Chapter Eighteen Vivian
Chapter Eighteen
Vivian
I wake long before my alarm, even if my body is still exhausted from last night’s activities.
Memphis is asleep and snoring quietly beside me. I can’t help but smile and shift so I’m completely on my side, my eyes tracking over his handsome face and taking in all the little things I haven’t noticed before.
His facial hair has grown a bit more pronounced—I felt it between my thighs last night as he went to town. The handful of freckles around the edge of his hairline. How long his lashes are, pressed against his cheeks.
Last night was . . .
I can’t even put into words what it was. How it made me feel.
God, what it made me feel ...
Even before last night, sex with Memphis was the best I’d ever had. But until last night, I’ve never considered that sex itself could be life-changing. I’ve never been so centered as the focus of a man’s attention. Not ever have I felt so completely worshipped and adored and treasured. So revered.
So precious.
The bar has been raised to a level I didn’t know existed. Memphis makes me feel things that I probably shouldn’t with a man I’ve known for such a short time.
And it’s not just the sex, even though some of how we flirt and spar and talk certainly plays a part in making the sex so good.
Micah wasn’t joking when he said that when Memphis cares about something, it gets all his attention. Memphis has an attention to detail like no one else.
I’ve felt it in how he talks to me, how he listens to me, the questions he asks, the attention he pays to me when we’re intimate.
It’s intoxicating.
Too intoxicating. I’m a pot on heat, and I’m at risk of boiling over.
This entire vacation was supposed to be a chance for me to get away from the very complicated, very emotional parts of my life. An opportunity to have some fun and let go of the realities I face back home.
Yet somehow, this thing with Memphis is becoming one of those complications.
I turn onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, knowing that’s not entirely true.
Memphis isn’t a complication.
But this thing between us does come with complications.
Added emotions and challenges.
I mean, I’m leaving today. In hours.
I’m supposed to go home. Back to LA. Back to my real life and my big dreams and everything I’ve wanted for my future.
So how do my feelings for Memphis fit into that?
Should they? Should they fit into my future?
Or should I be able to leave this fun fling behind and move on with my life?
Even that prospect makes something roll over in my stomach and heat begin to collect around my neck.
I don’t want to leave Memphis behind.
I don’t want this thing between us to be over.
But in the same breath, I do.
Because something tells me that falling for Memphis Hawthorne just might break me.
If I thought what happened with Theo was too much to handle, I can only imagine what heartbreak with Memphis might do to me.
How it might wreck me in ways I can’t even comprehend right now.
Not to mention the complications it could cause with my friendship with Murphy.
It’s infinitely safer to avoid these emotions altogether.
No matter how hard it might be to leave him—leave this—behind.
“You’re really going to leave without saying goodbye?”
I curse under my breath and freeze a second before loading my guitar case into the trunk of my rental.
I wish I had been faster gathering my belongings as I snuck around Memphis’s room earlier. I’d hoped to sneak out without waking him. But clearly, Murphy was right when she said I’m not very stealthy.
I drop the trunk closed then turn, looking at Memphis where he stands a few feet away on the cold concrete of the Hawthorne driveway. His hands are on his hips. He’s wearing a T-shirt and a loose pair of basketball shorts.
And looking far more hurt than I’d anticipated.
“I figured it might be easier for everyone if I left early,” I say, crossing my arms. It’s the only thing I can think of, having not prepared anything to say.
“Easier for who?”
He steps closer, resting his hand on the back of the car, pinning me with a look that makes my chest ache. His eyes search mine, and I get the sensation that he’s looking for something, though I’m not sure what.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving, Memphis. It’s time to go home.”
“You’re not leaving. You’re running.”
My head jerks back. “What the hell would I be running from?”
He waves a hand in the space between where we stand.
“From this. From us.”
It’s too much ... way too much. Whatever’s developed between us is too big, and I’m not ready.
“What us , Memphis?” I stare him down. “This is a vacation fling. Some fun sexy times that are supposed to be nothing more than fun and sexy.” I blink rapidly, trying to convince him while trying to convince myself, too. “That’s all.”
“You don’t believe that,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “If this was a bunch of fun sex and nothing more, it would be easy to wake up and fuck again and then have breakfast and leave for the airport. Right? Wouldn’t that be easy?”
I shove my hands into my sweatshirt pockets, my fingers bunching and releasing over and over. I stare back at Memphis with my head high and my chin out. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. Because I’m terrified that he’s right. That he can see right through me.
Memphis takes another step forward, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders before sliding down and squeezing gently at my biceps.
Our gazes tangle again, and I get that same sense that he’s searching for meaning.
“You ... make me feel something.” He shakes his head. “Something I didn’t know I could feel. Something too early to name. But what I can honestly tell you is that I’m not ready for whatever this is between us to end. Not yet.”
A shiver races down my spine at his honesty, at the raw and vulnerable way his eyes look into mine.
“And maybe I said the wrong thing before, when I first came outside.” His hands come up and frame my face. “So let me try again. Please don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
Memphis leans down, bringing his face within inches of mine. Our noses bump, and I press up onto my toes, unable to refuse the invitation to touch him again.
The kiss is gentle and sweet and reverent, and my body warms despite the cool fall morning.
It had taken all my mental strength to push myself out of bed earlier, to quietly tiptoe around Memphis’s room, collecting my things and then slipping out, to get on the road to the airport hours before I need to go.
I’d made up my mind. I needed to leave, and leave immediately.
And now, standing here, wrapped in his arms as this slow, lazy kiss rolls through me, the little wall that protects my heart continues to crack. And I’m even more convinced that I’m making the right choice.
I pull back, take a step away from him, and cover my mouth with my hand. As if I can hold his kiss there forever, save it for later when I need it most.
He watches me, uncertainty in his expression, and I know that I have to convince him that me leaving is the best thing.
For both of us.
For what we want out of the future.
The plans we each have.
Because if I can’t convince him, if I can’t convince myself , I don’t know if either of us will be able to let go.
“What kind of life do you picture for us, huh?” I ask him. “My entire life is in LA. My career is in LA. Everything that matters to me is in LA.”
He takes a step back, looking away from me briefly, and I don’t doubt that what I said has wounded him. But I don’t relent.
“I’m just on the cusp of living my dream, Memphis. I am right there, about to reach out and take everything I’ve wanted. Everything I’ve worked for. Am I supposed to give that up? Come here. Live in this town while you work sixteen-hour days? Play open mic nights?”
My words are like tar on my tongue, sticky and hot and poisonous. But I keep going, wanting to drive my point home.
“Or are you going to be the one who does it? Are you going to quit the vineyard, come to LA, and live the city life? Follow me around while I’m on tour?”
Memphis’s fists clench at his sides. “You know I can’t do that.”
“I do know that. And what’s more, I would never ask you to. Just like you wouldn’t ask me to give up my dreams, either.”
I lick my lips and let out a sigh, watching as his heart breaks, and feeling mine do the same.
“You might not be ready for it to end, but that doesn’t mean it’s not over.”
My words hit him like a physical thing, and I watch as it rolls through his body. Every cell in my body screams at me to go to him. To wrap my arms around his chest and place my ear over where I know I’ll hear his heart thumping that steady rhythm.
But I can’t.
There’s no path where this works. No reality where we are anything more than a bit of fun distraction.
And I can imagine nothing more devastating than giving something between us a shot, only to watch the good, kind, caring parts of us begin to fall apart.
Just like with Theo.
Just like with my parents.
Just like every other relationship that has inevitably crumbled and come to an end, or fallen by the wayside.
It’s safer to tuck this time away as a memory. Let it be a good time and nothing more.
Too much of my heart would be at stake with this man. And that’s the exact reason I need to leave.
“Goodbye, Memphis.”
My words are quiet, but I know he hears them.
Then I do exactly what I told myself I needed to do. I leave.
I get in my car, and I drive away.
Memphis stands there watching me, his figure growing smaller in the rearview as I take the dusty drive out to the highway.
And that’s when the first tears begin to fall.
The flight is easy, and I’m home before I know it, pushing open the door to my tenth-floor condo with a sigh, far more exhausted than I should be.
Something inside me is ... empty.
My cat, Roger, greets me at the door. I pluck him up and snuggle him close, despite his protests. I pick up the little note on the entry table from my neighbor Mary, telling me he’s been fed already.
“Missed you, Rodge,” I whisper, squeezing him tight for a minute before dropping him back to the tile floor.
I tug my bag and suitcase inside and kick the door closed behind me. The open room feels as empty as I do.
I put Theo’s things in storage before I left town, and it still feels strange. Like that time after Christmas, when all the decorations are taken down and the living room suddenly seems stark and lifeless.
When I cross over to the bedroom, I find that it’s the same. The king-size bed frame sits empty in the middle of the room, the bedding and mattress having also been removed during the purge.
It’s a good thing. I know that.
But it’s also sad. I’m sad.
So instead of unpacking, I grab a glass of wine and retreat to my balcony. I take a deep breath of the salty sea air and settle into a chair.
I want to do nothing. I want to be no one. I just want to sit here and listen to the ocean and drink my weight in wine.
But that’s unrealistic, so after a few sips, I pick up my phone and call Todd.
“Hey, your travel home go okay?”
“It did.”
“Good. You ready for tomorrow?”
“I guess.”
Todd laughs. “Yeesh. Don’t sound so excited. It’s only your dream coming true.”
I chuckle a little bit, knowing he’s right. “Sorry, I think I’m tired. And nervous.”
“I’m sure you are. It’s always intimidating to go into the studio for the first time. But remember, you aren’t expected to come in with all your shit perfectly put together. Life has thrown you for a loop recently. Lean into that pain. Use it to create some really amazing music. And I mean, based on the stuff you sent me, it seems like that’s what you’ve already done.”
The truth is, sure, I’m still upset over Theo and the bullshit he put me through. But most of what I’m dealing with right now is not about the man I was in a relationship with for three years.
It’s about Memphis. The man I’ve known for two weeks.
And that’s something I don’t really know how to explain.
Nor do I want to try.
“I’m sure it’ll go great,” I say, trying to put some enthusiasm in my tone.
Todd laughs. “Look, take some time tonight, review your music, feel the feels. And then bring that in tomorrow. I promise you, it’ll be worth it.”
We get off the phone, and I give myself until the end of my glass of wine to sit outside and stew. To ponder the unfairness of it all. Then I make a promise to go over every single song that we’ve been considering for the album.
My emotions are fragile as I strum the guitar, trying to infuse the right emotions into the right moments. And I do what Todd suggests. I let myself feel the feels.
When I pull open the door for the music studio in Century City where I’m scheduled to lay down my first track on Monday morning, I’m still emotional and still nervous, but more in control.
The nerves are unfamiliar. I can stand up on a stage and sing my heart out. I can lead presentations, talk in front of groups, go live on social media ... I mean, anything, really.
But this is different.
I’ve never gone into a real, honest-to-goodness studio. So after I worked through my songs, I lay in bed late into the night reading through what to expect the first time you have studio time posts online, and I felt like I’d be prepared.
But the nerves are still here.
And I’m realizing it has more to do with the actual music I’m hoping to record than it is about the studio time itself. Todd really liked the snippets I sent to him, but it’s hard to know how the songs will land with a manager or label when it comes time to lay down the tracks.
Todd is sitting on the couch in the recording room when I get there, and his boss, Jonas, is at the soundboard next to Richie, the producer who will be working on all the tech stuff that doesn’t make sense to me.
“I hear you’ve been writing some pretty incredible stuff,” Jonas says, leaning up against the soundboard, his arms crossed. “I’m looking forward to hearing it.”
“I shared a few of your recordings with Jonas,” Todd interjects. “Had to make sure he knew that you were really up to something special on your trip.”
“I’m really, really happy with what came out of this trip, and I think it will be well worth it,” I say to both of them.
Jonas nods but doesn’t look entirely convinced, though I think as the head of A & R, it’s his job to be skeptical until he hears proof that the music is worth the hype. Todd, on the other hand, looks like a proud father, which helps alleviate some of the pressure.
I get out my guitar and start strumming, warming up and humming the melody as Richie messes with the soundboard.
“You know what?” Todd says, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. “We talked about recording ‘Sharp Heart’ today, but why don’t you play one of the new tracks. I have a really good feeling about this new stuff. Jonas, I’d like you to hear at least one full song before we get started. What was the one you sent to me?”
“‘Sweet Escape,’” I tell him, my fingers fluttering across the strings.
It’s the one song I didn’t practice last night, of course. My emotions felt too raw to relive my performance at The Standard, so I’d skipped over it.
They still feel that way now. But as I begin the opening chords, the melody flows out of me. It’s almost effortless, the way my fingers move. The way my memory recalls the lyrics and how my voice rolls over the tune.
Easy. Natural.
The welling of emotion in my chest that I felt as I wrote it, with each change I made until everything was perfect.
And by the time I finish, I’m on the verge of tears, singing about finding something special, finding belonging, in a place I hadn’t expected.
I finally look at Todd when I’m done, and a thrill races through me at the smile on his face. Jonas sits with his arms crossed, one eyebrow lifted high on his forehead.
“Well, fuck. I don’t know where you’ve been for the past few weeks, but you are free to head back any time if it’s going to bring us something like that.”
At Jonas’s reaction, Todd claps and says something to Richie, and then we’re moving, all of us, getting me set up with the mics behind the glass.
There are only two things on my mind.
Holy shit, it’s really happening.
And, surprisingly . . .
How much I wish I could share this with Memphis.