Beautiful Storm (San Francisco End Game #1)

CHAPTER TEN

Amelia

Why can’t anything in my life run smoothly? It shouldn’t be this hard. We’ve had our six-month cooling-off period. We’ve spoken about this at length. I just need him to sign the damn papers.

“Are you sure you don’t want anyone to come with you?” Hayley asks from her comfortable position on my bed, in my tiny apartment, her face racked with concern as she watches me pull my hair into a messy bun.

“Anyone? Yes. You? No.”

“What?” She sits up suddenly, her features morphing into an expression of mock horror.“ What did I do?”

“It’s not what you did that’s the issue. It’s what you want to do.”

“Amelia,” she whines, getting off the bed to stand by my side. “Please, please let me come. I just want to talk to him.”

“With your fist?”

“ No . I’m not that violent. A little slap maybe. But you can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. Did you forget I heard his voicemail?” How could I have forgotten? I’ve never witnessed her so angry on my behalf. “You know the one that went something like ‘my pompous ass needs you to sign your brain and creativity over to me so that I can pass your ideas off as my own to finally stop feeling like the talentless hack that I am.’”

“I remember it. Only I remember it a little differently.” I laugh at her antics. “And I take offense to you saying he's talentless. His angsty songs are amazing. But he keeps releasing pop stuff that’s on trend.”

“Just telling it like I see it.”

She has a point. The stuff he’s been releasing hasn’t been great. But the message didn’t exactly go as she described even if it was the same sentiment. Basically he said he’d sign the divorce papers with no pushback if I gave him my notes on all the ideas I had for his band’s music videos, citing that since the ideas stem from the songs he wrote, he’s entitled to them. He doesn’t think I should be able to use them for any other purpose. It’s an absolute joke, and while I have no intention of handing anything over, I agreed to meet him on the off chance that I could convince him to have a proper conversation. To stop and think about all that we’ve been through together and figure out a way to move forward without the hate he seems to have.

Hayley thinks I’m crazy. And maybe I am. But fuck if I’m going to let him get away with the bullshit attitude he’s got at the moment. He’s not the Preston I knew at all, and I want to get to the bottom of it. Not to mention, if we don’t submit his divorce papers in the next few days, it's going to delay the process.

“I’m not trying to defend him, Hayley.” She stares at me with her beautifully shaped eyebrows raised high on her forehead, calling me on my bullshit. “Okay, maybe I’m defending him a little, but if I don’t, I feel stupid. If you truly believe he’s such an awful guy, you must think I’m weak for marrying him.”

God, where did that come from? My eyes well with tears, but I wipe them away as Hayley pulls me into a hug.

“No. God, no. I don’t know him beyond what you told me after the breakup. And since then, he’s been treating you like shit. My ex cheated on me back in Sydney. A few weeks before we came here. I knew he’d done it and I turned a blind eye so that he’d still take me with him. I was hoping the premieres or gossip magazines would get me noticed. I’m not telling you this because I think Preston treated you badly and you ignored it; I’m telling you this so that you know I have no right to judge anyone for their decisions and I never would.”

“Oh, Hayley.” I stand back and frown.

“No.” She shakes her head and squeezes my arm. “I’m fine. But you… You’re an amazing woman. And you definitely have a good head on your shoulders. You’re driven and smart and strong. I have no doubt that you would have kicked Preston to the curb years ago if he wasn’t good to you. I hate him for the way he’s treating you now . Nothing about you or your past could make me think any less than the world of you. And I’m truly hoping you feel the same."

My eyes water for an entirely new reason before I squeeze Hayley in another hug. “I do. I feel the same. You’re definitely stuck with me.”

It’s strange to think that my closest friend is someone I’ve only known for a year. I could have easily spiraled after my breakup, but Hayley kept me afloat and never once let me doubt myself. She’s right… I haven’t painted a very good picture of Preston since our breakup and because I was already doubting our relationship when Hayley and I met, I never really spoke fondly of him. But we had years of love. He was good to me for the most part. We changed so much. And now it’s time we ended things once and for all.

Hayley pulls back, her eyes a little glassy from her own tears. “So I can come with you?” She smiles brightly, making me burst out laughing.

“Absolutely not.”

I stand at the threshold, staring at the door of the apartment I once shared with Preston. Preston told me to let myself in, but while my key burns a hole in my pocket, I can’t bring myself to use it. I should have given it back when we first broke up, but at the time, the thought never crossed my mind. Now, I’d do anything to be rid of them…him. Except what he’s asking.

Preston’s quick to answer when I finally knock, opening the door with a hesitant smile. “Amelia, hi,” he says, dressed in my favorite pants of his. The pants that reveal a hint of his ankle…the pants I always complimented. I doubt it’s a coincidence.

Ignoring his obvious attempt to make me feel things, I smile back, keeping my gaze above his waist. “Thanks for agreeing to talk. We should have done this properly in the beginning, instead of all our petty arguments. We’re adults. We’re better than that.”

I hope.

A little part of me prays that since I put out into the universe that it’s going to run smoothly, it will. What do they say, project a life you want?

Preston’s brows furrow but he smiles through it. “Yes, you’re right. We should have. It’s good you’re here now. Come in.” He holds the door open and I pause after stepping inside, a stranger in what was once my sanctuary. I should be able to waltz on through like I own the place. After all, I know where everything is, yet I can’t bring myself to take the first step.

“Lead the way,” I say to Preston, watching as his nervous furrow deepens.

For fifteen years, this man was my world. Now he looks uncomfortable in my presence. And since I feel it, I can imagine I look the same.

“How are things?” he asks, most likely to fill the uncomfortable silence as we walk. “How’s the new job going? Have you started any projects yet?”

“I have and it’s going really well, but it’s different to what I pictured myself doing.”

“Are you allowed to talk about it?”

“Not yet. The plan is to announce in January.”

“That’s great. I’ll have to keep an eye out. Your mom said it was something like Bright Lights Productions?”

Goddammit, Mom . I really need to talk to her—again—about keeping my business to herself, or at least, keeping my business away from my ex and the man who used to be my father.

“Close enough.” I smile.

We spend the next few minutes catching up on life. Preston tells me about his bandmates since I was quite close to them at one point, and I fill him in on my mom, though it doesn’t take long to figure out that's pointless since he knows most of what I tell him. If our stilted small talk proves anything, it’s that I never really had my own life before leaving Preston. I have no friends I can tell him about—he never got to know Hayley—and other than my new job, I have nothing else to say. It’s like I’m two different people. The woman I was with Preston versus the woman I am without . And I much prefer the latter.

When our conversation dries up, I get to the point of why I’m here. “We should talk about the divorce.”

“I told you; I’ll agree to anything.”

“If I give you my ideas.”

“Come on, Ames. You owe me that much. You left and—”

“Stop. I’m not giving you my ideas. That’s ridiculous. That’s not how the world works. And even if it was, I wouldn’t be handing them over.”

“Then why are you here?” he snaps, the stress obvious behind his reaction, making me pause.

“What’s going on, Preston? That voicemail…that wasn’t you.”

Preston stares at me for what feels like a lifetime, but just when I think he’s going to argue, his entire body deflates.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he whispers, his voice choked with so much emotion that my chest tightens. A sea of memories floods my mind of all the times we supported each other, but I try hard to block them out. Yes, we had our good times, but toward the end, it was all about Preston and his music. What I wanted no longer mattered, and I can’t forget that. Not that I have the same feelings for him anymore, but I shouldn’t feel anything for him. Even sorry. He did this. He broke us.

“I can’t—”

“I’m creatively blocked,” he cuts in, speaking louder this time. “And without my muse…”

“Don’t. You’ve written plenty of songs without me.”

“But they all suck and you know it. The new label we signed with continues to make changes to our style, and I can’t keep up. I can’t sing what they want me to sing.”

“So don’t.”

“Come on, Amelia. You know it doesn’t work that way. I’m a puppet. Do your cast members get to do what they want? Make their own rules?”

I know one that wishes he could, but in general… “No. They don’t. But you must have known the control they had before you signed.”

“Someone huge wanted to sign us. As if we could say no.”

Ugh . I huff out a slow breath. I know he’s right. I love football. Always have. But I never imagined my big break would be directing a football series. Only… As if I was going to say no .

“I get it. But that aside, I don’t see how my ideas are going to help. Especially if you’re not releasing those songs.”

“They found us because of your ‘Sideways’ video. Our producer said it evoked an emotion in him that he hadn’t felt from anyone else with a similar style. That it was unique.”

“Okay.” I speak plainly but inside I’m dying. San Francisco’s biggest label signed Preston’s band because of my video? That blows my mind. I knew I contributed to their success because that first video got millions of views which led to exposure, but I assumed the label had focused on the numbers. “I still don’t—”

“I want to pitch them the ideas with the songs. As a package deal.”

“What?”

“Think about it. If I sing one of my songs and then pitch the video idea, they might reconsider.”

So basically, Hayley was right; he wants to pass my ideas off as his own.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. They’re my—”

“Please.” He drops to his knees as he holds his palms together, begging me. “Please, Amelia. Just this one little thing and I’ll sign the papers.”

One little thing. He’s delusional.

“Preston.”

Tears well in his eyes, and my guilt sets in as a memory rears its ugly head. You don’t need to worry, Preston, because I’ll always be here to help you. I was so young and so naive when I said the words. But I said them.

“One idea.” I finally break, hoping I don’t live to regret it. “Tell me one song you want to pitch and I’ll send you the idea I have for it.” I had ideas for all his songs. I loved all his songs, until he started changing them when he was first signed to an indie label. He started changing them. Him. The indie label loved his early stuff. I get that a bigger label might want to control things, but he should have thought about that before breaking his indie contract.

Preston’s eyes widen and a small smile pulls at his lips. Relief fills me until he opens his mouth. “What about three?”

Goddammit . Why can’t this be easy? “One is my only offer.”

“Amelia, you left me. I helped support you financially when you were studying. I was barely making ends meet, but I helped you.”

“Did you love me?”

“What?”

“Did you ever actually love me?”

“Of course I did. I still love you. You’re the one that left. What kind of a question is that? I wrote love songs about you.”

Ugh . I know. But still… “One or nothing.”

“Fuuuck. Fine. One. As soon as you send me the notes for ‘Wicked Style,’ I’ll sign the papers.”

Damn , he had to go and pick my best idea. An idea I could have used for a short film. “Sign the papers now and I’ll send you my notes as soon as I get home.”

Preston’s teeth clench but he smiles. “Okay. Hand them over.”

“I don’t have them. You were served.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.”

He gets up and grabs an envelope from the desk across the room, and as he signs, I feel nothing. No regret but no relief either. I’m empty. And he did that. He made me feel that way. But at least now, I can try to move on. Hell, I can date if I want to. Not that I couldn’t before, but it felt wrong.

Preston huffs when he’s done, and when he hands over the paperwork—despite being the one that should be submitting them—I slide the documents into the envelope and seal it up, metaphorically closing the door on a huge part of my life. The package feels heavy in my hands, but I’m glad that it’s done. I had to get them signed so I could feel whole again. Only, I don’t feel any differently than before.

After a few parting words and the promise to send him my notes, Preston awkwardly hugs me goodbye, as if we ended on a good note. Then I leave.

It’s done.

I’m divorced. Sort of. At least, I will be once I’ve filed the papers.

The emptiness remains as I walk to my car, but once inside, the reality of everything hits me at once and I shake uncontrollably, my mind whirring.

It’s over. I finally get to start fresh.

But how do I even do that?