No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) (41 page)

My hands shake as I grasp the door knob and walk into the living room. On the floor, leaning against the wall, is a broken version of my Aaron. He’s slumped over with his knees almost to his chest. His head rests on his folded arms.

He looks up as I walk to him. We make eye contact. “You’ve read them,” he states solemnly.

Sliding down the brick wall, I join him on the floor. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask as I put his hand in mine.

“You were healing. Grace has dealt with it. I have social media accounts in my name that her and my publicist manage,” he replies so softly I can barely hear him.

“No wonder she hates me. I hate me. I’m so sorry, Aaron.” I lean over and kiss his cheek. “I’ve no idea why that story was leaked. It’s awful.”

He smirks. “Just feeds right into what the media wants to hear. Beat up a kid. Beat up a girlfriend. You know, once a no-good piece-of-shit always a no-good piece-of-shit.”

“But it’s not true. Not even close to true. You weren’t here. Can I release a statement?” Pleading, I jump to my feet and begin to pace where my furniture was. “I can post the truth on my website. I’ve already handwritten something about the accident. I’ll call my sorority sister, Jeannie. We’ll do an interview with her and set the record straight.”

“Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” he says in a broken voice. “My publicist says it will make you look bad, like you’re taking the abuser’s side. She’s asked the New Orleans Police to issue a statement confirming I’m not under investigation and that I wasn’t even on the premises when it happened.”

We sit in silence as I rejoin him on my hard wooden floors. Tears slip down my cheeks. How in the world has my life gotten so complicated? All I wanted to do was meet a boy, have fireworks sex, and fall in love. This is never what I bargained for. I never knew I could ruin someone’s life.

“When you asked me to marry you, did you mean it, or was it a way to prove to the world I love you and you didn’t do this to me?” I hate the question with every fiber of my being, but I need the answer. I’m still trying to learn who this man is. I don’t know him well enough yet to understand his motivation, and the answer to this question will give me an insight into my Aaron Emerson.

He shakes his head and reaches up, grabbing at his hair in frustration. “Don’t you know, MK?” His head turns to the side and his pained, dilated blue eyes bore holes in my soul. “I told you I loved you. I’ve only said those words to my daughter, my mother, and my sister.” He stands up, towering over my sitting position. He’s shaking when he says, “I’m so fucking scared of losing you. Losing this.” He motions between us. “And I feel like everyone is trying to take away my happiness.” He pauses. In a whisper, he adds, “Even you.”

“But Aaron,” I cry. “Don’t you see that getting married after only a couple of weeks of dating is a bad idea? It’s especially bad when these awful stories are hanging over our head. A wedding should be a joyous occasion. We have all the time in the world. Why now?”

As he glares, I seem to grow smaller on the floor under his penetrating gaze. “Because I fucking love you, and I want you with me all the time. I thought you wanted the same.”

“Wait. That’s not fair,” I plead. “You haven’t given me time to think. You tell me I’m moving in with you. You get rid of my furniture. I’m just getting over a concussion. Can’t I at least have time to recover?”

“Away from me.” He says it as if he’s completing my thought.

“I . . .”

“All you’ve done is try to get away from me. What I’ve demonstrated is that I love you, but you? You’ve shown you could give or take me,” he yells as he clenches his fists and his face turns red with real anger. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

Standing up, I meet him toe to toe. “I can’t love you and want to be with you because I want to sleep in my own bed? Really, Aaron? Does that sound rational to you?” I swallow hard. “I just quit my job to chase my dream of making NoPinkCaddy into something real and big that is a lifestyle site for those girls like me—those girls who are a bit lost. This is my chance to fly using my own wings—
alis volat propriis
. I can love you and want to be in your life while I have my own dreams.” In my head, I’m screaming
I don’t want to be lost in your shadow.

“Come to Austin with me, then. Right now. Grab your laptop and pack a bag. We can be wheels up in two hours.” It’s a challenge. “Prove you love me.” His hair brushes along his chin, not hiding the tic. He’s clenching his teeth so hard the muscle is convulsing.

“I don’t have to move in with you or be by your side every minute to prove I love you.” Tears fall from my eyes. “I haven’t seen Bella or Nyall since the accident. I’ve never gone that long. I’m still healing. I shouldn’t have to fly to another state to prove how I feel. Haven’t I shown you?” I dissolve into sobs which makes my head ache even more.

He swallows hard and his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “What you’ve shown is when the going gets tough, you keep quiet.” He points at my chest. “Dinner? Did you defend me, or did you sit at the table and kept quiet?” Aaron closes his fist and hits his chest over his heart. “When I left the restaurant, did you follow? No. You sided with my band and went to the bar with them when you know I can’t drink.”

This is such a schizophrenic conversation. We began with me trying to clear up the media confusion around my accident, and now we’re arguing because I won’t prove my feelings for him in the ways he demands.

A thought enters my head—a terrible, nagging feeling that I can now identify. It’s been present all day. I feel sick to my stomach with the realization that I’m right. I know I am. My eyes have been opened, and I can now see Aaron for what he is. Dilated eyes. Crazy demands. Bizarre accusations. Uncomfortable in his own skin. Unable to sit still.

Aaron is an addict and he’s high.

Standing up, I walk to him grabbing his chin, positioning it so I can study his face.

“What are you doing?” He does his best bob-and-weave to avoid making eye contact.

“So when you bought coke, you purchased more than just what I found on your bedside table, didn’t you?” I’m in control. My voice doesn’t betray the supreme feeling of disappointment eating away at the lining of my stomach.

His head tilts toward the hardwood floors. By the way his eyes dart back and forth, he realizes he’s been caught. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I bite my bottom lip, drawing blood, trying to manifest my internal pain into something I can tangibly feel. “I can’t believe you’d do that to Jude. You know how worried she is. Drugs took her mother, and the same damn fate is going to take her father. If you won’t stay clean for yourself, just look in your daughter’s eyes, the same eyes as yours, and do it for her.” I spit blood on the floor in disgust over the man I love. “You fucking make me sick.”

Aaron towers over me, the perfect juxtaposition of a caged wild animal and a beaten dog. “Really, MK? I make you sick? All I’ve done since I met you is try to be exactly the man you asked for on your site. I gave you flowers and took care of you. I arranged a dream date. I’ve tried my best to be exactly what you’ve been asking for. I’m sorry I’m just not quite good enough for you.”

I grab his arm. “You are the man I want, but I want you sober and healthy. Can’t you understand that all the flowers and rented out restaurants in the world can’t compensate for drug addiction?”

He spins on his boot heels and walks to the door. At least he doesn’t deny that he used. As he grabs the door knob, he says in a whisper, “I’m an addict, and I don’t know if I can quit.”

“You can, Aaron,” I encourage him as I stay rooted in my spot. “Get real help this time. I’m not the one to make you better.”

Tears fall down my cheeks for the broken man whose back is turned to me. I wish I could heal him. I’d give up NoPinkCaddy if it would guarantee he’d be well and whole again.

His shoulders tense and rise so high they almost touch his ears. His fist beat against his thighs and his back heaves with short breaths. His voice is choppy. “That sounds like you’re breaking up with me, MK.”

“I’m sorry.” I fall to the ground in a ball. A trickle of blood runs down my chin. “I love you enough, Aaron, and care about your daughter enough, to not watch you kill yourself.” I pause, and my hand swipes over my injured lip. “I will not enable your drug use, and I can’t help you stop.” I swallow the sobs as they try to choke me. “Give me the whole and complete man I deserve.”

The front door slams with such force it shakes my soul loose from my body and it travels off into the evening to live with its rightful owner, my troubled rock star.

The next morning, I open the front door and find my beautiful ball gown in a plastic bag draped over the wooden stairs’ railing. My flowery overnight duffle rests underneath it. Inside are all my belongings, so neatly folded that I know Aaron didn’t pack them. My charged phone and his Def Leppard concert T-shirt rest on top.

I empty the contents on my kitchen island countertop, looking for my necklace and hoping there’s a note or something from him. Nothing . . . It’s as empty as my heart.

It’s been a week since the door slammed on my relationship with Aaron. I went to his house the next morning to beg him to get help, but it was closed up. Shutters were locked over the windows, and when I’d peered down his driveway—no red robot car or black SUV. All of the numerous calls placed to his phone have gone unanswered.

Once I refused to Google him. Now, I have Google alerts set up on my computer. I’ve read reports he’s back in rehab. I pray they’re true. His publicist is not returning messages, the media is reporting. Sam and Grace send me to voicemail. I haven’t been desperate enough to contact Jude but the thought has crossed my mind.

He needs help. My mind ping-pongs between the man who scored coke because he was upset and angry with me and then finally used it, I’m assuming because of my injury, and the man who took such tender care of me and his daughter.

Aaron.

Johnny.

Whomever he is, he’s stolen my soul. I know it’s true.

My eyes are dead. The girl in the mirror looks like a ghost with a giant red slash that runs along her left cheek, now with a cut lip.

I’ve told myself that this is the sign I prayed for. I asked God that if Aaron and I were not meant for each other to please show me sooner than later. But I can’t believe it’s true. If we shouldn’t be together then I wouldn’t feel this miserable, right?

NoPinkCaddy has benefited well from all the publicity. In just over a week, I’ve made more than I did the last four months combined. I have three voicemails from agents which have gone unanswered—not to mention their persistent messages. They promise great things . . . television contracts, endorsement deals with major retailers, book deals.

I’ve created a line item on NoPinkCaddy’s financial statement. It’s called blood money—not earned based on my skills and talents. It’s tainted. It’s ill-gotten gains. These people aren’t fans of mine. They’re voyeurs looking for a dirty piece of gossip.

When I log on, the messages I have waiting for me are from media outlets looking for a comment or people wanting to know more about the man called Johnny Knite. They ask personal questions and want vulgar details. I’ve quit posting. My life is not a soap opera or a sixty-second clip on a gossip show.
This is my life,
and it’s dead without the person who taught me to live.

I’ve posted one simple message on my site in the past week.
My name is Mary Kay Landry, and I fly with my own wings.

But it’s not true. In one day, I lost my friend and my rock star. My life doesn’t seem to have meaning if he’s not cheering for me.

Bella and Tripp have reached out to me in every way possible. I’m not ready to talk about what happened, and I’m not sure I can even vocalize the phrase
Aaron is a drug addict.

The police issued a statement clearing him of any wrongdoing, but it doesn’t matter. The allegations were made in print. And as I learned with Johnny Knite’s sex tape, once it’s on the Internet, it’s there forever.

Staring at the computer screen for the thousandth hour, I try to figure out what to write or if I even should post anything.

Johnny Knite

It hurts to even type his name.

Aaron, my boy, is an addict.

It’s not my story to tell, and I’d never hurt him by sharing his demons.

I’m sorry I haven’t posted in a while. I was injured and I’m still recovering.

I can’t write that. It’s an absolute lie. Deleting the words I’ve written, I know at some point I’m going to have to share a version of the truth with my followers. But that day is not today.

The thought of shutting down my blog has crossed my mind. My heart is dead. There’s nothing upbeat to share. Restoring an antique feels frivolous. I can’t cook. Just the smell of food is revolting. All I want to do is sleep.

Then, I remind myself of my saying,
alis volat propriis
. I don’t need Aaron. This is my time to give NoPinkCaddy wings. Yet, my bread and butter has been writing about my search to find the right guy. I’m pretty sure I had him and let him go because he’s too broken for me to fix.

Searching for something positive . . .

My cut looks much better today, and the bruises are almost gone. Today has also been the first day without a headache.

But it’s because the pain in my heart has replaced the dull throb of my head.

I erase it also. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe I just need one more day to heal and when I wake up, I’ll be inspired to write my best and most provocative post yet.

Sighing, I rest my computer on the floor next to me. As some point, I’ve got to purchase new living room furniture, but my desire to replace my beautiful found pieces is just not there.

There’s a
ping
in my NoPinkCaddy message box. Begrudgingly, I open it from someone whose username is MyPinkCaddy. I roll my eyes. There’s nothing worse than an unoriginal person.

The message reads
MK Landry, I’m trying to get better to be the man you deserve.
I promise.