Lucian

Chapter 18

ASPEN

Idid something I’d never done before.

I ran.

And not just from the club, but from him, our agreement, work, home.

Home.

I laughed at the word as I stood outside the apartment door, frozen and struggling to find the will to go inside and hide.

His apartment wasn’t my home. In the end, I squared my shoulders, shoved some of my belongings into a bag, sent an email to work letting them know I was taking a vacation, sent a message to my dad so he wouldn’t worry, and ran.

I ended up at the airport, taking the first flight I could find.

Which was how I found myself in New Orleans, checked into a suite in the French Quarter, unsure of where I went from there. I settled on wrapping myself in a fluffy robe and begging for sleep so I wouldn’t have to think anymore, saving any further decision-making for tomorrow.

Day one

I ordered an obscene number of items from the room service menu, earning me a concerned look from Otto, the hotel staff member kind enough to keep his judgment to himself. I then spent the rest of the day in bed, crying while binge-watching Friends.

Lucian didn’t call, but he did send a message.

Call me.

Day two.

I ordered a more reasonable number of items from room service for breakfast and lunch, managed to keep my crying to only in the shower, and forced myself to go down to the bar for a liquid dinner.

Lucian called, but I didn’t answer.

Day three.

I ordered a parfait and a croissant for breakfast, had a conversation with Otto about his twelve grandchildren, went for a run around the city, and ended up having dinner at a vampire bar where I drank my alcohol from a blood bag.

It was the first day I didn’t cry.

Lucian called again, but I still didn’t answer. He followed it up with another message.

Call me.

Day four.

I woke up determined and grabbed a banana for breakfast on my way out of the hotel with a wave to Otto.

When I went for my run, I took notes about where I wanted to stop after I went back for a shower.

I had red beans and rice for lunch and wine for dinner, which led to a mostly empty karaoke bar and tequila for dessert.

Turned out I was a horrible singer. Something I hadn’t known because I’d never taken the time to try.

The realization took me back to the argument with my father when he sold part of the company to Lucian.

“Your mother wanted you not to pigeonhole yourself into one thing without experiencing life and everything it has to offer you.”

“You have so much more to give in your life.”

I’d been too angry to hear his words—too stubborn.

Maybe he had a point. Maybe I didn’t know what else I could achieve.

When I finally crashed in bed, fully clothed, I promised that tomorrow I’d learn more about myself. I’d take time to experience more of life.

Lucian didn’t call, but he did send a message—this time with three whole words instead of two.

Aspen. Call me.

Days five to seven.

The rest of the week, I had breakfast with Otto in the lounge by the window. He gave me his top recommendations for places to eat and things to see, and I did my best to go to them all.

I learned that I loved dancing so much that I didn’t care if I was the only person on the floor.

I learned that I am damn good at pickleball and duck bowling, but terrible at regular bowling.

I learned that I like being vociferous when I win, and no one judged me for being too loud, competitive, or fiery.

I discovered that I enjoyed museums, but not those that focused too much on history.

I preferred exhibits about design and art.

I discovered that I really, really loved design, which was unsurprising considering how much I enjoyed redesigning the Quinn Music Group offices a few years ago.

I’d only experienced that kind of excitement and passion when it came to music.

Each night, I fell into bed with a smile on my face and plans for the next day.

Lucian stopped calling.

He didn’t send any more messages.

Day Eight.

After another abundant breakfast, I headed out for an all-day tour of New Orleans’ historic homes, focusing on the evolution of architecture and design over the years.

Toward the end of the tour, I fell into an intense conversation with a man on the tour, which led to an even more intense debate over whether trendy or timeless styles were better.

“So, what company are you a designer at?” he asked at the end.

“What? Me?” I snorted and laughed. “I’m not a designer.”

“Huh…” His brows rose as he pulled a card from his wallet, extending it to me. “Well, if you ever decide to become a designer, call me.”

I took the card and blinked down at it. My brows furrowed as I went over the past couple of hours, trying to understand what he saw in me to assume something so insane.

Was it insane, though?

My blood thrummed in my veins with spikes of adrenaline, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Something that I usually only experienced with music.

Again, my father’s words came flooding back from the beginning, when the whole reason this mess with Lucian even started.

“I hate the idea of you tying yourself to this job when you don’t even know if this is what you really want.”

“Of course, it’s what I want. I’ve wanted this my whole life.”

“Because you refused to try anything else.”

The excitement fell away, leaving me with more questions than I knew what to do with.

I went back to the hotel for the rest of the night, ordered a cheeseburger, and lay in silence, wondering if I really loved music or if it was all I allowed myself to know—wondering if I knew myself at all.

Day nine.

I woke up to my phone’s obnoxious ringing and the sun flooding my room. I squinted my eyes and slapped my hand toward the nightstand in an attempt to make the trilling stop.

Expecting to find Lucian’s name on the screen, I almost hit ignore, but stopped at the last minute when I saw Ash’s name instead.

“Hey,” I answered, my voice rough from sleep.

“Are you sleeping?” he asked incredulously. “It’s one o’clock.”

“Technically, it’s only noon here.”

“Wait? What? Where is here?”

I rolled to my back and yawned. “New Orleans.”

“What are you doing in New Orleans?”

“Hiding.”

“From who?” He scoffed. “And since when do you hide?”

The day, the week, the past few months lumped together and weighed me down. The urge to spill every detail sat at the tip of my tongue, desperate for someone else to weigh in on the wild storm taking over my life. Yet I still hesitated.

My lips parted and…nothing came out.

I couldn’t bring myself to confess the lies around my agreement with Lucian, but this was Ash—my friend who never judged me. I could at least be honest about some of what sent me running and acting so out of character.

“Since…” I sighed and bit my lip before trudging on. “Since I’m not sure who I am anymore.”

“What?” he exclaimed.

I winced, realizing I Quentin Tarantino’d my explanation by starting at the end. Pausing, I took a moment to figure out how to explain what I meant.

“How did you know you wanted to be a musician?”

“Uhhh…”

“Just go with it,” I urged, pushing him past his confusion.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I just always loved music and did all kinds of music shit in school. Teachers told me I was gifted, or whatever that meant. I guess because I could learn any instrument easily.” He paused, his tone turning reverent. “But the bass made me feel. If that makes sense.”

“Yeah. It does,” I said softly. “I get it.”

I didn’t want to work at Quinn Music Group just because it was my family’s company.

I worked there because I loved the job—the music.

Music had gotten me through so many difficult times in my life, being there when I needed to feel like someone else understood what I was going through.

Being there to help pull me out of my sorrow.

Being there to remind me of some of my best moments.

I listened to the lyrics, the beat, the rhythm, and everything in between, and I just felt it. So, yeah. I got it.

“And it was the cool thing to do to be in a band. Chicks sure loved it.”

I laughed. “So, the real truth comes out.”

He joined me in laughing before falling silent. “What’s this about, Aspen?”

I sat up in bed and heaved a deep exhale, my shoulders collapsing back against the cushioned headboard.

“I don’t know…I mean…” I groaned, struggling to find the right words.

“Did you try other things? Did it take you a while to figure out what you did and didn’t like, or did you just give all you had to music? ”

“Yeah, I tried other things. I played basketball in high school and probably would have played in college if we hadn’t gotten signed, but I didn’t like it. I also played soccer when I was a kid, but I sucked so bad at it.”

I snorted, imagining a young Ash fumbling around a field and smiling.

Then my humor faded when I tried to relate and came up empty.

“I never did that,” I said, my voice solemn.

“I put myself on a path and never deviated from it—like a racehorse with blinders on, I didn’t stop to see anything else.

What if I missed something? What if I’m playing basketball when I could be playing bass? ”

“Aspen,” he sighed. “I hated basketball. I did it because my dad forced me to. If I’d found the feeling bass gave me from the beginning, then I never would have wasted my time with anything else.

I don’t think you need to worry about missing out on some childhood sports because you focused on what you loved.

Besides, you’re only twenty-five. You have your whole life ahead of you to discover new things.

I mean, look at Oprah; she didn’t become Oprah until her thirties. ”

“Yeah,” I agreed flatly. I got what he meant, but so many questions still rose and fell like waves, plaguing me.

There was a pause on the line before he spoke again. “What does the fiancé say about this?”

I groaned, sinking lower down the bed.

“That good?” he asked with a quiet breath of amusement.

“I technically don’t have a fiancé anymore,” I mumbled.

“Technically?”

As if the words from earlier had never abandoned their perch on the tip of my tongue, I bolted upright as they spewed without thought. “Listen, it was all a sham anyway, and I forgot that. Which led to a whole dramatic situation, and I…I just couldn’t do it anymore?”

“A sham?”

I scrambled for an explanation that avoided the whole truth. “I mean-I meant… I just meant that we both knew what we were looking for when he asked me to marry him. Like I told you before…it was unconventional.”

He hummed noncommittally. “And?”

“And what?”

“And what happened to cause your little outburst?”

“We had an argument. And when it ended, I…” I cringed. “I didn’t explicitly tell him that I was done with our engagement—just that I was done.”

Another hum that started to grate on my nerves because I knew it contained so much more than the words he selectively spoke. “There’s a thing called a phone that you could easily remedy your technicality.”

“No. I don’t want to talk to him. I can’t.”

“Aspen…”

“Don’t use that pitying tone with me.”

“I’m not. I would never pity you. You scare me too much,” he defended with a chuckle. “But I’m your friend, and I hate that you’re hurting.”

“I’m okay,” I objected, ignoring the abundant tissues littering the floor.

“Yeah,” he said sarcastically and paused. “I’m assuming this argument is the main culprit for your trip to New Orleans?”

I played with a stray string on the comforter. “It was kind of a long chain of events that had been building for a while now. I can’t pass all the blame onto him.”

“Uh, yes, you can because I’m your friend. So, it’s always his fault. Right, girlfriend?”

I recoiled from his flamboyant voice. “Don’t ever use that voice again. It scares me.”

“That’s fair,” he agreed lightly.

We both fell silent, and my lips curved. Talking to Ash eased some of the tension weighing me down, so my smile came easily and didn’t hurt so much.

“I’m gonna be okay,” I said softly.

“You’re going to be okay,” he affirmed. “When are you coming back?”

I moaned, falling back against the headboard. “I guess I have to come back at some point.”

“Yes, please. We need you. And we have a meeting you’ve canceled more than once.”

“Yeah…” I exhaled. “I guess I’ll be back next week, back in tip-top shape to tackle business.”

“That’s my girl.”

I smiled harder. “Hey, Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

We hung up, and I tossed my phone aside. In the silence of the room, left with my own thoughts, doubts crept in, and I had to wonder…

Would I really be okay?

Or would this cavernous hole, I never knew existed until Lucian Daire pointed it out, ever go away?