Love strung, p.27
Love Strung, page 27
So this was what it felt like to love someone so entirely, so completely, to trust them with everything that you had…only to have that love and trust snatched from you in an instant.
"Kennedy," Griff said softly, his voice working to soothe me. "It's okay. Everything is going to be okay."
If only the words weren't coming from the man who'd betrayed me, kept secrets from me about Felicia, about speaking to my father behind my back. My father I could possibly forgive him for. Bernie was persuasive and conniving. He'd made a living by doing those two things, over and over again, to anyone that had let him.
But meeting Felecia behind my back? Talking to her about me, about us, and assuming that everything was okay when he knew that my career was already hanging on a very thin line at best? I didn't think I'd get past that hurt anytime soon.
"It's not," I mumbled in between sobs. "It's not okay," I repeated, peeling my body up off the floor. "How could you think it's okay? Why did you bring him here?"
"Kennedy, I-"
"You, what Griff?!?" I questioned, demanding an explanation.
"He made it seem like he wanted a relationship with you," he pointed out. "Like he loved you and was sorry for the things he'd done."
"Does that look like a man who is sorry for anything that he does? Does that LOOK like a man I'd want to have a relationship with?!?"
"No, of course not," Griff began, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Look, I just thought that…if I had a chance to have a relationship with one of my parents, I'd want it. I didn't know-"
"Yeah, well you don't, Griff. They're gone," I yelled, emotionally frayed to the point of no return. "My life isn't yours!"
"Wait, what are you saying?" he questioned, his back going ramrod straight.
I swallowed hard. What was I saying? "I'm saying that…maybe this…you and I…isn't going to work. I can't love someone who isn't honest, who I can't trust."
"Kennedy, I didn't lie to you. You're making a mistake," he said, his voice conveying his exasperation. "Could you just listen to me?"
"No, Griff. Not right now," I said, trying to pull myself together. "Between the press conference and Bernie and Felicia…I think I've heard enough for one day. For a while," I corrected. "Don't you?"
"No, I don't. Not when I still have something else to say," he said heatedly, his blue eyes turning icy. "You're being irrational," he pointed out, his frustrations getting the best of him. He stopped short, rethinking his angle. "I love you. I wouldn't hurt you. You've got to believe me."
"Griff, the only thing that I believe - right here, right now - is that I need to figure my life out, figure out my next move," I said, fidgeting with the fabric of my dress before looking him in the eyes. "And I can't do that here…with you."
"What do you want?" he questioned, hurt filling his eyes. "Is it time? I'll give you all the damned time in the world? Just tell me? What…do you want?"
"I want to walk through that door, collect my sister and what's left of both my dignity and heart and I want to leave Nashville."
The silence clung to the air and my heart fiercely as I stared him down, my tears still slowly falling, my breathing labored. How could love feel so beautiful, but end up hurting so bad? God, I'd been a fool to allow myself to fall so deeply, so openly.
"You're making a mistake," Griff said, a look washing over his face that I'd never seen from him.
"You already said that," I pointed out softly, numbly, wanting desperately to be anywhere but here. I couldn't take the look in his eyes, couldn't process my desire to hate him.
And yet, even with all of the betrayal that I felt, I wanted to forgive him. Love was too hard. Too messy. If I wanted to figure out my life, I couldn't do it amongst this kind of chaos. Leaving was the right thing, the best decision for me, for my future.
To get to where I needed to be, I had to shed another negative layer it seemed. Only, I never would've imagined that layer including Griff.
"I guess this is goodbye, Kennedy."
"Goodbye, Griff," I whispered, turning and heading in the direction of the door.
When the door clicked closed behind me, my heart fell to the floor, smashing into a million tiny pieces.
Chapter Twenty
Sulking didn't suit me very well. I knew because I'd been told by Kole more times than I could count over the past three months. I'd also seen my ugly sulk face in the mirror. It wasn't pretty.
But I sat sulking anyhow, eyeballing the wedding party's guests as they trickled out onto my newly minted brother-in-law's backyard. A yard, I might add, that butted right up to the beautiful sandy shores of an exclusive Spanish beach. Not a bad place to have your wedding. An even better place to get to call home. My sister had the life, and since I'd taken up residence with the both of them after leaving Nashville, I'd pretty much decided that I regretted ever using the term temporary with regards to my stay in Spain.
I'd need to make some decisions soon. I knew that. But not today. Today had been set aside for other people's happiness and my self-created sad, lonely, broken heart. I'd decided during Kole and Santiago's ceremony that there was only one thing worse than having a broken heart and that was watching other people be in love.
It sucked, actually.
And the nuptials had sucked the life right out of me. At least I didn't find myself turning to the bottle at the moment. That was a plus. A plus that I'd been working on since crossing the Atlantic. Of course, having a fully stocked bar with every wine, beer and liquor imaginable situated less than fifteen feet away from me wasn't helping.
Maybe I'd have a drink. Just one.
I went to stand, hesitated, then decided against the idea…because it never seemed to stop at one.
I leaned back into the uncomfortable chair, kicking my feet up casually onto the formal linen covering the table. I'd try and remember my manners when everyone arrived, but in the moment, I just wanted to admire my brand new pair of Lucchese's - the ones that stuck out from underneath the lavender colored bridesmaid dress that I wore and detested. There was only one thing that could make a dress this shade of pastel tolerable and I was staring at the pair of them.
Even through sulking eyes, the shiny brown leather winked back up at me, comforting me, softening the hard edges around the pieces that were left of my pitiful heart. I could smell the luxury from where I sat. It was about the only thing that my whiny, achy heart would allow itself to appreciate. The shoes were courtesy of Kole, bless her sweet, mothering heart. She'd seen enough tears since my arrival in Spain that I should've been buying her gifts, seeking her forgiveness. But considering the consistent state of my banking account - written in red with a negative sign out front - I was fresh out of the funds needed to shower her with the things she deserved. I had, however, generously provided her with the 'something blue' from the old saying…and that was my mood.
You. Are. Welcome.
Two days ago, she'd gone and made my heart smile the only way she knew how. I clicked my heels together, sad afterwards when I didn't transport anywhere. I assume it was kind of hard to send me home when, technically, I didn't have one. I rolled my eyes, focusing instead on the perk of being my sister's maid of honor.
They were the best damn thing about this day so far.
I was happy for my sister, glad that she'd found love and comfort with someone who reciprocated her feelings, someone who'd be a father to my nephew. Someone she could trust…who wouldn't lie to her.
I snapped my eyes shut over the last thought, reminding myself of the solemn vow I'd had for the day: absolutely, under no circumstance or situation was I to have thoughts about Griff or the events that took place in Nashville.
Too late.
I couldn't altogether understand why I was dwelling on love. Sex I missed, yes, but love…not so much. Who seriously enjoyed putting themselves through every heart-pounding, gut wrenching, oh-my-God-did-I-say-or-do-the-right-thing moment? Not I, said the miserable redhead who couldn't string more than two hours of sleep together. I had polished up on my counting skills though, moving very quickly from sheep to penises in the wee hours of the night around week two.
I'd pretty much reverted back to the stance I'd had on love prior to Griff: It was a complete lie…Most definitely for the birds. Hell, it was worse than that. It was for idiots who bought country music with songs chalked full of lyrics about lying, cheating, lonely...sulking hearts. And the eggheads that wrote those awful lyrics needed to be shot in the face with rubber pellets.
When I thought about the notebook full of those exact aforementioned lyrics, I cringed.
"I didn't take you for a Lucchese girl."
My body stiffened, the hair on the back of my neck standing to attention. It wasn't him, but it was a close second. Too damned close. So much for the vow I'd made. Mick Callahan had just blown that bad boy to shreds in a matter of two beats of my stupid, bleeding heart.
I twisted around in my chair, draping a casual arm across the back of it as I shot Mick my best noncommittal stare. "Guess you don't know me very well. I've always been a Lucchese girl. In fact, me and Lucy go way back," I said, forcing a grin. I was still trying to decide if the passing of three months had been long enough for me to forgive him or not.
He looped relaxed thumbs into the waist of his dress pants, the light blue linen of his shirt tucked neatly into the expensive fabric. He'd certainly dressed for the occasion, which meant his presence wasn't merely by chance. He shot me a grin, his lips curving upwards towards his eyes.
Crispy burnt toast! Those damned eyes did nothing more than steer my thoughts straight back down Griff Callahan Lane. I did not want to think about Griff. Not now. Not today. Not when I was busy sulking and swearing off love.
"Guess not," he admitted, taking a seat next to me. "Course, I've been told more than once that I needed to be a little more observant…" he jested, clearly at ease with both the moment and the situation.
"You don't say," I said mildly, doing very little to hide my disdain. My eyes raked over the chair making sure to convey my distaste for his unauthorized action.
He made a show of scanning the area around us before leaning towards me. "This seat isn't taken, is it?" he questioned, allowing his lips to slide into one of his award-winning smiles.
He really knew how to lay on the charm when he wanted...And it was really starting to piss me off. That, and the fact that his presence was making me sweat in my boots. My brand new, fudging, Lucchese's!!! I'd left Nashville with the intentions of putting all things Callahan related in my rearview and he'd just screwed that up for me royally.
"Just a few of my demons scattered about. Don't worry, I don't mind if you sit on that one. It's been lingering for long enough," I quipped halfheartedly, wishing like hell I could take the words back as soon as I'd said them. "What I mean is-"
"I know what you mean," he cut in, leaning back into his chair. He shot me a sympathetic look and a pretty darn sincere one.
I cringed. Fuckity-jello-shooters-fuck! I didn't want sympathy either. I'd gotten multiple helpings of that from Kole...and Santiago…and the house staff. My nephew had even been treading lightly around me as of late. Clearly he'd been clued in to my 'condition' also. "Urrggg," I groaned, unable to hold the outburst in. I clenched my fists, one bad situation away from breaking something.
"You okay?"
"What're you doing here, Mick?" I questioned, laying on the irritation pretty thick.
He kicked his feet up on the table, flashing a pair of his own Lucchese's. Tapping the side of my boot with his to regain my attention - the one that had found interest in anything but his because of the minor issue I was having with not looking at his eyes and not thinking about his brother - he released a soft chuckle.
There wasn't anything about this situation that was even mildly amusing and I had to practically bite the end of my tongue off to keep myself from telling him so. Plus, I didn't appreciate the possibility of the scuff he'd made and I made damn sure that my narrowed eyes told him so. "Go ahead, make yourself comfortable," I grumbled sarcastically.
He stretched, lacing his fingers comfortably behind his head for added showmanship. "I think I might."
"Drop the act, Mick. What are you doing here?"
He leaned forward, speaking his words from behind his hand. The action was completely ridiculous considering there wasn't anyone within a ten foot radius. "Don't tell anybody, but I think your brother-in-law has a thing for country music."
The bastard was actually enjoying this. No way he didn't know how uncomfortable he was making me. I considered myself a very skilled individual in the ways of hiding my emotions but even I couldn't mask pissed off and heartbroken. I'd proven that three months ago, back in Nashville. "He's never even heard of the genre," I responded heatedly, his nonchalance pushing me closer to the brink.
"He's paying me a hell of a lot of money to perform at his wedding reception for someone who's never heard of country music."
I eyed him skeptically. It wasn't beyond Mick to lie. I'd learned that the hard way. "You pulling my leg, Callahan? 'Cause I've got to tell you, I'm not in the fucking mood."
"I see your mouth has gone back to its old ways," he pointed out, before shrugging. "Of course, I guess Griff isn't around with that gigantic stick up his ass to make you feel bad about your four-letter-word usage."
Griff. His name bouncing around in my head constantly over the last few months sucked. His name coming from his brother's lips sucked harder. Mick hadn't been here over the last few months to know that I'd threatened everyone within a ten mile radius with death if they so much as uttered his name. If he didn't clear his reasons for this little rendezvous up shortly, he would find out.
"Sore subject? Sorry," he said quickly. His tone told me he wasn't near as sorry as he should be.
"To be honest, I haven't given much thought to your brother," I mumbled, crossing defensive arms over my chest to shield me from the disbelieving look he shot me in response.
"That why you're sitting out here all alone sulking?"
"I'm not sulking," I defended.
He narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips together, pretending to actually give thought to my comeback. "What do you call it then?"
"I call it distancing myself from annoying situations…and people," I said, hoping he'd catch the hint.
"Well, that's the biggest load of horseshit I've ever heard. What kind of woman doesn't love weddings?"
"This one," I managed through gritted teeth. "That's why I don't write love songs."
"That's not at all what your sister says-"
"My sister doesn't know a thing about what I write. Right now, the only thing she's good for is projecting her wedding bliss vomit onto anyone who's near. She's practically got tulle and lace falling from her asshole."
He laughed out loud. Seriously threw his head back and belched out belly deep chuckles. "Man, my brother really did a number on you."
"You're really about to piss me off, Mick," I spat, pulling my feet from the table.
"Well good. Then you and I'd be in the same boat," he said, his tone losing its cockiness and growing serious. "I'm sick to death of his whining and bellyaching. I mean, how in the hell am I supposed to try and be a better brother when he's pissed off at the world? And by the looks of things," he said, his eyes assessing our surroundings, clearly taking in the amount of people avoiding me, "I'd say you've been 'projecting' about as much bad juju as your sister has good," he said, adding air quotes around the term I'd used earlier.
"You have no clue what you're talking about. My sister loves the fact that I'm here-"
"I don't?" he challenged, cutting me off. "So the exasperated hug that the bride gave me when I walked through the door, the one that practically screamed 9-1-1, please help me, my sister's being an angel of death, wasn't code for, 'Get her the hell outta here!'?"
"You're a presumptuous asshole. You know it?" I spat.
People might've been trying to avoid me, but it didn't stop them from watching from afar. Judging by the number of eyes that were now attempting to watch us covertly, I'd either need to reel my anger in, tone it down or take the conversation somewhere else entirely.
"If Griff writes one more sloppy, stinking love song, I'm going to puke," Mick said, tapping his fingers across the table while intentionally ignoring my insult. "I mean, the first few were great…Maybe even single material. But my new album needs a hit."
"Is anything ever about anyone but you?" I questioned, scowling over at him.
"Of course it is."
"Yeah, right. I'll believe that when pigs fly."
He leaned forward to touch my arm. "Well honey, you better get out your umbrella because pig shit is about to fall from the sky." He pointed to the headspace above us. Stupidly, I looked up, hating myself for the involuntary reaction.
"So, Griff's writing with you?" I questioned, switching lanes and changing topics entirely.
"Not with me, for me. And yes. I never was very creative with the publishing side. That was always Griff's forte."
My eyes narrowed. Despite the things that had transpired between Griff and me, I couldn't help but become protective. "You going to give him credit for his songs this time? Or just steal them again?"
"Easy, Tiger," Mick said, lifting his arms in front of him in mock surrender. "I guess I deserved that," he mumbled as an afterthought, looking down at his fingers. "Sure is funny though that after our parents died…nothing. And then one day, you show up and suddenly…the floodgates have opened," he said, snapping his fingers. "He's hiding himself away in the studio that he'd intentionally shut off from anyone that wanted to get in, himself included."
"And…your point?"
"My point being that, clearly, you sparked something inside of him that no one else could," he pointed out, his bravado suddenly gone and in its place, sincerity. "You resuscitated him. Brought him back to life," he explained. "I don't know. Worked some crazy woman, vagina magic on him and suddenly he'd found his musical voice again."
