Pieces of You (Shattered Hearts) (3 page)

“Hello, Claire,” Tristan says in a smooth voice that’s just barely tinged with a New England accent from the first twelve years of his life spent in Maine. He removes his arm from around the blonde’s shoulders and runs his hand through his light-brown shoulder-length hair before he turns to Senia. “I remember you. How many of those have you had tonight?” he asks, glancing at the drink in Senia’s hand.

“First one, but I’m willing to let you buy me another,” Senia responds.

The blonde glares at Senia and the bad feeling I had about this bar just keeps growing.

“Hey, Tristan, why don’t you introduce us to your friends,” I say.

Tristan cocks an eyebrow as he stares at me and I try not to make a rude comment. As hot as Tristan is, I’ve never seen him as anything more than Chris’s friend, someone that I have to put up with.

“Claire, this is Julie,” he says, nodding at the blonde on his left. “And these two sexy beasts are Ben and Abby.”

My eyes widen at the mention of the name Abby. It’s a common name, but just hearing it makes me long for Abigail even more.

Ben is sweet looking but sort of scrawny with messy brown bedhead hair and Abby is beautiful with her understated makeup and glossy brown curls pulled up into a perfectly tousled ponytail. They both smile and nod their heads.

Tristan asks Julie to scoot over so I can sit next to him, but I quickly take the seat next to Ben and Abby so Senia can sit next to Tristan. Tristan casts a knowing glare in my direction and I roll my eyes so he knows I’m not impressed. Chris and I may not be together, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to jump on Tristan’s bandwagon.

“Chris didn’t want to come out with us tonight,” Tristan says, a slightly bitter tone in his voice as if I’m responsible. “He had other
plans
.”

I know Chris is in London, but I’ll play along. He’s trying to make me jealous, like I care if Chris is out with another girl. 

“That’s too bad. Sounds as if he went
solo
tonight,” I reply. I’m not sure if Tristan has gotten over Chris going solo last year, but judging by the unimpressed look on his face, I hit a nerve.

He quickly recovers and smiles at me, the same smile he uses on stage to make the girls swoon. Chris has his own smile he uses on stage. He calls it his “crowd smile.” Chris’s crowd smile is a warm grin that tugs the left side of his mouth up just a bit further than the right. Tristan’s version is a bit more subtle, but just as sexy.

I manage to ignore his stares and taunts for the next hour as everyone on his side of the booth gets shitfaced drunk. Ben, Abby, and I watch in a combination of amusement and horror as Tristan alternates between sloppily making out with Julie and whispering in Senia’s ear. Senia smiles in response and slides out of the booth.

It’s time for me to intervene.

I grab her wrist as Tristan slides out of the booth after her. “You cannot go anywhere with him.”

“Chill out. He’s just escorting me to the restroom.”

“I can do that,” I say as I slide out of the booth.

Senia throws me a look like I’m being a total buzzkill. I don’t want to let her go anywhere with him. The last thing she needs right now is another heartbreak. But maybe she just needs to get this out of her system. Having meaningless sex after a breakup seems to be a ritual we’ve all come to accept as normal.

I sit back down and Julie’s head is resting on top of the table. She’s passed out. I would sit next to her so that Abby and Ben aren’t squished together, but I’m afraid of what will happen if she wakes up and finds Tristan gone.

About fifteen minutes later, Tristan returns without Senia. He slides into the booth as if nothing happened.

“Where’s Senia?”

“Is that her name?” Tristan replies, looking completely bored. “She’s still in the restroom.”

“You’re such an asshole,” I mutter as I leave and barrel through the crowd toward the restroom sign in the corner.

I make it to the door with the gold handle and shove it open. Four girls are standing in front of the mirror washing their hands and fixing their makeup and all the stalls are occupied.

“Senia?”

“What?” she calls back, and I can tell she’s crying.

I knock on the door of the stall and she fumbles with the latch before it opens. She’s sitting on the toilet, fully-clothed, with a giant wad of toilet paper in her hands. Almost all her makeup is gone and caked on the toilet paper as tears stream continuously down her face.

I lock the door behind me and kneel down in front of her. “What happened? Did Tristan do something to you?”

She laughs then blows her nose. “I was so ready to do it,” she slurs, “but I just kept thinking, ‘That’s not how Eddie would kiss me. That’s not how Eddie would touch me.’ Then I started crying and he left. Totally pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic,” I say as I grab a clean bunch of toilet paper off the roll and exchange it for the filthy wad in her hands. “You and Eddie loved each other. Even if he did turn out to be a royal asshole, I know he loved you in his own way. It’s okay to feel lost right now, but you’re beautiful and smart and you
will
find someone else. And not Tristan, who’s an even bigger asshole than Eddie.”

“Ugh. He is. But I must admit that he has a bigger…
bass
than Eddie.”

“See? You’re still cracking jokes. You’re gonna be
just
fine.”

She chuckles as she wipes off the rest of her eye makeup then looks up at me. “He said something horrible to me.”

“Who said something horrible?”

“Tristan. He said, ‘I guess you’ll do.’”

“He said that to you?!” I stand up, ready to storm out of the stall and give that douche a piece of my mind, but Senia grabs my arm.

“No, you can’t say anything.”

“Why?”

She grimaces as she replies, “I think he was talking about you.”

“I don’t get it.”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get out of here before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”

Chapter Three

Chris

T
HIS IS MY SECOND TIME
in London, and I never travel with a bodyguard overseas, but I think that policy has officially changed.

As soon as I step out of the cab in front of the hotel on Warwick, I’m swarmed by five girls who are waiting for me at 7:30 a.m. Tristan and Jake didn’t come with me to play this gig in London. I booked this show for one reason and it has nothing to do with the current tour or my UK fans.

I sign autographs for them while a girl with teased hair and too much eye shadow gently squeezes my bicep. Why do girls wear so much fucking makeup? I wonder if she put all that shit on her face before she came here thinking it would impress me. Another girl with auburn hair gazes at me with a dazed expression as I sign a picture of me she obviously ripped out of a magazine. I hand the picture back to her and she smiles.

“I love you so much,” she says in a breathy English accent. “Relentless is my favorite song of all time.”

This shit gets old. How do you pretend to be excited to hear the same phrase you’ve heard a million times before? I’m a musician, not a fucking actor.

“Thanks. It’s really close to my heart, too. Have a great day, ladies.”

I take off quickly before they can start jabbering. I make it to the room and pull my phone out of my pocket before I collapse onto the bed. The curtains are pulled tight so the room is nice and dark even though the morning sun is shining bright outside. I glance at my screen and scroll through the six new texts I’ve received since I left the airport. Nothing from Claire.

If she wants me to stop texting her that’s exactly what I’ll do. And not because I know it will drive her nuts. I’ll do it because I’m willing to do pretty much anything to get her back.

But also because it’ll drive her nuts.

I text Tasha to let her know that Claire is okay with Tuesday for the meeting then ignore Tasha’s smiley response as I dial the number of a local tattoo artist I met during my last visit to London. Arthur is the only reason I’m here, so I’m super stoked when he picks up on the third ring.

“Chris ‘Fucking’ Knight. Why the fuck are you calling me at this bloody hour?”

“Hey, Art. You think you can squeeze me in today? Just a quickie. A name.”

Claire doesn’t know I covered up the tattoo of her name I got on my shoulder blade three years ago. I can’t do much about that, but I can do something else even better. Not sure how or when I’ll get to show her this new one, but I’ll find a way.

“It’s Sunday, mate. The shop’s closed. Stop by at eleven.”

I should take a quick nap, but I’m too wired from the flight and the excitement of some new ink. I open the photo app on my phone and scroll to the bottom of the list of folders. I touch the folder labeled ‘CB.’

The first photo is of Claire and me sitting on a piano bench. She’s smiling as I kiss her forehead. This was taken at a show in Toronto; one of the last shows she attended with me before we broke up. The next picture is of her sleeping on the sofa at our house. Her mouth is hanging open and she’s clutching the throw pillow in her fist. I close my eyes and lay the phone next to me on the bed because I’m finally starting to feel tired.

Maybe I’m just exhausted from everything that’s happened the past three weeks. I had resigned myself to a life without Claire. I was certain she wanted nothing more to do with me. But nothing she says to me now can erase that kiss.

I felt it in the curve of her mouth, the way we fit together, the way she leaned into me, seeking me. She still loves me and, despite the fact that she majorly fucked me over, she’s still the one and only future I’m certain of. Claire and I were made for each other. I’m determined to make her remember that.

Chapter Four

Adam

T
HE FLIGHT IS UNCOMFORTABLE, BUT
I’m sober by the time the plane hits cruising altitude. Just knowing that I’m going to be home soon, and that I had enough sense in me not to book that flight to Raleigh, fills me with relief. By the time I pull my truck out of the lot at Wilmington International, I’m feeling 100% back to normal.

I always knew Claire would be my downfall.

The twenty-minute drive home is spent in silence. I realize now why Claire always hated listening to the radio whenever we were together. Now I’m the one avoiding the radio, but I left my iPod in my backpack in the hotel room so I have to suffer in silence.

It’s ridiculous how much I hate Chris’s music now. Just remembering how I bought his album and watched his videos fills me with shame. It’s alternative with a rock-blues edge, but it’s all washed out by pop vocals. At least, that’s what the article I read about him in
Entertainment Weekly
said.

I smile a little as I remember that review in
Entertainment Weekly
.

When I enter my apartment I’m hit with the scent of that fucking coconut-scented oil Claire put in a dish on my coffee table. It’s six in the morning. I have just enough time to take an hour-long nap before I check on Cora and head to Shell Island to teach the Sunday session. I take a five-minute shower then lie down in bed with my phone to shoot Claire a text.

Me:
Knock, knock.

Claire:
Who’s there?

Me:
Me… in five days unless I can get this fucking time machine to work.

Claire:
Guess what I’m doing?

Me:
Lying naked in bed?

Claire:
Close. I’m changing into my pajamas. I just got home. Senia broke up with Eddie and made me go out with her. It did not go well.

I trust Claire, but it seems like the universe is pounding the hundred-mile wedge between us deeper into the earth every day.

Me:
Is she ok? Are you ok?

Claire:
She’s passed out. I didn’t drink, but I’m about to pass out too.

Me:
Sleep tight, babydoll.

Claire:
I’ll call you when I wake up.