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Sylvester was practically hysterical. “He’sfunny?!”
I wagged my finger, releasing my grasp on my coat so that it fell apart and exposed that I did in fact have a body underneath the thick layer of wool. “Come now, Sylvester Brock. Don’t tell me this is jealousy.” I was in control now. I’d rattled him. “You don’t get in touch for two decades, but the moment I work on a project with your brother, you’re trying to buy me out?”
“Half-brother. And no.” Sylvester was getting visibly frustrated, not just incredulous. I remembered the signs of it: shifting his shoulders more than any person should need to do for good posture, blinking less than usual, staring at me like an enraged rhinoceros, his nostrils flaring. Good. I was winding him up. “He’s just not commonly known as a people person.”
I shrugged. “Hmm. That’s where you’re wrong. He’s had a bit of a redemption in the public’s eyes as of recent. I don’t know if you’ve heard about it.”
His eyes snapped back at me from the spot on the wall he’d been staring at furiously while I spoke. “Less of the snark, please, Luna, we aren’t teenagers anymore.”
“You sure? A pretty snivelly teenage attitude of privilege you have, coming here and asking me to destroy my career just because you’ve fallen out with your brother.”
“Half-brother.”
“See? Petty. I don’t care to get involved in petty feuds. Now, I’m off. You go and do something to relax. Enjoy your billions. Seeya.”
I didn’t even take a last look at him before I swept off up the steps. I’d already seen too much of the new Sylvester Brock, and there was enough of his old self still there to make me feel deeply conflicted.
I walked off like I’d won, but when I was only a block away, a feeling of sadness washed over me and I felt like I might cry. It was quite draining to keep up a hard exterior like that. Particularly when I’d had a bit to drink and had been suddenly faced with a situation that I’d been dreading for two decades.
Well, it had finally happened. Sylvester had finally returned to my life. Only it wasn’t groveling and apologizing, like I’d always hoped it would be. No repenting for his sins, for how he’d treated me, not to mention his bandmates, every single one of his friends.
No, he’d turned up because he wanted something from me. He needed something that I had. And though it hurt me more than I could ever express, more than I could even comprehend, I had to keep that hurt close to my chest and focus on the real takeaway here: I had something that he wanted, and I had the satisfaction of turning him down.
If only it weren’t such a hollow-feeling satisfaction.
Sylvester
Iwatched Luna’s retreat until she turned the corner and was gone. A noxious cocktail of feelings was stirring in my stomach. Red hot anger, nostalgia, and a stirring of something deeper, more emotional, something like regret, and of course, latent attraction...
The years had been kind to Luna: she looked smoking hot in a black leather jacket, baggy tee, black jeans and dark make-up. Her hair was dyed black as it had been as a teenager – lacking the often-ginger roots she’d had back then. She was less scruffy, more polished: a sign that she had entered the professional world, as I had, too.
Though the years had been kind, her eyes hadn’t. The hatred in her narrowed gaze had been quite clear. I didn’t need to be a psychological expert to spot it. From the moment she’d turned around to see me at the door of her regular bar, her jaw had been tight and clenched, her dark red lips squashed into a thin, grim line.
I’d ruined her celebrations.Well then. Good.If she was profiting from Apollo’s image boost, she was just as bad as he was.
Okay, not quite that bad. But still quite bad. She was the friend of my enemy, and that made her my enemy. I should hate her. I should be seething with absolute loathing for her. I dredged up the anger until it was all-consuming, enough to push away everything else.
Yes, anger was helpful. I’d focus on that feeling. Brush away all the other, more confusing ones, for now.
I seethed in the back of my chauffeur-driven car all the way back to the office. I’d spent days trying to track her down, and that’s how she reacts? Well, she wasn’t to know I’d spent days. And I suppose, she didn’t care, either.
Her famous Luna snark hadn’t changed during the twenty years that had passed since we’d been sweethearts. It hadn’t normally been directed at me when we’d been close, apart from in jest. Only once, really: when she’d found out I’d dropped her as a support act from my band’s tour.
I hadn’t thought back to that period of time for a while now. It was more than a little painful. But in the interests of blocking Apollo’s plan to apparently become the internet’s most favorite person, I retrieved a memory from its box and let it play out in my head.
It wasn’t the moment she confronted me. That was too painful to go back over, even now. But the fallout had been almost as bad.
Twenty years ago...
We’d just finished our final band practice in our hometown before we set off on the big tour. There had been no good point to say it, so I’d just come out with it while the guys were still distracted polishing their instruments or whatever it was they did at the end of practice: “Guys, we’re dropping Luna from the tour.”
The eyes of everyone in that room snapped to stare at me. I felt the tension rise almost immediately. I studied the black nail polished fingers of my right hand, as if deciding whether to change them to a slightly different shade of black for the tour. Charcoal, perhaps, or onyx.
Reed, the lead guitarist, was first to speak. “Wait. What the fuck?”
I shrugged as if it was no big deal. “You heard me.”
Reed stood up. “Erm, veto.”
