Beth Hyland - Fall Into Forever

“Listen, Jon,” he says. I grimace at the fact that he uses my name.

After I punched him in the face, he looked at me for a long moment before the realization of who I was dawned in his expression. “You’re taller than I thought you’d be,” was the first thing he said.

He dabs the blood from his lip with a tissue that someone gave him. “Relax. Phil didn’t know who they were when he invited them back.”

“Hell,” says a fat guy. “I didn’t know one of your kids was this old.”

A sour pit forms in my stomach. So I do have half-siblings out there somewhere.

“I’m not planning to fuck your girls, so chill the fuck out, okay?” Angus scratches his upper leg. He’s wearing a huge skull ring on one finger and a huge sideways cross on another.

“You don’t exactly have the track record to back up that statement.”

Angus exhales loudly, then he smiles at someone behind me. I turn to see Ivy and her friends. It literally makes my blood boil as I imagine every sick thought running through his head.

“Jon, are you okay?” Ivy tries to come closer, but a security guard steps in front of her.

“You the girlfriend?” Angus asks, letting his gaze roam up and down her body.

I try to jerk away from the guys holding me, but they’re too strong. My fist is itching to connect with Angus’s face again. Multiple times, if possible.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” he continues. “What have I ever done to you?”

Is he fucking serious? A million possible responses are clogging my brain right now.

“I know I haven’t been the best father, but that doesn’t give you the right to come backstage and get violent.”

A hush goes through the small crowd around us as his words sink in. Yes, I am Angus Oliver’s son. One of the most famous rockstars on the planet is my father.

About fifteen to twenty people are watching us, and a few of them have their camera phones out. Fuck. It’ll only be a matter of time before all of PSU hears this. I’ve tried so hard to keep that fact to myself. I don’t want to be known as Angus Oliver’s son. I want to be known for being me.

That’s when I notice that everyone except Tina is wearing matching shirts. Matching O-Twist shirts. Including Ivy. Anger doesn’t begin to describe what it feels like to see my father’s face on my girlfriend’s chest. I want to rip it off of her and burn it.

“Angus Oliver is your dad?” Sara asks, her eyes wide. “Oh my God. I want both of your autographs on my shirt. Father and son. It’ll totally be a collector’s item.” Angus produces a black Sharpie from somewhere—probably from Phil’s pocket—and motions her over. She pulls the hem of the shirt down, making the fabric go tight across her chest.

“Sign right here,” she says. “Right above my heart.”

Angus gives her an I-want-to-get-into-your-pants smile as he signs it.

Then she looks at me.

I shake my head slowly. Don’t even fucking try.

I hear her say to someone, “That’s okay. I’ll just get his autograph back at PSU. He’s my tutor.”

“How’s your mom doing?” Angus asks, putting the cap back on the pen and handing it to Phil. “Still cutting hair?”

I grind my teeth at his conversational tone. “For your information, she died several years ago. Cancer. She tried to get in touch with you to let you know what was going on, but she never heard back. Imagine that.” Despite my protests, she wanted to see if I could go live with him. To make sure I was taken care of after she was gone.

Angus gets a hurt look on his face. “She died? Wow. That’s too bad. I always liked her.”

Liked? He liked her? An uncontrollable rush of anger hits me like a truck, and I lunge at him again. “You bastard. You fucking ruined her life.”

The two guys jerk my arms back harder this time, taking me to the ground.

“Me?” Angus raises an eyebrow. “We had a good time. She enjoyed herself. What you need to do,” he says, pointing a finger at me, “is take a long, hard look in the mirror. If her life was fucked up, it’s because of you.”

Ivy

Numb.

Hollow.

Empty.

I’m in bed, my body curled around my stuffed animal.

Yesterday, after I waited in front of the security trailer for over an hour, Jon finally emerged. I rushed to him, but he deflected my advances and strode in the direction of the campsite.

Okay, he was angry. Didn’t need my gushing sympathy. I totally got that.

I fell in step beside him, tucking my hands in my pockets. “I’m really sorry about what happened.”

He mumbled something under his breath that I didn’t catch.

“Your dad was—”

“I’m leaving. Driving Tina home.”

My breath caught in my throat. Tina? What did she have to do with this?

“You’re...leaving? Um…okay.” I was confused, but I’d go along with it considering everything that just happened. Security probably kicked him out of not just the venue but the campground too. “I’ll get my stuff together.”

“Without you.”

It was like he’d punched me in the stomach, and I suddenly couldn’t breathe. He was upset—I got that—but with me? “I…don’t understand. Why don’t you want to go back together?”

“I need to be alone.”

Then how did driving home with Tina equal being alone?

“Jon, if it’s about your dad, I—”

He stopped abruptly, his face contorted with emotion. “It was a mistake, okay? A big fucking mistake. All of this.” He made a swirly movement with his finger. “We’re too different for this ever to have worked out anyway.” Then he turned on his heel and stormed away.

I stood there, in the middle of the gravel road, trying not to cry. Jon, the man I loved, had just broken up with me. And I didn’t know why.

At the White House campsite, people were standing around drinking beer and roasting hot dogs. Jon was talking to James, then he grabbed his duffel, shoved it into Tina’s blue pickup and drove away. Without a backward glance.

I was numb, just going through the motions, when James helped me pack up the tent. Dani and Kelly tried to talk me into staying, but I didn’t want to if Jon wasn’t here. I took a migraine pill to stave off the inevitable and drove the four hours home. By myself. In a complete and total daze.

Laying on my bed now, it feels as if a big part of me has withered and died. I’m the shell of the person I was yesterday—the person I had become.

My phone vibrates now. I sit up and grab it, hoping that it’s Jon. Maybe he just needed some time and he’s calling to apologize.

But it’s Cassidy, not Jon.

I sink back on the bed and take the call. She’s extending her Memorial Day holiday because she’s only got one class on Tuesday and it’s no big deal to skip it.

“I still can’t believe that Jon’s dad is really Angus Oliver,” she says. “I mentioned it to my mom and she was so excited. She and my stepdad have some of his CDs.”

Yeah, so does my dad, but I don’t tell her that. It doesn’t feel right to mention anything remotely positive relating to Jon’s asshole father.

“So how did you hear about his dad?” I ask her.

“It’s everywhere online, Ivy. Everyone knows.”

That shouldn’t surprise me, but I cringe anyway.

After we hang up, I trudge down to the laundry room to put in a load of clothes from the weekend. Even though they caught Maddy’s attacker a while ago, I still hate coming down here, so I make Bryce my RA come with me.

“How was the concert?” he asks.

“Okay, I guess,” I answer flatly.

“So you’ve been dating a celebrity and didn’t even know it. Do you feel famous all of a sudden?”

Oh my God. First Cassidy, now this? “Jesus, Bryce. He’s not his dad.” I have a feeling this is just the beginning.

I’m guessing this is why Jon’s been keeping that fact a secret from everyone. He might enjoy attention from people, but not because of who his father is.

When I get back to my room, I put on my headphones and grab my knitting. I should be studying. Finals are coming up, but I can’t concentrate worth shit right now.

The tab with the Butterfly Lovers ballet is open on my screen, so I press Play and watch it for the hundredth time. I’m struck with the realization that trust plays a key role in the performance. The dancers need to rely on each other implicitly, with no hesitation or worry, in order to make it all come together.

I set down my knitting and rub the ink work on the back of my neck.

Trust. It’s the core of everything.

Jon

“Why’d you fucking leave her, asshole?” James glares at me. “I still can’t believe what a dickhead move that was.” He’s never been one to mince words.

It’s been a week and I haven’t seen Ivy or called her. She’s left me a couple of voicemail messages, but I haven’t listened to them. “I told you. They kicked me out. I had to leave.”

“Without Ivy?”

I shrug, pretending I don’t care. “There were still more bands left to play that night. I didn’t want her to miss them.”

“She told me she’d have gladly left with you.”