Page 19 of Saving Ian Pope

“That bit of mighty almost didn’t happen. I thought you were going to change your mind. Y-you pulled away from me.”

Drawing a circle around my nipple, she said, “I almost did change my mind. I was just thinking about how you’re leaving tomorrow, and how this was just a one-night stand—a very nice one, but yeah.”

She had a catch in her voice, and I kissed her temple. “Did this feel like a one-night stand to you?”

“Doesn’t matter what it felt like, does it?” She screwed up one side of her mouth. “You’re a famous popstar, and you’re going back to England tomorrow, back to your real life.”

“My real life.” I didn’t even know what real life was, anymore. I’d squandered opportunities and relationships and had fallen so far from my dreams, I had a hard time remembering what they were.

She studied me from beneath her long lashes, her lips parted, as if in anticipation. Did she expect me to tell her how wonderful I had it? Money, fame, adoration. Bitches and watches, as my bandmate, Charlie, once said. I had all that...and nothing at all.

I didn’t want to go back to England tomorrow. I didn’t want to leave her. I felt a cavernous ache at the thought of walking away from Ivy and never seeing her again. But if I did want to see her again, I’d have to be honest with her.

I met her hazel eyes, still assessing me, and then looked away. I opened my mouth once. Snapped it shut. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath.

“I’m at a bit of a crossroads right now in my life.” I stopped and chewed on my thumbnail. She waited.

“I...umm, I was in rehab for three months. Got out about two months ago. I’m an alcoholic.” I held my breath and slid a quick glance at her.

She hadn’t moved a muscle. Didn’t recoil. Didn’t blink. Didn’t pull away.

“Made kind of a disaster of things and don’t really know where I am right now.”

Her chest rose and fell. “I know.”

Her words punched me in the gut, andIpulled away fromher. “You know? You knew I was in recovery and offered me your roommate’s wine yesterday and suggested I get a beer with dinner? That’s fucked up.”

I bolted from the bed and searched the floor wildly for my jeans. They lay in a heap at the foot of the bed, and I grabbed them. I was so sick of this shit. So tired of the users and the hangers-on and the exploitative nature of people. Ivy seemed different. They all seemed different. Until they weren’t.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she watched me with wide eyes, her cheeks pink. “I-I didn’t know you were in recovery when I offered you the booze.”

I tilted my head back and laughed at the ceiling with a harsh, strangled cry from my throat. “So, what? You learned about my situation overnight, whilst you slept, through osmosis or something?”

I practically ripped my jeans apart, trying to turn them right-side out.

Ivy scrambled across the bed on her hands and knees and grabbed me around the waist, pressing her soft breasts against my back. “Stop a minute and let me explain—please.”

I stood frozen as she splayed her hands across my chest, placing one over my bruised heart. She pressed her nose between my shoulder blades.

“I didn’t know any of that, yesterday. I was a fan of Five2Go when I was a teenager, but I think I mentioned that I hadn’t really followed your solo careers, just heard some songs here and there from all of you. I don’t read celebrity gossip. My social media, when I remember it, is mostly about my books and other people’s books.”

Shehadmentioned that. I dropped my tangled jeans on the floor.

“But when I saw you with your fans yesterday on the pier, I felt kinda stupid. They knew more about you than I did.” Her voice softened to a whisper. “I remembered you had a daughter, but I didn’t know anything about your career or your struggles.”

Now she knew about Theaandabout my issues, and she’d see me for what I was—a terrible father.

“Sit down. If you wanna leave after I speak, then whatever.” She pulled me back toward the bed, and I sat on the edge, next to her, elbows on my knees, hands clenched in my hair. “After we...had sex and you fell asleep, I looked you up on my phone. I saw everything then.”

Talking to the floor, I said, “That’s why you pulled away from me this morning. You’d already made one mistake sleeping with a loser and didn’t want to compound the error.”

“I don’t think you’re a loser.” She traced a finger over one of the tattoos on my arm. “I think you’re incredibly strong. You’ve been sober for five months. That’s a huge accomplishment.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. God, if I cried in front of her, I’d lose my man-card forever. “But your father was an addict—different kind, same mindset. Don’t tell me you didn’t have those thoughts when you read about my fuckups.”

“I did, and you’re right. That caused me some hesitation this morning, but you’re not my father. He never tried to recover from his addictions. Never tried to be better.” She rested her head on my shoulder. “If you don’t mind my asking, when did you start drinking to excess?”

Without raising my head, I answered. “Probably about the time we started touring, I mean the big tours. We were still underaged, and management really didn’t know what to do with us, so they locked us in the hotel rooms, but they didn’t bother to clear out the minibars. I must’ve tried every kind of booze in the minibar in hotels all around the world. It was also a way to unwind after a concert. We’d be all hyped up on stage, performing for 60,000 fans, and then the lights would go out and the crowd would go home, and we had to go back to the hotel...and silence and loneliness.”

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