Page 76 of When the Storm Breaks
“Hey baby. I just got out of rehab. Landry says you’ve gone away for a while. I hope you’re doing okay. I hope...” He paused to take a drag of his cigarette. Whenever he got clean, he chain-smoked. “Fuck. Here’s the thing. I wrote a lot of music in the past sixty days. Like a shitload. And I think it’s the best stuff I’ve ever written. But there’s one song in particular... I wrote it for you. And it just fucking poured out of me. I know you don’t want anything to do with me... I get it. But babe, I need you. I need you in my life. It’s shit without you. Everything will be different. I’m clean and sober and I’ve been through hell and back ... I’m not going down that road again.”
The voicemail ended and I pressed play on the next one. Why was I listening to my ex-boyfriend’s bullshit explanations? I didn’t have an answer, but I stood there under the shade of an oak tree and listened to the King of Excuses and Empty Promises, his voice dragging me back to another lifetime.
“Hey. It’s me again. I know your answer will be no. But just think about it. When things were good, they were fucking awesome. It can be that way again. I want to send you this song I wrote. It’s us, Shy. It’s you and me and nobody else can sing it. Even if you never come back to Acadian Storm or to me, just give me one more song. One more song, Shiloh.Please. Call me. I’ll be waiting.”
I slid my phone into my shorts pocket and lowered myself to the ground under the oak tree, the rough bark digging into my back as I leaned against it. It was too much. It was all too much. But that was so Dean. He always wanted just one more thing. The problem with Dean was that it never ended at one thing. He’d push and he’d push until he got exactly what he wanted. So I wasn’t going to return his calls or record a duet with him. If he thought I could ever return to Acadian Storm or to him after all the shit he’d put me through, he must be crazier than I thought.
I hugged my knees to my chest and squeezed my eyes shut, assaulted by memories.
When I told Dean I was leaving him, I was in the swimming pool at our house in Malibu. A modern white box with a wall of windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean. A blank canvas we’d never bothered to decorate. Most of our things were still packed in boxes we hadn’t bothered opening. I’d just finished swimming laps and he’d shown up after pulling an all-nighter. He’d smelled like a brothel and was so fucking high I didn’t think he even knew where he was.
“You’re never leaving me. When are you going to get that through your fucking head?”
“I’m done. I can’t take this anymore.”
When I’d gotten out of the pool, we had a fight. He’d shoved me, and I fell onto the limestone pool deck, bruising my hip in the fall. Instead of helping me up, he’d walked over to the outdoor bar—fully stocked, because he had to have alcohol within easy reach at all times—and had hurled the glasses and bottles at the glass doors and onto the patio. A river of alcohol poured from shattered bottles, shards of glass scattered across my only exit route.
“You want to leave?” He’d laughed like the maniac he was. “Try leaving now, baby.”
In my bare feet, I’d walked across broken glass to get to that door, leaving a trail of blood in my wake. I’d called Bastian, not sure who else to turn to, and he said Hayden would be right over to pick me up. Then I’d tossed a few things in a bag and walked out the front door.
Dean had chased after me and grabbed my arm to stop me from leaving, his fingers leaving purple bruises on my skin. “Baby, don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He’d been crying, tugging on the ends of his hair like a little boy, his handsome face twisted and ugly. “I don’t know why I do this. I love you.”
“You call this love? You have no idea what love is, Dean.”
Just then, Hayden had pulled up in the silver Aston Martin and stepped out of the car, arms crossed over his broad chest, ready to put a stop to yet another Dean and Shiloh shit show.
“You’re leaving me forhim, aren’t you?” Dean had accused. “You bitch. You think I don’t know you’ve been fucking Bastian Cox behind my back?”
Lies. The only one who had been fucking other people was Dean.
Hayden had stepped in and ushered me to the car. As we drove away, I watched Dean through my window. He’d looked so lost. So broken.
And the damn paparazzi had captured our finest moments. We were all over the tabloids.
Shiloh Leroux Left Dean Bouchon for British rock star, Bastian Cox
Shiloh Leroux’s Split from Dean Bouchon Responsible for Breaking Up Acadian Storm
Will Losing Shiloh Send Dean into Another Downward Spiral?
And that was the last time I saw my ex-boyfriend. Fifteen months ago. Two days later, Bastian and I wrote “Damage.” Over the next couple months, I wrote enough music for an entire album. I cut off ties with my brother and Dean and I went to therapy and I cried a lot. And little by little, I got stronger and I started to heal. But now here I was, right back in that dark place again.
Dean and I had been chasing the music and the highs and had deluded ourselves into believing we were untouchable. Invincible.
But we weren’t. We were all too human. We hurt each other, we fucked up, broke up and got back together, until one day I looked in the mirror and couldn’t stand the person staring back at me. That night it came to me in a dream, my life and my own death playing out right before my eyes in technicolor. A stray bullet lodged itself into my heart and stopped it from beating. Dean was holding the gun, but I pulled the trigger. And I knew if I didn’t get out right then and there, my life would have been cut tragically short. So I found the strength to leave him and swore I’d never look back.
If my years with Dean had taught me anything, it was that I had no clue how to be in a healthy relationship.
I took a few deep breaths and I texted Brody:Hey, you guys can go on home without me. I’ll run home from here.
His response was immediate.Suit yourself.
Even though it was to be expected, my shoulders slumped.
This was how you broke your own heart.
I pressed play on my phone then I sat under the tree in a state park in Texas and I listened to the song I’d recorded earlier, Hayley’s sweet voice singing, “Here Comes the Sun.” My eyes drifted shut and tears streamed down my face.
