Page 21 of Hold Me Closer
My soul is tied to his in ways I don't think can be undone. And that pisses me off too. No one told me that giving my heart to him as a kid meant I could never take it back again. It's been his every damn day of my life. But his was never really mine. Football always mattered more.
Now, I guess the random women he sleeps with do too.
And yet, the thing that kept me up all night wasn't that. It was what he said about the accident and the unmistakable guilt in his voice when he said it.
"Can I ask you a question?" I ask my mom.
"Of course you can, sweetheart."
"Does he blame himself for what happened?" I bite my lip, worrying it. "He said something last night…" I sigh. "I think he blames himself for the accident."
"I don't know, sweet girl. Maybe. Miranda says he never talked about it. Like you, he refused to let anyone," she says gently. "I imagine he probably does feel strongly about it. But whether or not that's guilt, I can't say. Maybe you should ask him."
"Yeah," I whisper, my stomach trembling at the thought. "Maybe."
"How did that onesound?" I ask Zoya, stepping out of the studio into the production booth where she's leaning against the wall behind my producer, Brogan.
"Perfect." She shoots me a thumbs up, grinning at me. "Can't even tell you've been in there for the last three hours, driving everyone nuts."
I stick my tongue out at her, which makes her laugh. She isn't wrong, though. I have been driving everyone nuts. I'm a perfectionist…and this session has been far from perfect. The notes just aren't landing right. Probably because my mind isn't on the music this morning.
I'm still partially hungover, still thinking about Teo.
Every time I think I've exorcised him from my mind, he pops right back up, haunting me. I can't get the sound of his voice out of my head. Or the look on his face. I can't get the taste of his kiss or the feel of his hands out, either. One kiss, one night, unraveled six years of work. Or maybe it just brought into screaming focus how little progress I've made in six years.
"Let me mix it with the track the band laid down yesterday, and then I'll play it back," Brogan says, momentarily distracting me from my dark thoughts. "Give me five minutes."
"Thanks," I murmur, tying my hair up in a messy bun. "I'm going to step out and get some air." I'm halfway through the doorbefore I even finish speaking. The walls feel like they're closing in on me. It's been a long time since I felt that way.
Zoya hurries after me, stepping out into the bright early morning sunshine behind me about the time I come to a dead stop, blinking in shock at the row of paparazzi and reporters lined up outside the gates of the studio.
"What the hell?" I mutter.
"Nadia! Are you and Teo Kirby dating?" Margo Perry shouts, shoving her face up against the chain-link fence.
"How long have you two been dating?" another reporter yells at me.
"Is he the football player from your music?" a paparazzi shouts.
I stare in shock, my stomach churning as they rapidly fire questions at me, shouting over each other. They don't wait for answers. They just yell and snap photos. Yell and snap.
"Shit," Zoya growls when I just stand there, frozen like a deer in the headlights. She grabs my arm, practically hauling me back inside the studio.
I fall back against the door, gasping for breath. Shaking.
"Breathe, Nadia," she whispers, gripping my shoulders. "You have to breathe."
Except…I can't. They know about him now. The whole damn world knows he's the one I sing about. How? What the hell happ–?
"Someone must have gotten photos of us," I whimper, sliding weakly down the door. I land heavily on my ass, staring blankly at the wall across from me. I've tried so damn hard to never have to talk about him. My music said everything I wanted to say. Now, everyone knows his name. They're going to find out the whole pathetic story.
I'm not the person they think I am. On stage, I'm cool and confident, someone they admire. But before I was her, I was…someone different. Someone so freaking terrified I couldn't even get into a car without falling to pieces. I lost myself. I lost my sense of direction. And the part that still haunts me is the fact that he never showed up. He didn't care enough to even pick up the damn phone.
But he cares about being seen with me in photos.
"You have to breathe, Nadia," Zoya says, crouching in front of me, her eyes wide with worry. "Whatever photos they have don't matter. We don't have to confirm anything. Just breathe."
I suck in a shaking breath, trying to pull myself together. She's right. I don't have to confirm anything. But she's wrong, too. It doesn't matter if I confirm or deny it. They're going to dig now that they have photos. They won't stop until they come up with something—our past, the accident, everything that happened after, whatever they can splash across magazine headlines and gossip pages. It's what they do.
