Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
My British stranger, I just need one thing.
From you.
To me.
There’s one thing you have to be.
Beau might have inspired the lyrics, but of course I don’t need anything from him. I’m not an idiot. But just having a normal conversation with someone who didn’t know who I was—and who didn’t seem to want anything from me even after I told him—has been like ducking under the shelter of an umbrella in the middle of a thunderstorm. Maybe I’m already soaked to the skin, but at least it’s a temporary cessation of the relentless wet. A welcome break. I’m not dry. I probably won’t ever be dry, but at least I can open my eyes without getting stung by the driving rain.
Be yourself and I’ll be me.
Be yourself and I’ll heal me.
I freeze when my phone begins to ring. It’s only ten, which means it’s five in the morning in the US. Who could be calling me?
I get up from the piano and head back into the control room.
Tommy’s name and number flashes on the screen. I take a deep breath, pick up my phone and answer.
“You’re up early,” I say as if we spoke just yesterday.
There’s a brief pause before he replies. “I’m trying to get a workout in.”
“Then I guess you should go do that. Self-care is important.”
“Thanks for picking up,” he says.
I nod silently.
“Can I do anything?” he asks.
“Arrange for Matt’s murder. Or…mild dismemberment. Torture at the very least.”
“I’m going to state for the record that I know you’re joking when you ask me to arrange a homicide. And I think the torture will take care of itself. The guy is…a horrible human.” He sighs. I know he’s hurting because I’m hurting. “I wish I saw it before it got to this. He just came across as one of the good guys.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “I thought so too.”
“I’ve hit him with a ton of lawsuits as we discussed. I think it should shut him up for a while. There haven’t been any stories in over a week. I don’t know if you’ve been following things.”
“I haven’t.” It’s been difficult, but I’ve really tried to keep away from social media and the tabloids. I’ve kept my focus on Bravo and Netflix. I haven’t even been able to listen to music. Even other people’s music that’s clearly not about me and Matt brings back memories.
“Good.”
“Have you spoken to Lisa?”
Lisa is the therapist Tommy recommended. “No. I just want to keep everything…private. As much as I can, anyway.” I’d usually fly private to the UK, but when I left New York, I didn’t even want Betty, my assistant, to know where I was heading. I went online and ordered a ticket on a commercial flight. With the private terminal access I found online, I seem to have slipped into London unnoticed.
“It might help to work through things,” Tommy suggests.
“I just need some time.”
“You got it,” he says, and then we’re silent. Because what else is there to say?
“Have you spoken to your parents?” he asks.
“A little. They know I’m okay.”
“Good. And you know you can always stay at my house in LA.”
The thing about LA is, I wouldn’t be able to get my own coffee. “You know I hate LA.”
“I know but it’s easy to hide here.”
“No, it’s easy not to leave the house there.”
More silence twists between us.
“How are you?” he asks.
I don’t know how to answer the question. I’ve been focusing on escaping the press. I haven’t thought about very much beyond maintaining a low profile. Every time thoughts of Matt and what he’s done creep back into my head, I push them away again. “I’m fine.”
He sighs. “I need to talk to you about work. The label’s freaking out because you’re off grid. They want to know you’re going to promo the album.”
“Have I said I won’t promo the album?”
“No,” he replies. “Does it mean you will?”
“Of course I will. Promo doesn’t start until mid-October anyway. We’re still in early September.”
“You think you’ll be okay by then?”
I was with Matt twelve years. I found out a few months ago he was leaking information about me to the press. I’ve had four and a half months to grieve a relationship I thought was going to last the rest of my life. I thought Matt was my soul mate—the only person in the world I could trust completely. The guy who was one hundred percent in my corner—not because I paid him, but because he loved me.
“Did you know anything?” I ask. “Or ever suspect he wasn’t the guy I thought he was?”
There’s an intake of breath on the other end of the phone. “Not at the time, but looking back…there were a few things that didn’t fit completely.”
My heart hammers in my chest, like the sound of impatient feet in a stadium. “Like what?”