The Inside Track: A License to Love Novel Read online

  Nick thought something through? He planned something? That’s…almost unheard of. And though I find it hard to imagine that anything he could possibly say would make me feel good enough about this to agree to get back together, I want to hear it. It’s selfish and spoiled to let him go through this with hope in his heart when I have no legitimate intention of agreeing, but…what if?

  “Um, okay?”

  “Okay. Cool, here we go.”

  He clears his throat and stands there looking stiff and awkward, and I can suddenly imagine what Nick must’ve been like when he had to give presentations in school. It would’ve either been a stand-up comedy routine, or it would’ve been this: stilted, awkward, and every inch of him racked with effort.

  He takes a deep breath, the tendons in his neck straining, and then he starts talking, pushing forward like a determined plow in a storm.

  “Whenever I do press, my publicist will be there and give me a signal if I start talking about something I shouldn’t. There will be a rider in any appearance I have that they’re not allowed to ask me about you. The house next door to yours is up for sale, and if you give me the go-ahead, I’m going to buy it, and you’ll have a bodyguard round the clock who won’t be up in your shit but will be fifty feet away if you need them. If you want to move to someplace that’s more secure, I will do everything I can to make that easier on you, but I didn’t think you’d want to. If I’m wrong, just tell me and I’ll make shit happen.”

  He takes a deep breath and shoves up his sleeve, revealing a list scribbled in what appears to be Sharpie. “Plus, I’m sending a press packet to all the media outlets that says I will be very amenable to photoshoots and interviews, but if they ever run a story about you, mention you, or try to get access to you in any way that hasn’t been approved by you, I’ll never do press for them again, ever, and neither will any of LtG.”

  I open my mouth to protest, because that seems truly excessive, especially for the other guys. Like, I think they like me and I know they love Nick, but several of them are just starting up solo projects and need all the help they can get and to cut themselves off from publicity opportunities because of me? But Nick shakes his scruffy head and goes back to reading his arm.

  “If anyone publishes pictures of you taken without your permission, I will sue them for everything they’re worth and I will make it my business to uncover any of their shady business dealings and expose them until they cease to exist. I will support other artists’ and actors’ lawsuits against them. I will burn them to the ground if they hurt you or endanger you in any way. And if you want me to, I’ll try going back on meds and see if there isn’t something that can help me be less bananas but that won’t mess up my music.”

  He holds up the arm that doesn’t have Sharpie scrawled up and down its length—how can he even read that?—and at first I think he’s going to do the Boy Scout Oath or something. But instead he points to a bracelet… No, not a bracelet, it looks like a rubber band with a bead on it.

  “This was Benji’s idea. Anytime I get some wild idea that has to do with you, I’m gonna snap it and try to think it through. It’s not going to be perfect, but it’s something, and hopefully if I practice, I’ll get better. I think Benji just likes to snap it ’cause it hurts like a bitch, but I don’t think he’s wrong. Makes me hold up for a minute and maybe give me a chance to realize that it’s not gonna go so well for you so maybe I shouldn’t. Or hey, maybe it’s awesome, and I should.”

  Nick’s forehead creases like he’s searching for something and can’t find it, and when he looks up at me, there’s anguish carved into his features.

  “I…I wish I had more to offer you. But I’m not going to quit my job, and I don’t think you’d want me to. If there’s anything else you can think of that would make this better, anything that I could conceivably give you, even if it’s totally wild, tell me and I will do everything humanly possible to make it happen. I can’t ever be perfect, but me being famous is usually the thing people don’t have a problem with, so I haven’t had all that much time to figure out how to make that go away. And I’m not gonna lie; I like it. You know I do. I’m not sure if we can both have what we need, what we want, but I just…”

  He walks toward me, more like slouches because he looks pleading and dejected, and it wrenches my heart.

  “I love you, Dempsey. And the idea of living without you hurts. I love that you’ve never tried to get me to change and accepted me just how I am, but if changing a little bit means that I get to be with you, then I’ll do it. I want to do it. It’d be worth it to me. If you tell me to leave and never come back, I will because I respect you and your space, but I couldn’t not make the offer. I couldn’t give up without trying. I miss you, Fi misses you, and I want you back in my life. I’ll do anything to make that a possibility for you. Anything.”

  Hell. I miss him too. So much. My house seems empty and small and echo-y and like it’s closing in on me all at once. Never once in all the time I’ve lived here has it ever felt so uncomfortable. It’s still my fortress against the world, but it no longer feels like a sanctuary. Not without Nick in the yard drinking beer and making jokes with our friends. Not without him and Fiona making a Dempsey sandwich while we flop on the couch and watch something foolish on TV. Not without him in my bed. For the sex, yeah, because hello, the man knows how to get me off, but also him sleeping by my side, his heavy arm pulling me close in the middle of the night and his soft lips brushing a kiss over the back of my neck in the morning.

  Is it really worth it? To shut everything out of my life so thoroughly? I suppose I could’ve lived in a bunker or an abandoned missile silo, but then I couldn’t see the sun. I could’ve determined that being out in the yard was too risky and never gone outside, but then I’d never hear the birds or feel the breeze or smell the greenery. Without Nick… What is my life? Am I doing this calculation correctly? Have I perhaps overestimated the risk or, more likely, underestimated the benefit? Joy, after all, is a benefit. As is laughter, as are orgasms, and as is intimacy.

  I’ve been missing those things, and perhaps it was simple to miscalculate how much they would mean to me. And that was likely a self-preservation thing. It’s not like I had a whole lot of ways to make a partner appear out of thin air should I have even wished to have one. No, Nicky essentially dropped out of the sky, and aren’t I fortunate that he did and that he continues to bring the new and unexpected to my doorstep? Without thinking about it, without asking for anything in return, but just because he thought I’d enjoy it.

  I can’t believe after what he went through trying meds as a kid that he’d be willing to attempt that again. And I’m not sure if the snappy-bracelet will help, but maybe it could. Because I do believe if he can give himself space to think about it, he wants to be careful with me, he doesn’t want to harm me; he just doesn’t always know how. Intentions aren’t everything, but they count for a hell of a lot. And he’s willing to have other people around to help him with the things he’s not great at and just go with it, not resist. I can give an inch. We can at least try to solve these problems together. I want to.

  So I let myself. Push off the couch and fling my body against him with a force so great I almost knock him over, and I hold him against me while I start to blubber because this is all too much for me.

  “I love you, too. I miss you, too. I…I don’t know if any of that will work, but I want to try. You are worth it to me to try. I don’t need you to go back on meds again because I don’t want to mess with the best parts of you, but if you want to try because you feel like it would be helpful, I’ll support you in any way I can.”

  I try to catch my breath and organize my thoughts, but maybe Nick’s rubbed off on me more than I thought; I can’t stop the words from spilling out. “Maybe the ouchy-bracelet will help or maybe we could come up with something else because I really don’t want you in pain every time you think about doing something nice for me. And…I don’t know. Press stuff freaks me the hel
l out, but maybe if we planned it out and I had a lot of notice and Vivian could help me prepare, I might be able to do some. If you’re willing to try, so am I. You’re a good man. You’re kind and funny and compassionate and flexible and a hell of a lover, and I’ve missed you so much. Even though everything was the same as it ever was when you left, my life has been smaller and darker without you in it. You’re my sunshine, Nicky. I want my sunshine back.”

  Nick

  * * *

  Fucking hell. This woman knows how to turn me to rubble. I mean, I was kind of a ruinous mess in the first place so it’s not like she’s taking a bulldozer to…some famous fort. What, I was never good at history, okay?

  She’s crying against me, soaking my shirt so that I feel her tears all the way to my skin. I should be happy, and I am. Ecstatic, actually, like I want to just strip off my clothes and run around in the back through some sprinklers or some shit, celebrating the fact that Dempsey loves me and she’s going to give us another shot. But the idea of her sitting in here and feeling alone and like she was in the dark wrecks me. I’m never gonna let that happen again, ever.

  “Aw, babe. I’m gonna be so bright for you, you’ll have to wear shades.”

  I can’t say much more because my throat is getting thick and I’m getting all sniffly. So I just hold her back, real tight, and kiss her hair. And then there’s a scratching at my leg because Fi wants in on this action. The humans are attentioning each other, and it’s not fair.

  “Mind if we move this to the couch? The princess is getting a little put out that she can’t snuggle with us, too.”

  Dempsey laughs in a watery way and shakes her head as she pulls away from me, wipes some of the tears from her face. “I don’t mind.”

  Once we’re settled in a cuddly heap, I say, “So about Fiona.”

  Dempsey pets the now content lump of dog who’s sprawled over our laps. “Yeah?”

  “Magda’s at my house during the day when I’m not around, but she’s not there at night, so I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind if Fi stayed with you.”

  “When you’re away? Of course, she can stay here. Can’t you, good girl? Yes, you can.”

  Fi makes one of those weird dog noises that could either be “I’m old and dying” or “That feels so goooood” as Demps scritches behind her ears.

  “I was maybe wondering about when I’m not on tour, too. Like, I’ll take her over to Benji’s sometimes, but she likes her people and she could keep you company. I mean, she might fart during your client calls sometimes, but maybe you could kick her out of your office if it’s a really important fancy client?”

  Dempsey smiles at my joke and tips her head in that way I’ve come to understand means: Have you really thought this through?

  “Are you sure? Won’t you miss her when you’re home if she’s over here?”

  Here go the big guns. Maybe I should hold off on asking her for a while until we’re sure this is gonna work out and everything’s gonna be cool. But honestly, I have no chill. None. If it’s possible, I might have negative amounts of chill.

  “I was kind of hoping—and you can totally say no if you want—that you might take us both? I’m keeping my house, so if I want to have a party or I want to have some people over and you’re not cool with that or like if my family comes to visit, they’ll have a place to stay, but… I want to be with you, Demps. And if you don’t think I’ll annoy the shit out of you and you’ll dump me, I’d love to be here with you all the time. Not like all the time all the time, because I’ll be at Benji’s a lot, and having meetings and in the studio and doing press and tours and shit, but when I am home…I guess I want home to be here. If you’re cool with that.”

  Her mouth is pursed and her cheeks are round like she’s trying real hard not to laugh.

  “What? What is so funny?”

  “Nothing is funny, per se, I just… Was that your sneak attack way of asking if you could move in with me? Like, get your foot in the door with the dog first, and if I said yes to that, seeing if I’d take you, too?”

  “Huh.” I scratch the side of my neck because it’s getting a little hot and prickly. “Uh, not really? Because thinking ahead isn’t really my MO. But now that you put it that way, it makes a lot of sense. Maybe I should have. Like start off with leaving a toothbrush, and then bring over a plant or something, then a fish, then Fi? I did this all wrong, totally jumped the gun. Should I start over? Because I noticed you still haven’t answered.”

  She rolls her lips between her teeth and doesn’t look like she’s going to laugh anymore. No, she looks pretty serious. “I would love it if you called this place home. I’ve never gotten tired of you while we’ve been together. I’ve only ever wanted more of you. So, yeah, I’ll take both of you. As long as you’re sure you won’t miss your bachelor rock star pad. Though I’m sure you’ll still have video game nights over there. And maybe, sometime, when this is more settled, we can—”

  The rosy pleasure on Dempsey’s cheeks fades, and there’s kind of a greyish tinge to her pale skin.

  “Hey, babe, you all right?”

  She nods, but that seems like kind of a lie? She looks like she’s choking or can’t breathe, but she forces herself to slow down—fucking A this woman is incredible, to be able to regulate herself like that—and she says, “Yeah. I’m okay. It’s scary, but I mean it so I want to say it. Because I’m serious. I’d need a lot of help—like a lot a lot from a lot of people—but I would not be entirely opposed to moving. You were right that this isn’t the easiest place to keep secure, and I think I’d eventually feel better living someplace with better security. Especially if we’re going to be together because, yeah, Dan Mitchell isn’t going to be the last person coming for you. Which is not your fault. You’re the victim, and I’m not blaming you for people being inappropriate or downright violent toward you. I know exactly what that’s like. But I’m trying to be realistic about what could happen. And as shitty and not okay as it is that people feel like they have a right to public figures, it’s the truth.”

  Aw, Christ. Kick a guy in the head, why don’t you? Dislodging Fiona—who is not pleased about it—I scoop Dempsey into my lap and hold her as tight as I dare. “You don’t have to do that. We’ll figure out how to make this place like fucking Fort Knox if you want to stay here. I’ll buy the whole damn block if I have to.”

  “As a financial planning professional, I’m obligated to tell you that would not be a good use of your considerable wealth.”

  “Fuck that. It would be an excellent use of my piles of money. Keeping my girl safe and happy? Best thing my dollar bills could buy.”

  I kiss her neck and behind her ear. She smells really good and she feels really good, and my head is still abuzz with the fact that she agreed to be mine again. I would’ve understood if she’d said no because I know what she goes through. Actually, I don’t. Because it’s difficult for me to really get how terrified she must feel. The only time I ever came close was when Mitchell was here with his knife and I thought he might hurt her. That’s the most scared I’ve ever been, and I doubt it holds a candle to the fuckery Dempsey’s brain pulls on her.

  And she’s willing to move? That tells me a few things. One, she’s really fucking brave, which I knew already, but this is another dimension. Two, she means to be in this for the long haul. If she didn’t believe we could make this work, she’d never put herself through moving which will, yeah, probably be really fucking traumatic for her. And three, this girl must love me like whoa. No other explanation for it. Which makes me the luckiest dude on the face of the planet.

  She laughs, a soft little giggle, which is so cute I want to record it and listen to it over and over. And I don’t miss the way her throat works around a swallow because it’s hard for her to even talk about the possibility, and yet here we are.

  “Yes, well, I thought Fi might like a pool, too, and I don’t have space for one, so…”

  At the mention of a pool, Fiona perks up. As much
as she can with her giant head anyway.

  Epilogue

  Dempsey

  * * *

  “Fiona, don’t you dare.”

  A yell, followed closely by a splash, is never a good sign. And usually followed by more yelling. Right on cue: “Goddammit, Fi!”

  I probably shouldn’t be laughing, but Jake trying to keep Fiona out of the pool has been a comedy of errors. She usually goes in and out whenever she damn well pleases, and she’s a dog, so it’s not surprising that she doesn’t understand why today would be any different. Aside from a few small details, it’s not really.

  I’m not usually wearing a white dress and Nick definitely isn’t usually wearing a suit. I told him he didn’t have to today, but he wanted to, and he looks damn good in it.

  Aside from the different wardrobes and some extra stuff in the backyard like some rented white folding chairs set up to make an aisle and more people than usual, it’s essentially the same. No wonder Fiona’s treating it like a pool party.

  Getting here has not been easy. Like, literally, moving to a new house might have been the hardest, most uncomfortable thing I’ve done in my adult life. I feel good about it now—happy and settled—but there were days of vertigo, weeks of panic attacks, months of feeling like I’d woken up in the wrong place. Preparing for the wedding wasn’t much easier. It would’ve been easier to just have a JP and a few witnesses come over and have it done with, but I could see the look on Nick’s face when we started talking about how exactly we were going to get married. He wanted to share it with people.

  So here we are, having taken approximately ten thousand pictures this morning as part of our deal with the press. We give them scheduled, tightly controlled access that I can prepare for, and they leave me alone the rest of the time. That’s the deal, and they’ve mostly honored it. I guess they believe that Nick is willing to salt the whole earth if they’re not respectful, and they’re not wrong. I mean, after he went super-rage-nova and sicced a world-class team of lawyers on Twenty-Four-Hour Eyes for using blurry pics of me and Fi splashing around in the pool on their cover, how could they not take him seriously? He might be a huge goofball for the most part, but if you fuck with me or Fi—or god help you, both of us—he will burn you to the ground.