eyes. As I looked up his cocky half-smile made me laugh.

“They look a hell of a lot hotter on you,” he teased, throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around my waist so his fingers were in the front pocket of my jeans.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I gasped as his fingers grazed the flesh of my hip where my shirt had risen.

“It’s very possible with you,” he whispered into my ear as we made our way past the flashing cameras. “I can’t wait to see the tabloids on this one.”

“It’d be much better if we did something dangerous, like locked ourselves in a public restroom.”

He looked down at me through his eyebrows. “Really? That’s not all that clean.”

“I haven’t seen you in two months,” I said, turning and stopping in front of him. “I’ve thought about you every single day. Do you know what that does to a girl? Especially when pictures of you half-naked are strewn across the internet.”

“I see you found those.” His voice was edged with amusement, but his face was red in embarrassment.

I pulled on the collar of his shirt before leaning up on my toes and whispering into his ear, “I need some real ones.”

“What do you need pictures of when I’m here?” he answered, his breath hot on my lips, voice seductive.

“I need you to burn the images into my mind then,” I said before giving him a gentle bite on his earlobe.

His free hand drifted down the small of back to my rear pocket. “I thought I already had.”

“Mhmm…I need more.”

“I have to admit I kind of enjoy this.” He smirked down at me. “But teasing me like this is just cruel.”

“Does the rental car have blacked out windows?” I asked over my shoulder as I turned.

I watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall. “I sure hope so.”

When we got in the car he looked over at me with apprehension. “Tinted windows?”

I leaned over and kissed his neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“Or have you just missed my body?” he asked, putting the car into drive and heading into the traffic.

“I really did miss you, it was the aviators—they sent my hormones into a tail spin.”

He looked over at me and snatched them off my head, putting them back on. “Diddo on that one…so anything new?”

I looked down at my hands. “You mean have I heard anything back?”

He shrugged. “It was just a general question.”

The guilt tugged at the corners of my mind. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” he asked, shifting the car as we entered the freeway.

“Get up the bravery to find a label, or agent, or whatever you have to do to get a record deal?”

He nodded, his thumbs thumping the steering wheel to a beat in his head as he thought of his answer. “You’re glad no one has wanted a full, huh?”

My eyes froze on his lips set in a stern line.

“I just…I don’t…No one has read it.”

“Let me.”

“Let you? When do you have time?” I stuttered back.

“You look like you just saw a ghost…you don’t want me to read it?”

I swallowed. “What if I suck? Are you going to tell me?”

He slid the aviators back onto the top of his head and rolled his eyes. “I know you’re good—perfect, probably not—but none of my songs are either. I’m sure there are songs you don’t like.”

“Yes…but…”

“But?”

“You’re famous, what I think doesn’t matter.”

His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “You’re the only one who
does matter
.”

“Then you understand why it scares me that you want to read it,” I retorted, looking away from him.

He pulled off the freeway at an exit that said there was a beach ahead. He didn’t answer me but instead followed the many signs that led to a beach in the middle of nowhere.

“When they say beach ahead they should clarify beach twenty miles away,” he finally commented as he put the car into park. By now the sun had set and the stars were starting to peek through the darkness and added to the light of the moon. Evan came to my door and opened it.

“That’s New England for you,” I teased, looking up at him as he leaned against the door frame.

He held out his hand and we walked past the sign that said
Beach Closed at Dusk
as if it didn’t exist. Evan slipped off his sneakers to bury his toes in the sand, and I slipped my flip flops off to do the same.

“What are you really scared of me seeing in your writing?” he finally asked as we neared the cresting ocean.

“Everything,” I replied as I stopped and let the breeze wash over my skin.

“What’s everything?”

He was standing in front of me now, his hands on my shoulders, thumbs caressing my neck and when I let my eyes meet his I knew it showed.

“Everything,” I repeated, my voice, though soft, carrying on the wind.

“Everything is a very broad term,” he replied.

“No,” I said, letting my head fall into his hands, “everything is
you
.”

He didn’t say anything, but instead kissed me so slow it set every cell in my body into motion with his.  His lips lifted from mine and set a trail of goose bumps from my neck down as they drifted to my ear.

“Some things in my life—in our life—are anything but simple, but loving you is. I just do.”

I let my hands fold behind his neck. “Who knew fairy tales could be so screwed up.”

His hands ran down my arms. “I don’t think it’s screwed up at all.” His hands brushed my hair out of my face as he said, “I think it’s perfect just the way it is.”

“You’re girlfriend is a loser—”

He shook his head. “Let me read it.”

“Then you’ll know.”

“Know what?”

I swallowed as I let my eyes wander past the tattoo on his collarbone, up the vein bulging in his irritation in his neck, to his strong chin, lips and finally those eyes.

“How much I love you.”

His chest rose as the words sunk in.

“I already know,” he replied as he slid my hands from his neck into his own and kissed them. “I already know.”

“I never said it back,” I admitted. “Didn’t that kill you?”

He shook his head. “I knew…”

“How?”

The wind picked up, and the guilt I felt was suddenly on his face.

“What?” I asked, my heart pounding.

He dropped my hands and turned to the ocean with his shoulders tense as he measured whatever he was about to admit.

“I read it.”

“Read what?”

“The manuscript…I read fast…I read it…a few months ago. You left your laptop on. You were sleeping. I didn’t mean to, but once I started I couldn’t stop,” he admitted as I stared at his back. “There were parts that reminded me of us…”

I stood and stared at his back as he sat down in front of the waves, putting his head onto his knees. “I’m truly sorry. I know how much I invaded you by doing it. I know how I’d feel if you heard a song without me knowing it.”

I laughed then. “I have.”

How could I be mad when I’d done the same thing to him? How many times had I pretended I was asleep just to hear him sing to me? Too many to count.

I sat down beside him and rested my head on his shoulder. “So you aren’t really sleeping?”

I shrugged, looking up at him through my eyelashes. “I didn’t want you to stop.”

“I think you should say screw it to agents and publishers. I think you should do it for you,” he said as he moved behind me and pulled me into his arms.

“It’s kind of hard to just do this sort of thing by yourself,” I replied as I traced the lion that stretched across his forearm.

“You won’t be doing it by yourself. It’s going to be a huge commitment, and once you promise to do this I won’t let you stop.”

I turned to face him. “What are you planning on doing?”

He shrugged, but the coy grin showed he was brewing an evil plan. “Facebook works wonders…do you know how many followers I have on there and Twitter?”

“You’re going to blow up Facebook and Twitter with me?”

His face turned serious and he reached for my face.

“I read it. You’re amazing. I’m not saying that because I love you…I’m saying it because I know it’s true. You’re the triple threat, beautiful, talented writer
and
a
photographer. If I let it out that the photographs everyone is wondering about from the album were done by you, everyone will start talking—then a few snippets here and there of your book with a lead in to your Facebook and Twitter accounts and people will start talking for themselves.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“You have to be ready for it.”

“You’re not sure if I am?”

“I know you are, but it’s my job to protect you. It sounds easy, yes, but it’s not. Silence really isn’t as bad as when people start taking diggers at you. There’s going to be people who say it’s all because of me. I
need
you to know it’s not. There’s going to be a lot of jealous people out there…” his voice drifted off along with his eyes. They watched the ocean in silence as if this was something he had been contemplating for a while but hadn’t known how to mention it. What worried me the most was the way his forearms were clenched and the pallor his skin had taken in the moonlight. It appeared he was scared.

“What’s wrong?”

He rubbed his stubble with his hand, and then let his head rest on his shoulder as he looked away from me.

“I’m worried.”

“That I can’t handle it?”

A painful laugh rose from his chest along with a sad smile.

“No,” he said, looking down at my hands pressed into the sand between his legs. “I’m afraid this could destroy our relationship.”

“You realize nothing is worth that to me, right?”

His eyes met mine. “Eventually someone is going to challenge this—us. They already have…”

“And we didn’t let them win.”

The stress he was feeling was showing in the moonlight. His eyes had darkened, looking through me and across the foaming waves.

“You almost gave up,” he finally whispered, and I could see a single tear sliding down the edge of his nose.

He was right. He always was. I had weakened at the first blow. I had practically shattered at the second, and then he had been the only thing to pull me back together. It was history repeating itself with words instead of fists. I didn’t want him to feel he always had to put me back together but that was one of the reasons I needed him so badly. In the emptiness I felt he had given me something back. He found the lost puzzle pieces of my soul and solved it. When he did that he became a part of who I was. I wouldn’t give into anyone ever again, especially if it meant losing him.