Chapter 9
Ingrid
The girls all crashed in my apartment that night–Twyler, Nadia, and Shelby sprawled across my ridiculous overstuffed couches and on the floor with blankets, while Madison slipped away to her own quarters like the responsible one she is.
I love her, but she doesn’t do sleepovers and giggling in pajamas.
We stay up long after the guys head back to the hotel, Reese not allowing anyone to miss curfew. They have what they call ‘morning skate’ and then their final game in the evening. It sounds like a packed day, but I can’t talk, I’m usually up before dawn, already at work when the sun rises.
When everyone gets comfortable, I ask the question that’s been burning at me.
“So…how did you guys actually meet your boyfriends?”
“You going to put this in one of your songs?” Shelby asks, more wishful than concerned.
“Maybe,” I grin. “Honestly, I’m just curious. You guys all seem so happy.”
Twyler snorts. “None of it came easy,” she says. “Those guys were a mess when we got to them.”
“Reese was hardly a mess,” Nadia challenges. “Captain of the hockey team. Surely a first round pick for the NFL.”
“Fucking anything that moved,” Twyler adds, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t seem mad about it, or even insecure. “I didn’t even like him at first and he didn’t like me, he told the whole team that he thought of me as a little sister.”
I grimace. “Ouch.”
“Then one day I’m in line at the campus coffee shop, getting my caffeine hit, the next thing I know, he’s kissing me.”
“What?” I ask, trying to follow. “He just assaulted you in the coffee shop?”
“Entitlement runs thick with these men,” Nadia chims in. “He was trying to get his ex off his back and he thought sticking his tongue down Twyler’s throat was the way to do it.”
“Seems like it worked,” Shelby says.
“Somehow that kiss turned into a full-on fake dating situationship, both of us using one another to get over past relationships,” Twyler says all of this like it makes perfect sense. “Then the fake stuff got more real, and now here we are.”
“Mine was worse. Axel and I had what we call an epic fuck up.” I raise an eyebrow urging Nadia to continue. “A one night stand, turned friends with benefits, turned relationship.” She shrugs. “The ‘epic fuck up’ turned out to be the best thing I ever did.”
“What about you and Reid,” I ask.
Shelby’s voice is softer, more careful. “I grew up in a really strict home. My parents had already arranged a relationship and marriage with a guy at my church. I realized things were moving too fast for me and I came East to stay with Axel for a while. The first night here I met Reid–”
“On Valentine’s Day,” Nadia adds, grinning wide. “He thought she was one of Axel’s former hook-ups coming for a booty call and kissed her.”
“He didn’t know who you were?” I ask.
“Nope.” Shelby shakes her head. “And I may have had something to do with the kiss. I did initiate it.”
“Damn,” I mutter. The good girl vibe on Shelby is strong. I can’t see her making a move like that. Although I was the one that kissed Jefferson first, so who am I to talk?
“Reid showed me that life didn’t have to look like what my parents had planned for me. That I could actually choose what and who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” Her cheeks flush pink. “He opened up my whole world.”
Their faces glow when they talk about these men and it’s like watching a living playlist of love songs I’ve written–except theirs are the kind that last, not the gossamer and fantasies I weave into lyrics.
They’re talking about real, steady, still burning love even after the dopamine fades.
I’ve never had that. I’ve only ever gotten the sugar rush version.
Sweet, addictive, over too fast, and leaving me in pieces.
There’s a pause, then Shelby glances at me. “What about you? Are we going to talk about Jake or is that off limits?”
Normally, I’d laugh it off. Crack a joke.
Redirect. But they’re all so open, so honest, it feels wrong not to tell the truth for once.
They don’t need the backstory. That Jake’s a musician too.
Different scene. Edgier. He wears all black and is covered in tattoos.
My world is pink and glitter, his is heavy riffs and shadows.
“Some of the stuff you’ve heard is probably true.
That we’d been drawn to each other forever, like suicidal moths to a combustible flame.
An obvious match except for the fact that the timing never worked.
Either he was taken, or I was. Then finally, last Christmas, we were both free.
It should’ve been perfect.” I twist the blanket in my lap, remembering.
“The years of pent up tension building to this one moment. We were older, more mature, had more stability. Why not? Right?” The laugh that bubbles from my chest is humorless.
“It was anything but perfect, though. All those daydreams of finally being together were quickly erased. He didn’t want me out in the world with him.
We took separate exits from venues. Separate cars.
He wanted me behind closed doors, which was fun in it’s own way.
We spent a lot of time naked and he gave me everything, but when it came to daylight, to being seen together, he acted…
distant. Disinterested. Embarrassed, even.
Like I wasn’t the girl you claim in public, just the one you keep in your bed. ”
My throat tightens, but the words are out there now.
“Turns out,” I continue, “he was talking to the media behind my back. Feeding them little crumbs–where we’d be, when I was leaving his apartment, even dumb things like what coffee I ordered.
Making it look like we were sneaking around when in reality, he just didn’t want to be seen with me.
It made him look like the mysterious bad boy who landed a pop princess.
Free publicity for his concerts. For me, it was just humiliation. ”
The girls are quiet. Not awkward quiet, just listening quiet.
“I think what hurt the most,” I swallow, “was realizing he wanted me naked in his bed, not by his side. Behind closed doors, he’d drown me in attention, but out in the world?
He was embarrassed of me. Embarrassed of pink and sparkles, of bubblegum pop songs.
He wanted to use me to burn brighter, not actually stand with me.
” I shake my head. “Leaving him sucked. Really sucked. And keeping my mouth shut while the gossips dragged me, while his fans swallowed his version–that I wasn’t good enough, too career-obsessed, too shallow–it’s brutal.
They think, that to me, he’s just, I don’t know…
another hit song now. Another heartbreak on my setlist.”
“Let me tell you something, Ingrid, he’s not worth it,” Nadia says, leaning forward, her dark eyes flashing. “Ask me how I know.”
I glance at her, and the edge in her voice softens into something like solidarity. In an instant I feel it. She does know what it’s like to be used by a man. I give her a grateful little smile.
“Yeah,” Twyler says, hugging her pillow, “everyone knows Jake Merchant is a fucking poser.”
“His nose ring is fake,” I blurt.
“Oh my God,” Nadia howls. “That’s fucking hilarious.”
“Told you,” Twyler says smugly. “Total poser.”
Shelby watches all of this with wide eyes, until she tilts her head. “So what’s next then? Any new guys? An actor this time? Maybe one of those moody British ones?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I think I’m holding off on dating anyone right now. Things are way too busy with the tour wrapping up. And honestly? I don’t think I can handle another relationship for a while.”
There’s a murmur of agreement, like they all get it. For the first time in a while, I feel lighter, but when I look back at Twyler her expression is wary.
“What?” I ask her.
“Since you’re being honest about musicians, please tell me the New Kings aren’t douchebags?”
I saw the tattoo on her upper thigh when she changed into pajama shorts. I know from experience the pride of someone getting a tattoo inspired by you that they are a major fan. “They’re pretty great actually. I got to see them play Coachella and it was pretty epic.”
She grins, my history with Jake already forgotten, and leans forward. “Tell. Me. Everything.”
“It was raining and they could have cancelled their set, but they didn’t. They played the full set, soaking wet.”
“I saw the pictures. I can’t believe you were there.”
“It made everything feel even more intimate, like they were committed. I love that about them. They are true to their fans.”
Twyler clutches a pillow to her chest like she’s holding on for dear life. “I knew it.”
Nadia laughs. “Now you’ve done it. She’s going to make us listen to their entire discography on repeat before bed.”
“Correction,” Twyler says, already grabbing her phone. “Live performances only. I need to experience this properly.”
Shelby snorts, tugging the blanket higher. “Fine, but only if Ingrid does the commentary. I want the behind-the-scenes version. Did you meet them? Backstage? Anything juicy?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling now. “No backstage gossip, just the rush of being in the crowd, singing at the top of my lungs. Sometimes that’s enough.”
Twyler’s grin softens. “See? That’s what I love. The feeling–not the drama. Their music really helped me through a hard time.”
“Exactly,” I say, hugging my knees. “Music should feel like that. Not like… shitty exes who are using you to get ahead.”
For the first time in months, talking about him doesn’t sting.
The girls chatter on, pulling up live clips, squealing when the crowd roars through the speakers, but my mind drifts. Not to Jake. Not to the wreckage he left behind.
To Jefferson.
To the hard press of his mouth against mine in the bathroom, the way he kissed me like we were the only two people on the planet. He makes me feel alive in a way Jake never did. Not like an accessory or a prize. But seen. Chosen.