Still Into You (27 page)

Marc’s death grip on her leg was the only thing keeping her there.

Part of her had wondered if Tom would even show up. A small part. But Tom was a loyal friend. A good man. He would give Marc a chance to explain even if he had been beyond angry with him.

Mia watched Tom’s gaze momentarily flick to Marc before locking on her. There was shock in his blue eyes. He had not expected Mia to be there. She couldn’t make out if he was happy or mad that she was.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He looked . . . like Tom. His light blond hair still the same, yet not covered by his permanent Cubs hat. He wore well-worn jeans and a baby blue polo shirt. So simple yet so sexy.

Sexy.

Mia couldn’t believe she was thinking in those terms after all that had happened. Tom was no longer hers. She made a choice and had to live with it.

Yet still, she ached for him, for the friendship she used to have with him, and for all the pain she had caused.

Marc stood up as Tom approached the table. Tom surprised her and Marc by pulling his friend into a fierce embrace. After he pushed aside his shock, Marc hugged him back just as hard.

“I’m glad you’re back, man. You’re okay?” Tom asked.

“Now, I am.”

Mia sat to the side, observing this reunion and also wondering how Tom would greet her. Marc backed away, giving Tom space to go to her if he wanted. Mia stayed put, waiting for his move, her eyes staring straight ahead, trying her best not to sob at him being so close to her again.

“Hope you don’t mind that I brought a buffer. I thought you’d be happy to see her,” Marc rambled on as Tom’s heated stare bore into her.

“Mia,” Tom said quietly and she lifted her eyes from his stomach to his face.

And upon that handsome face lay a ghost of a smile. Tom reached out his hand to her and her gaze followed it and then back up to his face. His nod was barely noticeable, but he made sure she saw it.

Biting the inside of her mouth to stem the flow of tears, Mia placed her hand in his. Tom wrapped his fingers around her hand and helped her to her feet. She looked at him with tears clouding her vision, awaiting his next move, because she was letting him call all the shots.

He pulled her to him, his free arm going around her, their joined hands between them. Mia followed his lead and placed her arm around his lean waist, her face against his chest where she inhaled his woodsy scent, taking comfort in it. He loosened his hand from hers and proceeded to wrap it tightly around her, pulling her even closer against his lean yet strong body. They stayed in that embrace for what felt like forever.

Tom placed his lips against the crown of her head and she inhaled sharply. “Tom,” Mia finally managed to say. He squeezed her with those solid arms, his lips pressing harder against her head before releasing her.

Mia reached out to steady herself and then just sat her ass down, her legs a worthless mass of muscles. He sat across from them, directly in her line of sight. All she could see was Tom.

She hadn’t expected that embrace from him. So intense . . . as always. From lowered lashes, she glanced up to look at him and his focus was no longer on her but Marc. With a shaky hand, she reached out for her wine glass and gulped down a good portion of her drink, hoping to calm her erratic heartbeat.

Mia listened with half an ear while Marc and Tom discussed Marc’s time in rehab. She took in bits and pieces since she already knew this information. Marc apologized to Tom for not telling him about his departure. She could see it in Tom’s eyes. He remembered that night when she told him she knew where Marc was. His eyes narrowed a bit before he trained them on her.

“Why did you tell Mia and no one else?” Tom asked, his laser gaze on her.

Marc turned to her as well when he spoke his truth. “She knew what I was going through. A part of me hoped it would push her to get help.”

Her eyes dropped to the table with Marc’s response, big tears fell slowly onto her lap. Her leg bounced to the turbulent beat of her heart. She was so ashamed of what she had done after Marc went to rehab, of the words she’d said in the hospital after her overdose, how she wasn’t like Marc.

She wasn’t, really. She was worse.

Marc reached out for help; Mia ran from it, was still running from it.

Before she spoke, Mia sniffed at her tears. “Well, that plan totally backfired.”

“Mia,” both men spoke. She shook her head not wanting to discuss her bottoming out.

“What? I’m just being truthful. Being honest.”

“Talk to us,” Marc pleaded.

“Tonight isn’t about me,” Mia deflected. She looked up and was so thankful their waitress was coming over. “And here’s our waitress.”

“Baby girl, we are not done,” Marc said to her in a hushed tone.

“We
are
done,” Mia said just as quietly. “This is something I do
not
want to discuss in public.”

They both nodded and turned their smiles to the waitress. Mia wasn’t very hungry and only ordered a salad and another glass of wine—a white this time.

After the waitress left, Mia excused herself to the restroom, needing a break from the intensity at the table, but also to give Marc and Tom a chance to talk without her there. Maybe they would forget about what they wanted to discuss with her.

As Mia stood in the restroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror, she knew she had to go back to therapy, had to try anyway. Because being here tonight with Marc and Tom, she felt like a failure—a fraud. Not a pleasant feeling at all.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Mia took one last glance at herself before heading back to their table. As she walked through the door, an arm snaked around her shoulder. Her head whipped around and she saw Marc beside her.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

“Of course I am. I just don’t want to talk about my overdose. Old news, okay?”

“It helps to talk about it.”

“It has been talked about enough. The entire world has had a field day with this, dissecting it a million different ways. I am done,” Mia said, slipping out of his arm and returning to her seat, unable to look at Tom. She couldn’t pretend with him. Things were not okay between them. Things never would be.

Luckily, their meals came and the awkwardness was kept to a minimum. Tom and Marc talked about what they’d been up to. Mia listened as Marc told them about the book that he was writing and life in Seattle. She sensed hesitancy from Tom. His stories did not go into much detail. Was that because of her or was there more?

While they were talking, Tom received a phone call. He hesitated answering it but after a few rings he finally did.

“Hi. What’s up?” he asked the unknown caller, his voice distant.

Mia secretly regarded him while he concentrated on his phone call. The longer he spoke, the more certain Mia was that he was talking to a woman.

“We’ll talk when you get back . . .” Tom spoke to the caller. “Everything’s okay. I promise,” he added, a smile coming to his face.

Mia told herself she was happy that he had a girlfriend. Yeah, she was lying to herself, but eventually it would be the truth.

“Sorry about that,” Tom said as he slipped the phone in his back pocket. Mia had a fleeting thought about whether he still had any of the photos he took of them on his phone. She did.

“Are you guys going to be in town this weekend?” Tom asked them. “If so, you should come to my house on Friday. Party. It’s been awhile since we’ve all been together. We can get Marty and Clark to come . . .”

“I’ll be there! I was just talking about that with Clark a few days ago.”

As Marc talked, Mia knew she couldn’t go. She could not see Tom with another girl. Not now.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be heading back to California in a couple days,” she said to Tom. Marc spun around to look at her.

“So soon?” Marc asked, not even trying to hide his disappointment.

Mia cocked her head to regard her friend and put a frown on her face. “Unfortunately,” she answered, her eyes flicking to Tom who saw through her lie but didn’t call her out, for which she was thankful. He had his own reasons for not talking about their relationship in front of Marc. She may be curious about those reasons but wanted to
not
talk about it more.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. Definitely New Year’s Eve for a show.”

“Oh, yes! Big party with the band and all our friends. I can’t wait!”

“It’s been awhile since we’ve had an intimate show like that in Chicago. It will be a blast.”

They reminisced about some of the epic parties, especially the one where they all met Mia.

“One of the best nights of my life,” she said, her gaze not leaving Tom, hoping the veiled message was heard.

“I’d have to say the same,” he answered and the tears immediately rushed to her eyes. Mia breathed deeply, trying to stop them from falling. She wanted to close her eyes, but Tom’s leveled gaze wouldn’t let her. She focused on those blue eyes that used to look upon her with desire, with humor, with love. At that moment, she couldn’t tell what was there . . . all she could hope for was at least a little love there.

“I should get going,” Tom said, placing his napkin on the table. “I have an early client meeting.”

Tom and Marc stood up and shook hands which led to a typical bro-hug. Mia awkwardly hung back, not wanting to get in the way. She felt Tom’s eyes on her before he spoke her name. Looking up, she found him just a few feet away.

“Tom.”

“It was, uh, good to see you again.”

This time she closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. The tears choked her so she nodded at him. Then his arms were around her and the tears rushed from her eyes like a broken dam.

Mia still loved him and hated how she hurt him, pushing Tom aside because she’d wanted Ethan. Now she had nothing. No Ethan. No Tom. No one.

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” she said, clutching him. “I gambled and lost. I—”

Her sobs made it hard to speak. He kissed her forehead, down to her cheek and stopped on her ear. “Shh . . . shh . . .” he whispered in her ear. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Mia turned her face to his, his lips so close.

“I did love you,” she whimpered against his cheek. “I always will.”

And with those words, she placed her lips against his warm, smooth cheek. With a loud exhale, Tom turned into her and their lips met. For a short, heated moment, his mouth moved upon hers, infusing her with all the feelings he had for her. She opened her eyes and found his intense, blue eyes on her.

“Same here,” he whispered against her lips before pulling back. “Please take care of yourself, Mia,” he said, his voice rough with emotion before backing up and leaving the restaurant . . . and her.

Mia

Malibu, July 2009

Mia sat in her kitchen atop one of her islands, her eyes unfocused as she stared out the window, the Pacific Ocean in the distance. She absently played with a note card she held in her hand.

The day after she saw Tom, Mia called her therapist in Chicago and asked her to recommend a therapist in Los Angeles.

It was time.

Yet she was still sitting on the counter thinking about it. Being with her bandmates and Allie the past few months had given Mia a false sense of being okay. Seeing Tom showed her how far she was from okay. The need to drown out her feelings had been the strongest it had been in over a year and it was then she realized that she hadn’t made any real progress. Simply put, Mia needed help to sort through her mess of a life.

Picking up the phone, Mia dialed the number and waited, picking at the chipping nail polish on her fingers.

“Dr. Wesley’s office. I’m Jem. How can I help you?”

Wait. Did she really say Jem?

Focus, Mia. Do not think truly outrageous . . . shit! Don’t say it! Mia! Do. Not. Say. It!

Mia took a deep breath and made an appointment—for tomorrow.

The next afternoon found Mia sitting in the small waiting room at Dr. Wesley’s office, early for her appointment. She stared at the door, fighting the urge to throw up. She wasn’t ready to tell a stranger everything. What the hell had she been thinking, making this appointment?

Mia had an insane desire to just up and leave. She rocked in her chair as she debated getting up and walking out the door. The moment she pushed off the chair, the door opened and the therapist called her name.

Fuck.

Turning towards the therapist and not the exit, Mia regarded the woman at the door. Her soft, brown hair was pulled back in an easy ponytail. Her look was casual yet put together with her soft pink cardigan covering a gray maxi dress. She looked smart and pretty, not Hollywood beautiful, but close.

“Dr. Wesley?” Mia asked.

“Yes, but you can call me Simone. Come on inside.”

Mia barely contained a laugh. Her therapist’s name was part of Mia’s middle name.

Mia Isa Simone Devereux.

A good sign,
she hoped.

Mia walked into the room, struck by the calming green décor and the inviting, chocolate brown sofa. Sitting down on it, she placed her purse next to her before pulling it back to her lap as she waited for Simone to take a seat.