Lost in You (33 page)

Dylan and I both look at her. Our heads move in slow motion. Mrs. Ross looks funny, like she has a plastic smile. She looks at Dylan, then to me.

“Ryan, would you like to invite your girlfriend over tonight for dinner?”

Dylan chokes on her cookie, which makes Mrs. Ross pat her back. Nothing like being put on the spot.

“No thank you, Mrs. Ross, she’s not really my girlfriend.” Dylan kicks me lightly under the table. I look at her, raising my eyebrows. What was I supposed to say?

“Okay. Dylan, would you like to tell me why you applied to NYU?”

Now I’m the one looking at Dylan, my eyes wide. She’s never mentioned going to New York for college. In fact, she’s never mentioned college at all.

“I… um… I sent in an application with the essay that won first place last year. I didn’t think I’d have a chance.”

“Well, it seems not only did you get in, but they gave you a full scholarship.” Mrs. Ross pulls an envelope out of her pocket and sets it down in front of Dylan. She looks from the envelope to me and to her mom before jumping into her mom’s arms.

I’m happy for her. I am, but wish it were me.

When they’re done celebrating, I give her a hug.

“Will you go wit
h me?” she asks when I release her.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I can’t go to New York without you.”

I close my eyes and nod. I pick her up and spin her around. She laughs, holding my neck tightly. When I set her down, Mrs. Ross hugs the both of us.

“I’m okay with Dylan going as long as you’re there with her, Ryan.”

“Yeah, I’ll go,” I shout loudly.

Hadley

I throw down my headphones and push the microphone out of my way. My producer stands, his hands pressing down on the table that holds his mixing board. He’s leaning over it, staring at me through the glass. If the look on his face is supposed to be menacing, he’s missing it by a mile. I can’t do this anymore. These songs, the ones I thought I wanted to sing for my new album, aren’t cutting it. I wrote them shortly after I left Ryan. Putting my feelings down on paper helped a little, but I never thought I’d be standing here in a studio recording them.

I’m not sure I can do it. There is so much anger. Pain and sadness fills my lyrics, but when
I say the words, I hate them. I hate myself for letting Ryan go. In my mind, he was going to wait. He was going to be ready to take me back, forgive me for my stupidity and everything would be perfect.

He was the smart one. He moved on. I can’t blame him,
even though I want to. How come he didn’t know I’d be back? Because I didn’t know I’d be back, that’s why.

I can’t do this, not today. I pick up my bag and sling it over my shoulder. I open the door only to find Ian standing there with his arms against th
e doorframe, blocking me from leaving. He’s shaking his head and his lips are curled into a sneer.

“Get back in there and get this done.”

“I’m not feeling it today. I need to leave.”

Ian straightens. This is his ‘I’m the boss’ stance. It works with the me
dia and others who cower to him, but not me, not anymore. Not after everything that has gone down in the past few months. He’s supposed to be my friend, my confidant. I should be able to trust him, but he showed his true colors, repeatedly.

“I don’t think
you understand.”

“No, Ian, I don’t think
you
understand. Your contract with me is up in a couple of months. If I was you, I’d start kissing my ass in the hope that I’m willing to re-sign with you.”

“Excuse me?” He steps back, which I don’t expect. I figur
ed he’d push me into the room and shut the door so he can read me the riot act.

I step forward, finding a bit of confidence within. “You heard me. Don’t act so shocked. Yes, I know your contract is due for renewal and you bet your ass that I’m shopping ar
ound. You work for me, not the other way around.”

“You wouldn’t fire me. We’re family.”

I scoff. “You can’t throw the word ‘family’ around when it’s convenient for you,” I say as I point my finger at him. “If you know what’s best for you, you’ll move out of my way.”

“You’re a spoiled little bitch, you know that?”

I shrug. “Whatever, Ian, I don’t care what you think. Not anymore.”

I walk past him, purposely bumping my shoulder into his. I slam the door behind me, hopefully conveying my anger. I doubt it did
though. I opt for the stairs. I don’t want to see anyone out front. I don’t want to be stopped by the nosey receptionist who is supposed to order my lunch this afternoon. I just want out.

As soon as I’m out on the street, I’m heading to the local coffee s
hop. Today is not the day to be accosted by fans, but I see it coming. I can’t even stand in line without someone pointing and whispering. Yes, people, believe it or not, Hadley Carter buys her own coffee. Better call the paparazzi and let them know that I do mundane things. The cashier asks for my autograph and I stare at her. Really? Isn’t there some unknown code where people waiting on you know better than to ask for an autograph?

I slap down my money and tell her she can keep the change. I don’t even kn
ow how much that is, but I’m hoping it’s nothing more than a few pennies. I take my coffee and smile. I hear the word
bitch
as I turn my back.

Whatever.

I’m done.

I pull out my phone and call Alex. “I quit,” I say as she answers.

“Okay.”

“Is
that all you have to say?”

“No, but I do think you need a break. You’ve been through a lot and you didn’t take any time after you and Ryan. And then there’s Cole and the media all over you because he’s dating someone new and they're desperate for a story t
hat isn’t there. So, I don’t blame you.”

I stand at the corner and wait for the traffic to clear or for the signal to change. As beautiful as it is today, the streets aren’t that crowded. I walk into Central Park and find a bench to sit on. There are a few
street performers, but none who catch my attention. What I’d really like to do is sit here with my guitar and just play for people; people who don’t care who I am or what I do for a living.

“You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you.”

Alex laughs
. I know what she’s talking about. We discussed me going to see a therapist when I was on tour, but of course when the tour was over, I went right into the studio. Can’t let my fans down. Maybe Alex is right. Maybe I do need to talk to someone to help me deal with what’s going on in my head, because we all know the song writing isn’t cutting it. Usually that’s my therapy, my release, but not this time.

“What do you think?”

“I think people will think I’m nuts if they find out.”

“No one will find out, Hadley,
but I think you need this. You never saw one after the first time with Cole and then there was Ryan and now this very public relationship with Cole again. Talking to someone will help you deal with it all.”

“Okay.” I don’t want Alex to list all my problem
s. I know them. I’ve always thrown myself into my work and never dealt with what Cole did to me or what I did to Ryan.

“Okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, call someone for me.” I don’t say goodbye. I need to get off the phone before I change my mind. Within minutes Alex texts me with a name, location and a time, a time that is an hour from now. I have a sneaking suspicion she had this set up for a while now. 

“So,” she says, she being Dr. Patrick with her jet-black hair wrapped tightly in a bun perched high on top of her head. She greeted me the moment I walked in, like she had a nanny cam in the hallway; either that or she has no other head cases lining up to see her. She likes black. Her black pencil skirt goes with her black stilettos and black jacket only accented by a red cami to match her red lips, all while I’m sitting on a black couch. Maybe she needs someone to talk to.

“So,” I reply back. I keep my hands folded and rested on my knees. I really don’t know what I’m doing here. Am I supposed to give her my l
ife story or wait for her to ask me what’s wrong?

“Sometimes people come in here and just sit and others spill. I’m not saying you have to do either, just remember that no one judges what you say here. This is an open forum. I only take notes when there’s
something I want to ask you again or remember for our next session. You don’t have to worry about the press or your manager finding out about what you talk about. Your assistant, Alex, was very clear about what you expect.”

Her voice is smooth and the word
s tumble out in a gentle cadence; it’s amazing how she eased so many worries just like that. I sit back, a little bit more comfortable. She doesn’t smile or even change her position. She’s good at her job and she knows it.

“You like black?” I didn’t mean t
his as a question, more of a statement, but didn’t know how to end my thought.

“Believe it or not, it’s calming. If everything was white, you’d think clinical and hospital and you wouldn’t want to talk. Red brings out anger and yellow makes it seem like I
’m forcing you to be happy. Black allows you to be relaxed.”

“Some would say black is death.”

“Some would, but it gets people talking.”

She’s right, I want to talk and I do. I start with Coleman and tell her everything. How we met, fell in love and I thoug
ht I had found the one for me until I caught him with someone else.

“But when I met Ryan… my soul knew he was the one I was destined to be with, but everything was against us.”

“Like what?” she writes down something, asking her question without looking at me.

“Completely different lifestyles and not just because of my job, but we were even raised differently. My parents doted on me where his didn’t acknowledge he was around. It was hard for me to see him not have basic necessities, like new clothes. I wan
ted to take care of him, but knew he’d never accept my help.”

“It’s not uncommon for people to come from different social economical classes and have one want to take care of the other.”

I shrug. I think Ryan would’ve been okay if I bought him more, but he would’ve gotten into trouble.

“It’s not just social status. There’s an age difference.”

“What is it?”

“Five years.”

Dr. Patrick adjusts in her seat, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs. “Five years isn’t that big of a gap, Hadley. Many people have an age difference larger and make it work.”

“He was seventeen when we dated.” I drop my eyes before I can see the look on her face. I don’t need to know that she doesn’t approve even though she do
esn’t know us. I can hear her pen moving across the page, that’s how quiet it is in here. There isn’t the sound of a clock with its tick tock, tick tock to break the silence. Not even a bird outside chirping. Just the sound of writing as she puts down all the questions she’s going to ask.

“How did his parents feel?”

I rub my hands down my pants. They’re sweating and I know she’s going to judge me. I should feel ashamed, but I don’t. I love him. I’ll wait a lifetime to see him again if I have to. “Only his mom knew, but she didn’t approve. No one approved except my friend, Alex, and she still had her reservations. Like I said, we were doomed from the moment we met.”

“When was the last time you spoke with him?”

“That’s just it,” I say, shaking my head. “We got arrested when I went to visit him and my manager made a deal with the police, or whoever, that they wouldn’t charge Ryan with assaulting an officer. In exchange, Ryan signed a no-contact order stating he couldn’t contact me until he turned eighteen.”

“Whe
n is that?”

“Six months ago.”

Dr. Patrick sets down her notepad and leans forward slightly. “So what’s keeping you from reaching out to him?”

I readjust and sit more comfortably on her leather couch. I know why doctors use couches: it’s so you can lie down
and tell them your woes and feel better about yourself while you’re encased in fine Italian leather.

“I had bought him a phone and turned it off so I wouldn’t be tempted. On his birthday, I'd had enough and needed to hear his voice, but he never answered
. He never replied or read my text messages. The message is clear, I just can’t let go.”

“What about going to visit him?”

“He ran away the day after all this happened.” I shake my head, fighting the tears to no avail. I wipe at my cheeks, roughly, needing the pain to feel human. “I don’t know where he is. I lost him because of the people in my life. My manager made him sign that stupid form and I lost him.”

She stands and hands me a tissue. I’m surprised I’m able to smile and thank her.

“Tell me about your manager.”

“He’s my uncle and he’s an idiot. His contract is up soon and I’m really thinking it’s time we part ways. He’s good at his job, but he’s like a spoiled child and does the most unbelievable things when he doesn’t get his way.”