Invisible Love Letter (11 page)

T
he night before they left
, Weston made love to me three times.

It started in the shower; I was washing my hair when Weston pulled back the shower curtain and hopped in behind me. The water cascaded over us as he took me against the wall.

The second time was on the kitchen table. We had finished eating dinner, and I was in the process of putting away the dishes when he came up behind me. My chest lay flat on the wood surface as he yanked down my shorts and took me from behind. It wasn’t as sensual as the lovemaking in the shower; this time he was hungry for more.

The third time was in the wee hours of the morning when I was awakened by Weston climbing over my body. His lips kissed me softly as he made love to me yet again. When we’d finished, he held me for a long time, as if he was trying to imbed that moment in his mind.

“Leaving you behind is the hardest thing,” he murmured, and then kissed the hollow of my throat.

I locked my legs around him like a vice grip. “You're not leaving me behind. I'm staying right here. And when you're done, I’ll still be here, right where you left me.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

W
eston
and the guys were packed and ready to go. Axel had rented a cargo van for their suitcases and instruments, and they would spend the next four weeks living out of random cheap hotels. We sat outside waiting for Axel and the rest of the guys to arrive. Sitting on top of his suitcase, I picked at my chipped nail polish. I was desperate to do anything but think about the next few minutes.

Weston turned the suitcase around and spun me to face him. “I need two big favors from you.”

“Anything.” I beamed up at him.

“Will you come by on occasion and start up my car?”

“Of course.”

“If you want, you can drive it around.” He reached into his pocket and dangled the keys.

“That's a V8.” I pointed back toward his driveway. “Do you know how much gas costs?”

Weston chuckled. “The second thing, the most
important
thing…” His fingers brushed a tendril off of my face. “Don’t forget that I love you.”

I could never forget that.

Axel drove up and beeped the car horn. “Come on, lovebirds!”

I gave him the finger as I hopped off the suitcase. Pete and Harry popped opened the side door and hurried to load the instruments into the van. I threw my arms around Weston and gave him a long hug goodbye.

“I'll see you soon,” I whispered into his neck.

“Alrighty then.”

Hugging each one of the guys goodbye and wishing them the best of luck, I got in my car and drove away. I’d been strong for Weston; I showed him I would be okay with him leaving—that we would be okay.

But I never promised I wouldn't cry as he drove off.

I made it halfway home before the waterworks kicked in. Fear of losing Weston forever invaded my mind. I loved him so much it physically hurt; my chest was literally in pain.

My vision blurred from the tears as I walked inside my house. Though Leslie said she was working on getting over Harry, the news of him leaving had led her right back into his arms. Her face matched mine: her eyes were puffy, her nose was red, and she looked as heartbroken as I did.

It was only a month.

Plopping down on the couch next to her, she handed me a box of tissues. “It's going to be a quick four weeks, right?” she questioned.

“The quickest,” I lied.

T
he four weeks
were almost up, and I was counting down the days until Weston came home. We’d missed each other’s calls more often than not because he was mostly able to talk while I was at work, and my work schedule was hectic since we were approaching the tour date. In an effort to make the four weeks pass quickly, I’d also pulled shifts every Friday and Saturday night at Sparrows. Even though our calls were short and sparse, he was ecstatic every time I spoke to him.

Axel’s plan was a success; Elephant Room’s social media fan page grew by the day, and fans began to post pictures of the guys. Late at night, when I missed Weston the most, I logged on and stared at him on stage, imagining what song he was playing at that particular moment. As the weeks passed, the pictures showed how the crowd surrounding them on the small elevated stage grew. As I had predicted, they were becoming a success.

Over the past week, I’d been running a low-grade fever and had a nasty head cold. Elephant Room’s last performance was the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend and Weston would be home in the next day or two, so I needed to get some rest. Crawling into bed at seven, I pulled my phone off the charger and sent Weston a goodnight text message.

Me: Enjoy your last show. I can’t wait to see you. I love you.

Placing my phone on my nightstand, I took the antibiotics the doctor prescribed.

T
he covers
on my bed shifted and a cold draft brushed past my warm skin. The mattress next to me sank in.

I was no longer alone in bed.

“Les . . .” I complained.

Calloused hands wrapped around my body and tugged me closer, my back resting against his chest. Weston’s manly scent invaded my small room. “Shh, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

M
y eyes flew open
. This all seemed too real to be a dream. Twisting to face him, I guided my hand over his face. The scruff on his cheeks must have been at least three days old. “Am I dreaming? Are you really here?” My voice cracked and my eyes pooled with tears.

Weston’s deep chuckle was music to my ears. “Unless you were expecting someone else?”

My hands clung to his body. “Your show?” I bit back a sob.

“I rented a car and left the second it was over.”

“You were almost seven hours away.”

“And I laid rubber to kiss you goodnight.” His hands cupped my face. Our lips were mere centimeters from each other when I pulled away.

“I’m sick. I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Emilia, I didn’t drive all night and practically break into your house so I could
not
kiss my girl.” Before I had the chance to protest, Weston stole a kiss.

He was here.

He was finally home.

Weston fell asleep clutching me to his body. I lay awake watching him sleep. The hours passed, the sun rose, but I refused to move from my bed. Weston finally awoke a little after eleven. My hands were tucked under the pillow as he pried his eyes open.

“Morning, beautiful.” He spoke in a raspy voice. “How are you feeling?”

My smile grew. “Much better now that you’re home.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick? I noticed the prescription bottle.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. It’s just a sinus infection. I’ll be as good as new in a few days.”

“Come here.” He reached for me, our bodies wrapped together. Inhaling my scent, he whispered, “Do you have any idea how much I missed you?”

My fingernails scraped along his ribs. “I don’t have to leave the house until Tuesday. Why don’t you show me?”

“That seems like the right thing to do.” He bit down on my shoulder. “But do you mind if I take a shower first? I feel like I have a month’s worth of dirt on me.”

Weston headed towards the bathroom as I strolled to the kitchen to make us something to eat. The shower ran for a long time before he turned it off. Serving us breakfast in bed, I joined Weston back in my room with eggs, toast, and a fresh cups of coffee. His eyes were tired as though he hadn’t slept in days.

“Are you okay?” I asked when he only picked at his food.

“Yeah, I just have a lot on my mind. It was a stressful four weeks, a lot of pressure to perform well.” He sipped his coffee.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Weston took our empty plates and stacked them on the dresser. A mischievous grin appeared on his face. “I don’t want to do anything but love you until my knees give out.”

I bit my lower lip. Talking was overrated.

W
eston
and I refused to leave my bedroom, but hours of sex made us ravenous. Ordering out, we sat in my kitchen devouring a pizza. Though clothes were against the rules in my room, we got dressed since Leslie would be home from work soon. Wearing booty shorts and Weston’s T-shirt, I stared at him, dressed in jeans but no shirt. I was infatuated with him; I couldn’t keep my hands to myself. Every possible chance I had I stole a kiss, a hug, at times even a tender touch.

Keys clattered outside as Leslie opened the front door. “Hello!” she shouted into the house. “I’m coming in. If you two are doing it, now would be a good time to stop.” Weston laughed as Leslie walked inside with her hands covering her eyes.

“Ass, we’re dressed.”

Leslie joined us in the kitchen, where her greedy hands reached for a slice of cooling pizza. “I can see you two have been busy today.” She looked over at me and winked. “I’m kidding. It’s good to have you back Weston.”

A smile quirked his lips. “It’s good to be back.”

“Why don’t you sit and eat, Les?” I said as she walked around with the slice in her hand.

“Can’t do. Harry called. He and the guys are on their way back. You two aren’t the only ones who have some making up to do. Plus,” she grabbed another slice, “I need to get laid as much as possible since you guys leave on Tuesday.”

My head cocked.
Tuesday
?

I faced Weston. His chin had fallen to his chest and his shoulders were tense. Exhaling, he cracked his neck. “We have to leave again for the Summer Ball Festival on Tuesday morning.”

No
.

I just got him back; he couldn’t leave again.

Leslie ducked out of the kitchen without making a sound. I wanted to scream. My heart ached with each beat. “Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice was barely audible.

Weston turned his chair toward mine. His hand scratched the back of his neck as he tried to find his words. “I didn’t want to see you upset.”

“So you lied?”

“No.” Weston pulled me onto his lap. “I was going to tell you. I just didn’t want to ruin our time together.”

My palms framed his face. I wanted to believe everything would work out, but the pain at the pit of my stomach told me I was dead wrong. Four weeks was hard. Three months would be excruciating.

“Em.” his fingers slid up my back, “Say something.”

“I’m only upset because I’m selfish and I want you all to myself. But I’m so happy for you, Wes.” I kissed his lips. “My boyfriend is going to be famous. But next time, can you be the one to tell me?”

“I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?” His hands ran up my back and under his shirt.

“Promise me we won't leave the bed until Tuesday.”

“I promise.”

L
ove sucks
.

It brings you the most joy and then it rips it away, leaving your heart dismantled.

I tried to stay positive. I went to bed the following few nights before Weston left again and repeated the mantra that everything would work itself out.

But I didn’t believe it.

That Tuesday morning, I woke up early, showered, and got ready for work. Weston was still fast asleep on my bed. I bent over and kissed his soft lips. “Call me later,” I whispered in his ear.

“Em?” He captured my hand so I couldn't walk away.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Tell me you love me.” His groggy voice made me want to crawl back in bed and never leave his side.

“I love you.”

“And I you.”

I didn’t look back as I left my house.

It was three months. There were people in this world who’d spend years without seeing their loved one.

It was
three
months.

W
hen I arrived home later
that night, I found Leslie on the couch. A small cooler sat on the coffee table with Smirnoff Ice. “Just the person I was waiting for. How was your day?” she asked.

“Uneventful,” I muttered. Dropping down next to her, I reached for a bottle. “It’s going to be a quick three months, right?”

“The quickest,” Leslie lied.

Soaking our hearts in alcohol, we sat in silence.

“What are you most afraid of? I mean about Weston being on tour?” Leslie asked. Her eyes were focused on the plant that sat by the window. “Drugs or groupies?”

“I was going to say that maybe he would enjoy the freedom and never come back to me, but I hadn’t thought about those two. Thanks for that.”

“Harry’s been doing a lot of cocaine lately,” she mumbled.

“Well, aren’t you a blast to talk to tonight.” The last thing I needed to think about was Weston and drugs. That fear was too close to my heart.

Leslie chugged back her drink and dropped her head on my lap. “I’m afraid they’re going to make it big and Harry will never look at me again since he’ll be able to have any girl he wants. They’ll sit in his fancy hotel room, in a big Jacuzzi tub, and get fucking high.”

I giggled. She had let that image stew in her mind all day. “I’m afraid of Weston breaking my heart.”

“A heartbreak does hurt like a motherfucker.”

“I’m beginning to wonder why I’m your friend,” I huffed. “You suck at giving advice.”

L
ove was a parasite
.

It feeds off your body, claiming everything as it grew.

Weston called every night after his set was complete and stayed on the phone with me until I fell asleep. It was the highlight of my day. Every night he told me about his set list, what new material he and the guys were working on, and which artist they met while on the tour. I told him how busy I was at work, making sure the tour he was on ran smoothly, and I complained about not being able to kick this damn cold.

By the last week of June, I was okay with him being away. Cinthia would be having her baby within the next few weeks and I was confident I would make her proud with my work. The sheer panic of losing Weston had subsided. I still missed him, but the calendar I hung in my cubicle assured me every day was one day closer to seeing him again.

I was also counting the days until the Fourth of July. It would be my first day off since Memorial Day, and I desperately needed the break. I had been working close to fifty hours a week, and most weekends I brought work home with me.

Sally, Leslie and I had planned a girls’ day out on Venice Beach for that day. Weston had a packed weekend, as well; his schedule consisted of three consecutive nights of shows. In the past week, Elephant Room had been moved from the makeshift stage in the parking lot to the first slot on the roster. They would be the official opening act for the headliner. Their concert outside the arena had grown so much it had become a fire hazard. Performing on the main stage drove the fans to their stage earlier. It was the first time they would be performing on a massive stage, and I wanted nothing more than to be there to watch them, but I would experience it first hand when the tour made its final stop at Staples Center in August.

My head was buried in ads for next week's song rotation when Cinthia tapped on my cubicle. Her stomach was round like a basketball, and it appeared she would pop any minute. She needed to stop working and take her maternity leave, but she was stubborn, and constantly repeated, “Just one more day.
”

“Can I see you in my office, please?” She turned and waddled away.

Bookmarking where I was in the review files, I followed behind her. She had changed from her stilettos to flip flops since her feet no longer fit into anything. She looked so uncomfortable that most days all I wanted to do was rub her feet for her.

In her office, she sat on her chair, her hands instantly rubbing over her round belly. “I'm giving you the rest of today and tomorrow off.”

“Why?” I’d been here for a year and we’d never been as busy as we were now. The radio station was growing and we needed all the help we could get.

“Because I'm your boss and I can do that,” she joked before her playful smile faded. “This will probably be the last time you can actually have a day off, Emilia. I feel pretty good, so I need you to take the days off because I don't think I'm going to make it much longer. Enjoy the weekend and enjoy your Fourth of July.”

“But there's—”

“There's nothing,” she interjected. “This is not up for discussion. You’re taking these days off. You’re going to enjoy yourself and not work. I have given my letter to Human Resources. Tomorrow will be my last day. When you return on the fifth, you’ll be on your own.” She paused and crossed her arms over her chest. “So take the time off, relax your mind, and know that when you come back on Tuesday you're running the show.”

I leaned back and stared at her wide-eyed. Was this real? I was really getting a five day weekend?

“What are you still doing in my office? Go pack up your stuff and go home! Enjoy a mini-vacation.”

I walked over to Cinthia, leaned down, and hugged her. It was the last time I would see her before her baby arrived. “You're a pretty awesome boss, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go before I change my mind.”

Within five minutes of leaving Cinthia's office, I had packed my desk and was headed towards the elevator. As I approached the steel doors, a banner plastered on the wall to the left listed the tour schedule. Fourth of July weekend they were in Salt Lake City, a ten-hour car ride—not terrible. I could surprise Weston and spend the weekend with him. It would break up our time apart. Yanking my phone out of my purse, I sent Leslie a text message.

Me: Fake that you're sick and go home right now. Call out for tomorrow, too. We're going to see the guys.

When I arrived home, Leslie's car was already parked in our driveway. I rushed inside and headed straight to my room. “Pack your bags. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” I shouted. Tugging my closet door open, I pulled out my duffle bag and started to toss things in.

“Do we even have tickets? How the hell are we going to get in?”

“I work for the company. It won't be that hard to get through security.” I shoved my makeup and hair dryer into the bag. “Plus, I called Sally and she’s getting me the info on where they’re staying.”

Leslie's fist punched through the air. “Road trip!”

She sashayed out of my room as I continued to pack.

Leslie took the first five hours to rest as I drove out of Los Angeles and towards Utah. I stopped to fill up the gas tank,use the restroom and grabbed something to eat, then Leslie drove the remaining five hours. Finally, we pulled up to the hotel where the band was staying.

According to Sally, the radio station had rented the guys a two bedroom suite. Four men sleeping in two rooms …
That must be fun
. After I’d checked in, reserving a room for Weston and me to share, I headed to their suite. Butterflies flapped in my stomach as the seconds ticked by until I saw him. Gnawing on my inner lip, I tapped on their hotel room door. From the outside, we could hear music playing and Pete laughing.

The door pulled open and a pretty blonde with perky double D’s held it open. Her shirt was cut right below her chest, revealing her aqua bra. My expression instantly changed from happy to pissed. “You don't look like pizza.” Her valley girl dialect probably complemented her airhead IQ.

“Oh, shit!” Pete shouted. Ignoring them both, I shoved the door wide and walked in. A small kitchenette connected to the dining and living space, and it reeked of beer and stale Chinese food. My anger increased by the second as I lost focus on my surroundings.

I needed to find Weston.

My eyes landed on Harry. A girl sat next to him with her hands between his legs. Axel had two girls sitting on his lap, making out with each other as he watched. Another brunette was bent over the table, her booty shorts cut so high it should be considered a thong. She held her hair as she snorted a line of white powder off the table. My heart sank as she offered the rolled up dollar to Weston. His guitar sat on his lap and his head hung low. His eyes snapped up to the brunette offering him a hit, and he spotted me standing in front of him.

My vision became clear.

Someone had turned off the TV, and all I could hear was Leslie arguing with Harry in the background, but I didn't care. I needed to get the hell out of there. I twirled around and stormed out the door, my fists clenched at my sides.

“Emilia, wait!” Weston shouted from behind me. I jogged down the hotel corridor and pressed the button for the elevator.

I needed fresh air.

I needed to throw up.

I needed to hit something.

His footfalls slowed behind me and his hands laced around my elbow as he turned me. I yanked my arm away. “Don't touch me!”

“Let me explain.” His eyes were wide.

I hadn’t seen him in months and this was our reunion. How could he do this to me? “Explain? Explain what exactly, Weston? The orgy fest, or that there's cocaine all over the goddamn fucking mirror!” My voice was so loud it ricocheted down the hallway.

“It's not what it looks like.”

“Whatever.”

The elevator doors slid open and I climbed inside the car. Weston began to follow me and I spun to face him. “Don't you dare follow me. Leave me the hell alone. I never want to see you again!”

I pushed the close door button on the elevator panel and leaned back against the cool wall. Once the doors closed and I was cocooned inside, the tears finally began to fall. This was why I didn’t fall in love. This was why I don't break the rules I set in place to keep my heart safe.

After a few minutes, I realized that the elevator wasn't moving. I looked at the panel and saw that I hadn't picked the floor. Pressing the button for the lobby, I leaned my head on the polished steel wall. The doors opened to the lobby, and a frantic Weston stepped inside. He pressed the button to close the doors and hit the highest floor. My will to fight him had diminished, cracked. I bowed my head before him, my chin resting on my chest. A sob broke the silence. He closed the gap between us.

“No!” I pushed him away. When he didn't budge, my hands balled into fists and slammed into his chest. “You're an asshole!” I cried. “How could you do this to me? To us!”

“Shh, babe.” He wrapped his hands around me, his broad arms caging me in. “Please don't cry, Emilia. I promise you, it's not what it looks like.”

I continued to cry as the elevator stopped and Weston led me to the hallway and towards the emergency staircase. He didn't say a word as he ushered me towards the roof. My sniffles were all that could be heard as we walked up the extra flight.

This was the end.

I would hear what he had to say and we would have our closure.

This was what a broken heart felt like. Fuck you, love.

Once the warm breeze hit my face, I turned to face him. “Why are there drugs in your room?”

Weston smiled and walked towards me. “Can I please kiss you first?”

“No!” I held my hands to stop him in his tracks. “Weston, answer the question. Why are there drugs in your room? The girls? How can you sit there and tell me every night how much you love me while I'm sitting at home crying, missing you, and you’re doing that?”

With quick, short strides, he closed the gap between us. His hands cupped my cheeks and his eyes locked with mine. “I love you, Emilia. I've never touched drugs a day in my life. The girls are there because Axel, Harry, and Pete bring them back, but I've never touched anyone since you became mine.”

Searching for the truth, I scanned his eyes. “Why are you in the midst of it all?”

“Because I'm sober. If one of them decides to drive somewhere, or if one of those girls claims rape, there’s not an ounce of alcohol in my body and there are no drugs to be traced. I’m their designated driver because, at the end of the day, this is my career and this tour is a business opportunity. I can't let them fuck it up because they can't stay away from pussy and drugs.” His thumbs wiped away a new wave of tears.

I shook my head. I wanted to believe him, but I needed time to think. I needed to clear my mind, and Weston being so close didn't give me that opportunity. I stepped back and took in the city lights around us. “I need some space. I need to think this through. This is all too familiar for me, Weston, and I don't know if I can do this.” I palmed my mouth to cover another sob.

“Don't say that.” He reached for me, but I pulled away.

“I'm sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I just need some time.”

Wiping my tear soaked cheeks, I jogged toward the door. Needing to walk, I took the stairs all the way down to the main lobby. Weston didn’t follow me. I rushed to my car and shoved my key into the ignition. I wanted to go home, to get the hell away from this place, but I couldn't leave Leslie behind. I looked at my phone to see if I had any new messages from her, but nothing. It was safe to assume she’d looked the other way and forgiven Harry yet again.