1st Chance (6 page)

He was game playing, I wasn’t certain, I just sensed it somehow. How could I feel so emotionally close to someone while so far away at same time? His comment about him wanting to take it slow—it just didn’t seem like he’d meant it. I was probably clutching at straws, but as I lay there on his bare chest I just knew, somehow, that he felt more for me than he was letting on. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t want to take things slowly, that I wanted to be consumed by him during every waking minute but I kept my mouth shut. Following the outline of his tattoos with my fingertips, I moved from his chest and across to his arm, the inked sleeve an intricate weave of thistles and ivy with the band’s logo underneath the artistic foliage, blending in between the twisted leaves and vines.

Once I felt I could trust him, once he proved that he was more than just wild child, then I could be honest. To myself and to him. It would have to start with the truth though, the real story about him and Becky, or his version of it, I reminded myself, not wanting to accuse my best friend straight away without knowing the details. Nate had insinuated that there was more to it than I knew, and I had to admit, I was hoping that this would contain the information I needed to be able to convince me that he wasn’t as bad as Becky had made out, and that perhaps I could trust him enough to, well, I was getting ahead of myself. I had to remember, too, that if he ever told me—as it seemed that Becky was never going to say—it would just be his side of the story. His perspective.

Now, however, was certainly not the time. I wasn’t going to be able to spend all night here, no matter how much I wanted to. Sneaking out for the night when Becky was at Jason’s was one thing, but if she happened to get home early or woke before I got back the next morning—Anna Freeman did not stay out all night and Becky knew that. It would’ve been impossible to explain and I didn’t want to have to deal with that situation.

“How about we get some food, eat it in bed and just stay here for the whole night? I don’t want to let you go,” Nate said, squeezing me into him. Oh God, I just felt so fuzzy inside when he said stuff like that. What was that? Happiness? I could quite easily get addicted to it, it felt awesome and a long time coming.

“That sounds like the best plan ever. I want to stay Nate I really do, but it’s—”

He shushed me by kissing the top of my head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I’m not gonna give you a hard time about it. We’ll just have to deal with it for the moment.”

There. Right there. That understanding, the softness in his tone. That was the kind of thing that made me consider that perhaps this could be the start of something.

“How did you manage to get off work?” he asked, flipping over and facing me, one of his hands casually draped across my hip.

“Er, I called in sick. Told them that I thought I was coming down with flu.” It was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life. I’d never faked illness to blow off work before; it just wasn’t part of my nature. Mostly, I was scared my dad would find out for some ludicrous reason, impossible seeing as he and Mom had moved to England five years ago. But my dad’s philosophy was that if you’re still breathing, you can get out and work—his tolerance to illness was zero. I’d grown up thinking that dodging work was just about the most heinous crime in the world. During the phone call to my supervisor, my hands had been shaking with fright, but when I’d put the phone down, I’d been exhilarated. I’d just bought myself a four day weekend.

Nate chuckled. “You naughty girl. Got involved with a boy in a band and now you’re lying to your employers. What’s next?”

Nate’s words gave me an excited shiver. What was next indeed? I was enjoying the new, reckless me and the life it had opened up.

The two of us spent our entire time in bed, with Nate only putting board shorts on to answer the door to room service, the rest of the time we were naked. I’d never been as comfortable with my body as I was around him. He made me feel confident and desired. I didn’t even cover up when I went to use the bathroom. It was such a novelty not to feel judged or the slightest bit vulnerable. He was constantly complimentary and set me at total ease. The shy, nervous girl who had finally walked away from Peter seemed like a memory of someone else.

We talked and talked, getting to know each other, our fingers interlaced, our legs entwined. He admitted to me that he sometimes put on his Batman costume for no other reason than to pose in front of the mirror. I told him that I had to watch cheesy dance movies alone so that I could try and copy the steps. We compared favorite movies, top five songs—purposefully disagreeing with each other’s choices and having faux arguments that ended with him tickling me until I thought I’d pass out. We laughed until we cried and by the time I got up to leave, I had to clench my fists into balls to physically stop myself from latching onto him and never letting go.

I literally just made it home. Approximately one full minute after I’d walked through the apartment door, Becky sauntered in. She stopped in the hallway when she saw me. I was mid-step to my room, hand on the knob, frozen in position by her entrance.

“Where have you been?” She frowned at me.

I swallowed. “Oh, nowhere.” I tried to move my facial muscles into an expression that didn’t convey abject horror. “I was thinking about going for ice cream but changed my mind. It looks too cold out.”

She moved slowly, placing her keys on the hook by the door and shrugging out of her coat. I screamed at myself to move, to go into my room, do something but gawk at her.

Becky’s frown remained as she passed me to get to the kitchen. “What’s wrong with you? You’re being weird. You look. . .guilty.”

Oh God. My knees weakened. All my bravado of earlier—my cocky swagger after getting out of work, my parading around with no clothes on—gone. I was reduced to my usual, mousy timidity at the first hint of confrontation. I laughed off her question. “I’m not being weird, just indecisive.” She flicked the switch on the kettle, keeping one eye on me still hovering in the hall outside my room, a frown crinkling one of her brows.

I tried to twist the handle on my door so I could go and compose myself, but my hand wouldn’t move. I could feel a horrifyingly familiar tightening in my chest and I leaned against the door to steady myself as I took slow, deep breaths. In and out. Like I’d been taught, like I’d done a million times before. It was too late, an iron fist seemed to clamp around my windpipe and my heart galloped off at an alarming speed. Panic swept me away. I dropped to my knees, clutching the floor while sweat started to pour from me in rivers. I cried and gasped for air. This was a bad one. I felt as though I was really going to die this time. I couldn’t breathe. My whole body was cold and shaking, and I was frozen to the spot, staring blindly at the floorboards as salty drops ran down my forehead.

I heard the shout as though I were listening from underwater, it was muffled and fuzzy. I couldn’t call out, couldn’t talk. My eyes darted wildly from left to right. I felt like I was dying, I needed help. Vaguely, I recognized Becky’s voice. She might have been calling my name, but the blood rushing through my ears made it hard to tell. Then, warm hands were on me, moving my limbs. I felt the cool hardness of the wood floor against my cheek and realized I was being put in the recovery position. The panic receded half a notch—I liked the recovery position, it made me feel safe, it was easier to suck in oxygen through my ragged lungs. Sweat soaked hair was pushed gently from my eyes as Becky’s face blurred before me. She knew I calmed quicker in the recovery position. My anxiety moved down another notch—she wouldn’t let me die.

My pulse started to slow as my vision returned to normal. I was drenched in sweat for the second time that day, the first having had been way more fun than this. Although Becks had seen me have numerous anxiety attacks, I was still embarrassed by it.

“Are you feeling better now, sweetie?” she asked me, stroking my hair. “I thought these attacks had pretty much stopped these days, what happened?”

I sat up slowly, cringing. “I dunno.” I shrugged. “Like always, it just came out of nowhere. Sorry. Bet that’s the last thing you felt like doing. Thanks for taking care of me. Again.”

Becky helped me to my feet and picked up my bag off the floor, leading me into my bedroom. “It’s not a problem, you know that. Why don’t you get some rest?”

I put the lamp on, flooding the room in a fuzzy, yellow light and hugged my friend tightly.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
I repeated to her in my head. I couldn’t have felt any crappier about what I was doing behind her back. I wished so hard that I could just not feel anything for Nate, that I could turn it off, but it had gone too far now.

I had almost forgotten about my problems, I’d been actually living my life, having fun. This had been a harsh slap in the face. A not-so-gentle reminder that my history had left me with wounds that had yet to heal. A not-so-gentle reminder that without Becky, God knows where I’d have ended up. I wouldn’t have come this far, for sure. Having my parents across the other side of the world, Becky had become my whole family.

This thing with Nate, it was nothing I’d ever had with anyone else. It was everything I’d ever wanted, and yet it came at such a price.

“Okay. You are acting real strange tonight.” Becky laughed as she peeled my arms from around her. “Get some sleep and feel better tomorrow.”

I swallowed as she left me, closing the door gently behind her and rubbed my hands over my face. My skin was still burning from my incident in the hallway and I opened my window to allow an icy wave of nighttime air to wash over me. The empty street looked like an abandoned film set and made me feel lonely. I wanted Nate. Becky was the one who had always been there for me, but now, I only wanted Nate. It was then that the clinginess of my hug with Becky started to make sense, my sub-conscious had known before I had, but I think I had been preparing to say goodbye.

“Hey. Where the hell were you yesterday?” Jon climbed onto the bus, threw his things onto one of the bunks and fell back on the couch. I was wearing ear buds and pointedly took each one out once he’d sat down.

“You know how annoying it is to have someone speak to you when you’ve got earphones in?” I asked, only half joking.

“Whatever. I’m just checking up on you. You’ve had a tough year and I don’t feel like I’ve seen you much on this tour. What’s up?” I knew he meant well, but lately, though, Jon had become less of a friend and more of a judging eye. I felt scrutinized by him rather than supported.

“I’ve been around and we hung out the other day so get off my back. You’ve been the one busy with the family-man stuff.” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth, I hadn’t meant to sound bitter, but I was so disconnected from my friend right now. He didn’t seem to understand me and I no longer understood him.

“You’re turning into a little bitch, you know that? Some of us have a life outside this band y’know?” He turned his back on me and pulled out his MP3, sticking the buds in his ears and closing his eyes. I was under no doubt that the action was to prove a point. I got it, but couldn’t find it within myself to make amends. Even though I was in the wrong, it didn’t stop me from being super irritated with him, with the world. The only time I’d come close to feeling even half normal was when Anna was with me and that just wasn’t right. I couldn’t rely on something so unpredictable to make me feel like a whole person again.

As the landscape blurred past the window, I started to feel shitty about the way I’d treated Jon. I was mad at myself and I’d taken it out on one of my oldest friends—I really didn’t like the person I was becoming. I didn’t want to be pushing him away, he didn’t deserve it, and I wasn’t doing myself any favors by being so closed off. I lifted myself out of my seat slowly. Jon didn’t even look around as I trudged to the kitchenette and made us both coffee. When I set it down before him, he raised his eyes first to his mug and then to mine. I sat back down and leaned forward with my arms resting on my knees, the hot drink a pleasurable burn between my hands. I was relieved to see Rob and some of the crew working on laptops and tablets on the small seats at the front of the bus, and I could hear Mikey’s low snore from the bunk, so it was just me and Jon.

“I’m sorry.” I nudged my friend to get his attention. He switched off his player and swiveled around so he was mirroring my position. I noticed a few grey hairs popping through at the sides of his temples—how had we grown up so fast? It only seemed like a few years ago we were teenagers, copying Nirvana songs in the garage, dreaming of being stars. Now, we had it all. Dream fulfilled. But no one tells you that when one dream’s done, you need to pick another. A life without goals is soul-less. My state of mind was more than evidence to that.

“I don’t know what’s up with you anymore.” Jon took my apology as an invitation to continue what he’d wanted to say when he first came over. “Enough time has passed, Nate. It’s time you shook yourself off and moved on. I don’t want to sound like a dick, but I’m gonna say what everyone else has been thinking—get over it. The tortured artist look is wearing thin.”

I couldn’t disagree with him. His words were nothing I’d not been expecting, and yet I still struggled to reply.

“I love this band, Jon. I love our music. I love that everywhere we go people know our names and sing the words we’ve written. But it’s not. . .filling me up anymore. It’s like I’m searching for something. Me, I think. I’ve lost myself. I don’t wanna get hurt again but I want to meet someone. I want what you’ve got.” It was the most honest I’d been with him—with myself—for a long time, and it felt good to get it out.

Jon shook his head at me, his dark eyes serious. “We’ve worked really hard to get where we are. We deserve it. Why can’t you just enjoy it? If you love it still, just enjoy what we’ve built. Forget women, forget relationships, it’ll happen. You’ll look back and regret not having the fun while you still can.”

He was right. I was so sure that Anna was going to screw me over at some point that even thinking of her, the best thing to have happened to me so far this tour, made me irritable now. It confirmed to me further that I needed to bury Nate Sullivan, the boy. He was overly emotional, too sensitive and he got his ass kicked by girls. Nate Sullivan the lead singer was self-assured and confident, and it was that side of me that I needed to be. For the sake of the band, for the sake of my sanity.

I decided to tell Jon everything right then. I needed someone else to know. “I’ve been seeing Anna.”

Jon’s eyebrows moved upward in surprise. “Well, that doesn’t sound like a good idea. Are you doing it to piss Becky off?”

“No. I really like her. I’ve never met anyone so—she’s not like the others.”

“Here’s my advice to you buddy: hang out with her, sleep with her, whatever. But keep your distance. You can’t get involved with your ex’s best friend, she won’t be able to and it’ll end in tears. Have your bit of fun and walk away. You’re supposed to be sorting your shit out, not making it worse.”

I was expecting a summary to that effect. While buried inside me was the conviction that Anna and I had some sort of connection that I’d never felt before, I didn’t trust it. How could I, when I didn’t even know who I was at the moment? I’d needed Jon to tell me that, I’d needed to have it laid out. I had to protect myself, of course this would end badly, it was inevitable.

***

Anna texted me just after we finished sound check in our next venue. The message was friendly and chatty and she asked when we could see each other again. Jon’s advice rang in my ears. Yes, I could have some fun with her—he’d said that, right? I let her know that we’d be a couple hundred miles away from her in a couple days and that we’d hook up then. It would be a weekend show so she’d be able to make it, but I didn’t offer to come to her. If she wanted to see me, she’d have to come to me. I wasn’t going to give out the wrong impression by doing all the running.

The gig that night was in Rob’s home town, and after, he took us all for dinner in a gorgeous Italian restaurant just outside of the town. It was just us guys—the food good, the insults fast and hilarious, and the restaurant paparazzi free. Rob spent much of his time on his cell, barking orders to people and booking hotels for upcoming cities.

“For God’s sake, Rob, can’t you put that thing down for one night?” Mikey said, making a failed attempt to swipe the device from his hands.

“You all have no idea. You just breeze in with your guitars and drum sticks, decide which pussy you want to play with and sleep soundly in bed at night. There’s a lot of fucking work that goes on behind the scenes to make that happen, I’ll have you know. A lot of work,” he grumbled.

“Okay, yes, you’re amazing and we’re ungrateful,” Mikey replied childishly. “But come on, put the damn thing away, it’s past eleven. Give your face a chance to go back to its normal color before starting again tomorrow.” We all erupted in laughter. When Rob was stressed, a purple-red hue bloomed across his cheeks, like he’d been holding his breath for too long.

He took the comment well and put the phone down. “You win. Enough for tonight. Now, more drinks and then let’s find some women. There’s gotta be some perks to hanging out with you losers.”

I drank a lot—more than I’d intended—and I was about to bow out as the rest were planning on leaving the restaurant and going to a bar, when the pretty waitress who had been serving us all evening approached me.

“Hey, my shift’s about to finish. Wanna take me out for a drink?” I heard giggles from the table and a sigh from Mikey, who I think had set his sights on her when we’d first arrived.

“Actually, I’m not going for a drink but these guys will take you out.” I whipped my head around and found Jon staring right at me. It was as if he knew that I hadn’t even noticed the woman’s sun-kissed Mediterranean skin, that I hadn’t even looked at the slender figure beneath the black trousers and white apron. While I wasn’t thinking of Anna the whole evening, I also hadn’t been thinking about anyone else. But I could see from the look on his face that he was worried I was getting in too deep with a girl I could never have, and the worry embarrassed me, like he was afraid I couldn’t look after myself anymore.

All the guys were focused on me and I could understand why. Normally, I would have been full of tacky compliments and already have her number in my phone. This dismissive attitude toward an eager girl just wasn’t my style. I didn’t want the concerned faces. I wanted to be me again. I wanted to be able to have my fun and walk away. Jon was right, he was always right. I was going to be hurt and I was allowing myself to be if I fell for Anna any more. I needed the distraction. I needed to have someone make me feel good.

“On second thought,” I gave the girl a lopsided smile and mussed up my hair, “why don’t you come and have a drink with me somewhere quiet? These guys will ruin your night.”

Her eyes glistened like melted chocolate as she breathlessly agreed and rushed off to change. I sat back at the table while I waited for her and was congratulated suitably. I didn’t want to spend time with yet another stranger, but it was almost like there was relief pouring off my friends—relief that I wasn’t as damaged as they’d all thought I’d become. Why I had to revert back to the behavior of my early twenties to prove it was beyond me, but I preferred the camaraderie this invoked rather than the concern of my alternative plan, and so went with it. Jon gave me a supportive pat on the back while Mikey folded his arms in an exaggerated frown.

“Nobody ever cares about the drummer,” he huffed. “You’d better make the most of her, ‘cause I will want details in the morning.”

“You’re sick,” I quipped back at him, feeling good that things seemed to be getting back to the way they were before, even if my insides didn’t quite match with the outside I was projecting.
Still
, I thought as the girl emerged from the door of the kitchen in a tight red top that accentuated her every curve, a
s they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else
. And I held my hand out to lead her from the restaurant.