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It tookMax three weeks to stop calling every single hour of every day. My heart breaks every time I see his name on the screen, and every single time I nearly pick up. And then I chastise myself. Because why do I let it ring when I clearly want to talk to him? When I want him in my life? When giving myself to him was the best night of my existence—like something just clicked. That should have clicked a long time ago.
When I laid in his bed, in his arms, naked as the day I was born I’ve never felt so content. Full. Like everything in my life was where it should be. My stars were aligned.
But they can’t be.
The man broke my heart.
Because I watched him. In that hospital bed, only hours after our lips had brushed together. I watched him, his body limp, his skin pale and his mess of black hair pushed back. I was breathing. But he wasn’t. Not without the machines. Not without the hundreds of cables and tubes that were hooked up to about a thousand beeping machines.
I felt helpless. Hopeless. Because the man I was certain I was in love with was broken and there was a very large chance that he might never be fixed. And I had to put on that brave face. The face of his manager. The fixer, the secret keeper, the plaster for the broken.
I was the one who spoke to the record label owner. Who helped fix the statements for the press. Who held them at bay. Who demanded privacy for him and his family. I held face, I was professional when all I really wanted was to hold his hand and kiss his cheek and pray to some god I’ve never even been sure existed before this moment that Max would be okay.
I’ve never been so scared. But I held every one’s hand except his limp one. When all I really wanted was for someone to hold mine. But the only person who I wanted was him. Alive or dead, my heart was beating for his.
And it couldn’t. That’s not how it can be. I had no choice but to leave as soon as I knew he was okay. Because I was so over my head with my emotions, with the impact he was having on me. Not professionally but personally. So, to protect my heart from breaking anymore I left. I ran. Because the days I watched him there were the days when I really fell in love with him.
I still can’t let him in. I shouldn’t. I got so scared of even thinking about letting him in. I did what any other perfectly normal thirty-four-year-old woman would do after spending the night curled up in the sheets with the man she’s lusted after for the past nine years. I turned on my heels at about 5 AM and I ran. Scared of the bubbling feelings inside me that I promised I would leave him alone. Scared of the thought of a rejection. Scared of anything more happening. Scared of being a notch on Max’s more than impressive bed post. (I mean with good reason… his hands… his tongue, that fucking cock… stop it. Okay I digress.
All of those reasons have bought me to finally be here. Somewhere I should have been weeks ago the minute I walked out of Max’s bed. Certainly, when I realised things are never quite going to be the same again.
I’ve come to a bar near Islington, far enough away from Max’s place that he won’t spy me but close enough to Christian’s work that he won’t think it’s really abnormal to meet here. But then we’re still a couple. Why would he think it’s weird to meet up at all? Let alone here. I push down the creases in my black pencil skirt, tuck the stray length of brown hair behind my ear.
“Alison,” Christian greets me with a warm smile. His suit is close cut, perfectly tailored to his wide chest. His dirty-blond hair pushed back out of his eyes. His sharp dress matches his sharp personality. He doesn’t pity fools well. I think that’s why he’s so good at his job. He’s the kind of guy you should aspire to be with. Hot yet incredibly sensible. Dry humour and all work. Enough money to keep you if that’s what you want out of a partner. And I mean there’s always Ann Summers if you really can’t bear the missionary position every other weekend. And it’s not that he’s not Max. It’s not.
It’s just...
“I’m not sure this is really going anywhere,” I blurt out. He’s barely sat down and ordered us a drink, but the words just spill out of me like word vomit. Because the minute the playboy prince of rock ‘n’ roll enters my brain I’m suddenly not in control of my mind or my thoughts or indeed, what spews out of my mouth.
His eyes rake over me as my fingers find my mouth, to somehow excuse myself for what I just said. I wince as he raises an eyebrow at me. His arms leaning forward on the small bistro style table. A waft of a smile covers his cheeks.
“Straight to the point, it’s part of the reason I liked you from the start, Alison.” He smiles as he bites down on his bottom lip, nodding his head at me
“Yeah?” I wince, almost pretending I meant to blurt that out. “I suppose I never really got on with bullshit. Part of the job, I suppose.” I shrug as our waitress brings across the wine Christian ordered and two glasses. I’m pretty sure I won’t be here to finish the bottle with him.
“I did wonder, once you came back from your bands short tour if you’d think that would be a good time to end things with us.”
“Christian, I don’t think it’s the tour. We only had three shows and a festival. I’m back now.”
“No, I don’t think it was the tour exactly either. But I get it, Alison. We’re from different worlds. Your day job is full of sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. Mine is number crunching, impressing customers, and wearing the latest Rolex just because I can. We were only going to work together for so long before the real world got involved.”
“My job’s not all about sex and drugs. Part of it is stopping the idiots concentrating on the sex and the drugs instead of the rock and roll part.” I laugh as Christian leans in and places his hand on my knee. As he takes a glass of wine from the table and passes it to me.
“Just tell me one thing, Alison,” he says as I take my glass. For some reason tonight, the smell of the wine in my glass makes me nauseous. I don’t sip but politely put it back on the table as he raises the dark red liquid in his glass to his lips.
“If you hadn’t seen him. At that function. Would you be breaking up with me or would you let us see where this goes?”
I play coy. Because how can I not. Am I that obvious? Does my body betray me that much? I feel my cheeks redden.
“Seen who?”
He knows I know.
I know he knows.
His lips draw into a line.
His voice is quiet, barely showing any emotion. A voice I imagine he reserves for his clients.
“Max Baines.”
“I, erm—”
Fuck. What do I say?
“Don’t worry, you just answered. See you around, Alison.” He gets up from the table and leaves with a small kiss on my cheek as he drops some notes down on the table. Nothing more.
Now what do I do?
