Chapter 45
We’ve been back for two days, but New York has never felt less like home. Even though Dex has a huge team in place, I’m on edge. My so-called best friend isn’t helping either.
Stevie paces our living room, circling a coffee table stacked with books that an interior designer thought would look good, but which none of us have ever looked at. He picks up one of the guitars lying on a stand in the corner and puts it back. I guess he’s not here to work on a song with me today.
We’ve spent many hours sitting here, working out songs together and viewing Central Park as the light floods through the windows. He’s always been the person I bounce lyrics and melodies off, but if we aren’t working, I don’t need him here.
I pick up my phone and run through the latest encrypted message from Dex outlining our security arrangements for the day. So much sits on my shoulders, and the stakes have never been higher.
“Will you sit down, Stevie? You’re going to wear tracks in the carpet.”
He stops, spins the leather bands that circle his wrists, and pulls on his hair. “You don’t have to fight this in the courts, you know. Maybe you can make another album with Jimmy and get this over with. You won’t have to go into the studio alone. You know I’ve got your back.”
I sink into the white cushions, pulling at my cashmere wrap. “I do know that, but it just turns my stomach that I have to deal with Jimmy at all. I was so young when I signed to his label, and I didn’t know better.” I shake my hands out as if I can rip away the crawling feeling talking about Jimmy gives me. “Nothing about this is fair. Him saying he doesn’t have a public profile so he needs a lower burden of proof for defamation, and then dragging my name through the mud.” I bang my hand against the stack of books on the table. “I’m fighting back.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? We both know you’ll be the one on trial.”
Stevie plops onto the couch opposite me. His skinny legs spread in a power pose in his drainpipe jeans. I can’t help comparing him to Vadim in my mind. He looks like half the man.
“Have you heard from Nadia’s dad?” Stevie asks, reading my thoughts with uncanny accuracy.
“No. Dex let him know we were back in town, but the scene at the Gingerbread House was ugly. I think he’s keeping a low profile.” I shrug as if I’m not bothered. As if I’m not replaying the way he touched me when we were together. He makes me feel alive, even when I know he’s bad for me.
“You don’t want to be arranging shared custody if there’s going to be a shoot-out.” Stevie chuckles as if it’s all a big joke.
“I agree the timing is bad, but it would be good if Nadia could form some sort of relationship with him. She’s been talking about going to live with him.”
Stevie’s eyes widen, and he looks at me, aghast. “You can’t be serious.”
“Well, I’m not serious about it, but it’s hard to stop her from fantasizing about him.” I don’t add that she’s not the only one. “He’s Nadia’s father.”
“He’s a thug.”
“You don’t know what’s between us,” I bite out.
“And what is between you? Nothing. This guy turns up, you go on the run for a week, and now you can’t even walk Nadia to school. How is anything about this good?”
I think back to the morning in the motel. Vadim kneeling before me, his lips on my stomach. Gazing into his eyes as he moved inside me.
“My god, Sera. Please tell me you didn’t let that man anywhere near you.”
“What business is it of yours?” I snap. I stand and walk to the window, looking down at the trees below. I don’t want to confront questions I don’t have the answers to.
“It’s every bit of my business. I’m your best friend.”
“Then you should be happy I’ve found him.” I spin to face him. He might think he’s questioning Vadim, but really, he’s doubting me. My judgement. My choices.
“My god, how na?ve are you?”
Anger flares like a bright flame. Something about those moments with Vadim—being cherished as a woman and respected as a parent—has made me feel braver. “I’m a grown woman with a kid. I’ve survived in this business for a decade while surrounded by wolves and predators like Jimmy. Don’t talk down to me.”
“Is that why you won’t settle the case out of court? Because this Russian criminal is back in your life?” His lips curl into a sneer. “Why aren’t you just dropping this lawsuit? You got enough material from the last album to do another tour. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
I rear back as if he’s slapped me. “You don’t?”
My voice sounds unnaturally loud to my own ears, but Stevie just glares at me like nothing is amiss. His once boyish face is lined and gray from the hundreds of lines of coke he’s stuck up his nose, and the petulant set of his mouth makes me wonder where the sweet kid I met at open mic night all those years ago has gone.
My eyes narrow into slits. “I had to walk back into the studio and work with a man who raped me because I have a family to support. I haven’t been wasting my earnings on models and blow.”
“Oh, and you’re saying I have?” My friend jabs his finger at me, his mouth curling into a snarl.
“Well, what are you doing with your life, Stevie?”
Stevie jumps up and throws his hands in the air. “Waiting for you to see how I feel. To see that I love you.”
I look at him and think back to times he’s used my fame to hook up with younger women. How can he possibly call what he’s been doing waiting for me? And now, he’s pressuring me to work with a man I hate.
The silence stretches between us before he sinks to the sofa, resting his forearms on his knees and burying his head in his hands. Walking over to him, I rest a hand on his trembling shoulder as he stares at the floor.
“You were supposed to be with me,” he mumbles. “You were supposed to love me back.”
I look down at him. At this guy who’s helped me write my songs, who I’ve played video games with on a tour bus, who has walked beside me for the last ten years, but who still relies on me to earn his money. A wave of sadness washes over me.
I love Stevie, but he will never be my equal. He’s never once made me feel cherished the way Vadim did.
“I’m sorry, Stevie. But I’m going back to court.” I pause, and he looks up at me through his fingers. “And I’m going to find another bassist for the next album.”
Stevie jumps to his feet. “You’re making a mistake, Sera. That man will never make you happy.”
I watch his retreating back as he stamps out of the room like a little boy having a tantrum, but I won’t chase him or change my mind. This time, I’m fighting to win.