Page 53 of Save Your Breath
That was just the first of her relationships with men who were nothing like me. After him, there was the DJ, the activist, and finally, Austin.
And I got the picture loud and clear of what her type was.
Good. Every single one of them was good. You’d never see them on the news for fighting, getting thrown out of a bar, getting a DUI, or flipping off a ref during a charity game for kids.
They were the poster boys, the ones you take home to mom and dad. And she deserved that.
But I’d be lying if I said a part of me didn’t rejoice every time they fucked up and lost her.
Mia was quiet for a moment as I succumbed to my memories, and I let my eyes wash over her clean face. Even tired, she was so gorgeous it was hard not to stare. Her skin was sun kissed from the afternoon, the beauty mark beneath her left eye almost blending with her complexion now. Her lips were as plump and inviting as always, eyes the most intoxicating hue of blue behind her glasses. They sparkled in the low light of the kitchen as she topped off both our wine glasses before she finally answered.
“He wanted me to be someone I’m not.”
I took a swig of the wine to hide how my jaw tightened at that, and to keep my mouth shut so she’d continue.
“The further we got into our relationship, the more he… changed. He used to compliment my success — ask about my music, help me write when I was stuck, tell me how talented I was. He would praise my success around his friends, make me feel like a million bucks.” She shook her head, finger tracing the rim of her wine glass. “But the longer we were together, the more he’d make these little comments that felt like backhanded compliments. He’d not-so-subtly hint to how his career was more important than mine, that he was so thankful thatwhenwe got married, he knew he could count on me to support him and take care of our family.”
I wrinkled my nose, and Mia laughed a little.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s cringe. But…ugh, I feel silly even admitting this but… I was excited about the idea of marriage, of being a mom one day. Notnow, obviously. But… one day.” Sheshrugged. “I just didn’t think it would be a traditional kind of marriage. I mean, you know my parents. Mom had her career just as much as Dad had his. They had their own friends and their friends together. They still travel, still laugh and play and kiss each other to this day like they’re each other’s everything.That’swhat I wanted. What I still want.”
She grew quiet for a while, sipping her wine as the rain slowed outside. The more I saw the utter despair in her every feature, the more I ground my teeth.
I took back what I said about the fucker earlier.
He was anything but good.
I’d only met the prick a couple of times. Once was on the Fourth of July two years ago when I’d spent the weekend with Mia’s family and she’d brought him home.Thathad been a nightmare weekend for me. I was on thin ice with my coach in Seattle, frustrated by the boundaries they were putting on me, and then I had to go and have a front-row seat to Mia being in love with Austin fucking Westbrook. It was my own personal brand of torture, and I’d drank myself into a stupor because of it.
I’d almost done much worse, but her father had been there to stop me.
I was sure that was part of the reason he wanted to talk to me. He was probably thinking to himself that I was some drug-crazed punk who could steer his little girl off course at any moment.
Or maybe he just wants to check in on you, a soft voice in my brain whispered.
I never listened to that part.
The other time I was in the same place with Austin was after one of Mia’s shows. I’d only stayed long enough to give her a hug and tell her she was amazing before I’d made an excuse about needing to fly back to Seattle for something team related. Shehadn’t questioned it, and I’d gotten the hell out of there before I had to witness that punk kissing her.
I couldn’t handle it after seeing it in person on the Fourth. It was bad enough to see it in the tabloids.
“It didn’t happen overnight,” Mia said, her voice softer now. “But slowly, discreetly, our relationship went from passionate and exciting to feeling like I was just living in this numb, performative dance. We smiled and laughed and answered interview questions like we were the perfect couple, but when we were alone, we didn’t talk, we didn’t touch, we didn’t play.”
She shook her head, and I wanted so badly to reach for her that I had to fold my arms over my chest not to do it.
“He acted surprised when I said I wanted to take some space. And then, when he realized I was done… he just wanted control of the narrative. He wanted control of everything.” She sighed, swirling her wine before taking a long drink of it. “And, thanks to his connections, he got it.”
“He doesn’t control you.”
“He controls the public perception of me and our breakup.”
“Bullshit.” I leaned forward, hooking my foot on her barstool. “He may have his little groupies who hang on his every word, and maybe he gets the media to eat out of the palm of his hand sometimes. But I’ve been to your concerts. I’ve seen your fans in action. Trust me, Mia,” I said, covering her wrist with my hand. I waited until she lifted her eyes to mine. “If anyone is writing your story, it’s you.”
She smiled, but it was a sad smile, a pathetic tilt of her lips. “I’m doing a pretty shit job of it.”
“Nah, you’re just in the drafting process,” I assured her. “Like when you used to work on lyrics when we were kids. The best is yet to come in edits. I mean, I think making out with a hockey player on the beach is a pretty great addition.”
I smirked, and she smiled sweetly at me. She kept that sweet smile as she covered my hand that rested on her wrist, twisted out of my grip, and moved so quick it was a tornado of hair.
