Chapter 7
Erica
Part of me still thinks this has to be some kind of wicked trick, or that I’m having some kind of alternate reality brain episode. All of that would make far more sense than Ari-freaking-Seabrook sitting on the ground at my side to talk to me right now.
He leans his elbows on his knees with his fingers locked together under his chin.
He’s just watching me. Studying me. Waiting for me to say something, react, freak out.
I don’t know. He has to know I’m a fan from my handmade Atlantica crop top I was wearing at the show.
It was so much sexier than the itchy oversized and shapeless cotton bag the hospital gave me to wear as a shirt.
What do I even say? What does one say and do when she may have had a moment with her celebrity crush, which was immediately followed by her psycho boyfriend punching her in the side of the head, to which said crush rushes off the stage in the middle of his own show to make sure she’s okay, and then offers to bring her car to the hospital for her?
No. He doesn’t just offer. He does. And now that you’re sitting in the front passenger seat of the car you realize you can smell .
. . him. There’s a bit of an ocean smell lingering in the car, now mixed with hospital, Max, and me.
I don’t know how or why he smells like the ocean, but the smell of him stands out.
It’s new and not . . . what’s the word. It’s not wrong, it actually smells amazing, and it’s comforting.
But it’s almost like you can tell it doesn’t belong here.
My brain must still be scrambled because I’m not making sense.
“Um. Hi,” I offer quietly, my voice hoarse from crying so hard on Max before I was discharged. I can’t help but lean toward him slightly, trying to get a lungful of the calming smell he emits.
His eyes light up, widen, and a brilliant smile takes over his face.
Not the smile he gives to photographers for all the hundreds of magazines he’s been in—not that I’ve probably seen nearly all of them or anything—this is a real smile.
A smile so real I don’t know how I never realized all the others were different.
Not fake. Just not as genuinely happy. How could two syllables from me garner that kind of reaction from a freaking rock star?
“Hi,” he replies with a tenderness I can’t even begin to try to comprehend. “How are you feeling?”
That’s a loaded question. “Well, that depends. Do you want the appropriate response you hand out to strangers kindly asking a normal question, or do you actually want to hear the mess of thoughts flying through my head at this exact moment?” Apparently since I’ve been hit in the head, the filter between my brain and my mouth has been disabled because that’s what comes out of my mouth.
Max snorts from the driver’s seat, but Ari doesn’t laugh at all. In fact, his facial expression is looking oddly enthralled with my . . . honesty?
“I would be honored to hear how you’re really feeling, truly.” His pupils have dilated and he’s watching me with an intense level of focus.
Well, here goes nothing, I suppose. Hanging my head and wringing my hands together, I begin.
“Part of me . . . is relieved. And I know, before you say anything,” I say, and look up to meet his eyes. “I already know how all of this is going to sound. Just remember. You asked,” I warn him, giving him time to change his mind and run.
He doesn’t know me. I’m nothing to this man. This musician. Legend. Yet, he doesn’t move a muscle. He waits patiently for me to continue. Only nodding to indicate he still wants to hear my mess of feelings.
Taking a fortifying breath, I go on. “Anyway, an embarrassingly large part of me is relieved. I’ve been stuck in an awful relationship with a dreadful man for years.
I’ve been trying to muster up the courage to leave him for ages, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Not because of anything between him and I—there’s barely anything there—but because he sucked me so far into his life, what he wanted, that I don’t have anything but my car and personal belongings without him.
” I continue to word vomit, explaining how I gave up pretty much my entire life to do what Vann said, including breaking my lease, moving in with him, and quitting my job so that he was my everything.
I shiver through the admission. Not from the chill of the night air wrapped around my shoulders, but from getting all of this off my chest to someone other than Max—who I stopped complaining to because she wanted me to leave him as much as I did, but she’d get a little upset with me when I never did.
Justifiably so, but when I was with her or talking to her, I didn’t want to talk about him anymore.
“The other part of me is frankly terrified. I know I must leave, but I have nowhere to go—”
“You have me.” Max adds resolutely.
“That’s not what I mean. I know I do, but I don’t have a plan.
I don’t have somewhere that’s mine. I can’t even go get a place because I don’t have any money.
I have access to Vann’s money because he added me to his account to prove that he’d ‘take care of me’ when he was convincing me to quit my job.
But the thought of basically having to start my life over is so overwhelming.
Get a job. Find somewhere to live. I’m going to have to relearn how to live my entire life. I kind of have to relearn . . . me.”
I can’t keep the sniffles at bay any longer.
Ari looks like he wants to launch himself into the car at me but is struggling to hold himself back.
His hands are fisted and there’s a vein or tendon, or something, bulging in the side of his neck.
He slowly uncurls his fists and holds one hand out to me.
An offering. Like when you really want to pet a strange dog, but they’re kind of scared, so you get down and make yourself as small as you can and offer them your hand.
I’m the scared, stray dog in this equation.
A watery chuckle bubbles from my lips, softening Ari’s features a bit.
I reach my hand out to accept his, and a strange rippling sensation washes over my hand and up my arm.
“Can I ask you something crazy?” His voice distracts me from the feeling that must have to do with my still-scrambled brain
I feel Max’s head pop around me to keep an eye on Ari, always on the lookout for me. My words fail me when I look into his royal-blue eyes, so I just nod.
“If I pass inspection and gain approval from Maxi-Poo here,” he says, and my jaw falls open at him using the same nickname that I use for my best friend, that he never could have heard me use because I said it when we were still in the car on the way to the concert.
“What if you . . . you could . . . or both of you could . . . I don’t know .
. . come on tour with us. Gods, it sounds even crazier out loud. I’m sorry.”
His hand smothers his face before running his fingers through his red hair.
I turn to check on Max who is being awfully quiet. Her jaw is also now hanging open, and she’s trying to process his words, and as she does her eyes begin to narrow.
“I know. I know. I sound like a fucking crazy person but I swear I’m not. I just. With you not having anywhere to go, I thought an adventure could maybe help. Freedom. At least give you a chance to find yourself again. You know, if you wanted.”
My head tilts to the side marginally, and it’s my turn to narrow my eyes a bit. I really look at the man in front of me. “An adventure you say? Have you already forgotten the ‘I’m very broke’ part of my speech?” A laugh of air leaves me.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “We have an obnoxious amount of money, and will pay for any and everything you need. And by we, I mean me. I will make sure you have everything you need and anything you’ve ever wanted.
” Judging by the blush on his cheeks, I’m not certain he meant to say the last part out loud.
“And what’s in it for you?” I ask with a hint of suspicion in my voice because none of this is making sense.
He looks a bit bashful again, but still shares with me. “The moment. At the show. Before the bad part. I-I thought we might have had something there.”
I raise my eyebrow at him, but he rushes to get the rest of his words out.
“I’m not in any way saying that we could be something right now, but what I am trying very hard to say is that I would definitely like to get to know you and spend time with you.
Or no time. If you just want to come along and pretend I don’t exist, I suppose that would be fine, too, if it made you happy. Shit, I’m fucking this all up.”
I can’t help but smile at whatever is happening here. “For someone who makes money off of writing and singing some of the best songs I’ve ever heard in my life, you sure are having a hard time with your words.”
It’s his turn for his jaw to drop, his hands clutch his chest in mock offense.
The moment is broken when I’m startled by another car pulling up behind mine and a guy yells at him to get in. It’s too dark to see who it is, but he doesn’t sound happy.
“Ah. Shit. I probably should go. And you should rest. But maybe you could text me and we could talk, and maybe you could decide if you wanted to come with us?” His eyes are so full of hope, and sure it’s crazy, but it’s a better kind of crazy than I’ve been dealing with for far too long.
I agree to text him and talk to Max, and to honestly consider his very crazy offer.