“He’s still in Syria,” Giselle said. “And I wouldn’t talk to him about this anyway. He never liked the idea of Troy and me together.”
“The little-sister complex?”
“I guess. I never looked at either of them as brothers. We were friends. Equals. Three people with similar life experiences struggling to make it day to day together. My feelings for Nathan were always platonic. My feelings for Troy were never platonic. But Nathan’s a leader and protector at heart.”
They fell silent a moment, both of them playing with their food more than eating it. Giselle had never told Brook the story behind her relationship with Troy, though pieces had come out over the years when they’d talked about Nathan, about their pasts. Now, she felt the need to put it into perspective.
“The foster father where we lived was an alcoholic. A mean drunk, you know? But his wife, she was even meaner. So when he got sauced, he took out his anger with the world on the kids, because he was that big a coward. I was fourteen when I got there—it was my third home—and I was the only girl. Nathan and Troy were seventeen, and sort of took me under their wing.
“At first, I was wary, thought it was a ruse to get close to me and manipulate me. That wasn’t my first time around that block. But I saw how they created a buffer between the father and me. There were times…” Her voice broke, and emotions rushed in. She paused and swallowed, forcing the memories back. Brook reached across the table and covered her hand again. “They took beatings that were meant for me. Beatings that I know in my heart would have ended in rape. Beatings that would eventually have killed me.”
She took a slow, measured breath, fighting to hold the flood back. But she couldn’t stand the contact any longer, and pulled her hand from Brook’s. Sitting back, she crossed her arms.
“When they turned eighteen they got kicked out of the system. They had to leave. I had to stay. They’d done a pretty good job of teaching me how to take care of myself, but I couldn’t bear the thought of being without them. They were my family and my best friends all rolled into one. We were each other’s lifelines, you know?”
Brook’s expression had darkened, but she nodded.
“I kept running away to their apartment, where I stayed until my foster parents sent the cops to haul me home. Finally, they just stopped coming. I dropped out of high school, and we all worked two jobs to make ends meet. But the guys made me study for my GED at night. Nathan bought this piece-of-shit car off a friend, and he and Troy would drive me to bars every weekend so I could sing. They hung out to keep guys from hitting on me, make sure the equipment was set up right, and bring me water when my throat was raw.
“Then Nathan got into the army, and after he left, everything changed. When the three of us were together, we were the three musketeers. But once Nathan left, and it was just me and Troy…” She shook her head. “Looking back, I think I fell in love with him the first time he stepped between me and my foster father. I hid it because I didn’t want anything to change. I never had those feelings for Nathan, but Troy… God, he was all I thought about. All I wanted. And when I discovered he felt the same about me, man…”
Her heart ached with the memories. Such sweet, powerful memories. “Back then, everything was a struggle—food, rent, gas. But he always found a way to get me to every gig. Always made the time to stay with me. He gave me inspiration for my songs, let me cry on his shoulder, supported my every attempt to live my dream.” A smile tugged at her mouth and joy filled her heart. “He loved me. Loved me like I’ve never been loved.
“And it wasn’t like he didn’t have other girls interested. He’d had girlfriends before me. Had plenty of girls calling and coming to see him while we were together, but he told them straight up, ‘We can be friends, but I love Ellie.’ He was so confident with himself that way. Never needed to play games to feel secure the way so many of our friends did.
“I can’t explain how intense our connection was. It’s one o
f those things you can’t understand unless you’ve been through the hell of abusive parents and violent foster care. But we were more than friends. More than lovers. We were…like…part of each other. Maybe we were so in love because we were young and reckless and stupid and broken. But I’ve never known love like that again—before or after.”
She wiped her face on her sleeve, suddenly exhausted. She’d never given out so much information in such a short amount of time, and it drained her.
“And I guess I know the rest of the story from there,” Brook said, voice sad.
Giselle laughed, but it was a painful sound. Theirs was a story of heartbreak shared by hundreds of others in this business where success tore people apart.
“So typical, right?” Giselle had spent many nights in those early months on the road crying on Brook’s shoulder. “God, I hate clichés.”
Brook sighed heavily and rested her chin on her hand. “Clichés exist for a reason, honey. It means you aren’t the only couple that struggled with jealousy, the demands of the industry, and the influx of new and exciting people into your lives.”
Maybe not, but that didn’t make the memories any less awful. Or the breakup any less painful. She looked down at her plate and shook her head, still not sure what to do or how to handle this. “What a mess.”
“I know more happened between you two than a chance meeting at the mixer,” Brook said, “otherwise you wouldn’t be this upset. And I don’t need to know what that was. I just want you to remember that you’re not the only one who acts a certain way to protect yourself. Troy’s going to have the same kind of buffers in place. I’m not saying whatever he might have done or not done was warranted or okay. I’m just saying that if anyone would understand him, I mean really, honestly understand him, it would be you. But to do that, you’re going to have to put your own hurt aside.”
She dropped her head into her hand and massaged her forehead. “He’s a grown adult. I’m taking responsibility for my flaws. He needs to take responsibility for his.”
“True enough.” Brook put up both hands in surrender. “I just thought it might help you wrap you mind around this and put it behind you.”
Giselle’s cell rang with Chad’s ring tone. She and Brook groaned in unison.
“Has he left you alone for a minute in the last two weeks?” Brook asked, frustrated.
“He’s just doing his job.”
“No, doing his job would include telling you about that L’Oréal offer.”
“I can only handle one difficult man at a time. And I think Troy counts as five,” Giselle answered with as much ease as she could drag up. “Hey.”
“Hey, sweetie. Can we talk a few minutes?”