Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Whit
T he speculation that Ben and I had split began immediately.
Apparently, some paparazzi had caught him leaving the hotel the night after the awards show, and even though that had always been the plan, and he didn’t say anything to anyone, of course, they were wondering. They had no idea that he didn’t know he was the soldier who’d inspired my song. No one knew, and no one knew what he thought I’d done.
It wouldn’t have been news except that Ben had been photographed with a woman I guessed was Bec based on what I knew about her. There were pictures of them holding hands at a restaurant in Nashville, of them hugging, and even though I knew I had no right to be upset, and that there was nothing wrong with him having a meal with his friend, it added salt to my self- inflicted cuts.
I got home the Friday after the Grammys. I hadn’t hidden out—I’d been genuinely busy, all kinds of interviews and photoshoots and PR that Nikki was drooling over. I’d kept it together when people asked about me and Ben. I didn’t say anything—just that I liked to keep my private life private.
The fact that I’d shared a private secret on stage in front of millions of people made that whole concept ironic, but so far, no one had called me on it since the Grammy wins were decent enough news.
That, and the restraining order my lawyer had threatened Colton Danes with late in the week when he put his hands on me yet again in the hotel lobby.
But Nikki called Friday to say that the photos of Ben with a woman had surfaced, and now, the rumors had it that he’d been cheating on me all along, that maybe it had all been for show ( good guess ), and that I’d probably been cheating with Danes, were running rampant.
A week after that, a rep from John Smith Johnson called to notify me they weren’t interested in working with me at this time. Nikki practically screamed at me when I opened the door to her late that morning, but I felt nothing but relief, and of course, that ever-present misery over knowing I’d ruined what was probably the best thing I’d ever have in terms of human relationship.
“How are you not more upset about this?” she yelled, pacing back and forth in my entryway.
“I’m done. I’ve made so many bad decisions in the last year to try to appeal to them, and I’m done. If they can’t see through the rumors and nonsense, then I don’t want to work with them. I’m a human woman who dates human men, and I’m also the target of more gossip than the average person. That’s not stopping, and I’m done cowing to them like I’m some sort of ruined woman in search of redemption and not a talented, successful, desirable option for their project.”
Wow, that felt good .
“I don’t know what to say,” Nikki said, body still, eyes wide.
I ran a hand through my hair and wished she was someone who understood me a bit more intuitively. “Say you understand. Say I’m right. Say you agree and we won’t pursue working with people who are so hypocritical and demanding.”
She scoffed, and that was when I realized she and I were moving in different directions. But then, she solidified it.
“I tried!” she shouted, throwing her hands up. “I tried to protect you, tried to make sure you didn’t get sucked in with him, that you kept your focus… I did everything I could for you.”
“I don’t blame you for any of this. You know that, right?” I took a step toward her, but her sneer kept me from getting closer.
“I’m sure you don’t, nor should you.” She stared at the floor a moment, and another—long enough, I thought about simply walking out of the room and leaving her to her fuming, but just as I was about to leave, she spoke. “I’ll talk to you next week.”
I didn’t wait for her to let herself out. I felt so angry with her, with the whole situation, and still more than anyone, with myself.
I’d also begun to feel angry with Ben. Why hadn’t he let me explain what happened, and why hadn’t I told him sooner, or what made me do it when I did? Why didn’t he want to know what had been said that night, or how I felt about him?
And why had he been at brunch alone with another woman, holding hands and hugging?
I felt ill. I wanted to curl up in bed and go to sleep and stay there for a week. I was exhausted, but mostly sad. I kept thinking I’d come to the end of the tears, but every night when I went to bed, there they came again. Fortunately, I’d managed not to cry in front of anyone other than Amanda that first time, so I counted that as a success.
Before I’d unwrapped a particularly lonely-looking chicken breast and broccoli that my housekeeper had left me for the night, the doorbell rang. I’d lost a few pounds, mostly from lack of appetite, but Kendra wasn’t being too hard on me since I was still exercising and eating, and not, in fact, giving in to the desire to stay in bed all day and strum sad, half-finished break-up songs in the dark.
Maybe that happened once or twice.
As usual, I’d been too busy, and now, I was gearing up for the Oscars. I’d be heading to LA again in a few days. I felt no nerves, no fear, and I’d been wondering if feeling like your heart was torn out was the secret to not caring about awards. Jamie was on to something.
I took a deep breath, hoping I could maintain my calm and not fire Nikki out of pure frustration if she had any more accusations to throw at me. She’d been edgy and obviously frustrated with me. She’d already come over uninvited twice this week, and in the history of our working relationship, that wasn’t unusual, but everyone else seemed to understand I needed space.
I could admit she was trying to do her job, trying to jump on the momentum of the Grammy wins and appearing at the Oscars in a week, but I didn’t have it in me to battle with her anymore. I’d decided that I needed to ask her to back off a bit, or I’d have to let her go, because I couldn’t keep arguing with her.
When I swung the door open, it wasn’t diminutive, raging Nikki, but my hulking, angry-looking cousin.
Thanks a lot, Saturday.
“What were you thinking?” Reese said, standing with his hands on his hips just inside my front door.
“Hello, Reese. Good to see you, too,” I said, turning down the hallway while gathering my wits.
I didn’t have to guess why he was here, or what he meant, but I had no idea how to explain myself. I had no idea how to talk about this with him. The fire that had been building in my chest to showdown with Nikki had died out completely.
I busied myself with pouring water in glasses, setting one at one end of the counter and then retreating to the sink to get a rag and run it over the gleaming countertop. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting, until finally, he sighed.
“Why, Whit?”
I dropped the rag at the side of the sink and turned to him. “I never meant to hurt him.”
One shake of his head, telling me what I already knew—that wasn’t good enough. “I told you to be careful. I told you to be up front and honest, and what else?”
This wasn’t him being self-righteous. It wasn’t an I told you so . It was genuine anger, and though it wasn’t as simple and malicious as it seemed, I deserved it.
“Not to use h?—”
“Not to use him. Yep. And what did you do?”
The pinch of emotion settled in my jaw, that growing ache that had me gritting me teeth before I said, “I know I hurt him. I know I did. But he doesn’t know what really happened, and I haven’t figured out how to tell him.”
Reese’s eyes bore into me, and I knew he could read the honesty, the devastation in them. He had to.
“You just tell him.”
“I tried. That night, I tried to explain, but he couldn’t listen. He was too… blindsided, I guess.”
“Understandably.”
“Yes. But now… I don’t know what to do, and now, he’s in the news with someone else?—”
“You know better than that, Whit. He’s not seeing anyone else. He’s miserable.”
It would have been consoling, if it hadn’t filled me with dread.
“Is he… okay?”
He nodded slowly. “He’s okay.”
“I don’t know how to fix it.”
That was the truth I’d been circling around for weeks now—two full weeks. I’d texted him twice the days after he’d flown back to Nashville and I was stuck in LA and got no response. I didn’t know if he’d even gotten them—maybe he’d blocked me. Or maybe he felt he had nothing to say.
Reese was silent then, thinking. He took a drink, set it down, and I wondered if my house had ever been so quiet.
“It has to come from you. It has to be in person. And you have to make him listen, because he’s already talked himself into believing he has nothing to offer you.”
“We talked about that. He knows what I think of him, that he’s?—”
“He doesn’t know. And after what you did, he’s adrift. He thought he knew, but then, when he discovered one lie, he thought he’d discovered a whole mess of them. And that’s something only you can clarify for him. ”
I hated that he was right. I hated myself for ever lying and for revealing the truth in such a thoughtless way.
Well, not thoughtless. I’d thought about it for days before, and then nonstop leading up to the moment I’d done it, thinking it was right, just to realize in the moment how utterly wrong I’d been.
“I’m going home to enjoy the rest of my weekend, but if you’ll let me, I’ll give you one piece of advice about Ben.”
“Please do.” My sandpaper voice grated in my throat.
“Track him down soon, and don’t give up. I know you might be inclined to give him space, but I don’t think that’s right in this case. He’s done enough convincing himself he’s wrong for you in the last couple weeks and it was his fault for falling for you… I don’t think he’ll be able to hear you if you wait very much longer.”
I swallowed, nodded, pressed my lips together to keep myself from unleashing the sob rising in my throat. “I won’t. I promise.”
Reese left, and I walked around in a kind of numb daze the rest of the day, the rest of the weekend, savoring the moments I could be off and no one would skewer me for it.
Returning to LA had filled me with dread, because it had been the last place I’d seen Ben. If I had any question about what I felt for him, I knew now. These last few weeks, the count now at three since we’d seen each other, had taught me that I missed more than just being near him.
I missed his kindness, his strength, his easy smile, his honesty. Yes, I missed him next to me on the red carpet of the Oscars, which I walked mostly alone, though right after Jamie, so we posed for a few photos together.
“I know your secret now,” I said between photos.
Jamie raised a dark brow. “What’s that?”
“And back together, Whit? Jamie, arm around her.” The directions came from somewhere out front. We were used to it. Jamie slid a hand around my waist, my black ballgown fitting close to my skin before it flared out at my hips.
“Your secret for not caring,” I gritted through my teeth, a bright smile glamouring the cameras.
“Oh, yeah?” Jamie asked, tilting his head down to catch the best angle.
“Okay. Thanks, Whit. Thanks, Jamie,” that same voice said from behind the glare of lights and reflectors.
We both turned to continue on the carpet, Jamie escorting me. In some alternate universe, this might have been the fulfillment of a dream. No doubt it would have been for many men and women—having Jamie Morris in his stunning tux, his long hair tamed into a bun, looking for all the world like the World’s Sexiest Man he’d been voted three times in the last few years, with his hand on their back, guiding them down a red carpet.
Dreamy. For someone.
“You have someone rip out your heart.” I glanced at him just as he did toward me.
His dark eyes met mine, and I knew then I was right.
He nodded, a regretful smile on his face, and a knowing look in those depthless eyes. “Extremely effective. I had mine removed when I was quite young—does wonders.”
We went about the motions of the show, our performance, our gracious acceptance of the award. The thrill of winning registered for just a moment before I remembered I had exactly no one to share it with. No one who was actually proud of me, who supported me, and who would have been just as proud without the win.
No one like Ben. And I knew I never would.
A bone-deep conviction that I had to try, at least once, to get him back and tell him how important he was settled in my chest. Reese was right—if I kept waiting, giving him space, collecting myself and hoping some miraculous plan would appear to me in a dream, I’d lose him for good.
And as much as I’d grieved in the last few weeks, I’d been grieving over my mistakes, and over hurting him. I hadn’t begun to grieve the possibility that I’d lost him, not really. I couldn’t face that, and I couldn’t believe it. Not yet.
Not without one last try.