In Other Words…Chapter Seventy-One
Roxy’s POV
I sat in front of the computer screen, fiddling with my hair as I watched in the webcam, my mother launching into the same speech she’d already given me twice. I knew in my heart what I wanted.
“He loves you.” She said. As if I didn’t know, and as if those three words could clear out all of the other crap floating around in my head. She must be running out of ways to rephrase the same general argument: I need to tell Niall that we should open up this bar together. I am just struggling with my own pride. Everything I’ve ever done I’ve made happen for myself. But, I’m tired of going around and around in my own brain about it. I’ve done it so many times over this past year: the house, the car, the job.
It’s just making me crazy.
I am beginning to think I’ve been looking at it all wrong. It wasn’t a matter of having to accept a golden ticket, but to let him stand beside me and provide the occasional shoulder to steady myself upon. And that wasn’t such a bad thing, right?
“He loves you.” She repeated. “So quit stalling and give him an answer.”
“I will, mom. I’m just…”
“You’re being an asshole!” my dad shouted, off-camera. “Why can’t you see that this isn’t about you? It’s about you and him.” My mom turned toward him and held a notepad over the lens as she spoke to him quickly and quietly, only the ‘s’ sound making its way through the speakers on my computer . “No, I’m watching the game. She can hear me just fine.” My father wasn’t usually so gruff.
“You’ve been talking to him.” I said as I realized it. I could hear the T.V. in the background. “Haven’t you, Dad?” He grunted. “Niall’s been calling you about this? Or email?” Mom stared blankly into the lens, trying to keep her expression as neutral as possible, which told me all I needed to know. “He’s calling to complain about me to my parents?” I laughed.
“Don’t you worry about what Niall and I talk about.” My dad answered back. “Just quit being an asshole, Annie. We raised you better.”
Niall’s POV
Six o’clock came up without warning, my eyes falling upon the clock that hung at the front of the sound booth. I jogged over to the edge of our makeshift stage, my mobile stashed atop the speaker with four empty water bottles labeled “NH”. I’m here. Her text said, sent five minutes ago. “Shit.” I muttered, knowing she was sitting outside the building in her car, certain there was still a sizeable crowd of girls clamoring for a glance at us, at anyone affiliated with the band. Girlfriends included. “Give me a second.” I said aloud, the choreographer nodding as Zayn walked through the blocking once more.
The long and late hours we’ve been keeping were beginning to wear us out, but it was all necessary. There had been many heated discussions, several examinations of the pros and the cons, two full-blown arguments and one final agreement that we would combine the promotion for our next album with a full tour, instead of separating the two. It would be more work , and a longer stretch away from home initially, but it meant that after all was said and done, we’d have a few months off before starting the process all over again, just like we’d done four times in the last six years.
By the time I got home at night, I was just exhausted and didn’t even want to think about work stuff, let alone talk about it with Roxy. And since up until two days ago, the tour thing was sort of up in the air, I’d left her out of the loop; not wanting the news to rattle her, or to let that influence the decision I knew was still weighing on her mind. This morning, the five of us had signed on the dotted line, and it was a done deal. I was excited, but it was daunting to know that the next few months were going to be full-on madness. Our team was in high-gear, booking the venues, churning out the merchandise, setting up our itinerary in cities across the globe. And the five of us simply needed to put the final touches on the album, rehearse the show and pack our bags.
Simple.
I popped open the side door and poked my head out, spotting her car parked near the back corner of the building, the group of fans waiting, as they were asked, behind the metal fence at the side of the lot, the tips of their fingers poking through the mesh, so focused on her that they didn’t even notice me. Roxy must have spotted me in the rear-view, though, and climbed out the car; her name being shouted as she quickly waved to the girls and headed my way. The door fell closed; I kept it from latching with my foot and counted to ten, estimating her the time it would take her to reach me.
“Sorry.” I said, pulling her in for a squeeze, immediately hoping she wasn’t too put-off by my semi-sweatiness. “Lost track of time.” She muttered into my shirt that it was no big deal. I felt like it had been ages since I touched her, and it was hard to break my embrace despite the fact I knew that the others were being held-up by my absence. “We’re still at it…” I was apologetic.
“I know.” She smiled. “Checked in with Harry a few hours ago. Still figured I’d come by, maybe take you out for ice cream when you’re finished.”
“Can we Ma, can we?” I squealed, clasping my hands together in front of my face.
“We’ll see.” She laughed. She let loose of my hand and trotted down the temporary metal staircase at the front of the little stage, picking a spot a few meters back and sitting down cross-legged on the grey concrete. I adjusted my pants at my hips and took my spot next to Louis, plucking my fake plastic microphone from the stand. “From the top, boys!” she shouted.
Roxy’s POV
The orange flood lights affixed to the side of the building did a pretty good job of counteracting the flashes from the cellphone cameras pointed at us by the crowd of fans which had, by now, at least doubled in size. He pulled his hand from where it was jammed in his pocket and gave a lazy wave as I fished my keys from the bottom of my bag and unlocked the doors. Climbing back behind the wheel, the decibels of the shouts were reduced to a reasonable level in our little four-wheeled sanctuary.
“How…which way should I take to get out of here?” I said, noting the group had now rounded the fence barricade, the exit to the street now thick with people. He exhaled with a groan as we both looked around, verifying there was no alternative route. I managed a perfect three-point turn, and eased off the brake.
“Give it a little gas, babe.” He said. “They’ll move.” I turned the stereo off, needing to concentrate fully, the bold black headlines Gold Digging Girlfriend of Irish Popstar Injures Dozens dancing before my eyes. Soon enough, the car was surrounded, fists and palms banging on our windows, the hood; frenzied fingers trying the handles of the doors. I pressed the brake to the floor, afraid the people directly ahead were stuck and unable to move off to the side due to the congestion between the fence and the building. Niall sat up in his seat. “You can’t stop.” He said over the pounding, his voice already a little ridden with anxiety.
“There’s nowhere for them to go.” I said. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” I eased off the brake and inched forward, pulling the visor down to shield my eyes from the flashes, fully conscious that the photos the people were taking would land online in a matter of moments. The car rolled forward, and I turned the wheel sharply, aiming for the street which had finally come into view.
“This is fucking mental.” He said, taking his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and putting them on. “Move your seat back.” I glanced at him, confused. He repeated the phrase and pressed the buttons on both of our seatbelts. He was starting to freak-out; his chest flushed and his fingers running nervously through his hair. I kept my grip on the wheel as he reached between my legs and pressed the lever, sending the seat backward along the track.
“What are you…?” I said, stretching my leg to keep pressure on the brake.
“I’ll drive.” He said. I reached for the shifter to put it into park. “Rox.” He shook his head. “The doors will unlock. I’m just going to squeeze in over you…” I muttered an “okay”, and he swung his leg over the console and to the floor in front of me, replacing my hands with his on the wheel. “Now.” He said, and I pulled my foot from the pedal, shrinking back against the seat and gripping around his hips to lift myself enough to shimmy over to the passenger seat.
I just wanted to roll down the window and shout back at them. They’re screaming that the love him, and yet surely the know how little he cares for enclosed spaces. But I knew it would be of no use. Niall leaned over the wheel and held his foot on the brake while punching the accelerator, revving the engine, a fake smile spread over his clenched teeth. “You good, Ni?” I muttered as we pushed into the street.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I should have seen that coming.” I was quiet. “I didn’t mean to…it’s just that it’s better if I have some sort of control, rather than just sitting there; s’why I wanted to drive.”
“I get it. No need to apologize.” I reassured him. “Remind me to thank Harry for insisting I get the SUV.”
He pulled his seatbelt across his chest and clicked it into the buckle, his shoulders finally relaxing as more and more distance stretched out behind us, checking the rearview perhaps for reassurance. After a quick wipe of his palm on the leg of his pants he laced his fingers into mine and pulled my hand into his lap. “Ice cream?” he smirked.
Niall’s POV
Sometimes I get lucky. Sometimes I can be in the middle of a crowd of people and feel perfectly at-ease. But sometimes, well, most times, that’s not the case. My mother signed me up with a therapist when I was in school, a grey-haired man that always had stains on his shirt where his gut stuck out over his trousers. He taught me some breathing techniques that helped for a while, but, of course, that was back when I was just Niall, the skinny boy with the crooked teeth that occasionally got up the balls to play my guitar (poorly) and sing (poorly) in front of my classmates and friends.
Breathing techniques weren’t good enough anymore. The Celebrity Solution was to take a pill every morning, to keep a couple of the little blue ovals tucked into the pocket of your trousers just in case. Of course, just in case really meant just because.And I refused. So, I just fucking deal.
Honestly, nothing was as soothing as the warmth of her skin and the feeling her soft smile caused to spread across my chest.
“The usual?” I said as I pulled up to the speaker box. She nodded. “Two toffee crunch cones. One large and one small.” I shouted out my window.
“That’ll be four quid. Pull ‘round.” The speaker box said.
She held the ice cream, resisting the urge to taste test each of them as I found a spot along the canal, putting the car into park, flicking back on the stereo and taking my cone.
“So.” She said, tucking her leg beneath her and turning, settling back against the door. “I got a package today from home.” I lifted my eyebrow and used a long lick of my mountain of ice cream as an excuse not to speak, already knowing what had arrived in the post. “My mom sent over a bunch of my old notebooks. From College.”
“Uh huh.” I said flatly. She told me that the pages contained a business plan, for a pub, one she’d scribbled down and edited four or five times before tucking away on the bookshelf in her room, chalking it up to a simple class assignment, or maybe even a pipe dream. Of course, I already knew all of this, her father bringing her work to my attention some weeks ago. Even now she was minimizing how much thought she’d put into it, and how much heart. I let her speak.
“I spent the whole day dissecting it.” She said. “Reworking it. I remember now how much fun it was to dream the stuff up, and then work from the starting line to map out a way to make it happen.” She elaborated on some of the things on the pages that she’d forgotten all about, like wanting to open up on a Sunday, an hour earlier than is typical to serve hot bowls of soup to the hungry, funded by a jar she wanted to keep on the counter for the patrons to donate to throughout the week. Or featuring micro-brews from cities across the globe on a rotating basis. She spoke quickly, her hands gesturing, her eyes bright.
“You seem really excited.” I grinned. “Does that mean we’re going into business? Have you made your decision?” She looked down at her hands in her lap, popping the last bit of her cone into her mouth as she formulated an answer. Please, my brain begged. Say yes, my chest thumped.
“Can we call it Lucky’s?” she smiled. In an instant I removed my safety belt and leaned over, wrapping my hands around the side of her face, my fingers moving through her hair as I pressed my lips to hers so hard I swear if I weren’t holding her so tight that her head would have bounced off the glass of the window.
“I think that’s the perfect name.” I hummed into her lips.