34. Maddie
Chapter thirty-four
Maddie
I shut my apartment door behind me and sink down to the floor.
My insides have turned to a soggy puddle, and my spine that kept me upright has crumpled, but I did it.
I’m not standing in the way of his career.
I was being honest when I told his mom that the last thing I wanted was for Nick to not succeed at being a musician.
He’s so passionate about it, and if he sacrificed his career for me, giving up the Governor’s Ball and other venues, and never got the chance again, would he become bitter? Would he resent me?
Will it last?
That is the question. My feelings won’t change. I love Nick.
But he’s about to go on tour. He could meet a female musician who riffs with him on creating lyrics, who can accompany him on tours.
He’d never cheat, but wouldn’t he regret being tied to me?
Happiness can be so fragile. Especially when I can’t go on tour with him.
Can’t fly out to see him. We’d be away from each other for months at a time.
And if a story came up when he was back, that would have to be my priority. The news is 24/7.
This won’t be the last time fans try to cancel our relationship.
And I can return to being an incognito reporter.
Still, it was incredibly awkward to pick up Sherlock together from Luca’s place and then come back home and separate at the doors to our apartments.
But maybe it was good that we were forced to be together so that we can establish that we can be friends—sort of.
Next time, it will be easier. Especially since now he’s leaving tomorrow, and I won’t even see him.
And it was good to hear his bandmates happy about the tour schedule when Nick called to tell them the news that the band was leaving tomorrow and will be playing at the Governor’s Ball in June in New York City.
Even if Sayo and Kyla kept asking if this meant that we had broken up.
“We’ve broken up for now,” Nick says.
I chime in, “We’ll still be friends. You guys are going to be traveling for a month now, anyway.”
When we hang up with the band, Nick says, “I hate that false cheerfulness in your voice.”
I stare at him, drinking him in. “I am happy for you. I would feel terrible if you guys didn’t go on tour. And it will be a lot easier with you gone.”
“I want it to be hard.”
I lean my head back against my door, still thinking of our conversation.
I take a deep breath. Everything aches like I’ve come down with the flu. I feel like I’ve been walking for ages in the cold, chilled to the bone.
Sherlock meows.
I let him out of his cat bag. He wanders around, sniffing. Does he smell the chlorine from when Nick tried to sanitize the whole place? Is it still the same? It all feels completely different.
Nick, sitting at my kitchen table, teasing me, tempting me with dumplings. Nick sleeping in my bed, gazing at me with those eyes of his that really saw me, with that face full of love and desire and laughter.
Nick is going to get his wish. It’s going to be hard. Tears pour down my face.
Nick’s playing again, and I can hear the melancholy sounds through my wall.
It’s going to be impossible. Maybe I should move. Bella is looking for a roommate now that Lily is moving in with Rupert.
I lean my head back against the door.
The Sherlock Holmes hat is still on the table from last night.
Nick put that hat on my head and kissed me on the nose.
The top knot has come undone. I thought we were that knot—that we could make it.
That we made sense, looping in and out, complementing each other, coming together to make a whole.
But look at how easily we came apart. One pull at a loose end.
The two flaps are drooping. I should wear it like that, with the flaps covering my ears so I can’t hear about any new woman he dates.
So I can’t hear what they say about me—and especially when they say, “I told you it wasn’t serious. ”
I really believed it was serious. I wipe away another tear. Sherlock sniffs my face and curls up next to me. I bury my face in his fur.
A discordant note pierces through the wall.
I need to write. That’s the way I’ll get over Nick.
That’s the way I process my emotions. I’ll write a tell-all, but a truthful one.
One that tells how I feel, how much I love him, how he cared for me, how it felt to be attacked by trolls, criticizing everything about me, even my bag, and how important it is to be kind.
The Intelligencer may not publish it, but I’m not going down without a fight.
Why should they make me choose between the person I love and the career I love?
Why are they giving in to faceless demands, when this is my private life?
If I want to fake date someone, I should be allowed to fake date someone.
I’ve been an exemplary employee. No, I’m a rock star employee.
I reported on a scheme that was funneling taxpayer money into a corrupt official’s pockets and leaving families without working repairs.
And maybe I can get Nick back. I don’t want to give up on our relationship yet.
I explain how I first found Nick annoying, if very attractive, but I appreciated how hard he worked.
How he was always playing music and thinking of lyrics.
How he would play at all hours of the night.
But also how sweet he was. How he volunteered for my friend’s community park festival.
How he took care of me when I twisted my ankle.
How I agreed to date him because I liked him and thought this might be my only chance—oh yes, fans, I can see why you didn’t understand what Nick saw in me, because I had my own doubts—that even fake dating Nick was better than not dating him at all.
But it felt real when we were together—so real that I’d forget and have to remind myself that it was fake.
Until we both admitted that it was real and that we liked each other.
And then how happy we made each other. How Nick was a great partner in crime as I was investigating the big story.
How many men would be okay with someone who wants to spend her time following around suspects while dressed as an older couple?
Or who insists on meeting a suspect in a blind corner?
I told Nick he couldn’t punch the perp. He could be my backup only if he promised not to hurt his hand or himself because of his upcoming tour.
But when we dressed up as an older couple, I thought that Nick was the man I was going to grow old with.
I end with the final paragraph: We both worked so hard on our careers.
With ultimatums on all sides, I didn’t want to stand in the way of his success, and he didn’t want to stand in the way of mine.
But Nick made me believe that a rock star could love me.
So, for all those “girls next door” and women who don’t think a rock star will love them, I hope you find your very own rock star—the type of guy who supports your career and puts it before his own happiness.
I know what real love is now. I will always love Nick.
I wipe yet another tear away and save my document. I email it to myself as a backup and then close down my computer. I’ll read it over in the morning and decide whether to send it to Felicity.
No sound comes from the apartment next door. There’s an emptiness in the air and in me. It’s as if he’s already gone.
The next morning, the office feels subdued, like the night after a late party, and I feel drained.
Yesterday, the excitement about my front-page article kept me going, but now the cold hard truth that I’ve lost Nick and possibly my job is staring at me in the silent looks I get from my colleagues. Except for Nemesis.
“I have to say that I was following you guys because I couldn’t believe you were dating, but I really did think you were dating,” Sarah says. “Especially that Strangelove bar. Why did you guys go there for drinks? I took one look inside and decided I’d wait outside for you.”
“I was meeting the inspector there,” I say.
Sarah’s face falls. “If only I’d known. I could’ve followed him instead of you guys.”
Sharing my love letter to Nick feels like the wrong move in the fluorescent lighting of the halls. I don’t want to watch my memories shredded or mocked.
Nick was also interviewed on a morning show, and he looked okay. When he said we’d broken up, I’d cried again, disappearing into the office bathroom. My eyes are red and puffy.
An email with the title “Probation” appears in my inbox. I broke a story about City Hall corruption, and I’m on probation because I signed a dating contract?
Apparently so.
My whole body folds. I have no energy to fight now that I’ve lost Nick. I want to go home and curl up in my bed and cry.