16. Avery
Avery
I t’s been nearly three weeks since the photos of Wes and those women were everywhere I looked. And ever since, paparazzi and reporters have camped out at the gate to the warehouse where we’ve been rehearsing. As a result, we’ve had to get extra security and it’s a pain in the ass to get to work.
As I exit my car, they hurl questions my way, pressing their bodies against the chain link fence, their words jumble together in a garbled cacophony.
But one breaks through. “How's it working with Wesley Hart?”
How do I feel about working with him? Are they fucking kidding?
Before I knew what happened, I was hesitantly excited about the rehearsal.
To sing with him. To feel music the way I only do when we make it together.
After Wes left the party, I did too. I got a small thrill flirting with Warren, but that was nothing compared to how every nerve in my body came to attention when Wes came to talk to me, every sensation roaring to life.
The crash of the waves, the rasp in his voice, the feather light brush of his fingers on my neck, overloading my system.
I arrived here early, grabbing coffee for both of us on the way. The band and dancers trickled in, all in various states of being hungover from the night before.
Then I waited. Buzzing. Knee bobbing as my eyes were glued to the door.
And I kept waiting up until the moment our choreographer told us we couldn’t keep burning daylight.
We ran through the numbers without him, leaving an empty space where he was supposed to be.
My mind had started to race. Where was he?
Was he okay? Someone would have said something if something was wrong, right?
By the time we broke to get water, I was so caught up in my own head it took me a minute to feel the weight of the stares coming from all around me. Hushed conversations from groups all hovering over their phones.
I bolted for my bag, desperately sifting through my eyes, change of clothes, and my wallet for my phone.
Something was wrong. I felt it in my gut.
And I couldn’t help but remember the call I got telling me that Dad was in the hospital.
How quickly someone could be torn away when there was still so much you wanted to do with them.
And that was the root of my fear. I wanted more with Wes. A future.
No notifications. My trembling fingers flew across the screen, opening a browser and searching for whatever everyone else around me was looking at.
And there he was in the pool, glassy eyed, and ravenously kissing one girl then another. Their tangled limbs. Having the time of his life and making me look so stupid and desperate. I didn’t just look it; I felt it too.
When I got home, roses waited for me. Velvety petals crumpled on one side from lying there in the heat.
A note scrawled on thick linen paper read, It wasn’t a threesome .
I gripped the stems in my fist, expecting thorns to prick my skin, but of course there weren’t any.
So I drove to his place and jammed the petals into the trash can outside.
Even though I told myself I expected this from him, it hurt. A knife he lodged in my back years ago twisted with a sharp shock of pain. Because that’s what he’s good at. Getting my hopes up as I forget how much it hurt the last time he let me down, only to do it all over again.
Now, headed toward the rehearsal space, I look over my shoulder and lock eyes with a camera. Give them a good shot. Let Wes know I didn’t fucking stutter.
“I feel bad for the women he was with that night if he fucks the way he acts. Selfish.”
I head inside, where Wes and his team are rehearsing. He stands at the center of what will later be a stage, but for now it’s an outline marked with white spike tape. All around him, dancers are on their knees looking up at him. I bet he loves it, standing over everyone like that.
“And take five!” our choreographer, Steven, says as he claps.
Dancers and band members disperse, rushing towards their water bottles and bags. Wes, on the other hand, heads straight for me. Shit. I’ve done my best to avoid him.
We’ve only managed two finale rehearsals since the incident. Neither of them were productive, and after I stumbled into a dancer instead of doing the correct choreography because the thought of Wes touching me made me nauseas, everyone decided it would be best if we took some time to cool off.
“Avery!” he shouts. I duck my head as he jogs toward me. “I was thinking that we could get dinner, I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but I think you accidentally blocked my number.”
His tone is light, but there’s a wary hesitance in his words. Like I’m some trapped animal ready to lash out at random. That is how I feel.
Trapped here.
I’m in too deep to back out now. Leaving the tour would mean disappointing fans, the people who have made my dreams possible.
And after what happened with Jamie and my management team, I’m not sure I would recover from it.
My career would be over, flaming out in a final lethal burst of self-righteous defiance.
I reel on him. Anger washed through my veins causing me to quiver with my inability to contain it.
“Accident?” I scoff. “Avoiding you was and never will be an accident. Honestly, I want to thank you for reminding me that I know exactly who you are now. A person I don’t want anything to do with, unless we’re working together.
I’m here because you gave me no other choice. ”
Before he has a chance to respond, I’m storming away.
I find Kendal in the room she’s taken over for filming Wes and my interviews.
A desk along one wall has become her workstation, cluttered with her laptop, hard drive, and other editing equipment.
Currently, she’s adjusting the brightness of one of the studio lights pointed at the leather couch positioned in front of a seamless blue backdrop.
“Hey, could I get you to sit for a second to help me check the levels on the camera before we start?”
“Sure.”
Kendal goes back and forth between the camera and light three times. Once satisfied, she picks up her notes, starts the camera, and sits across from me.
“So, we were just talking about the recording process of Fool’s Gambit’s first album and how during that time you were looking for a label to work with. I believe we left off after you listened to the completed album with Wes. Tell me, what happened next? Did he come find you?”
“No. I shut him out. Eventually, I got over myself and went to the concert. It was a good show,” I start, remembering the aftermath of what was Wes and my true first fight.
How I hated myself for getting close enough to him to get hurt.
He was my best friend, and back then I couldn’t imagine a world without him.
God. I wish I could be without him now.
“What was the show like? It was the first stop on their first official tour, right?”
“It meant a lot to them.”
“And you? You were a big part of the band; did it mean something to you too?”
I shrugged. “I guess. It was everything we worked for, and it was cool to see it come to life.”
Kendal sighed, reaching for her camera and pressing the stop button. “What the hell is up with you? It’s like I’m talking to a robot. I can’t use that shit unless I want people to fall asleep.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” She crosses one leg over the other and leans forward. “Let’s try this again. You have been pretty much useless during our last three interviews. Your choreographer is on the verge of quitting. And you have a tour in one month that you’re not ready for.”
“I haven’t heard anything about the choreographer.”
“It’s a perk of being a part of the crew. That and the fact that people aren’t scared I’ll bite their head off,” she says and cocks a brow. “The cameras aren’t rolling. There’s no one here to perform for. I’d like to think of us as friends, and as your friend, I want to know what’s wrong.”
I consider for a moment, but I can’t think of anyone else I can talk to about this.
“I really started to care about him again, Kendal. There’s this feeling in my chest that settles whenever he’s around.
He used to be the person who showed up no matter what.
When things got bad, I felt like shit but knew he’d be there.
And when he wasn’t, I was terrified he was hurt or missing, only to see that he was blowing me, us, off.
” Shame returns in a sickening hot flash.
I should have known better, been more careful.
But I was so ready to believe him, so desperate to have someone on my side like that again I let my guard down.
Kendal pauses and takes in my words. I appreciate that about her, how she listens before she speaks.
“It’s weird for me. With this documentary, I’m caught between the past and present.
When we’re doing our interviews, he’ll talk about something, and it always leads back to you.
And when he says your name, he just glows.
That doesn’t negate the bullshit he pulled, but there’s something important between you two. ”
I don’t know how to digest that. I’ve tried my best not to think of what he’s been saying, but of course he’s talking about the past the same way I have to. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to know what the others were saying, journalistic integrity and all.”
“I think it’s worth breaking the rules this one time.”
“Thanks, but those are just words. He’s shown who he is.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “Or maybe you owe it to yourself to hear him out. Doesn’t mean you have to forgive him, but I’d recommend you find a way to work with him again before all of this goes to shit.
Don’t do it for him. Do it for you. I’m all for being angry at a man when he deserves it, but don’t let that anger get in the way of your success. ”
“You’re right. There’s no point screwing myself over because of him.”
“Great. Now let’s try this interview again,” she says, reaching to start the camera up once again.
We record for another hour and by the time we’re done the facility is empty, even if the parking lot isn’t.
“Waiting for me? That’s a bit creepy,” I say. “And could you get up? I don’t need your ass sweat on my car.”
The muscles in his arms shift as he pushes off from where he’s been leaning against my BMW.
His clothes are damp with sweat and hug the lines of his body in a way I have to force myself to ignore, looking at his face instead.
It’s a mistake because those blue eyes of his are trained right on me, framed by brows scrunched with hurt.
“I want to talk. That’s it. Obviously, you think I’m a bit selfish .” The way he emphasizes the word makes me think that my sound bite from this morning has done its rounds. “But I want to move forward.”
“You want to take me to dinner, right? Pick me up at six.”