Page 37 of You Rock My World
Instead, I discreetly pull out my phone and text her manager, praying he’s nearby.
Dorian
She’s at my house—drove here wasted. Can you come get her? I’m worried she’ll hurt herself
As I send the text, Billie is still ranting, her words blurring together in a drunken haze. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? The great Rian Phoenix, always the fucking saint. Well, guess what? You’re as messed up as I am. You’re just better at hiding it.”
More bushes get destroyed until her manager’s car finally pulls up behind hers. As John approaches, Billie whirls around, her eyes wild.
“You called my manager on me? How dare you?”
“You need someone to take you home.”
“I don’t need your pity,” she screams. “I don’t need any of you.”
She shoves John away, but he takes her arm, guiding her toward his car. She fights him, her protests growing more incoherent by the second. Finally, he manages to wrestle her into the passenger seat, restrain her with the seat belt, and close the door. He looks up at me.
“She needs help,” I say. “It’s getting worse.”
“I’m trying, man. But until she decides to help herself, there’s not much I can do. If you couldn’t convince her, how can I?”
John doesn’t mean to be accusing or confrontational, but hearing that I wasn’t able to help my wife slashes an old wound open in my chest. I’m about to retort that sometimes the people closest to us are those we’re least willing to listen to when Billie cranks the car radio of his car to an earsplitting volume.
Her manager sighs. “I’d better take her home before she wakes up the entire neighborhood and we face charges.”
I nod, rubbing my temples. “I’ll have my driver bring her car back tomorrow.”
As John slides into the car beside Billie, I remain rooted on the spot, torn between guilt and a strong sense of relief. But it’s a Catch 22. The more relieved I am Billie is no longer my responsibility, the guiltier I feel. I watch until their taillights disappear down the dark road. She’s in good hands with her manager, but the sight of her so broken tugs at memories I’d rather forget.
I go to her car and turn it off. My gaze catches on the beads she has wrapped over the rearview mirror. My heart squeezes with the flashback of our first concert in New Orleans when we were still happy. A fan had given the beads to me, I had them over my neck, and she wanted them. I remember her teasingly lifting her top to get them once we were alone in our hotel room. Us making love all night. I shut my eyes against the memory. That person is gone. Doesn’t exist anymore.
I seal off my brain before it can go back to the other time we stayed in a hotel in New Orleans. No point in torturing myself.
I slam the door of the car shut and text my driver to take it away tomorrow, then head toward the house, each step heavier and lighter simultaneously. At the front door, I pause and glance down the driveway, half-expecting Billie to reappear—maybe with another desperate plea, an apology, or fresh accusations. But the night is silent, and the only movement is the rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze.
Back out on the patio, I pour myself a bourbon. The amber liquid catches the faint glow of the garden lights as I swirl it in the glass. The color reminds me of Josie’s eyes.
Sinking into a chair, I stare out at the glittering cityscape below, willing the alcohol to dull the sharp edges of my emotions. As the tension ebbs away, my thoughts drift more insistently to Josie.
Is she right? Am I on the rebound from Billie? Am I looking for someone who’s the exact opposite of my ex-wife as a reaction?
Billie would say I’m after someone plain, someone simple that I can handle while I could never handle her. But there’s nothing simple in the way I feel about Josie. It’s equally thunderous, only in a positive way. One that makes me happy instead of miserable. That has my heart palpitating with joy instead of despair.
I shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting happiness. But I wonder if Billie will ever let me go. If she’ll seek to destroy whatever I rebuild.
I take a long sip from my drink, savoring the smooth burn as it slides down my throat. I’ll have to protect Josie, whatever it takes. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess of my past. When our relationship finally goes public—and I pray it will—Billie Rae is bound to lash out. Her anger and accusations will be fierce, and the tabloids will eat it up, turning it into front-page news.
I swirl the remaining bourbon in my glass, watching the liquid create a tiny vortex. The thought of Josie being thrust into the spotlight makes my stomach churn. She’s a private person, unaccustomed to the relentless scrutiny that comes with being involved with someone like me. Can she handle it? More importantly, can we handle it together?
As I take a last sip and set the empty glass aside, I vow to myself that no matter what Billie Rae does, I won’t let her drive away the woman who’s brought joy and hope back into my life.
I crave to hear Josie’s voice, but I don’t want to wake her if she’s sleeping. What time does she go to bed? I’ve no idea whether she’s a night owl or an early bird.
I grab my phone and type out a message.
Dorian
Hey, you awake?
