Chapter 27

*Elena*

Why was I so worried about doing this, and why did it take me so long? I had a blast. Well, except for the paparazzi that came out in droves. Tonight, they kinda reminded me of the hyenas that were after Mufasa's body. I tend to get a bit over dramatic when I'm pressed.

True to his word, Evan was the perfect gentleman, and he seemed genuinely happy with my company. We laughed, we talked, we shared cute little stories, and by the end of it, I was wondering why I couldn't feel anything for him beyond the friendship I was willing to offer.

He's such a nice guy, something of a rarity in this town, not to mention hot, but I couldn't even dredge up a tingle for the poor guy. It's like parts of me had gone numb, and others had stopped living altogether. But I did have fun, so much so that I reached for his hand to thank him as we left the establishment.

"Thanks, Evan. This was great. I had an awesome time." Of course, the cameras caught that moment, and I almost panicked when I saw the flash go off and the questions start coming hard and fast. I think I froze for a minute until Evan squeezed my hand reassuringly.

It reminded me of when Ryder and I were dating. I couldn't even have friends because the press and the public would make more out of it than was warranted. I was always in a constant state of self-defense, always explaining myself to set the record straight. That can get pretty tiring after a while.

I reminded myself for the umpteenth time that night that Ryder was no longer my problem, and I didn't give a crap about what he thought or how he felt. I'm lying, of course; I'm lying to myself anyway. No one else needs to know the foolishness that is going on in my head.

Sometimes I wonder about myself. Now, there's no way in hell I'd ever get back with him, especially not while he's married, and I do want to have a life and a future, maybe some kids…. No no no no, I brought myself back from that thought. It's something I have yet to get over, the fact that due to the number the disease had done on my body, I may never have kids.

That blow was one of the hardest I'd had to face after the breakup because it came so close on the heels of the greatest betrayal of my life. It felt like the whole world was against me, and I could've lost my faith then and there, but thankfully I was able to get through it in the end.

Still, thinking that no one would want to be with me, would want to spend the rest of their life with me because I could never give them family, has haunted me from time to time. I sometimes feel like half a woman because of it because I've failed even in that.

But that doesn't mean I don't want companionship. Someone to hold my hand when I'm scared and…. "Where did you disappear to?"

"I'm sorry, what?" From the look on his face, I could tell that he'd been asking me something for at least a minute while I stared right through him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was…"

"No need to explain; I understand; I've been there before. A piece of advice, don't let anyone tell you when you should stop missing him, okay." I looked at him a bit dumbfounded, wondering what game he was playing, if any, but the sincerity of his words was written in his eyes.

"Thank you, Evan, thank you."

He smiled and squeezed my hand before throwing his arm around my shoulders. "It's still early, and I'm enjoying your company too much to let it end. Do you have something waiting for you at home?"

"No, actually, I don't." And I wasn't ready to go back to the four walls of my bedroom just quite yet, either.

"Great, let's go shoot some pool." I looked down at the sexy little number I had on and back up at him.

"I'm not dressed for it." I could feel the disappointment build in me. I wasn't interested in having a romantic dalliance with him, but it's rare to find someone to feel comfortable with, and I'd forgotten how much I missed that.

"What dress? You can shoot pool in anything. Say, do you want to invite your friends along?"

And that right there put me at ease. I took him up on his offer and called Sydney, Rachel, and some others. Even my aunt and uncle got an invite, which they readily accepted, and the evening became something more than I'd expected.

The next day I woke up feeling better than I had in ages and was actually looking forward to the day ahead. The night had done wonders for me, and I couldn't wait to take Evan up on his offer to hang out again. It's been a while since I'd been in such great company without having to worry about compromising my morals at the end of the night.

Since I'd locked myself away for so many years immediately after the debacle, once I started poking my head out again, it was as if every guy who ever knew me thought I was easy pickings, and all it took was a smile to get into my pants. I'd ignored all the messages and phone calls back then, but I had a feeling that since I'd gone and opened that door, the freaks were going to be up to their shit again.

I opened my phone and saw the million and one notifications and had to wonder if the paparazzi ever slept. There were thousands of comments under the images that had been published the night before, which meant the photos had been up for hours.

My fans are the best. Poor things, they so want me to be happy. They're so invested not only in my career but in my personal life and well-being as well. No wonder they've been such a source of help and support to me. It sucks that I'd missed out on most of their kind wishes in the past because staying off of the Internet to avoid my enemies meant I had to avoid my well-wishers as well.

Now, I feel even guiltier because they always had my back, and I dropped the ball. But reading the comments, I saw that my fans were still the same—steady, loyal, and supportive. Reading the comments brought tears to my eyes, but of course, there was a lot of speculation as to what kind of relationship Evan and I shared.

Of course, whenever I'm mentioned with a supposed love interest, Ryder's name comes up. I'm unsure how to get it across to my fans that he's now married and out of my reach, and I'm not too fond of the disrespect shown to his marriage. I understand how they feel; the way he did it was shitty as fuck.

But what's done is done, and it was his choice, and I'm not about to be no man's Jezebel. I'd be lying, though, if I said I didn't have just the tiniest wish to see his response with his jealous ass.

***

*Ryder*

No, Ryder, don't throw your phone. It's about two hours to the nearest town if you break it. I was tempted to throw it anyway and risk turning on the old one just for the satisfaction of slamming the offensive piece of shit into the wall. I didn't want to look again, but just as with the scene of an accident, I couldn't look away.

She looked fucking happy with him. And the idiot press was talking shit about their relationship. What relationship? They don't have a fucking relationship; she doesn't have relationships; she's not allowed. "Fuck me!" I think I'm losing my mind. I can't do this shit.

This was their fourth or fifth date in two months. That's how long I'd been up here, give or take a couple of weeks. I didn't see it at first because I was taking a break from social media and had turned my phone off so I could concentrate on doing these exercises I'd been taught to try and get my memory back.

When I saw the first one when going through all the notifications that I'd missed, I didn't think much of it. She was dressed nice enough, but I know my girl, and she only dresses like that if she's trying to send a clear message that they are nothing but friends.

I didn't mind so much that her family was there, that she was sharing them with him, but that, too, was something that put my mind at ease about what was going on between the two of them. The second one was pretty much the same, but this last one that shit is a no-no. She's smiling into his eyes, the fuck.

The little voice in my head that has been riding my ass for as long as I'd been here in the mountains away from all civilization decided to stick his nose in my shit again. Oh, so you were happy when she was hidden away from the world, crying her eyes out because of the shit you put her through, but now that she's moving on, you're losing your shit?

"Shut the fuck, up." That fucking voice is more annoying than the guy who sweated the drugs out of my system in the middle of the hot-ass Arizona desert.

Well, I could shut up, but what're you gonna do now that she's moved on?

"She hasn't moved on, you dick." I looked back at the picture and fought back the tears. She was smiling at him, yes, she was even holding his hand, but the way she held her body away from any other physical contact spoke volumes to the man who knew her better than anyone.

Whatever those two had going on, it was not love. I need to believe that, or I'd be lost. Not that I wasn't wandering around in a maze of fuckery already. "She's not in love with him."

Yeah, but you don't have to be in love to fuck someone. You've done it plenty of times.

"If you don't shut your fucking yap…." What the fuck? I'm arguing with my own conscience out loud in an old log cabin in the middle of nowhere.

I guess she hit the nail on the head when she sang that song about me being lonely for the rest of my life without her. I was too drugged up before to appreciate the songs that I knew had been directed at me, except for the one that became an anthem for every broken-hearted woman between five and ninety-five. That one gutted me and sent Janie into a tizzy that lasted weeks.

I saw that she had a new single out and turned my attention to that instead of losing my shit over her and that piece of shit with the smarmy smile. I'd like to knock those teeth down his neck and see who the hell he'd be smiling at in the future.

The new song sounded more like herself, not as broken as she had been, but there was something about it that kept nagging at me and made me feel more melancholic than ever before. I'd done nothing but listen to her songs since coming up here; the old ones were heart-wrenching. But this new one hit differently. There was something about this one that sounded almost familiar.

It was better for me to focus on that, on what was bothering me about the song, than to dwell on her being with another man. ‘Hey, asshole, you're married.'

"Fuck off!"

No problem, I just thought I should remind you that you have a whole-ass wife that you haven't seen in months and haven't even tried to call.

It's a crime and my burden to bear that the only way I can shut him the hell up is by getting high. This fuck hasn't shut up since we got here, alone, in solitude, with nothing but myself and my mind to deal with.

I listened to her last single over and over again, well into the night, taking it apart word by word, line by line. I guess I know now why this one was haunting me. It was her goodbye song. I finally cracked the code. Like fuck!