“You’re not,” I say, barely holding on to my calm. “Not representing me, you’re not.”
An ominous silence swells from the other end, reaching across the country to suffocate me.
“What did you say?” she finally asks.
“Look, it’s my career,” I force myself to reply. “And I determine
what will or won’t be done on my behalf, and I say no.”
“I see,” she says, suppressed fury embedded in her response.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. I know this will only push Bristol away, will only make her angrier, but I will not have her embroiled in some beef with one of the most influential figures in the socialsphere. They want to come for me? Let them, but I’m not having them hurting Bristol. I should have just said that; it would have gotten a better response than this.
“Bristol, look, I–”
“I should go,” she cuts in. “Kai’s almost done with her segment, and Aria’s here with me. She just woke up.”
I sigh, resigned to not making this right until she comes home. “Okay. Can I pick you up from the airport tomorrow?What time does your flight land?”
“I don’t think I’m coming.” Her voice is cool and distant. “Things are still hectic for Kai. Luke’s reality show starts production this week- end, and I’m thinking I should stay here for that. I’ll come . . . I don’t know, next week.”
This is bullshit. I know it, and so does she. Does she not feel how this distance is killing me? Not just the three thousand miles separating us, but the chasm opened up by this asinine fight.
“Are you sure that’s why you’re not coming home?” I ask, letting my frustration leak through the words.
A baby’s cry cuts off her response. Aria.
“I have to go,” Bristol says hastily. I hear her shhhh-ing our goddaughter.
“Bristol, wait.”
The line dies, and there is nothing but silence on the other end, a gaping hush swallowing all the things I wish I’d said instead of all the wrong shit I spoke. I consider calling her right back, but I don’t want to distract her when she’s taking care of Aria for Kai. Besides, I need to get to the studio in Harlem for a session. I glance at my watch to see how much time I have to get there. I stare at the piece-of-shit watch I never take off, only to find that it has died. After almost a decade, this watch that has never failed me decides to die today. I’ll never forget the night Bristol gave me this watch, the night of our first kiss, trading hurts and hearts a hundred feet in the air, stuck on a Ferris wheel. The watch may have finally stopped working, but we still work. We’ll always work. In a world of pieces that never seem to fit, we do. We work. We make sense when nothing else does, and I have to remind her of that.
Chapter 15
Bristol
I MESSED UP.
As soon as I told Grip I was staying in LA for work instead of returning to New York, I knew it was the wrong thing to do. The voice in my head calling me a fool is so loud and insistent, I can barely focus on anything else. Sitting here on the set of Luke’s new reality show, I’m not really needed. I mean, it’s good for me to be here, sure. Luke appreciates it, but he doesn’t need me. Grip, however, does need me. Even across the country, I feel his need, the desperation to make things right. I need him, too. I feel it, too. It hounds me. After yesterday’s disaster, another public dragging, the only place I want to be is in his arms, reassured that we’re okay and, no matter how many stupid fights we have, will always be okay. Where am I instead? Here suffering indigestion from bad craft services food.
“That sound good, Bris?”
My unfocused gaze locks in on Luke, who watches me, both brows lifted in query.
“Uh, sure.” I shake my head to pull myself back in. “Wait, I didn’t actually hear what you said. What are they asking you to do?”
For the next few minutes, he details a segment the producers have set up showing him in the recording booth of the studio where we’re shooting.
“Yeah, that sounds great.” I glance at my phone, checking for missed calls or texts from Grip. Nothing. We don’t fight often, but when we do it’s a conflagration, burning everything to the ground, and right now I’m charred. Grip is usually the first to apologize. He’s a better person than I am, the bigger person, but not this time. I’m making the first move, and it’s on the next plane out of LA.
“I need to go to New York,” I say abruptly, cutting in on whatever Luke was telling me.
Luke’s startled expression morphs into understanding. “Is this about that Angie Black thing yesterday?”
Oh, that’s right—Luke knows. Everyone knows, because my life is an open book—and not the fairy-tale kind, more like a Stephen King novel.
Misery maybe?