Page 28 of Verses Of Us

Though he wanted to run after her and convince her to come back, he knew it would open a door he didn’t dare go near. It would be foolish and dangerous to bring her back and could only lead to disaster for them both.

He ran a towel down his face and stepped into the living room, heading straight for the mini-fridge, pulling out two hotel-sized bottles of scotch.

The crack of the first bottle’s seal soothed part of his panic, the subsequent sips steadied his nerves. But even after draining the second bottle, the edge of his temper was still too sharp and nowhere near as dormant as it had been when he’d held her in his arms.

He threw the bottles across the room, their plastic thuds unsatisfactory, then he sank to the floor, hanging his head in shame.

NOT ALL LOST

Alexis

Thenauseakickedinwhen the elevator dinged. The pain soon morphed to anger and boiled inside, threatening to burst out in a rage of expletives. Alexis reminded herself that she would be outside shortly, alone, and then she could pour out her broken heart’s contents with no one around to see.

She now regretted being polite. She wished she’d yelled at Ciarán, and told him how wrong it was to use people this way. To lure them into hotel rooms with kind words, falsely making them believe they were special when, in fact, they were only a toy he played with.

A groupie. He’d said she wasn’t one, but now that’s exactly how she felt.

She took a breath.

The thing was, he had been honest and let her go when he could have just as easily persuaded her to stay.

She stormed through the lobby, shoving through the revolving doors into the evening and a small cluster of persistent fans. They glared at her through slitted eyes. She wanted to laugh. They had nothing to worry about. Did they really believe Ciarán Jones would think of her any differently than them? After all, she was nobody. She wasn’t one of those models. She was young, hardly a B-cup, and a boring nerd who loved sappy love songs and Thursday nightMust See TV. That he’d invited her to his room, hell, that he’d pulled her up on stage, was a miracle. An opportunity millions of others would have given anything for. She decided she should be happy with the chance life had given her, even if it ended on such a sour note.

Not ready to go back to her house yet, Alexis had wandered to the one place she could hide.

“Hey, Micky,” she said when Julie’s younger brother opened the door.

“Julie!” the short, twelve-year-old yelled over his shoulder, before throwing the door open and running off to continue playing on his Nintendo.

Julie rushed down the stairs. Her face dropped the moment she saw her friend standing in her doorway. “Oh, no.”

She didn’t need to say more and the tears fell from Alexis’ eyes.

“Come,” she said, wrapping at arm around Alexis and guiding her up to her bedroom. “What happened?” They sat in a stuffy pink beanbag chair and Julie handed her a box of Kleenex. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Alexis shrugged, unsure if she did. She wanted to form words, to tell her best friend everything—the shopping, the fans, the hotel room—but all that came out was a tiny sob and a rattled breath.

Julie moved to her side and hugged her. “Shh, don’t worry about it. Another time.”

Alexis collapsed into her friend’s embrace, reassured that no matter what, Julie would always be there and would always understand. But deep down, she hated disappointing Julie’s endless optimism. After all, it had been her idea to go backstage and to the hotel. All of this had happened because Alexis had followed Julie’s advice instead of her own gut instinct. A small part of her grew angry with Julie, but she stuffed it down, knowing aiming her frustration at her friend wasn’t right.

Instead, she cried until her chest was sore. Until she thought she couldn’t find any more tears to shed.

The lie ended up becoming truth, and Alexis slept at Julie’s that night. But the following morning, she dragged herself back home, no less angry, no less hurt. The cracks on the sidewalk had become so interesting, she’d begun counting them as she walked, using them to distract herself from the thoughts still filling her eyes with tears.

When she turned the corner onto her street and spotted the black SUV parked outside her home, she stumbled, but caught herself. Stopping in her steps, she stared, wondering if her sleepless night was making her imagine things. Wouldn’t it be the most romantic thing if Ciarán was waiting outside her house, she wondered? She laughed and squeezed her eyes together. When they reopened, the car was still there.

She got closer and the back passenger door opened.

“Lex?”

“What are you doing here?”

Ciarán shut the door and took a step closer, but Alexis could see the caution in his movements. She crossed her arms, embarrassed that she was now wearing her baggy jeans and a plain white tee.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?” she snapped, not in the least bit concerned with how rude she sounded.

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