15. Unexpected Encore
“It’s kind of funny, you’ve got to admit.”
I push my palm against the headache that’s kicking up a storm in my skull. “Say that again, and I’m going to throttle you.”
This is the first time I’ve said something like that to my younger sister. But it’s also the first time I’ve actually felt this frustrated.
Because there’s nothing funny about my life falling apart.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Brit justifies herself quickly. There’s a wail on the other end of the line that tells me she’s currently taking care of her toddler. I hear her shuffle away, before she adds, “It’s kind of karmic, though, isn’t it? When this situation happened to me, you were seconds from kicking Alex’s ass. But now, you’re in my shoes, and?—”
“Difference is, I didn’t plan this,” I spit at her. How could she, of all people, not get the point. “Youkissed Alex in front of cameras to convince Dad to back off. In no way did I plot and stage this shit.”
No one seems to understand. In the first half-hour after Faye kissed me publicly, my phone rang off the hook. Less than half of the calls were from my friends, who were both amused and stunned, asking how the hell this happened. Ken left a long voicemail where he went on and on about the questions I asked him the other day and how they tied to me getting cozy with Faye Strummer.
While this made me completely furious, what started the skull-crushing headache I’m still experiencing are the other calls. All of them were from various news and media stations, asking me for a quote.
I’m livid.
Thing is, I can’t exactly blame them for their confusion. I’m as surprised as they are. How did taking the wrong turn while attending a wedding end up in this, a video of me reposted five million times and dozens of blogs offering a “closer look” into the life of Blake White, Faye Strummer’s new boyfriend?
Really, how the hell did this happen?
“I understand,” Brit says now. The calm in her voice soothes me, but only for a second. “So . . . where is she now?”
“Not here.” I try not to dwell on the events of last night, how damn mad at her I was. “She packed a small bag and asked me for my credit card. She called a cab and said she’s staying in the motel by the gas station until she goes back. I suppose that means to Brooklyn.”
Brit hesitates. “Really? You aren’t worried about the mob she’s going to attract? She’s all alone out there.”
I bite down on the urge to yell at her. “Why don’t we stop worrying about her and start considering my feelings? You know, before the owners of the Philly Titans decide this is too much drama for them and ban me from playing in the next season?”
“You’re being overdramatic, Blake. No one is benching you for kissing a girl.”
A fresh wave of fury hits me, and I flop down on the couch. It’s been days since I had the cabin to myself, and I expected to feel a sense of peace and connectedness, the way I always felt when I was alone.
But now, without her here, it just feels hollow and empty. My eyes land on the book lying open next to me, Rumi’s Guest House, the collection of poems she insisted I get from the library.
I scan the excerpt the page is open to.
“The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.
They’re in each other all along.”
A bitter tastefills my mouth as the words mock me. Damn Faye for crawling under my skin like this. And damn me for still wanting her back, even after the stunt she pulled. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the poem’s lines keep repeating in my head.
“Can I ask a question? Without you threatening to hurt me?”
“Depends,” I growl. I really should be on a call with the PR team, figuring out how to contain the damage. But the thought of talking to a stranger about my messy life makes me want to bash my head against the wall.
“Why are you mad?”
I sit up, not believing she just asked that. “Want me to give you bullet points, or will a long rant do?”
Brit huffs. “Seriously, why are you mad? Are you annoyed that you’re all over social media as her new boyfriend, or?—”
“Yes.”
“Or are you annoyed that she used you without letting you in on the plan?”
“What do you mean ‘used’ me?”
“Come on, Blake. You know what I mean.”
I slump back on the couch, hating how right she is. Just before we walked into the bar, I was foolish enough to let Faye in on Brit’s drama and how it helped Alex’s reputation. And Faye confirmed she’d heard the story before. We also acknowledged that we had to figure out a new way to relaunch her.
Then, only a few minutes later, she kissed me in front of a hundred cameras.
I was her pawn. And yeah, that pissed me off a lot more than the calls I’ve been receiving since then. It makes me mad, wondering if she was just waiting for an opportunity, if she let me fuck her because she was waiting for me to lower my defenses enough for her to execute her scheme. Hell, I’m furious enough about that to march up to the motel and ask her why she did it.
“I’ll take that silence to mean you’re more upset that she used you than anything else.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I can almost see my sister rolling her eyes. “Remember, I dated and married your best friend? Both of you are more alike than you think.” An amused note enters her voice. “Alex wasfurious about the kiss, but he was also pissed about the fact that it meant I might not have liked him at all.”
How does she manage to see inside my brain? “Again, you don’t know a thing about what you’re talking about.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think she’s pretending to like you.”
I hate the stupid leap of hope that stirs in my heart. I want nothing more than for Brit to give me reasons why she thinks so. But since I’d rather go on twenty interviews than ask her that, I remain silent.
Thankfully, she doesn’t.
“She stayed with you all week. I mean, she’s a multi-millionaire. She could have rented out a town if she wanted. Could have gotten someone else to transport her, maybe even outside the country. But she chose to stay with you in that tiny cabin. Any idea why that is?”
“Am I supposed to be flattered?”
“Well, yes.” Brit pauses. “Also, I watched the video.”
“Of course, you did.”
“I don’t think she was doing it for the cameras. Trust me, I’d know.”
“Because you were doing it for them?” Brit starts to talk, but I cut her short. “Never mind, neither answer is going to help me.”
Brit chuckles. “Even if she was doing it for the cameras, what then? Blake, she’s alone and hurting. Her family abandoned her. The world hates her. First, her father making her out to be a diva, and then the sneaky video of her kissing a random dude.”
“That random dude is me,” I remind her. “This new video will merely fan the flames of hatred toward her. It makes no sense.”
“On the contrary,” Brit says, “the perception has changed. People no longer hate her. They’re curious. Her song, singing about how her whole life has been a lie, has gotten people wondering again. And then, the fact that she seems to have found love with you . . .”
“No one has found love with anyone.” It’s crucial every person on the planet understands this.
“It only matters what people think. It’s going to help her. I scrolled through millions of comments. No one is saying anything negative about you. Most people think you’re blazing, but that’s about it.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, get over yourself,” Brit says bluntly. I raise my brows. Three years ago, Brit was a timid girl who rarely spoke and lived under our father’s thumb. The fact that starting her own family and business has matured her this much stuns me.
“Okay, I’m getting off the call now.”
“Wait,” Brit says. “I’m sorry. What I mean is, maybe you should think of her first. A PR relationship could be absolutely life-changing for her. She gets to come back, tell her side of the story, all while having a bit of support.”
“You’re actually asking me to let this ruse play out?”
“It’s the only option. People are going to crucify her if she says you’re not her boyfriend. It’s better for her if you pretend to be in a relationship.”
“And people are not going to crucify her for already dating someone a week after running away from her wedding?”
“They’re going to be way more sympathetic to that than the truth. Again, trust me on this. No one’s going to buy anything else, anyway. Haven’t you seen those videos? Faye looks happier than she ever has in all her performances and interviews combined—that’s what the comments are saying, at least.”
“She was only happy because she finally sang her truth,” I reply tonelessly.
“Doesn’t matter. People saw her happy, and they want to know more. You can help with that.”
Again, she’s right. I close my eyes as my headache begins to abate. A PR relationship had seemed like a great idea for Alex and Brit at the time but look how it turned out. They got married for real. Knowing Faye is a die-hard romantic, she’s going to think there’s something deeper at play here. And I like her too much to lead her on.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “Don’t think it’ll work for me.”
Britney sighs. “Blake, maybe you should start thinking of her. She’s stuck in that motel, alone and probably miserable.”
A pang of guilt stings me. I didn’t kick her out exactly, but my anger had been overpowering, particularly when the first phone calls started to roll in. Perhaps she left because she was sure I was going to do it soon.
Faye was a mess the first night she spent here. Being alone now, after yet another scandal, means she is going to be even more of a wreck.
I didn’t turn my back on her when this saga first started, and I don’t want to do it now either.
“Fine. I’ll go get her.”
“Just remember,” Brit says tentatively, “faking a relationship between the two of you would go a long way for her. She just needs a couple of months. Then you can go back to never existing in each other’s worlds.”
Never existing.
“Great. I’ll tell you once I know what I’ll do.”
I hang up the phone and stand up. Deciding to get Faye back fills me with new spirit, and I realize how much of my misery today has been because of her absence. I slip into my car, mulling over Brit’s words.
I’d have to be insane to consider entering a PR relationship. Especiallywith Faye Strummer. How many times have I loudly made fun of her and her music? My friends are going to be insufferable.
Also, I don’t do relationships. I haven’t been in one in years or . . . ever. Don’t know how I could pull it off. Dating Faye is probably going to be like being in a reality TV show, with millions of cameras on me at all times and having to do horrible interviews.
It’s sickening, just thinking about it.
I’m at the motel in less than ten minutes. Like most other places in town, it’s deserted. My car is the only one in the lot when I get out of it and stroll to reception. A pimply teenager looks up from his phone as he hears me come in.
“All the rooms are available,” he says with a bored drawl. “You can pick any one you want.”
“All the rooms?” I repeat, hating the pang that arises in my chest. “I’m looking for a guest who’s supposed to be staying here. She’s?—”
“Faye Strummer,” he sputters, eyeing me with renewed interest. “You’re the guy in the video, aren’t you? The girl who covered the last shift told me Faye was here. But she hasn’t come out since, so?—”
“Is she still here?”
“Yes, but she’s about to leave. Didn’t pay for another night, and she should be out of here in thirty minutes.”
I feel another pang. “What room is she in?”
The teenager eyes me suspiciously before he answers, “Room three.”
I march past him into the low-lit corridor. I spot Faye’s room instantly. I had no idea she is planning to leave tonight, and it’s hard to pretend that I don’t feel relief that I caught up with her before she took off.
I knock on the door. Nothing. I wait thirty seconds and knock again. I still hear nothing.
I turn toward the corridor, another pang echoing in my chest. Maybe she left, and that teen was too much of an idiot to even notice. Or maybe . . .
The door creaks open. I turn around, wrenching my neck in the process, but barely noticing the pain.
Faye is standing in front of me. She’s still wearing the jeans she’s had on yesterday. Her face is red and blotchy, and her hair is a rat’s nest.
But it’s her. And the relief spreading through me makes it impossible to pay close attention to anything else.
“Didn’t expect to see you.” Her voice is dry and cracked.
I take a step. I don’t even mean to, but I find myself drawing her into my arms. It’s hard to see her looking like this, broken and vulnerable. Even on the night that was supposed to be her wedding, she still had a lot of anger to give. This time, she’s got absolutely nothing.
Faye folds into my embrace. She starts to sob, and my own heart collapses with her pain.
I must be the biggest dick on the planet. Maybe even a bigger dick than her own father ever was. It doesn’t matter if she staged it or if it was a mistake. All that matters is that she needs someone to get her out of this mess.
Brit is right. She chose me. And I chose to ride the rollercoaster. At this point, the only way to go is up.
I draw back to look at her tear-stained face. Even in this state, she looks more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever set my eyes on. In this moment, I’d do anything to make her happy.
“We’re going to figure this out together. I promise.”
It’s the first promise I’ve made her. Or anyone, for that matter.
And I intend to keep it.
Even if it involves a fake public relationship that could potentially be ruinous for me.