Tom poured shots for a group of guys at the end of the bar, and white wine for two women sitting toward the middle of the u-shaped counter. He wiped his hands on a bar towel, and then wiped down the worn wood. All things he'd done hundreds of times, maybe even thousands. He tucked a pen behind his ear as he went to print out the check for the couple on the far end.
His life was slowly returning back to routine. The same things, day in and day out. "The grind" as some people liked to call it. And he was definitely in deep. The return of cooler weather meant weekday hours would be spent teaching, and the evenings with Gemma and Rosie. Some nights he'd spend at the Bar, and most weekends. If he was lucky, he'd get the odd Sunday or Saturday morning free. The sweetness of summer was over.
It felt like weeks since he'd talked to Billie. Months, even. Entire lifetimes. He laid in bed at night, and thought of her. He missed her voice the most, perhaps. The conversations they'd have, idling away the early morning hours. He of all people knew that physical attraction could fade, and the most important base of a relationship was—what you had to talk about at the end of the day. And he felt, with Billie, he had everything to talk about.
But it wasn't as if he didn't miss her physically being there as well. The smell of her skin. The feel of her hands. Thoughts of the way her body felt next to his. The sighs she made. The comfort of having someone to sleep next to—and not just anyone—this one woman in particular. She liked to sleep curled on her side, hand under her cheek, a pillow tucked under her shoulders, and wedged behind her back. Like a little fortress.
He didn't like to think about all the things he'd done wrong. He knew it would drive him insane if he did. He knew he couldn't change the past, couldn't say words that hadn't been ready at the time. And now, Billie was in Los Angeles, and getting ready for an opportunity of a lifetime. A show in Las Vegas. He wasn't sure he had any right to contact her. To tell her things that she deserved to hear weeks ago. It felt selfish. It felt self serving. And he only wanted her to be happy. To finally find her way, her peace. He wasn't sure that he was a part of that anymore.
More than once he'd thought he'd heard her voice. Like a song coming from the ocean, drifting on the breeze. On occasion, he found he wasn't just going crazy. Gemma had taken to playing Billie's music. Or, Baby Darling's music. Apparently, Rosie had let her download some of Baby's tracks to her iPad. Softer songs. Music that was better for surfing or spending time at the beach, than partying in a club. It drove Tom crazy, but he didn't keep Gemma from listening.
He knew he wasn't the only one that missed Billie.
Tom checked the clock over the bar, noting that he'd only been there for half an hour, and had a long night ahead of him. The season had slowed down, and now things were back to the regulars. The odd work cocktail hour, girlfriends out for drinks, single guys drinking alone. Same old, same old.
Tom lugged a rack of clean pint glasses from the back, and began putting them away, trying his best to stay busy.
"Your girlfriend is all over the news." Chelsea walked up behind Tom, amusement in her voice. Tom looked up, frowning. His coworker nodded toward the flat screen hanging to the right of the bar. Tom raised an eyebrow at her, and then looked at the tv.
It was programmed to one of the entertainment channels. Usually good bar fare. The volume was down, but the captions were on.
And the face on the screen was unmistakable. Only, it wasn't Billie.
It was Shorty.
Footage of Shorty, his head down, being lead, handcuffed from a house. Multiple cop cars, lights flashing, illuminating the otherwise dark night footage. Shorty was lit up by spotlights, and the sight of him being arrested made Tom's blood turn cold. He froze, watched the television for a minute, trying to gather as much as he could from the spotty information.
"Late Tuesday night, Shorty Masters, also known as the manager, publicist and sometimes producer of singer Baby Darling, was arrested for allegedly attacking the 26 year old pop star. Shorty has not released any statement concerning the claims, and was released on bail on Wednesday."
"Holy shit. That's insane. What happened?" Chelsea exclaimed, her face frozen in a strange mixture of disbelief and amusement. Billie's life—just momentary entertainment and distraction for complete strangers. Tom felt his whole body tense, and he tried his best not to lash out at Chelsea. There was nothing amusing about it. Nothing at all. He felt a panic wash through him, wondering if Billie was okay.
"I don't know..." He faded off, eyes glued to the television.
"Are you still dating her? I wonder if they were having some sort of affair." Chelsea mused, nudging Tom in the side. Tom glared at her, and shook his head.
"I've...I have to go. I've got to leave." He said, suddenly feeling like he needed to move, needed to be doing something. Anything. He couldn't stay in that bar, waiting. He couldn't spend the rest of the night with Chelsea, placing bets on why Shorty was really arrested. Chelsea looked at him, surprised.
"Okay..."
"Cover for me? I owe you, big time." Tom asked, his voice frantic, his actions even more so. Chelsea nodded, and then watched as her coworker practically ran from the building.
****
Tom was banging on Sam and Rachel's door, while checking his phone at the same time. Billie hadn't contacted him. No calls, no text messages, nothing. Not that he'd expect her to. They hadn't exactly left each other on good terms. He felt a heaviness in his chest, a panic that wasn't likely to go away until he knew she was okay.
The entire way over to Sam and Rachel's he could only think one thing.
Billie. Billie. Billie. She had to be okay. And if she wasn't, if Shorty had hurt her...
It was early afternoon, his shift at the Bar had barely started when he'd left, but Tom didn't care. He banged on the sliding glass door again, and then began calling both Sam and Rachel's phones, cursing softly when they didn't pick up. He was in a panic. In a state that he'd never felt before. Not knowing. Not knowing if she was okay. Not knowing what had happened between her and that bastard, Shorty.
Rachel came to the door first, looking bleary eyed and a bit frightened. She must have been working, as she was wearing her apron, smattered with dried clay, her hair haphazardly piled on her head. That same white blond hair that Billie had, that instantly made him, for a split second, believe he was seeing her. He shook his head and waited. Sam was right behind Rachel, pulling a shirt on, looking freshly showered.
"Tom? Is everything okay?" She said, her voice alarmed, as she opened the door. Tom ran two hands over his face and through his hair.
"What happened to Billie? Hell, Rach. Tell me she's okay. Please." He felt like falling to his knees in front of them, begging for answers. His panic, his worry, was palpable. Sam gently stepped forward, moving Rachel to the side.
"It's okay, man. Billie is alright. Take a deep breath, yeah?" Sam said softly, and reached forward, taking Tom by the shoulders.
"I didn't know. I didn't know something had happened." He murmured softly. Tom scrubbed his hands over his jaw, furiously at first, and then forced himself to slow down. To breathe, and take note of how fast his heart was slamming into his ribs, and how nearly hysterical he was acting.
"Come in. Okay? I'll make tea." Rachel motioned both men inside. Tom swallowed hard, forcing himself to act more rationally, and then followed his best friends into their home. Surely she was okay. Surely they wouldn't be talking so calmly, and making tea, if Billie wasn't okay.
A short time later, with steaming mugs in their hands, Tom sat in the large, overstuffed chair across from Rachel and Sam. Rachel had taken off her apron and gotten more comfortable. Sam had stationed himself next to his wife, looking relaxed but somehow still worried. Tom leaned forward, onto his knees, and waited.
Rachel was the first one who spoke.
"First. I want you to tell me what happened between you two." She said, her voice gentle but stern. Tom looked up, surprised. She held his gaze, letting him know she meant business.
"Why? Isn't that between me and Billie?" He replied, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't trying to be derisive, but he wasn't quite ready to rehash what had happened. And if Billie hadn't told Rachel, then he wondered if he should. Then again, he could say the same about Billie's current situation now.
"Because, if I'm going to tell you personal things about my sister, then I need to know why she left here, running at full speed. I need to know if you deserve to be a part of her life." Rachel tilted her head back, chin up, ever so slightly. Tom could tell it wasn't an easy thing for her to say. He was close to Rachel, as close as he was to Sam. But Billie was her sister, and they had been two peas in a pod for their entire lives, no matter the distance between them. Rachel was protecting her. Tom looked away for a moment, and then took a gulp from his tea. Sweet, milky, earthy. He let it ground him before he started.
"Don't hate me, Rach." He said softly, before beginning. Rachel didn't respond, but simply waited.
"Right before Gemma broke her arm—literally seconds before it happened, Billie told me she loved me." He looked back at Rachel, surprise written all over her face. Sam stayed quiet, and sat back with his arms folded over his chest.
"She told you she loved you?" Rachel's voice was heartbroken, and a bit flabbergasted. Tom nodded. "I figured she did but...she didn't tell me that." She whispered in return. There was a silence in the room for a moment, both parties considering this. Then Tom continued.
"I didn't know how to handle it. It had all...happened so quickly. My feelings for Billie. I just lost it. Between the paparazzi thing at the ice cream shop with Gemma. And Becca showing up. I was having a hard time wrapping my head around Billie's life—her fame, the fact that she had no plans to stay here. Then with Becca around it was like...this virus. I couldn't see or feel anything, without feeling like I did six years ago, when I found out I married a woman who was a pathological liar. And I'd found myself in a strange place, tied to people I barely knew. So Billie telling me she loved me...I was scared to death of what it meant. Of how I felt." Tom scrubbed a hand over his face, covering his mouth momentarily with one hand.
"I love Billie, Rachel. Believe me when I say that." He looked up then, into the face that was so similar to the woman he loved. "I love her so much it hurts to be here. To wake up, and go to work, and spend time with my daughter, and not have her there with me. But I was so sure, in those moments, that she would leave us too. That she was putting on a façade as well. And I let her go. I just let her...walk away." He shook his head.
"You haven't told her?" Rachel's voice was soft, and it broke slightly as she talked.
"No. How could I? How can I? After how much I've hurt her? Humiliated her? It was the last thing in the world she deserved." He leaned his elbows on his legs, and then pressed his face to his hands.
Rachel and Sam were both quiet for some time. Tom felt the space between them, and wondered if the damage could be repaired.
"Tom, love takes more than emotions. More than just two people, you know?" Rachel finally spoke, gently. She had her hand on Sam's as she spoke, carefully. "You've got to both be in the same place. The same place at the same time. And it doesn't matter if you've been at points A,B and C, and she's been at C, B, and A. All that matters is, at one point, you meet in the same place. All the rest is just...noise."
Tom looked up, felt tears burn at the corners of his eyes.
"I want to meet her. I want to meet her in the same place. Help me, Rach." He pleaded softly.
Rachel took a deep breath. She pulled her phone out of her pocket.
"On Tuesday night, Billie found out that Shorty was the one behind the release of the sex tape." Rachel spoke quickly, almost robotically. As if it hurt her, just as much as it hurt Billie, to find out this information. To repeat it.
Tom sat up, his jaw dropping slightly, his heart stopping. He felt rage, boil deep in his gut, and then begin burning it's way through his body.
"Just listen." Rachel warned, holding up a hand.
"I'm listening." Tom said, his voice clipped and carefully guarded.
"They fought about it. Billie was, understandably, furious and she fired Shorty. Told him she'd make sure he never worked again, kicked him out of her house." Rachel said, with a slightly lighter tone. Tom smiled to himself, nodding.
"There's my girl." He said under his breath, holding back a chuckle.
"Shorty hit her." Rachel breathed, her voice shaking. Tom looked up, the smile disappearing from his face. Sam shifted on the sofa, looking upset as well.
"Rach..." Tom sat forward.
"She's fine. But he got her pretty good across the face, and she had to get stitches. He left right after that, and my beautiful, intelligent, kick ass sister immediately called the cops on him." Rachel looked away, smiling through tears. Tom felt his hands clench at his sides, felt his gut turn. Anger at Shorty. Anger at himself for not being there.
"How is she?" Tom breathed. Rachel pressed her lips together, and then turned her phone on. She scrolled around for a second, before passing the phone to Tom.
"She sent me this." She placed the phone in his outstretched hand, and Tom saw her hand shake slightly. It was a photo of Billie, close up of her face. The photo looked like someone had taken it for Billie, as her eyes were closed, and it was side profile. The flash was on, giving a stark, "police evidence" feel to it.
His stomach clenched as he saw the bruising on her cheekbone. Angry purple, red and yellow around the edges. She had a tiny line of stitches, coursing through the bruised area. The doctor had obviously done a meticulous job sewing up the cut, but it was still an ugly mark.
"Goddamnit..." Tom turned the phone off, angrily.
"Tom, listen." Sam sat up. "We're all just as pissed off, and fucking...devastated. But what Billie needs right now is...a friend. Not someone trying to run in on a white horse." Sam said diplomatically, trying to keep Tom from flying off the handle. Tom nodded, but he felt as if he was going to jump out of his skin.
"I'm worried about her, Tom." Rachel piped up, her brow furrowed suddenly. "She texted me the night it happened. Sent that picture. Then she texted me the next morning, and she sounded okay. But I haven't heard from her since. It's been 48 hours and she won't answer my calls or my texts. It's not like her. At all. Even back when they released the sex tape, she stayed in contact with me. I just...I don't..." Rachel let out a tiny sob, and then pressed a slender hand to her mouth. Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
Tom's mind went spinning.
"So what do we do? Are you going to LA?" Tom stood up then, unable to keep sitting. He needed to move. Rachel brushed tears away and looks helplessly at Sam.
"I have that University conference in Orlando. I leave tomorrow morning until Tuesday." Sam said, sounding frustrated. He squeezed Rachel to him, and then pressed a kiss to her temple.
Rachel looked at Tom, her eyes tear filled, and gave him a watery smile.
"And I can't...fly. I can't fly right now." She said, letting out a sharp little laugh. A laugh of joy mixed with utter sadness, and aggravation.
"You can't fly?" Tom drifted off, when realization hit him.
"Oh god, Rachel." He walked forward, hands out, as both Rachel and Sam stood up. She nodded, crying a bit more now.
"You're pregnant?!" Tom nearly shouted, and then Rachel full on started sobbing. It was like a dam let loose. A mixture of simple joy, relief, exuberance, mixed with heartbreak, devastation and being utterly terrified for her sister's wellbeing.
"Oh, darling." Tom pulled Rachel into his arms, hugging her to him. "Guys, that is so fantastic." He grinned at Sam, who also had tears in his eyes. Rachel managed to pull herself together, gripping Tom tightly in a hug, then letting go. Tom hugged Sam next, and for a moment, they celebrated this miracle.
"It's really early. Really, really early. We weren't even entirely sure, but then we got the test results from the doctor..." Sam said, keeping an eye on Rachel, who was dabbing at her eyes. "The doctor doesn't want her flying. Just a lot of resting, since she's high risk. And we're not telling anyone. Not yet. Not til..." Sam trailed off, giving Rachel a look. She smiled up at him, weakly, but full of love.
"We just want to be careful." She said simply. Tom nodded, understanding.
"Congratulations, guys." He beamed, and then the weight of everything fell back over the three of them. Rachel clung to Sam's side. The air was heavy, laden with emotions spoken and unspoken.
"There's...no one else I trust, Tom. I know you've got a million things going on—" Rachel started, her voice soft and pleading.
"I'll go, Rach. You don't even have to ask. I'm there. I'll leave as soon as I can." Tom said somberly. It wasn't even a question in his mind. He needed to go. He had to go. Rachel sagged with relief, and then began crying again, relieved.
"We'll watch after Gemma. And I'm sure Rosie won't mind." Sam said, rubbing Rachel's arm briskly. Sam looked grateful, and thankful that they had a plan in motion.
"Thank you. Thank you, Tom." Rachel hugged him again, pulling him against her. Tom hugged her tight.
"I'll make sure she's okay, Rach. Don't worry." He whispered.
****
Getting to LA was easy. Almost too simple. Tom barely made it on a flight that left in the early evening, made it to LAX in six hours, and was in his rental car by 11pm. The time seemed to crawl, but he made it through in a blur. His thoughts were on Billie. A million possibilities ran through his mind of what he'd find, but only one possibility truly made sense. She had to be okay. There was a reasonable explanation for everything. If anything had happened to her, he'd never forgive himself.
Adrenaline got him to her house in one piece. He wasn't in a small town anymore, that was for sure. Using his phone for directions, and maneuvering through Las Angeles traffic hadn't been a fun or easy thing. But he was untouchable. He had one job, and he had to get there. Soon. The urgency was all his own, but he couldn't ignore it.
Tom got through her gated community, using the code that Rachel had given him for the front gate. It was the code she remembered from the last time she'd visited. She'd apologized as she'd written it down, saying she wasn't sure if it would work. But when Tom had punched in the six digit number, the large metal gate had swung open. And he'd felt relief wash through him, if only a tiny bit.
He'd been calling Billie too. Ever since he'd left for the airport. On the off chance she'd pick up for him. He didn't know why she would, but he had to try. And every time, it had gone to voicemail. It felt ominous, and it made him feel panicked.
Rachel hadn't been able to give him a key to Billie's house. She didn't have one. So he hoped he'd roll up there, and Billie would just be miraculously okay. She'd answer the door, wearing one of those sundresses she loved, she'd smile and they'd have a good laugh over her broken phone. He'd be able to call Rachel and they'd all have a good story to tell someday...
Tom grumbled to himself as he rounded the bend on her street. Her house sat back from the road, down a long drive way that turned into a large U shape outside of her home. There were two SUVs parked to the side, but no other cars.
He drove slowly, at a snail's pace, though he was anxious to get there. Part of him was scared.. Scared to his bones that she wasn't okay. That there was a very real, very frightening reason why she hadn't spoken to her sister in two days.
His stomach dropped as he slowed to the end of her driving, and took in the sight of her home.
It was a large, sort of nondescript modern looking house with two stories. There were huge columns in the front, making it look grand and expensive. It was a beautiful house—the sort you'd see in movies and in magazines, and Tom guessed it was exactly the sort of thing a pop star would live in. it didn't exactly say "Billie" to him, but then again, he wasn't exactly sure what would. His house, perhaps?
Every hair on the back of his neck stood though, as he parked and opened his car door.
It was completely silent there, and in the semi-darkness of the LA night, every light seemed to be on in Billie's house. It glowed, supernaturally bright, making the outside seem like an artificial sort of day. Tom hesitated, looking up into the windows, trying to see if he could see anyone inside. He could see nearly straight through, and into the house, from some of the windows, and he didn't see anyone. Empty. But lights on like a welcoming beacon. Something about it felt off to him, and he slowly climbed out of the car.
Tom swallowed hard, tucked his keys into his pocket, left his bag in the car and walked up the short pathway to the front door. Still silent. It was almost eerie.
He reached up, about to press the doorbell, when something hit him, like a tsunami wave. Too fast for him to run, nowhere to go.
The front door was slightly ajar. He could see the crack of light glowing through, and it made his heart slam against his chest. Billie.
Tom didn't hesitate. He pushed open the door, took a hesitant step inside, and then panic took over.
The house wasn't trashed, but there was something off about it.
The lights were all on—it seemed every single one of them, but there was complete silence when he walked in. He scanned the first rooms, noting a formal looking sitting area, and a large staircase that overlooked the foyer. In the sitting area, some of the pillows from the couch were thrown on the floor, but everything else looked like it was in it's place. He frowned, and made his way down the hall, past the stairs.
He came to the kitchen, which was much more messy. Bottles covered every surface. There were empty pizza boxes stacked on the counter, and old food covered dishes in the sink. He kept moving, glancing into the dining room. He paused, taking in the scene. There were papers everywhere. Stacks on the table, and then more littering the floor like leaves fallen in autumn. It was as if someone had taken the papers and thrown them like confetti. He shook his head, frowning, feeling numb with worry and confusion. It was almost as if the place had been deserted. As if whoever had been here had just left, mid sentence, mid thought, without warning.
Tom wondered where she could be. Maybe she wasn't home. Maybe she was upstairs. Sleeping? But the possibility seemed less likely, the more he moved through the house. There was no way Billie would let her house go to this state. No way.
Past the kitchen and the dining room, there was a large, sunken in room. It would have been rather cozy if the whole house didn't reek of something wrong. A big fireplace took up one far wall, and seamless sliding glass doors took up another. A huge, flatscreen television was on in the corner, but it was playing on mute.
He frowned, looking around, noticing again, some empty bottles and trash. Two big leather couches took up most of the space, though they were empty. No one was here.
Tom turned then to leave, and make his way upstairs, when something caught his eye.
The reflection in one of the glass doors. A body, lying curled on the floor. On her side, one hand under her cheek.
Tom catapulted across the room, falling to his hands and knees in front of her. Billie was lying behind the couch, in the walkway between the sitting area and the glass doorways. There was a trashcan lying on it's side next to her, and she'd obviously tried but failed to get sick into it.
Tom swallowed hard, his hands hovering over body for a second, afraid to touch her. He was practically vibrating, humming with panic. Afraid he'd touch her and find her cold, and lifeless.
But then, he saw the subtle, if not labored movement of her chest. The shallow breathing of an uneasy sleep.
"Billie." His voice came out like a croak. Thick from worry and disuse.
"Billie." He said again, more forceful, as he took her by the shoulders. Billie lolled back, her head flopping to the side. He shook her again, noticing she was a complete mess. She'd been wearing what appeared to be a short, sequin covered dress. Far too fancy for lounging around at home. It was now torn at the hem, and covered in what was most likely her own vomit. Her hair was a whirlwind around her face, her eyes smudged with dark makeup. Tom clenched his teeth together, feeling anger and sadness wash over him.
He should have been here sooner. She shouldn't have been here at all.
"Billie. Love, wake up." He shook her again, and then took her face in his hands. He smoothed her hair back, and felt her stir against him. It was a relief to feel her move, but only a brief one.
"Hmm." She groaned, and then coughed softly, her whole body convulsing.
"Billie, come on, darling. You've got to get up." He gently began lifting her at her shoulders, trying to get her to sit up.
"No. NO." She shook her head, her eyes still closed. She smelled like vodka, and sick. Well, it wouldn't be the first time she threw up on him.
"Come on,Billie." He ground out, trying to lift her. She was heavier than he remembered, giving him no help to move.
"What? No, no, no." She shook her head, barely conscious. "My friends will be back soon. It'sa party." Her words were slurred, almost incomprehensible.
"Who? Your friends?" Tom asked, slipping his arm under her shoulders. Billie rolled toward him then, pressed her face into his arm and chest. What kind of friends left someone throwing up, and passed out on the ground? What kind of friends trashed someone's house and then disappeared?
"The twins. Getting more beer." She grumbled, and then out of nowhere, suddenly started crying. It was a soft, heart wrenching sob, and she didn't try to hide it at all. She curled to her side, her hands pressed to her face.
"I'm so tired." She moaned, hiccupping softly. Tom held her against him, knowing she didn't even know it was him. Knowing she was drunk out of her mind, and had no idea what was going on.
"Billie, shhh." He picked her up then, slipping his other arm under her legs, gripping her tightly by the shoulders. Now, she seemed to weigh nothing. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tears staining her cheeks.
Billie opened her eyes then, slowly, and looked up at him.
Tom started walking, back through the kitchen and toward the stairs in the foyer. He wanted to get her cleaned up. Get her to her bed, where she could sleep properly.
"Oh, hello." Billie said softly, her voice dreamy now and far away. Tom glanced down at her but didn't respond. Her blue eyes were open, but she wasn't focused completely on him. They were bloodshot, and hazy, as if she saw him but was looking right through him.
"Never thought I'd see you here." She said with a soft, breathless laugh before closing her eyes again, and passing back out.