Текст книги "The Fall Up"
Автор книги: Aly Martinez
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
LEVEE HAD BEEN gone for thirty days.
Thirty unbelievably chaotic days.
The first week had been hard. Just like in Maine, Levee had gone into a black-out period where she didn’t have her cell phone. It was probably for the best though, because the world was aflutter with all things Levee…and Sam.
I was just aflutter for a smoke. An urge I resisted…barely. Quitting smoking was the hardest thing I’d ever done. And I, even one month later, wasn’t sure I’d really done it. But I kept going. I’d made a promise to every single woman in my life, and come nuclear warfare or the zombie apocalypse, I was keeping up my end of the bargain.
World-ending disaster seemed easier though. God, it’s hard.
But back to my new celebrity status…even if it was a miserable, smoke free one.
With the exception of rePURPOSEd’s online orders, nothing exploded after Levee had released the truth about her sudden departure from music. If anything, the public had rallied around her. There was a massive outpouring of support, and while, yes, a ton of critics were predicting that this was all a big publicity stunt, for the most part, everyone was supportive. Even the fans who hated my guts. But especially the ones who thought I created unicorns.
Reporters weren’t camping out on my doorstep the way Levee had feared, but there was no shortage of people grilling me for information about her. I’d had to change my phone number three times, and more than once, I’d been followed by a photographer while walking Sampson at the park. I just smiled and kept going.
I’d gotten the girl. It was going to take more than a few pictures to bring me down.
I landed my first tabloid cover on week two. It was a completely fabricated story about how I was really Levee’s stalker who she’d fallen in love with after I’d held her captive for a weekend. I was relatively sure they didn’t know about our stalker joke, but Levee and I got a big laugh out of that article. It was a delightful little piece of horseshit that I promptly framed and hung over our bed.
As far as we could tell, Devon never went to the press about anything. All of our true secrets remained our own. There were a million speculations about how Levee and I had met, especially once the reporters had started digging into my past, but not a single person ever came up with the magical formula that ended with us standing on the top of that bridge together. I guessed Devon really did love her—or, at the very least, he loved the ability to earn a paycheck. Despite my urging otherwise, Levee gave him a glowing recommendation. She stated that their issues were personal and not professional. While I was against it at first, I was happy to hear he’d landed a job with a large security firm two thousand miles away in Chicago. I didn’t have to worry about him randomly showing up at our door, stressing Levee out.
Unfortunately, there were plenty of others to more than fill that role.
The third weekend Levee was gone, I finally got to meet her parents. Bianca and Kyle Williams decided to pop up for a surprise visit.
Levee all but burst into tears, and I couldn’t say that I blamed her.
They were…awful.
Don’t get me wrong. They loved Levee, and I was pretty sure Levee loved them too, but they were unbelievably exhausting to be around. Her mother paced, whined, complained, and nagged the entire time she was there. She lectured Doctor Spellman on the importance of accessorizing even while on the job. And the minute I removed my jacket, her lips curled in disgust. Levee lost her mind when Bianca asked how many of my tattoos I’d gotten while in prison. The woman was miserable, and to hear Levee tell it, she just liked to make sure everyone else felt as bad as she did.
Kyle Williams sat in the corner, quietly texting on his phone, only pausing long enough to jab insults at Bianca, which, in turn, set her off even more. No one could even get a word in edgewise because they argued the entirety of the two-hour visit.
At one point, they were arguing so loudly that there was absolutely nothing left to do but laugh. Levee scowled at me from across the room, where she was attempting to keep the peace.
After I’d made an exaggerated cross over my heart, I mouthed, “We will never be them.”
Her whole body sagged, but her lips curved into a smile. She gave up on trying to intervene and joined me on the couch. While they continued to bicker, Levee and I engaged in a very serious thumb-war tournament. She won even though I believed she cheated. Somehow.
Over those weeks of separation, I fell even more in love with Levee than I’d thought possible. Every night, we spent at least an hour on the phone, talking about everything under the sun. It was during that time that I realized just how much I didn’t know about her. There was probably a herd of her fans that could beat me in a game of trivia about the woman I had every intention of marrying one day.
I was okay with that. I knew all the important things.
I had to ask how she liked her eggs and what clique she’d belonged to in high school, but I knew how to make her laugh with a stupid joke and how to make her cheeks pink with a simple touch.
I knew her heart.
And I knew it belonged to me.
Thirty days, almost to the hour, after I’d dropped her off, I arrived to pick her up.
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” Levee nervously rushed out the moment I walked into Doctor Spellman’s office.
I froze and eyed her warily.
Her gaze cut to Doctor Spellman before jumping back to me.
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I got an idea.” If the timid inflection of her voice was any indication, it wasn’t a good one—even if her eyes were dancing with excitement.
Doctor Spellman stood up and headed to the door. “I’m going to leave you two alone to discuss this.” She stopped right before she reached the door and gave me a pointed glare. “Hear her out, okay?”
Oh fuck. This is not good. Even the doctor is in on it.
“Sit down.” Levee reached up to take my hand.
“You’re making me nervous.”
She smiled, pulling me down on to the couch.
Then I knew that it was way worse than bad. She didn’t settle next to me. She slung her leg over my hips and settled on top of me.
“Don’t be nervous.” She leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to my lips.
Gripping her hips, I gave her an encouraging squeeze. “Spill it.”
And spill it, she did. “I want to put out an album next year.”
I closed my eyes and dropped my head against the back of the couch. “What happened to a break, Levee?”
“I’m getting to that part.” She playfully pinched my nipple.
However, I wasn’t feeling playful in the least.
I was anxious and frustrated.
“Then get to it,” I growled, opening my eyes and pinching her nipple back.
“Ten songs. No deadlines. When it’s done, it’s done. No publicity. Not even a photo shoot for the album cover. Surprise release. No tour. No interviews. The album will speak for itself.”
While they were all really great selling points for me—but maybe not for an album—they didn’t answer my main concern.
“Why? Why now? Why not in six months after you finish with the outpatient stuff?”
She rested her forehead on mine. “Because I think it will be more therapeutic for me than anything else. Doctor Spellman agrees.”
I laughed without humor. “What kind of voodoo did you have to do to get her approval?”
“None. I told her my ideas. She asked a few questions. Then said okay.”
I blew out a breath. “And what are these ideas, Levee? Convince me, because right now, I’m not so sure I agree with the good doctor.”
“You will.” She smiled confidently. “Did you know that our bridge is one of the only ones left in the country without a suicide prevention barrier?”
Unfortunately, I did know this. It was one of the facts I’d obsessed about after Anne died.
I nodded.
“Did you know the city has approved a plan to put one in place? But it’s ridiculously expensive and the state hasn’t been able to fund it yet?”
Now that I didn’t know.
I shook my head.
“The Fall Up.”
“What?”
“The Fall Up. That’s the name of my album. I’m going to write ten songs about my journey to the top of that bridge. Then my journey back down. I want to tell it all. I started writing a few nights ago, and at this rate, I’ll be done in a few weeks.” She suddenly pushed out of my lap and onto her feet and began pacing the length of the couch. “God, it felt liberating, Sam. Molding all of that pain and darkness into something positive.” Her eyes lit as she stopped. “I want to help people, but you’re right. I have to make my life a priority. But why can’t I do both? Those two things don’t have to be mutually exclusive. So, with The Fall Up, I’m proposing I get the therapeutic relief of telling my story through music, and I donate every single penny I make so that no one can ever use that bridge as a weapon again.”
A lump of emotions suddenly formed in my throat. I couldn’t pinpoint what emotions they were, exactly, because never in my life had I felt anything like it before.
In that moment, even as the memories of Anne ravaged me, I fell even more in love with Levee Williams. I shouldn’t have been surprised by this idea of hers.
It was thoughtful.
Smart.
Beautiful.
Kind.
Brave.
Exactly like Levee.
I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my manhood intact and the asshole tears at bay. But shit, I was overwhelmed.
I shouldn’t have been surprised by that, either.
It was definitely Levee.
Standing up, I hugged her tight, tucking her head into the crook of my neck. She didn’t even have a choice in the matter. She didn’t exactly fight me though.
“I can handle it, Sam. I swear to God. This will be a really, really good thing for me. And if, at any point, I’m taking it too far, I know you’ll be there to reel me back in. Please say yes.”
After clearing my throat, I said the only thing that possibly made sense. “Marry me.”
Her head popped up in surprise. “What?”
Cupping each side of her jaw, I repeated, “Marry me.”
“Wha… Why?”
“Because I love you. Because you love me. Because every second that you aren’t my wife, from this moment on, will be agonizing. Because I’m ready to start our lives together. Because I have absolutely no concept of romance and just blurt shit like this out, but I swear to God I’ve never, in my entire life, meant something more. Levee, marry me.”
Her bright eyes filled with tears. A single one spilled from the corner, giving me the answer I knew I would receive, easing my entire world.
Her voice was thick with emotion as she attempted to tease, “But where’s the other half of my photo album?”
Smiling, I wiped the tear away from her cheek. “I’ll finish it this weekend. I’ll sell my liver to buy you a proper ring too. I’m sorry I did this a little out of order, but I couldn’t wait. The Fall Up, Levee? It’s fucking brilliant. Of course I support you.” Placing my tear-soaked thumb over her lips, I whispered, “Say yes.”
She held my gaze and, in a very serious tone, spoke around my thumb, “I’ve made worse life decisions, I suppose.”
I gave her an unimpressed glare then replied, “I can attest to that. I listened to your performance with Lionel the other night with my mom.”
She returned my glare, but a smile crept from under my thumb.
“Say it,” I implored.
Taking my wrist, she guided my hand away from her lips. While wrapping her arms around my neck, she took my mouth in a slow kiss that said even more than the tear, but it still wasn’t the one word I needed to hear.
“Say it,” I urged as she forced me on to the couch.
She didn’t follow me down. Instead, she made her way to the door, twisting the lock on the handle before very sensually removing her jeans.
“Fuck. We should go home,” I growled when she mounted my lap and immediately went for the button on my jeans.
Nipping at my neck, she murmured, “Can’t wait that long.”
“Jesus.” My eyes flashed to the door as she stripped her shirt and her bra over her head in one swift movement.
“I love you,” she breathed, finding my cock and dragging it through her folds before aligning us.
“Does this mean you’ll marry me?” I asked, leaning forward to suck her peaked nipple into my mouth. Then I raked my teeth over the sensitive flesh before releasing it.
Slowly sinking down onto my cock, she stared deep into my eyes and hissed, “Yessss.”
Close enough.
IT WAS RAINING. Isn’t that the way all great love stories start? And also usually end? The cool breeze whipped through my curls as I stared off the side of that bridge.
Sam’s hand folded over mine, taking the umbrella from my grasp. “How you feeling?” he asked, brushing his hand against my swollen, but still hidden, stomach before gripping my hip.
“Like shit,” I answered through a smile as dozens of cameras flashed around us.
“I would like to use this moment to once again remind you that it wasn’t a blow job that got you in this situation. Swallowing is, and always will be, safe.”
I exaggerated a laugh for the crowd then wrapped him in a tight hug, sneaking a hand between us to secretly pinch his nipple. “I’m not sucking your dick. I almost puked just brushing my teeth this morning,” I whispered into his ear.
He leaned away and lovingly held my gaze. “That explains your breath. You want some gum?” He winked, and a genuine laugh bubbled from my throat as he pulled a pack of mango-flavored gum from his pocket.
One year after Sam had proposed, we said, “I do,” in front of three hundred guests in an over-the-top ceremony in San Francisco. News helicopters flew overhead making it virtually impossible to hear a single word Sam said, but I couldn’t have cared less. I knew those vows by heart—it was, after all, the second time I’d heard them.
The truth was Sam and I had been secretly married on our bridge not even five hours after I’d said yes. We were both in jeans, and our ceremony was officiated by an ordained minister Henry had once slept with, but all we cared about were the promises we were making each other, even if they were sealed with plain, silver bands we’d picked up at a department store ten minutes before they’d closed.
An expensive, world-renowned photographer made us an extravagant wedding album after our public ceremony, but I didn’t cherish it nearly as much as I did the one Sam had surprised me with on our real one-month anniversary. It consisted of a few selfies we’d taken to show off our new rings on the top of the bridge and funny composite images Sam had made, complete with beer and chickens strewn across the bar floor of our hillbilly wedding. Sam claimed that he wasn’t good at romance, but as I sobbed while flipping each page of that album, I begged to differ.
He was good at everything.
And, together, we were unstoppable.
The Fall Up was released the month after our lavish wedding. The project had gotten away from me more than once, and it wasn’t nearly as low stress as I’d hoped. But, each and every time I hit a snag, Sam bluntly became my voice of reason. Especially when my record label attempted to pick off a few of the tracks on the album. But, with my husband at my side and my head and heart finally aligned, I stood my ground. I threatened to hold the album and leave when my contract expired only a few months later. They were none too happy about the stand I was taking against them, but we both knew they needed me more than I needed them.
They backed down.
I held the album anyway.
Then I left them.
Then Henry and I started a record label of our own.
Then Sam’s head exploded when I told him that I’d taken on a new project.
Eventually, he got over it. I had more than proven I wasn’t the same girl he’d met on the top of that bridge. I wasn’t drowning anymore. To be honest, I was truly living, maybe for the first time ever.
Upon release of The Fall Up, I hadn’t been sure what to expect, seeing as no one had even known I’d been working on a new project. However, it shattered every single album I’d ever released, soaring to the top of the charts and selling millions the first week alone. Between the record sales and donations from other musicians wanting to help after hearing my story, we raised over one hundred and eight million dollars.
Being famous is a funny thing. For some reason, people think you’re the special one. But, in reality, I wouldn’t even be a blip on the radar without them. Yet, somehow, hundreds of people reached out to me to say that The Fall Up had changed their life.
And that changed mine.
I still visited children’s hospitals when time permitted, and it still felt incredible to bring a smile to those tiny faces, but suicide prevention quickly became my personal calling. Sam and I even filmed a series of PSAs that would be aired during the Super Bowl.
The world took to Sam much the same way I did—in utter awe.
He was a natural in front of the camera, and I swear to God he signed just as many autographs as I did when we went out in public. We were both amazed at the amount of offers he had rolling in. Calvin Klein actually offered him a hefty sum to be the new face of their rugged wear line. Sam declined every offer except for one: Popular Wood.
rePURPOSEd took off with all of the new exposure, and Sam opened storefronts in Miami, Seattle, and New York within two years. He also decided to take a step back and hire a CEO to run things.
His business was booming.
So was my career.
We were crazy in love.
It seemed like the perfect time to flip our lives upside down.
Three years after we were married, I went off birth control. Five months later, I was hanging my head in the toilet, cursing the pregnancy gods for having lied to me that morning sickness went away after the fifteenth week.
Several hours later, I found myself once again standing on the top of a bridge, wrapped in Sam’s arms, this time at the formal ceremony unveiling the brand-new Anne Rivers Suicide Prevention Barriers.
“My breath doesn’t stink,” I finally shot back at Sam before forcing him into another kiss.
“My nose disagrees,” he joked then pushed a piece of gum into his mouth.
Sam had never once picked up a cigarette again. But, judging by the fact that he’d just devoured his tenth piece of gum since we’d arrived on the bridge, his memories were testing him.
“So, have you given any more thought to Sander?” he asked, turning to face the podium, where the governor had stepped up to give his speech.
“Sanders? Maybe. Sander? No. That end ‘s’ makes all the difference.”
He groaned even though he was still skillfully smiling for the camera. “Sanders Rivers is a terrible name. Don’t set our son up for failure.”
“I’m not setting our son up for anything. We’re having a girl.”
“Fine, but we aren’t naming her Bridget.”
I gasped, slinging my head to face him. “We met on a bridge!”
“That doesn’t mean she has to suffer for it,” he replied out of the corner of his mouth. “Thank God we didn’t meet at Taco Bell.”
“Her name could be Bella.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. McDonalds.”
“Donna Rivers is a beautiful name!” I exclaimed, interrupting the governor and causing every eye on the bridge to swing in our direction.
Sam laughed and dropped the umbrella forward to shield us from the cameras. Looping his arm around my shoulders, he pulled me in for a hard kiss. “Okay. Okay. Bridget it is. But, for the record, we’re calling her Bree, not Bridge.”
“Deal,” I mumbled against his mouth as photographers worked their way behind us, furiously snapping pictures.
I should have cared that they were stealing that moment from us just to sell it to some magazine or website. But that was our life. It was hard to get worked up about that while safely cradled in Sam’s strong arms.
So, instead of ending the moment in an effort to protect our privacy, I sucked in a deep breath and got lost in the golden-brown eyes that had saved my life in nearly the exact same spot all those years before. “I love you.”
Sam smiled one of his award-winning grins then used the toe of his boot to tap my high heel. “I love you too, Designer Shoes.”
The End
Coming in 2016
The Spiral Down
Henry Alexander’s story
Other Books by Aly Martinez
The Wrecked and Ruined Series
Changing Course
Stolen Course
Broken Course
On the Ropes
Fighting Silence
Fighting Shadows
Savor Me
