“Rhy?” She asks, her head tilting. We’ve stopped, and she’s waiting for an answer. I probably look like a lunatic, not answering her for however long as memories of our nights together play like a porno in front of my eyes.
“Please.” I ask, my eyes holding the floor. I can’t look at her right now, I can’t let her see how vulnerable I am right now. I can feel her eyes on the side of my face as she weighs what coming up to my room might mean. While I’d love nothing more than to get her on her back and let my tongue between her thighs wash all her worries away, she isn’t there yet. She might not ever be, and after what I did to her, I, unfortunately, have to be okay with that.
“Okay.” She nods, grabbing the door handle, I follow her movement, and we both exit her death trap and head for the lobby. I want to reach out and grab her hand, want to pull her in close, but her words from last night ring through my head as we walk through the lobby. I don’t get to take liberties with her body anymore. We enter the elevator silently, both of us lost in our thoughts and the memories we’ve made together. The hurt we’ve caused each other sits between us like an unwelcome guest.
“I know I’ve said it before, but I think it deserves repeating, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I broke your trust.” I whisper in the confines of the steel box.
“Are you still using?” She asks, her eyes hold mine in the mirrored steel. She knows the answer, she saw me last night, hell she saw me tonight with the weed. I nod my head, and her eyes fall to the floor in embarrassment.
“Then your apology doesn’t mean anything. You can’t apologize for something and then continue to do it. That’s not how this works, Rhyit, I told you that when I left.” She sighs, breaking eye contact with me to look at the ceiling. “I know you think you need it, but you don’t.”
“I don’t need it.” I say defensively, while my mind screams yes you fucking do. I’malready thinking about taking a shower, so I can close the door, cut a line on the bathroom counter, and not feel anything for a while.
“Prove it.” She says, her eyes fall back to mine in the mirrored steel. “Actions speak louder than words, Rhyit. Prove it.”
“I will.” I state. “I don’t need it, I like it, but I don’t need it.” Lie. Lie. Lie. The elevator reaches the top floor of the hotel, and the doors open with a resounding ding. We walk the corridor that leads to the suite the label booked for me. I grab the key from my pocket and place it in the lock, the door to the room opens and we both enter. Bristol’s hands twist in front of her as she moves her hair to one side again. She’s nervous. Hell, I’m nervous, I haven’t been this close to her in almost three years.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask as I make my way further into the room. The minibar sits in the corner calling to me.
“Sure, vodka soda would be great if you have it.” She smiles. I’d buy the entire Smirnoff distillery if it meant she’d keep that smile on her face. I take quick steps to the mini bar and grab out two tiny bottles of vodka and club soda. I start making the drinks as her eyes take in the room. I make her drink quickly and move on to mine, whiskey. I grab the glasses off the bar and motion for her to join me on the small sofa against the wall. We both sit down, and she takes her glass out of my hand. Her lips meet the glass, and for the first time in my life, I’m jealous of a piece of glassware. She takes a healthy swig of the drink and sets the glass on the table. I do the same, and we sit in an awkward as fuck silence.
“Can I ask you something?” I lean back against the cushions and look at her after the words have left my mouth.
“Sure.” She says, her bottom lip pulling in meeting her teeth as she picks the skin there.
“Why didn’t you get married?” The question has been burning at the tip of my tongue since I saw the ring on her finger last night. Her face blanches for a moment and then recovers quickly.
“You want the truth?” She sighs, her back meeting the cushions too. She looks up at the ceiling like it holds the answers to the world's questions.
“Nah, lie to me.” I tease, knocking her shoulder with mine.
“You always did enjoy a good lie.” She quips, shots fired. My mouth opens to rebuke her barb, but she stops me before I can say anything.
“I’m sorry that wasn’t very nice.” She apologizes as she reaches for her drink, taking a hefty swig before placing it back on the table. “The truth, I was almost there. I was half way down the aisle. The dress, the flowers, everything was perfect.” She says, a far off look on her face, like she’s in the middle of a memory. “The DJ we hired got sick apparently. I had no idea, but as I approached what was supposed to be my future, my past slammed into me like a dump truck. The music changed and-“ she stops, her body turns to me. Hurt and embarrassment dance in her eyes. “He thought it would be a good idea to play a song with my name in it.” Realization dawns on me quickly. There’s only one song I know of that has her name in it, and it’s the same one I sing every night to thousands of people.
“No.” I say, shocked that a DJ would be dumb enough to play that song for her on her wedding day.
“Yep,” she nods, “so I panicked, I tried so fucking hard to keep it together but hearing your voice. God, our lyrics, it threw me Andrew. So I ran.” She says, grabbing and downing the rest of her drink. Bristol is a lightweight, always has been, so the two shots in that drink will have her floating here soon.
“And that’s that. No marriage. Poof. No condo in Malibu. Poof. No tours scheduled since Julie is on maternity leave, and I thought I’d be living marital bliss.” She sighs again, her head leaning back against the cushions. “So there I was, then Alex overdosed.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.” I say, placing my hand on her thigh in what should be a comforting gesture. Her eyes fall to my hand on her thigh, but I make no move to remove it.
“Can I ask you something?” She says, her head tilted up to the ceiling.
“Open book.” I say, reveling in the heat emanating from her skin against mine.
“Do you still sing it?” She asks, her eyes hooding as the alcohol takes further hold.
“Sing what?” I scoot a little closer to her, hoping like hell she doesn’t push me away.
“Pistol.” She sighs. “Do you still sing it? I can’t listen to it when it comes on the radio. I always change the station.” She confesses.
“Every show.” I confess. We’re apparently being as truthful as possible tonight, and I need to hold up my end of the bargain.
“Why?” She asks, her head lifting from the cushion to turn to me. Her eyes hold mine, waiting for the answer.
“I don’t know,” I sigh, “hope I guess. I hope that some guy sings it to the woman he loves to finally tell her how he feels.” I lean in a little closer, her eyes widen at my intrusion. “I hope that some woman holds out hope that her forever is still out there.” Closer. “And I hope that one day, you’ll see it in person and see how moving it is for a lot of people.” We’re inches apart at this point, I can feel her short breaths against my lips as I hold her stare.