1st Chance (4 page)

I’d unwillingly opened the floodgates. Internally kicking myself—hard—I squeezed Becky’s hand across our table as she sniffed over her past.

“He treated me like shit toward the end, Anna. I had to shout and scream at him just to get him to notice I was around. One night, I waited all night in a hotel room for him to come back—four in the morning, he returned. No explanation, not even a damn apology.” She slammed her fist down on the table. It made me jump.

I was an idiot for bringing it up. What had I been thinking, anyway? Had I really been about to just casually mention that I was falling for her ex? The very man she was currently beating up furniture over? Stupid, stupid.

Now she was all riled up and I had run out of clichés to throw at her.

“I want to know why you bought it up. Why did you ask about him? What truth are you waiting for?” I gulped at Becky’s chain of questions, knowing I was a crap liar, but having absolutely no choice, I’d have to become good at it like, fast. I fidgeted and stood from the table, poured myself a bowl of cereal on the breakfast bar, thinking that if I couldn’t see her face, it’d be easier.

“Look, I’m. . .I was thinking about. . .going to the gig reminded me. . .”
Say a whole sentence you dumb ass,
I scolded myself. Reaching for the milk, I tried again. “Going to the gig reminded me of last year, how much fun we had. I sort of missed it, I guess. It was the best social life I’d ever had. It was just on my mind.” I carried my unwanted breakfast to the table and sat back in my seat, relaxing a little now that the biggest lie was out. “It was really insensitive of me, I’m sorry.”
Okay
, I told myself,
stop now
. To shut myself up, I spooned a dripping mountain of cereal into my mouth and chewed slowly, the grains crunching noisily against my teeth.

To my relief, Becky seemed to buy it. She wiped her eyes angrily. “Some way to start my day, Anna, thanks.” She was still annoyed, but that was preferable to suspicious.

I kept my eyes down and allowed some time to pass before I spoke again. “What time do you think you’ll finish work tomorrow?” I asked, hoping that she’d run with the subject change. Becky spent her Sunday evenings with Jason and I didn’t want to intrude, but I figured arranging some time together when she got back would be a good thing to do.

I was in luck. “I’m hoping it’ll be an early one. Nick’s out at a charity fundraiser so he’ll be leaving the office early, which, fingers crossed, means I’ll get to as well.”

Becky worked as an assistant to the personal assistance for Nick Raymond, owner of thirty fitness centers dotted along the east coast and was extremely busy and extremely rich. Becky worked ridiculous hours and practically ran his life, but she was paid handsomely and never seemed to get that gloomy, Sunday night dread I experienced every week. Plus, she got to work from home a lot, organizing his online calendar and taking calls. I knew her job was stressful at the best of times, but I still thought it must be awesome to be able to get paid while sitting in your pajamas.

“Well, how about me and you watch some crappy movies, order in pizza and have a night together?” I suggested, wanting to make amends for being a horrible friend and yes, okay, wanting to try and ease my guilt, too.

She sniffed again, still aggrieved, but she agreed. “Yeah, sounds nice. It feels like forever since we hung out, which is silly since we live together.” I gave her a sickly smile that vanished from my face as soon as she left the room. Pushing my now-congealed breakfast away from me, I rested my head on my folded arms, closing my eyes. Becky’s words kept repeating over in my mind—Nate had been a dick to her. It may have only been one side of a story I’m sure there were differing parts to, but I had seen the tears and the fights with my own eyes, right here in this apartment. Was he being honest about Becky or had I just fallen for the spiel of a man who was trying to talk me into bed?

I tried to remember those arguments, the content, the accusations, but it was all a blur. I’d been so self-absorbed at that time, shrouded in a cloak of my own anguish, I hadn’t really been paying attention. Plus, the arguments used to send me scurrying to my room with fear—I hated to be around fights, I couldn’t normally bear even the tiniest hint of tension, which is why my recent actions seemed so unlike me.

I could practically hear the voice of my therapist, and I had half a mind to call him, but really I knew there was no need. I’d spent long enough in that lavender scented room to know that all he’d do was ask me why I thought I’d acted the way I did. Then eventually I’d talk so much to fill the uncomfortable silence that I’d generally blurt out the answer myself with a surprised ‘Oh’ as it hit me. Therapy was great, but the therapist had been a waste of time; it would have been cheaper to spend an hour chatting to my reflection—and probably achieved the same result.

Without meaning to, I kept thinking of Nate. Each time I did, my stomach would flip right over, giving the same sensation of dropping from the top loop on a rollercoaster. I had a hard time pushing each thought away; they were ten-ton boulders and kept rolling back in. I carried on pushing. I would not allow myself to daydream. Not about the grey and black shading of the band’s logo tattooed on his forearm, not about the way his skin had felt beneath my fingertip as I’d lightly traced over the outline—firm and soft as silk. Not about his breath, hot and sweet against my cheek as we’d held each other. Not about the graze of stubble that had felt like pinpricks on my top lip when we kissed.
No, Anna. STOP
. I bashed the sides of my face with clenched fists, trying to beat the thoughts away. I battled with myself for the whole day and must have checked my phone a thousand times. Climbing into bed that night, I was drained.

***

I dragged myself to work, settling into my cubicle in the vast room, alongside hundreds of other corporate sheep. My best work friend, Rachel, came rushing in ten minutes after me. Her dirty blonde hair was still wet at the back and her face flushed red as our supervisor gave her a narrow-eyed look. I giggled at her—Rachel was as bad at Monday mornings as I was. We had been thrown together by cubicle proximity and a shared hatred of our jobs. Between calls, we’d promise ourselves in hushed tones that this was just a stop-gap while we found the career of our dreams. The problem was, Rachel’s stop-gap had been a year. Mine was coming up on two.

I rarely saw Rachel out of work, but I loved her company while we were there. I leaned over to her once she’d sat down.

“Just so you’ve got a heads up, I told my best friend that I was at a Chance gig with you on Friday,” I whispered to her. I was ashamed of myself, I knew there was little to no likelihood that she’d run into Becky, they’d only met briefly the one time, I’d brought it up as an indulgence, an opportunity to covertly talk about Nate.

Rachel’s smile showed every one of her perfectly straight teeth. “You bad girl. What were you really doing then?” I squirmed, excited that she had bitten.

“I was at the Chance gig. But I told Becky I’d gone with you.” I waited as she considered my news.

“Didn’t she used to date the lead singer of that band? Nate Sullivan, isn’t it? Why did you have to use me as an alibi?”

“Because since they split, she wants nothing to do with them, and I had to find an excuse to go, so I said you’d got us tickets.” As the words left my mouth, I thought of how it all sounded a bit childish, really.

Rachel’s eyes turned serious. “You’re not getting with any of them, are you?” Yes, yes, yes, I wanted to yell. I wanted to tell her—anyone—everything. I wanted to ask her if she thought I was being awful. I wanted to ask her if I should follow my heart or listen to my head. I wanted to ask if she thought I could ever trust a man like Nate. In a way, she answered my questions without even asking.

“They look like a bunch of douches to me. I don’t know how Becky coped with it all in the first place. Have you seen them this morning? Splashed all over the paper—falling out of nightclubs with their arms around girls who are far too young for them. Give me Michael Bublé anytime, wouldn’t catch him behaving like a teenager.” Rachel climbed off her soap box to stab at the phone, answering a call with a sugary, “How can I help you today?”

My jaw dropped, I didn’t even bother to hide the shock as Rachel’s words hit me. In a flash, I was online looking up the article. As bright as day, there was the photograph of Nate and Mikey. The image was grainy and bad quality, but I could see Nate leaning in to an elfin looking girl with short black hair. It seemed like he was whispering in her ear, her head thrown back in laughter. My blood turned to ice in my veins—all those things he’d said to me, it had been total rubbish. Still, I made excuses for him in my head; Becky used to say the papers printed lies all the time, she ignored them all when they were together. She used to say that you could not make a conclusion about someone’s entire night based on the snapshot of a second. But these excuses were coming from my unreliable heart. Logic told me that this was who Nate was—a wild, uncontrollable celebrity with a penchant for pretty girls and whiskey. How had I ever believed that he could fall for me?

I passed my work day on autopilot, forcing myself into small talk with Rachel, trying to save the over-analyzing for when I could be alone. I mainly felt annoyed with myself for having been sucked in so easily, but there was the tiny chirping of optimism, too, a chink of hope that I couldn’t quash. Because if Nate had just been treating me like any other girl he wanted, why hadn’t we had sex? Why, then, had we had tenderness and intimacy—things that guys just don’t do if they are looking for a quick and easy lay?

It was impossible to truly see the good in someone when the only thing you hears about them was the bad, and I so desperately wanted to see the good. Should I take heed of the warnings and be glad I dodged a bullet, or take the risk to act on my feelings?

I had to admit, I’d had fun last night. It was fun induced by alcohol and superfans, sure, but I’d still enjoyed soaking up their worshiping praise and crying with laughter at Mikey as he collected his women. I’d been free, unconcerned. Anna had been forgotten, replaced by the easy thrills that came with being in a band. Free booze, gorgeous woman and exclusive access to anywhere. I’d kissed a few simpering fans, more for the effect on them than sexual pleasure. It gave me faint amusement that a kiss from me, some dork with a guitar, could turn well respected, grown women into gigging wrecks.

The hollow feeling started to creep back as I stretched out on my hotel bed. That seeping dissatisfaction I couldn’t escape from. Momentarily, I wondered if I was depressed, if I needed to be on some sort of medication to help with my mood. I rubbed my hands over my face realizing that was probably a bit dramatic. Drugs wouldn’t make me less miserable, it was my state of mind I needed to change, and last night had proved that. It had been like our first tour—no girlfriends, no responsibility—reveling in the attention rather than trying to avoid it. I’d felt young again, fresh and ready for life. So what was with the hole in the pit of my stomach now, the persistent sense of unfulfillment?

With a sudden spark of inspiration, I jumped out of bed and opened my laptop on the desk across the room. Misery was a perfect muse, so I decided to use it. My fingers flew over the keyboard as I typed out lyrics to a new song, not thinking about what I wrote, just allowing the words to stream out of my head and onto the monitor. After a couple of hours, I sat back to read it through. It was possibly the best thing I’d written in well over a year and I finally felt something I’d not had for that whole time—pride.

People used to tell me to write about the hurt following my break up with Becky but I wasn’t able to. It was too raw, too personal. You can’t write about something well when you are tripping over thick branches of emotion. It becomes heavy and meaningless to everyone else. But when nothing happens, when you are caught in an abyss of apathetic despair, well, from my writing, it certainly seemed as though it worked for me. I shot off the lyrics to Mikey and Jon before getting up from my hunched position over the table. I was ravenous, and picked up my cell to see if the guys wanted to get a bite to eat somewhere.

I was surprised to see the little envelope icon. I’d been so engrossed in my work that I hadn’t heard my message tone. My surprise deepened when I saw who it was from.

Looks like you’ve been having fun. Did you mean any of what you said, about me being different, how you couldn’t stop thinking about me? I just have to know.

The brightness I’d had after writing the song turned to black like someone had flicked off a switch. Women were impossible. Impulsively, I slammed out a reply.

If I remember correctly, you were the one who said that we couldn’t do this and after Saturday that would be it. You wanted me to drop it and I did. So now who doesn’t mean what they say?

I was fuming. Fuming that I’d let myself nearly fall for a girl who had brushed me aside so easily, who hadn’t been able to fight for what she wanted. And fuming because I was still the one accused of being an asshole when all I’d done was what she had goddamn well asked me to.

A couple of minutes went by, and then my phone rang. I sighed as I picked up.

“For God’s sake, Anna. It was you who wanted to leave it. You, not me. Why are you giving me shit?” There was a pause on the other end and, though I felt bad about going in so hard, I had to release this pent up irritation.

“Did you sleep with that girl? The one in the photograph?” Her words were stern and moody and completely out of order, but hearing her voice turned me to mush.

“What photograph?” I was genuinely confused, I never bothered to look at the tabloids these days, they were so full of bullshit. I did have a memory of some paparazzi hanging outside the club—Mikey and I had been very likely to have been with fans, we always were when we went out. “I’m guessing it’s one printed in a crappy paper from last night? Not that it’s any of your business, but for your information I didn’t sleep with that girl in the photo. I didn’t sleep with any girl. But I’m probably going to at some point in my life. Anna, I can’t just not get on with things. You didn’t want me, I left you alone. You can’t give me grief about a photo in a paper after you blew me out.” I said all this very calmly, despite thinking that she was being excessively unreasonable.

“I can’t get you out of my head, Nate. I didn’t want to turn you away. I don’t want to deny myself. But it feels so difficult. You’ve got to understand, Becky is—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, she’s your friend. You said a million times,” I interrupted her, irritation returning.

“I would never be able to tell her. Everything we did would have to be in secret and I don’t know if I could ever trust you.” Anna rushed the last sentence as if she had built up a lot of courage to get it out. I thought about my next move, this was the same old thing I’d heard again and again and I was tired of going over it.

“I can’t prove trust to you with words—you know I can’t—and I don’t see why I have to if you’re not prepared to give me a chance in the first place. But if you are, I would try and prove it to you through actions.” I cringed at the tacky line.

Hearing from her had really made me want to see her again. I was making promises I wasn’t sure about. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to be the person she deserved, didn’t know if I liked myself enough to be. All I knew was that I liked her, I really liked her, and I had no control over that. Anna went quiet for a long time while I paced the length of my room. It had sounded like she was willing to see me, albeit in secret, but I’d take it, it was better than not at all.

“Do you think you’d be able to come see me sometime this week? Without anyone knowing?” She sounded shy and adorable. I smiled, reassured that I’d won her over.

“I’ll try. I’m not sure of the schedule but I can look later on. I want to see you,” I added, quite honestly, before we hung up.

Being with someone, sharing my day, my world with someone, was what I wanted most of the time. But I’d been screwed over. Not just by Becky, but by the others before her too, and it had made me vengeful and cautious. Anna had been the first crack to have appeared in my armor and it worried me. It worried me that I wanted these things, but when I got them I would start to feel as though I’d be losing myself. There’d always be a sacrifice and that sacrifice would always have to come from me—they wouldn’t trust me to go out with the guys or be on tour alone, and then ultimately, I was the one getting my feelings trampled all over when they left. I gave my heart easily, at least I had in the past, but I was always waiting for that conversation, those pointed fingers, the breakdown of trust. It was infuriating. A lot of the girls I’d dated had been fans of the band, they knew exactly what they’d been getting themselves into—yet it always appeared to be a huge surprise to them. I never understood.

I’d meant it when I told Anna that she was different. She had been. She’d seemed like she was less high-maintenance, more understanding. I hoped to God that phone call hadn’t been a sign of things to come, because then, she’d sounded just like the rest.

I met Mikey and Jon for food before the show, they were full of praise about the song I’d sent earlier. Jon was so impressed that I’d appeared to have gotten my creative mojo back, he didn’t even raise his eyebrow at the beer I ordered with my meal. I relaxed in myself slightly, feeling as though I were less on the periphery of my life.

Having had my self-esteem restored, first by Anna and then by the guys, a small piece of my arrogance returned. I welcomed it. It was a necessary front to be able to play, perform and present the way I did. I felt more comfortable being the lead singer of Chance than I did being Nate Sullivan, and I was relieved that the former had grown a little stronger today.

“Hey. Do you guys know where we’re headed this week?” I aimed my question at Jon; he was pretty good at remembering our upcoming locations, I assumed because of having to organize time to see the kids.

As expected, he reeled off our next five shows from memory, but I hadn’t really been asking for that. I’d wanted to know when we were off so I could sneak a visit to Anna. In my dressing room that night, I sent her a quick message.

Think you could get Thursday off work? I can come to you or fly you out? Your choice
. It was perfunctory and emotionless, I wasn’t about to open myself up again so easily this time.

When she replied, I got a tingle of anticipation I couldn’t suppress. Thursday it was then, I thought with a grin.
Steady Nate, she’s almost floored you once. Slow down,
I told myself.

In the crowd that night, right against the barriers at the front, I saw the same girl I’d picked out to come backstage at an earlier show but had decided against taking her back to the hotel. While I gave her my best intense stare from behind the mic, I wracked my brains trying to think of her name. Alice—it came to me at once. She didn’t have my face on her t-shirt this time; instead she was wearing a tight, v neck vest top with the band’s logo adorned on it, the top of her breasts curved like rising suns from the open neckline. Mikey was right, she was smoking hot. She stood out from the crowd once again by her total stillness. Where others jostled and moshed and bounced beside her, she stood her ground, pinning me down with her steady gaze, like she was challenging me to something. I thought of Anna. Then I thought of Nate Sullivan, the man I was trying to run from, and I accepted Alice’s challenge.