Page 4 of For Puck's Sake

I stand, keeping my movements easy as I continue to break down equipment. “Let me stop you. I don’t belong to you, and I didn’t belong to him.” That last part’s alie, but I keep that to myself as I continue. “I don’t need to justify why I play what I play or the reason behind my set choices.” I incline my head and purse my lips. The accusation in his tone, no, hell no, I won’tstand for it. I can feel my anger rising right along with my voice, making me pause as I scan the room again. No one is looking in our direction, in fact, Ridley is no longer in the room. I know it’s for the best, I am sure he saw Dean kiss me and decided not to make a scene in his sister’s home on her birthday. Part of me wants him to approach me, tell me he is proud of what I’ve achieved in such a short time. A sliver of my heart still yearns for the bright smile and the happiness behind his eyes when he watches me play. Like he used to, like he did all those years ago. Why I feel the need to get his approval after all this time is beyond me. But Ridley knows my struggles, he sees me . . . well, he did at the beginning.

Even though I already know it, I need validation. I need to know that the sacrifice, ending our relationship, our engagement was worth the utter devastation of walking away.

“I didn’t mean it that way, B.” Dean holds his hands up in surrender after seeing the scowl on my face. Yeah, I have a temper and I am not afraid to use it. “I’m sorry, Baby, I just, I’m not afraid to admit I’m insecure, jealous even. Every time I hear you sing that song.” He pauses, his lips turning down in a pout. Ha, an actual dimpled pout. Really.

I open my mouth to object to his term of endearment. I am not his baby, and Dean is getting too comfortable. I got comfortable once and look where it got me. I almost lost myself, and I’ll be damned if I do it again. I didn’t leave the love of my life to fall for someone I consider half-decent and only good enough to warm my bed. Yep, I am the asshole in this situation, and I know it. I’m using him, and it’s not fair, but neither is life. Okay, maybe that’s too deep a thought for this situation. Dean is not a bad guy, but I can’t give him what he wants. My heart is battered and bruised, it doesn’t have the strength to beat for anyone else but me.

Dean picks up my case and continues his line of thought. “Besides, in a few months, you will get to leave all this behind, and it will become a distant memory. You have a tour to look forward to. This is your chance, Brea. After a while all that will remain of him are words.”

He turns and I let him walk away without a rebuttal. He’s right, in a few months I will leave Seattle behind and embark on my first big tour. I’ve been invited to Los Angeles after the New Year to sign a major record deal with Solstice records. All my hard work, grit and determination put me exactly where I’d hoped. But as much as I would like to believe that this world, Ridley’s world, will become a distant memory, I know it’s not true. There’s too much history, too many memories, and too much love and love lost to forget. He is in every song I sing, every note I write, ingrained and etched on my soul.

Shaking off the growing melancholy, I spend the next few minutes working in silence, passing off equipment to Dean. I guess he’s decided he’s just as eager to load out because he doesn’t attempt small talk, opting to pack my equipment away in his truck as fast as his feet can carry him. I stop on occasion to talk to a few of Ridley’s teammates, but Ridley hasn’t returned to the room and all I feel is relief. It’s better this way. Avoid confrontation and the growing awkwardness whenever we are forced to interact. Once everything is packed away, I take my time to circle the room. Greeting Tor and fangirling over his girlfriend, Lia’s neighbor, Jazminne Starr. I even managed to hug Lia, who has definitely had her fill of birthday shots for the night.

“I miss you. I looove you, Brea. Thank you for being here,” Lia says as she hangs off my neck in a crushing hug. I laugh. If Devan wasn’t holding her up, we’d both be on the floor.

I eye him over her shoulder, and he slashes his hand across his neck to indicate she is cut off and nods enthusiastically. Ilove to see her free and happy like this, but she is going to regret her decision to drink so much in the morning. Despite being the youngest, she has proven to be the more responsible of the Masters siblings.

“Ridley loooves you too. He . . . he . . . is just broken. He’s here . . . did you see him? Talk to him, Brea,” she slurs, swaying on her feet.

Devan’s eyes widen as he wraps his hands around Lia’s waist and lifts her off her feet. As if that will suddenly stop her from spilling all of his teammate’s secrets. “Okay, trouble, I think it’s time to get you some water,” he says, shooting me an apologetic look that I don’t know what to do with. A part of me wants to know what she’s referring to, but as easily as I think it, I blow it off. He is no longer my concern. Broken? I doubt that very seriously. I don’t see a broken man when I see him plastered all over social media with his new fuckboy persona. If I see another puck bunny attached to his neck like a leech, I’ll scream. Nope. Broken, he is not.

“Yes, definitely water time,” I tease. “I’m going to go.” I throw my thumb back towards the exit, before giving Lia’s hand a squeeze. I turn as she protests, and Devan pulls her away, her words getting lost in the crowd. I’ve overstayed my welcome. My brain is screaming for me to exit and get the hell out of here. I avoid talking to anyone else as I make my way to the front door and step out onto the porch. I let the cold air fill my lungs as I take a deep fortifying breath and lean against one of the brick pillars for support.

“Last time, Brea. You’ve kept your promise. Be done,” I say to myself as I slow my breathing and wait for my heart to stop beating through my ribcage. Yeah, I don’t think I can do this. I can’t keep putting myself in situations where I am reminded of my life with Ridley. Until recently, I managed to give Ridley, his hockey team mates, hell, hockey, a wide berth. Seattle was bigenough for the two of us to exist without crossing paths. A couple of months ago, while performing at a local bar, Ridley lost his shit when he saw me with Dean for the first time, then the phone call, and well, now he’s everywhere. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt to be in his presence. There’s a reason why I left and stayed away. This is not my life anymore. I chose me. I chose my music. I chose my own path.

I straighten my spine, letting my thoughts build up my walls, strengthening me. I walk down the steps, away from Lia’s house, away from Ridley. He is my past, my music is my future. There is no turning back, the only way for me is forward.

RIDLEY

I step out of the shadows at the corner of Lia’s front porch, and I watch the love of my life walk away for the final time. At least that’s what it feels like. Watching her clutch the brick pillar, panic evident in every breath she took. I wanted to reach out and wrap her in my arms and comfort her. She bolted out of the front door as if she couldn’t stand to be in my sister’s home a moment longer. It’s clear she’s still struggling with our breakup, no, our breakdown. I think that is a more fitting description of what happened between us. We broke way before we decided to pull away from one another, and it’s all my fault. I’m to blame for the anguish I see on her face, and I am the reason why she can’t stand to look at me, let alone be in the same room as me. She didn’t let me fix it—us—fuck! Why the hell did I call her begging her to take me back? Hence me nursing the same beer all night—I won’t let it happen again.

I was selfish. I didn’t want to share her, not even with the one thing she loved the most, her music. I made demands, I puther in an impossible situation—life as a hockey girlfriend, well, wife. It isn’t easy, and in the end, she chose music. I’ve spent two years resenting her for it. Two years of believing she threw what we had away. So, what does any man do when he is heartbroken and licking his wounds? Well, he rebels, becomes the complete opposite of the man he once was. I’ve been a fool. A fool to believe that anyone could ever fill the void she left behind. A fool to believe I could fuck the pain away with meaningless one-night stands. I’ve made a mockery of the man I was because I was a stubborn, pigheaded, fucking fool. It’s almost laughable. I want to chase after the taillights of her car, fall to my knees and tell her how sorry I am.

I watch her car turn and disappear around the corner. A minute later, Dean’s truck pulls out and follows her. I clench my fist at the sight. I have no right to be angry. My jealousy claws at my throat, making it hard to swallow. I can’t be upset if she found someone else. I deserve the spikes to my heart with every touch they exchange. Hell, she has had a front seat to my fuckery for months, whether she’s wanted to or not.

“Fuck.” I wipe my hands down my face in frustration. “What the fuck am I going to do?” I ask no one in particular, but the stars will bear witness at least. I love Brea, and I never stopped. I thought I accepted the finality of what happened between us, but helping Tor these past few months has reawakened feelings I thought I’d buried deep inside myself. He finally found someone worthy of his love, and it is so easy to remember what I had, what I gave up. Damn it! I want it back.

So, here I am making another selfish declaration. I say selfish because it is clear she is moving on with her life without me, and I can’t accept it. I won’t. I know I’m being irrational, but I’ve never been rational when it comes to my feelings for Brea Brookes. I want my Luna back, my Angel reigning beside me once more. I don’t deserve her, and I may never actually get asecond chance to fix what’s broken but damn it I am going to try. I don’t know how, or when, but I will make her believe in me, in us again. I can’t make the impossible possible, but damn it, one of us needs to be a willing sacrifice to make things right between us. I’m ready to bleed for my girl. I’m living a half-life without her and if her lyrics are any indication, so is she.

The thumping bass from the party pulls me from my thoughts as I turn to head back inside. Suddenly feeling better than I’ve felt in months, now that my direction is clear, I send up a prayer to whoever is listening.

“Give me a chance, just one chance,” I whisper as I push open the door, rejoin the party and go in search of the birthday girl.

TWO

BREA

PRESENT DAY

Sitting around a conference room table full of music executives who are eagerly debating my life over the next ten months should give me a sense of accomplishment. Instead, after only a few months of being signed with a major record company, I yearn for the good ole guerrilla independent artist days when I made my own decisions; when I booked my own gigs, played where and when I wanted, recorded when I wanted. I enjoy the freedom of creativity. To sit on my balcony on a rainy day with Bessie in my lap, my voice ringing out against the clashes of thunder, writing until I’ve made the magic happen. This is my dream; I’ve fought hard to get where I am. I grew up in a home so structured it was suffocating, yet I walked away and made my own way in this world. I’ve sacrificed so much, lost so much. I walked away from my famous hockey player fiancé in pursuit of my goals and aspirations. I know I am on the road to great things. This is what I wanted. So, why am I ready to walk right out of this room with Bessie strapped to my back and damn the consequences?

“Brea, don’t you agree?” Kara asks, her neon pink box braids swishing from side to side as if they have a mind of their own. I push down my thoughts of rebellion and focus on what she is suggesting, remembering why I am upset in the first place.

Breathe.

“Lark Bay.” I raise my brows in surprise. “May I ask why?” I attempt to keep my voice as calm as I can amongst the men and woman around the table. I give nothing away as they dissect the details of my tour itinerary. I should be beaming from ear to ear with excitement and anticipation for the months to come, but the mention of my hometown has me on the verge of a panic attack. I don’t show it, of course. I smile slightly and nod, looking from person to person, waiting for one of them to answer my question as I tap out the beginnings of a melody on the conference room table.

Kara, the head of A & R at Solstice records, my new record label, claps her hands enthusiastically as she bounces in her chair with excitement. She’s like an energetic puppy, and I’m exhausted just watching her. I want to roll my eyes because I know where she is going with this before she even opens her mouth.

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