Sex, Decisions & Rock n' Roll (Redemption Tour #2) Read online

  “I’ve seen pictures of them together.” His tone is flat, but I sense an underlying provocation behind it.

  “They dated. I’ve seen the pictures.”

  “The recent ones?”

  Recent ones? What is he talking about? Dash and Nadia haven’t dated in a really long time. He’s told me as much. Actually, Dash said it was a relationship of convenience more so than anything else.

  “I take it you don’t know or haven’t seen them?”

  I stare at Blake, trying to decipher what he means by all this and where this conversation is going. All I know is I don’t like it.

  “Oh, silly, silly, naïve Julia. When are you going to learn that you can’t compete with most women, especially a woman like Nadia? I mean, she’s obviously gorgeous beyond words, successful, wealthy, and she has more to offer Dash than you ever could. I’m surprised you haven’t seen this yet…” Blake’s words trail off as he pulls from behind him one of those gossip magazines that Dash warned me to stay away from since most of the time what they write is complete fabrication based on a miniscule amount of truth.

  I don’t look at the magazine he’s flung in my direction. It’s almost as if he was waiting for the right moment to unleash this on me. I stare at him, summoning all the strength I can before I continue this ridiculous conversation. “I don’t need to look at that. I know Dash loves me.”

  Blake nods his head. “I’m sure he does love you in that “I pity you” kind of way. You know how you love the stray cat or dog that is on death’s door in those ASPCA commercials? They’ve always reminded me of… you…” His voice trails off as his eyes get this far away look in them as if he’s getting lost in some memory.

  The magazine falls at my feet, and as if he planned it, it opens to a spread with pictures of Dash and Nadia in Amsterdam. My lungs seize in my chest. I blink my eyes in rapid succession, hoping that what I’m seeing isn’t what it looks like.

  “Go on, pick it up. They’re quite lovely pictures. Whoever took them got some amazing shots of the two of them together. I particularly love the one where he’s kissing her. So much love between the two of them. It’s clearly written on their faces. Go on, look, Julia. Now.”

  Without thought, I do what he says. I bend down and my trembling fingers pick up the magazine, holding it at bay like it would either burn or strike at me. My eyes scan the images, trying to process them all at once. Dash and Nadia at dinner. Dash and Nadia coming out of a car. Dash and Nadia walking down the street. They seem innocent enough until my eyes land on the one Blake mentioned. Dash and Nadia are huddled close together. Her face is angled up while his is angled down. You can only see the back of her head and just the side of his face. The angle makes it appear that they are kissing. My heart rips in my chest. The next picture is of them as well, but it seems to be an after shot. Dash is smiling, and ahead of him Nadia is walking while touching her lips. The second picture seems to confirm the first—Dash and Nadia kissed. Dash and Nadia are in Italy together. Dash and Nadia. My heart tears into a million pieces. My brain is telling me there is some logical explanation. It remembers Dash saying that the paps take a zillion pictures and manipulate them to appear to be what they really aren’t. My brain is holding on to that thread, yet my heart and eyes don’t believe it.

  “You really thought you could be the woman for him? Awww, Julia, that’s just so sweet… and naïve.” I look up, and Blake is standing right in front of me with pity in his eyes. “I thought maybe you were smarter than that. I guess some things never change. You can keep that if you want.” Blake’s chin motions toward the magazine in my hands. My eyes glance down at it and then it drops from my grip, falling to the floor between us. It feels as though my heart has fallen with it.

  “I’m here, Julia.” Blake’s fingers reach out to touch my cheek, but I recoil. His hand hovers between us before it drops to his side. “I’ll be waiting.” He leans down, and his lips ghost against my cheek before he turns to leave.

  Without a second thought, I turn and run out of the restaurant. The images of Dash and Nadia play on a loop in my mind’s eye. My chest aches. This isn’t happening. That wasn’t real. My feet move me along the sidewalk, going nowhere in particular. I can’t get those images out of my head. I can’t escape the fact that Blake is back. And the only person I want to talk to is on the other side of the world with someone else. My heart rips into more pieces as the tears start to fill the corners of my eyes. I continue to make my way down the street without any idea as to where I’m going. At this point, I don’t really care.

  “HOW’S THAT ARTICLE coming?” I look up, and Hank is standing in the door, that gentle smile on his face.

  I’ve been staring at the screen for the past hour. The article is practically finished, but it lacks that personal touch I usually give my interview articles. I know why too.

  “Um, it’s coming along.” It’s been coming along for about a week now.

  Hank makes his way into my office and takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk and just stares at me, giving that look. The one that says he knows I want to say more and is just waiting me out. I haven’t told him about Blake being Chef Becc. I don’t even know where to begin or how to do it. I mean, it sounds crazy even to me that Becc is Blake, and I saw him with my own eyes. He did look slightly different—his hair was lighter, more blond, and he had filled out more. Blake now has muscles he didn’t have before. His nose isn’t a little crooked like it was before. He had gotten into a fight as a kid apparently and broke his nose, but never corrected it. However, his eyes were the same, as was his voice. He may not look like the Blake that I remember, but he’s still him. Inside and out.

  Hank clears his throat, gaining my attention. I let out a cleansing breath. “It’s just… I just…” I’m at a loss. I don’t know how to put into words what I’m feeling without giving too much away. Blake’s words—his threat—has been running in my head since I left the restaurant. “The police can’t help you. No one can.”

  “Jules, is there anything I can do? Maybe bounce some ideas off of me. You know I’m always here to help you, no matter what it may be.” His lips turn into a fatherly grin, and his eyes hold so much comfort.

  I can’t tell him who Becc really is. I can’t tell anyone. It won’t do any good. Blake said they won’t find Blake, only Chef Becc, and I believe him. He wouldn’t seek me out like he did if there was a chance the police would find him as well. Blake’s always been smarter, smarter than most, so I know deep down he’s covered his bases before making an appearance. As far as the world’s concerned, Blake Collins no longer exists and can never be found.

  “Jules, you okay, hon?”

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to tweak a few things in the piece. It’s just missing that personal touch. Chef Becc was very charismatic and passionate when he was talking about being a chef and food. I want to make sure I capture that.” Honestly, it’s the truth. Blake morphed into Chef Becc right before my eyes.

  Hank leans forward. “You’ll get it. You always do. Maybe step away from it for a moment, take a break and come back at it with fresh eyes. It’s not going anywhere, and get some things done for yourself.” Hank gets up and heads toward the door.

  I contemplate his advice. He’s right. Fresh eyes and a break is what I need. The additions I need to make aren’t just going to fly out of my brain and land on the pages. “Okay, I think I will. Thanks, Hank.”

  He turns around in the doorway. “Anytime, hon. No need to rush it. We’ve got some time til it’s needed.” Hank gives me a warm smile, and then he leaves.

  I stare at the article. He’s right. I need a break. I save what I have and then shut down my computer. Grabbing my purse, I head out, trying to put the article out of my mind. Easier said than done.

  I KEEP LOOKING over my shoulder. I keep expecting Blake to be there every time I turn around. I feel paranoid. I haven’t felt this way in a long time, and it feels as if I’m going to lose
my mind. I know this is what Blake intended, what he wanted to happen. He is the puppet master and has been manipulating my strings for a very long time. Even when he was gone, I always felt him nearby. As hard as I’ve tried to move on, and I thought I had, he was still always there in the far recesses of my mind calling the shots. Dr. Hoffman says it’s normal to feel this way, that it takes most victims of violence a long time to actually feel safe. I have felt safe. I felt safe whenever I was with Dash. I still do when I talk to him on the phone since he’s been on tour. But after seeing that magazine and those pictures, I don’t know how really safe I feel anymore. He’s attempted to contact me several times, and I’ve answered on occasion but given some lame excuse as to why I need to cut our time short. I can tell he’s frustrated and senses something’s wrong, but he doesn’t push it. How can I tell him my darkest fears? How can I let him know that my insecurities have gotten the best of me? How can I tell him that Blake has planted that seed of doubt? I know deep down Dash loves me and that there is a reasonable explanation. Logically, I know that. But still, seeing is believing, isn’t it?

  It’s early Saturday morning. The sun is barely peeking through the curtains as I lay in bed just staring at the ceiling. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Just lying in bed staring at the ceiling as if some sign or infinite wisdom or insight is going to magically appear on it. Or sometimes I stare at it and hope a black hole will appear and suck me into it, taking me away from everything. I don’t want to feel this way. I hate feeling this way. A loud knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I glance at the clock on the side table—six thirty. Who in the hell would be knocking at my door this early on a Saturday? Another knock. I throw off the covers and leave the warm, safe cocoon I was wrapped up in, still puzzled as to who in the world it could be.

  Another knock as I approach, and then another followed by, “Come on, Bennett, open the door before your neighbors wake up.” Val. It’s Val. I unlock the chain and deadbolt and swing the door open. Val stands in the hallway wearing workout gear and holds up a brown paper bag with a very familiar logo on it—Panera. “Well, are you going to let me in, or are you going to stand there drooling over this bag?”

  “Right, sorry.” I open the door wider, letting Val in. “Not that I’m not happy to see…”

  “The bag from Panera,” Val adds.

  “Well, yes that, but you too. But why are you here so early in the morning? It’s Saturday, Val, and you are never up this early on a Saturday.”

  I follow her into the kitchen. She sets the bag on the counter and starts taking out every delectable item from it. If I wasn’t hungry before, I am now. My stomach rumbles in agreement. “Apparently your stomach doesn’t think it’s too early.”

  “Obviously.”

  Val goes about setting out everything while I start to make us some coffee. The silence in the room is comfortable, but I know it won’t last. There’s a reason, other than breakfast, why Val is here. I have a feeling I know why. We settle into our seats, and I begin to spread cream cheese on my Everything bagel. Before I can even take a bite of its delicious salty, garlicy goodness, Val breaks the silence. “So, are you going to tell me what’s been going on?” She stares about me with that expectant look on her face.

  I shrug. “There’s nothing to tell.” I take a bite, a huge bite, of my bagel and relish how it tastes. Panera knows how to make a bagel.

  “So, you’re gonna play it like that? All right…” She lets the word linger between us. I know she’s got something more to say. I know she’s planning something. I will just sit here, enjoying my bagel, and ignore her. I can do it. Yep, I can do it.

  I can feel Val’s eyes on me. I can tell she’s not eating or sipping her coffee. She folds her arms across her chest and sits back in the chair. She’s waiting me out, thinking I’ll crack under the scrutiny and tell her what’s the problem. I’m not going to let her in on what’s going on. I can’t mention Blake, so what’s the point, really? Like he said—no one can help me. No one. I can still feel Val’s eyes on me, and it’s getting a little uncomfortable.

  I look up from my plate, and sure enough, she’s still looking at me, her head cocked to the side with one challenging eyebrow raised. I’ve been in this situation with her before, and she’s always been the one to win. I take another bite of my bagel, chew it, and with great effort force it down. Yep, Val’s making me just a little bit nervous. Time to engage her first before she starts in on me.

  “So…” My thoughts scatter as I attempt to come up with a safe topic to talk about—something that will steer clear of Dash and Blake. Her eyebrow rises further, practically into her hairline. She knows exactly what I’m attempting to do, and she’s allowing me to do it because she knows I’ll fail.

  “So… I’ve been thinking maybe we should get Tracy something as a congratulations on her first big break into the world of show hair. Do you wanna go to the mall today?” My voice is an octave higher on the last word. I feel sweat trickling down my back. She’s not going to buy it, but maybe, just maybe, if luck is on my side, she will. While waiting for her response that I know isn’t going to be the one I truly want, I sink my teeth into my bagel, pretending she’s not getting to me and like this bagel is the most interesting bagel I’ve ever eaten.

  “That’s not a bad idea. She’s been meaning to buy a new set of those specialty scissors. We could get her those.” Val leans back in her chair sipping her coffee, just looking at me as if she’s saying “take that, but you are so not off the hook just yet.” She has thrown me for a loop, though.

  “Um, yeah. Sounds… sounds good. When did you want to meet up?”

  “Oh, you are so not getting rid of me that easily. Did you really think you could? You have some talking to do and questions to answer. I’m not letting you ignore everything when there’s obviously a problem.”

  I have a choice to make. I can continue to act like everything is hunky-dory and have Val ride me the rest of the day, week, month, etcetera. Or, I can just give her enough details to placate her and hope it’s enough. I go for the latter, but not right away. Being evasive a little longer will help me get my thoughts in order. I hate it when after someone leaves a heated or important conversation, I will then think of all the things I should have said. It always happens, but not this time.

  Val knows my stall tactic. She throws her napkin down and then leans her arms on the table, her gaze penetrating right through me as if she can pluck the answer right from me. She takes a deep breath and then lets it out, puffing her bangs in the process. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She does this several times, I assume contemplating how to word her question so I will answer. Val knows I can instantly go on the defensive if I feel cornered.

  “You know I love you and want what’s best for you, right?”

  I nod, wondering where her line of questioning is going.

  “Tracy and I both want you to be happy. You deserve that happiness more than anybody in this world, Jules. You’ve been through so much and have come out the other side. You’re so brave and strong, and honestly, as tenacious and strong-willed as I come across, I don’t think I could have been as strong as you if the situation was reversed. I’m so proud to be your friend. I will be by your side no matter what happens, no matter what choices you make, just no matter what. With that being said, when I see that you are purposely sabotaging your own happiness, I am going to speak up. And honey, right now is one of those times. Why are you purposely ignoring Dash? I’ve been in contact with the guys, and Dash has made it known that he’s been trying to get in touch with you to no avail. He’s worried. So, tell me—what in the hell is going on?”

  I get up from the table and throw away what’s left of my bagel in the garbage. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. I delay the inevitable and wash my hands in the sink, trying to calm myself before my emotions break free. She’s talked to Dash. Dash. God, I miss him so much. I know I need to talk to him, but I’m afraid of what he might say, what he could
say. I know I shouldn’t have all this doubt, but those pictures and the words Blake said to me just shook me to my core. Deep down, even though I’m going to therapy and Dash has been wonderful, part of me has doubt; it seems it will always be there. It thinks it’s unworthy of a man like Dash, it thinks that no matter what, I don’t fit into his world and I never will. It will always think I’m not good enough, and Dash is going through a phase until something better comes along—someone like Nadia. Rationally, I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but still, it’s there.

  I jump when Val’s hand touches my shoulder. “Jules, please talk to me.”

  I turn around with all the courage I have and answer her. “I saw pictures of Dash and Nadia. They… they were very close… intimate. They…” A lump forms in my throat, preventing me from continuing.

  Val pushes a stray hair behind my ear, the gesture comforting. “They what, honey?”

  My eyes close, the image clear in my mind. “They… they were kissing.”

  “Awww, Jules.” Val’s arms envelop me, and I welcome the comfort and warmth of her embrace. I hold the tears back. I’ve cried enough; I don’t need to cry any more. A rogue tear manages to slip through my defenses. Val pulls away, and I can’t look her in the eyes. I don’t want to see the disappointment or the pity I’m sure I’ll find there. She leads us into the living room and sits on the couch, and I follow. Silence surrounds us, and I welcome it with open arms. I don’t think I want to know what she’s thinking, what Dash has said. I know I won’t be able to handle it if there’s truth in what I saw.

  With a sympathetic gaze Val laces her fingers with mine as we sit on the couch. The connection is needed; it makes me feel safe, comforted. “Jules, you know as well as I do that those pictures are taken at certain angles at times just to make a story, to sell magazines. You know you can’t always believe what you see. There is no way in hell that Dash would ever do that to you. He loves you and only you. I’ve gotten to know the guys pretty well since taking the band on, and I know deep down Dash is not that type of guy. He would never do something like that.”