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“Okay, okay.” My head falls between my shoulders. “Kind of.” When she doesn’t answer, I look over and see her eyes wide, waiting for me to continue. “I’m breaking up with him, but I still need to call and do it.”
“Then call him!” she practically yells. “Sorry. What sparked this? Ohmygod! Did you? You and Austin?”
“No. Not … not really.”
“Whoa, back up there, girl. What exactly does ‘not really’ mean?”
Letting out a sigh, the memories from the club last night, and everything that followed come to mind. “I went to that party Maddox was deejaying, and then Bret showed up, getting in a fight with EJ and Maddox. It was crazy. I just wanted to get out of there, and the next thing I knew, Austin was there. We went back to his place and—”
“Oh, yeah. Here come the juicy bits.”
“No, Lily. It wasn’t like that. I mean, we did end up kissing this morning—”
“This morning?” she shouts. “You spent the night with him?”
“No. Well, yeah, I did, but it wasn’t like that. We fell asleep on his couch.”
“Right.” She starts laughing. Parked at a stoplight, she makes air quotes with her fingers. “Fell asleep.”
“Stop.” I push her shoulder, laughing. The light turns green, and she begins driving again. “Can you take me to the studio?”
“Okay. So, that’s it, then? You and Bret are over? For good?”
I nervously start chewing on my fingernail. I know what I need to do. I know it’s the right thing. This whole morning since Austin dropped me off, I’ve been thinking about everything, and even if I didn’t have these feelings for Austin, Bret and I would still have to end. I liked him in the beginning, but after really thinking about it, those feelings never developed further.
Maybe I was waiting for him to do more, or perhaps I thought I was going to see something I never saw in the beginning. But being with Austin has just proven that I can wait forever and still never find what I thought I wanted. Then someone comes along and makes you feel like you’ve wanted to for longer than you can remember.
“Austin listens to me. Talks to me. He doesn’t treat me like a famous person and put me on a pedestal, or try to get anything from me. He just wants me.” I turn to her. She stops at a stop sign, glancing back at me, and her face softens. “Bret’s never wanted me. He just wants what he can get from me.”
Reaching over, she takes hold of my hand. “I originally came to take you to lunch before my class, but this has turned into a complete girls’ day. I’m not leaving your side.”
Her words force a chuckle out of me. “It’s okay. Just drop me off at the studio.”
“No way. I am going to be there for you.”
“Seriously, Lil. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod, smiling. It’s not forced or strained or even hurt. It’s a smile that makes me feel like everything will be okay.
* * *
Remember that feeling I had earlier? The notion that everything was going to be okay? Yeah, well, after texting Bret to meet me at the studio—five hours ago—most of the feelings of completion have dissipated. Now, all I’m feeling is a nauseated annoyance.
When I messaged him, he told me he’d be right over, but never showed up. I recorded a few more songs, worked out the hook on something I’ve been toying with, and actually started two brand-new tracks. It was easy. They aren’t easygoing or smooth, like what I’ve been working on. They’re angry and spiteful, and I broke five strings on the guitar trying to play them. That’s how annoyed I am with Bret right now.
I wanted to get this over with quickly. I figured that wouldn’t be a problem, seeing as how Bret’s been chomping at the bit to help me in the studio. And by help me, I know what he really means is try and record his own vocals, lyrics, and maybe bring in his drummer or guitarist and push me out.
Walking back into the mixing studio, I flip the record button off and take a seat in the chair. I pull out my phone, and see we’re going on six hours now. Grinding my teeth, I’m about to call him again when the studio door swings open. Of course Mitch, his guitarist, and Vic, his drummer, are in tow.
“Hey, babe,” Bret casually says, approaching me.
When I sent him the text message, I told him we needed to talk, but he didn’t reply with any questions. I’d expect him to be at least somewhat apologetic or cautious, especially after how things ended last night at the party, but he’s neither. He waltzes in, entirely at ease, as if everything is right in the world.
“Where have you been?” I ask, getting up from the chair.
Mitch and Vic ignore me, something I’m used to, and inspect the mixing studio. “Yeah, sorry about that,” Bret says. “We were talking to this manager at a club downtown. We might have a gig next week.”
