Synister: The Push Series - Book 1 (9 page)

I pulled the manila envelope out of my bag and found two parting gifts. One had no markings, so I could only assume it contained the “hush money” that Lenora had surely included to ensure our “uncoupling” would be a smooth transition for Royce. The second envelope was a beautiful shade of pale yellow with my name written on the front in the perfect font. I knew this one was from Royce because he was able to write the most amazing calligraphy. Every letter was a masterpiece, perfection. I couldn’t help but think this envelope and my life were the same. On the outside, we were perfectly put together, yet the inside held the pain and the secrets beneath the cover of beauty. I ran my index finger under the flap, revealing the hiding place of Royce’s letter. I was nervous. With the envelope open, the words that contained the final communications I would ever have with him lay within the folds of the paper in my hands.

When I entered the taxi, my plan was to read what needed he needed to say and be done. But now that the words were within my fingertips, I was afraid. Scared that he would point out my flaws, make this about me and not him, afraid that in the end I couldn’t live up to what he needed or deserved. Laying the letter on the seat beside me, I decided it might be best to let everything sink in. Give it some time. Leaning forward, I dug through my bag as I searched for my phone like a dog searching for a bone in the dirt. When I felt the bumps of my blinged-out phone case, there was only one person to call—him, of course. Staring at his face on my phone, I decided I did not have the strength to hear the “I told ya so” in his voice, so I took the coward’s way out and sent him a text.

Me: You were right.

Laying the phone down beside me, I rested my head on the seat and waited for the fallout. It was not even noon, and my marriage was over. I had told my ex-mother-in-law to essentially fuck off, and now I had told Synister he was right. Jesus, this was a world record for self-sacrifice in one day.

I heard the phone vibrate beside me and then the text indicator with my favorite line from
Twilight
, “
You better hold on tight, spider monkey
”
fill the backseat, and I knew it was Syn. Fuck. I mean, I had opened the wound and texted him, but I wasn't prepared for the salt he was going to rub in it, all the while telling me how very right he was.

Synister: Always :)> You need to narrow this shit down, baby girl. Kinda busy... rock and roll shit.

Fuck. My. Life.

Me: Really. You were right about Royce. Thank you for being humble about it, dickbag!

Synister: He’s gay. Please tell me I was right about that.

Me: Really, Syn? Really?

Synister: If he’s gay, Hendrix said he wants to share. Totally fucking kidding. What’s up?

Synister: B, helllllllooooooo... We are prepping for sound check. WTF :(

Me: He left me.

Me: I’m in a taxi with a check and a big helping of get the fuck out.

And then the long pause of
oh shit
. It was a non-verbal silence, but it still cut through me like he was shouting it into my ear.

Synister: I’m coming to get you.

I didn’t respond, just put my phone on vibrate, dropped it into my purse, and closed my eyes. I knew I took the easy way out. Synister was going to go bat shit crazy, but for once I was doing what was best for me. And that was ignoring him.

When we reached the airport, the driver took my things to the baggage check as I grabbed my purse and headed to the counter. Two hours and forty-five minutes later and two passes through security, I was on a flight to the only place that ever felt like home. Vegas. The flight attendant gave the announcement to place all cellular devices on airplane mode, so I was forced to look at my phone. I had three voice messages and fourteen texts from Synister, a missed call and a text from Scottie, and four new emails. I didn’t care. I dropped the phone back into my purse and decided that, too, could wait.

An hour into the flight, my bladder was screaming for relief. Luckily, the seatbelt sign was off, so I excused myself to the front of the plane and the restroom. Pulling open the door, I spun on my feet three hundred sixty degrees.
Jesus H. Christ, could this be any smaller?
Unzipping my pants, I proceeded to balance on the pogo stick that was the airplane toilet. As if my luck couldn’t get worse, the minute my bare ass collided with the seat, I heard three dings and the voice of the pilot. “We are experiencing a bit of turbulence, so please fasten your seatbelts.”
Perfect. Just fucking perfect. As the plane began to bump and flop, I tried to right myself. All that flashed in my head was the utter humiliation of this entire experience. Looking up to the ceiling, I sent a silent
really
to whoever was listening.

With my situation situated, I reached for the door and decided that joining the Mile High Club was officially crossed off my bucket list. That space was way too small. Instantly, the image of Synister and me trying to get it on in this gas chamber of a bathroom came to mind. I needed help. I wasn’t even divorced, and already I was plotting sex with Synister in a public place.
Fuck my life.

When I
opened the door, the flight attendant gave me the hairy eyeball. As I shot her an I-don't-care look, she glanced away, and I proceeded back to my seat. Falling more than sitting, I secured my seatbelt as the plane rattled and jiggled through the friendly skies and then found the courage to open Royce’s letter. As I pulled back the flaps on the letter, my hands began shaking, again. I became aware of the contents of my stomach flopping, I was so worked up. Here I was, on a last-minute flight to the land of sin and the plane was packed. I had taken the window seat, so I was encapsulated in my own world. I was surrounded by people, but was completely alone. Looking at the black ink on the paper, I decided it was time to get this over with. Royce was thousands of feet below me, and geographically, I had the upper hand, for once.

My Dearest Brooklyn,

I am sorry that our life had to end like this. You are very special to me in ways that I never told you, and now are not important. My mother assures me that you will have everything you need. I hope she treated you well. It’s better this way. I promise you. There is a part of me that will always love you, although I am not sure that I ever could the way you needed. If we are being honest, I think a part of you has always loved another. I never wanted to see it. I had convinced myself for years that I was just jealous. Now I understand that this is what is best for you. If you need to hate me, I understand. Please know this—you were the best part of the last three years. I know what lies next for me is something I am obligated to do, not because I want to, but because it is needed. I will think of you often.

I have no idea if you will read or throw this letter away when it is handed to you. I will not take up any more of your time. But in this, our last correspondence, please know that I did love you, and I will always love you. Be honest with yourself, Brooklyn. I was never what you needed. Stop kidding yourself. Synister was always the man you loved. I have come to terms with it, and I think it is time you do the same. It was impossible to live up to him. In the end, I became too cold in his shadow for me to go on with our relationship.

All the best,

Royce

Really? Three years and that was the note I get, like we dated a few times and he wanted to send me packing in a nice guy way.
Wow
. Royce, you were really low. Like scumbag low. And the “I hope my mother treated you well”? What the fuck was I? The help? Oh, and what the hell was the “I think a part of you has always loved another” shit? Really? What a copout. Making this about Syn and not the fact that he sent his mommy to deliver unpleasant news. I could say there was a moment when I was sad...oh, a fleeting moment... Now I was fucking pissed. He had dismissed me like a stain on a shirt. Like I didn’t matter. Ripping the letter into a million pieces, I shoved it into my purse.
What an asshole.

What Royce needed was a reality check and a swift kick in the dick. When the flight attendant walked past me, I leaned across the people beside me and tapped her arm. I knew I was invading the space of my fellow row mates, but it was necessary.

“Yes, ma'am, can I help you?” Enter tall, blonde, and perfect with a Southern accent.

“This is going to sound insane, but do you have any chocolate on this death rocket?” That got her attention and everyone’s around me. Apparently, I was speaking a little loud for the confined space.

“Miss, can you please keep your voice down? I will see what I can do.” With that, she walked away with a purpose.

Falling back in my seat, I began rubbing my temples. I could feel the migraine coming on, and I knew within a few minutes, it was going to hit me between the eyes like a brick. I had no idea how long she was gone, but when I was tapped on the shoulder, my eyes opened to a long arm and hand extended before me. In it were two Hershey’s bars and a Mr. Goodbar. Bonus. I looked over at the bringer of these treats. Her eyes were wide, and when I didn’t initially take them, she shook them at me like,
take these and shut up
. Reaching my hand out, I took the goodies. Three-quarters into the second candy bar, I decided to look at my messages. I did not have the strength to hear his voice, but the texts I could handle...maybe.

Synister: Brooklyn????

Synister: Where are you?

Synister: This is ridiculous. Stop acting like a child.

Synister: Now I’m getting ducking pissed.

Synister: *Fucking pissed (damn phone)

Synister: Okay. Fine. Be this way... I don't care.

Synister: Brooklyn

Synister: You

Synister: Are

Synister: A pain in my ass.

Synister: Come on, baby girl. This is getting insane. Tell me where you are. Please.

Synister: Okay, I get it. Silent treatment. You win. So here it goes. Since you apparently have turned your phone off, Royce was a dick and you deserve much more. I have no idea the particulars because you will NOT ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE. Please let me know you are okay and where you are. Please, baby girl, I’m freaking out here.

Scottie: Hey, sweets. You okay? Synister is pacing and throwing shit. Hendrix has had to bear hug him three times to calm him down. What the hell is going on? Send him a message. Please. We are all worried about you.

Synister: I am still raging pissed you will not pick up the phone, and I have to go... Just let me know you are all right.

Synister: Like NOW, Brooklyn.

The last text came in over an hour ago. Nothing since then. I knew it was because Push was in the middle of getting everything ready for their show tonight. I was being a total bitch by sending up the flare and then shutting down. I knew it. I was sorry about it, but I just couldn’t deal with another man. Even if it was Synister.

Me: Syn, I’m okay. Heading home.

Hitting
Send
, I turned off my phone and settled in. I didn’t know my next move, so I let the emptiness in my heart take over as I blankly stared out the window. Something about being up that high made me feel small, insignificant. How fitting. When my feet touched ground, I would have to deal, but right now, I was going to be consumed by the nothingness of it all.

Synister
- The “Almost” Marriage

Three Years Earlier Continued...

Bang, bang, bang.

“Brooklyn, open this Goddamn door right now!” I was screaming at the top of my lungs and gathering an audience. If I cared, that would have been something different altogether. I did not care. My only thought was getting in the room that I was currently locked out of. All thanks to Ms. Reigns.

“Go away,” she said. I could hear the tears in her voice.