~Nick's POV~
"My life is complete. My life is complete. My life is complete," Bailey chants from the backseat.
"What about your dad?" Jordan chimes, causing me to slightly tense.
Bailey goes quiet.
"My life is almost complete. My life is almost complete. My life is-,"
"Your life will be ending soon if you don't put a sock in it," Demi grumbles.
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a threat, a promise, and a guarantee, baby-girl."
"Don't call me that!"
"Why not, baby-girl?"
"Demi!"
"Yes, baby-girl?"
Bailey groans as Demi chuckles.
"I promise that I'll tell you all about your dad one day," Demi surprises me by saying.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Can't you just tell me somethings now?"
"He can sing," I blurt out. "Well, some people say that he can, " I mutter.
"You know my dad?" She gasps.
I hesitate. Demi's probably going to kill me for this. Regardless, I nod.
"Seriously? What genre of music does he sing? Can he sing well? Can he play any instruments? Can-,"
"Bailey! Let Nick answer one question before you bombard him with others."
Maybe she won't kill me....
"He used to sing in genres along the lines of teen pop and pop rock, but now he focuses more on songwriting. I don't think he can sing that well,-"
"He can sing!" Demi insists.
"Biased much?" I roll my eyes.
"Towards him? Definitely," she smirks.
The girls feign a gag as I chuckle under my breath.
"Anyways, his notable instruments include the Gibson SG and the Fender Telecaster."
"Don't forget about the Gibson ES-335," Demi interjects, causing me to arch an eyebrow. "What?"
"You both seem to know a lot about him," Jordan observes.
"I don't know about Nick, but I hope that Demi would know a lot about my dad before fucking him," Bailey snorts.
"Bailey!" Demi scolds.
Although I'm not fond of Bailey swearing like a sailor, in all honesty, she gets it from her mother. Like mother, like daughter.
"Demi!" Bailey mocks. "You're not really giving me much to go on."
"What do you expect, an autobiography?"
"Does he have one?" Bailey partially jokes.
"Did you hear either of us associate him with the word 'author'?"
"Nick said 'writing'."
"Song writing."
"Same difference."
"He had a couple of acting gigs," I add.
"You fucked a co-star, Demi?" Bailey takes a guess.
"Bailey!"
"Sorry," she giggles. "You screwed a co-star?"
"Oh, look, we're here," Demi dryly announces, but I'm not sure if her tone is because of Bailey's interrogation or because of the fact that I'm about to return them to her bastard of a husband. "His car isn't here," she murmurs.
I park in front of the closed garage door, leaving the car running.
"His car isn't here," she repeats.
Abruptly, she swivels around in her seat to face the girls.
"I need you two to pack all of your things as quickly as possible, so we can leave."
"Where are we going to go, mom?" Jordan inquires with furrowed eyebrows.
"My house," I instantly respond as Demi replies with "my parents". "Wait, what?" We exclaim in unison again, looking each other.
"We'll pack all of your things, and you three will stay with me," I slowly explain.
"No, Nick," she shakes her head.
"Why not?" I challenge, ignoring the slight ache that seizes my chest.
"I don't want us to invade your personal space."
I almost laugh.
"Demi, we tossed personal space out the window fourteen years ago."
She stubbornly begins to protest before finally rolling her eyes, silently admitting that I'm right.
"What happened fourteen years ago?" Bailey questions, wearing a smirk.
"Nothing," Demi denies, opening her car door.
"How much time do you think we have?" I wonder as the girls head upstairs to pack.
"I have no idea. For all I know, he won't even return today, but I really don't want to take any chances."
~
~
~Bailey's POV~
~
~
"We're packing," I state in a sing-song tone, folding a tee-shirt and placing it in my suitcase. "We're packing," I do the same to a pair of jeans. "And we're packing."
Suddenly, I feel something hit my back. I turn around and look down, discovering a white Converse with pink, glittery laces. I raise my head to find Jordan leaning against my bathroom door frame.
"Shut up," she smirks.
"I'm trying to pack here!" I throw my hands up in the air, feigning annoyance as she advances towards me, picking up the shoe, also known as a lethal assault weapon.
"So I could hear."
"And why the hell did you throw that at me?" I gesture towards the shoe. "For all you know, I could have a weak spine!"
"That would be my dad," she flatly says, walking towards my open closet and removing a shirt from its hanger.
"Jordan!" I exclaim in surprise, trying-and failing-to stifle my amusement.
"What?" She shrugs, folding the shirt and placing it in my suitcase. "It's the truth, and we all know it."
"You're not supposed to say it!"
"Say what?" She snorts. "The truth? Excuse me for speaking the truth," she mutters, returning to my closet.
~
We zip up the last of our suitcases, having finished packing both of our rooms.
"What about the guest rooms?" I add as an afterthought.
She cocks her head to the side.
"It wouldn't hurt to check," she shrugs. "I might have some seasonal clothes or something in one of them."
Dragging two rolling suitcases behind me, I follow her to the first guest room.
"You're on closet duty," she directs, pointing towards the walk-in.
With a sigh, I drop the handles of the suitcases, causing them to land with a thump. I scour the closet for anything, standing on the tips of my toes to reach the top shelves.
"Nothing but dust and webs," I cough into my elbow, the dust irritating my throat.
"Next one, then."
~
By the time we reach the final guest room, I am beyond frustrated. We have both come up empty-handed in all of the previous rooms. My eyes are itchy and slightly watery because of all of the dust. A spider crawled up my arm before I managed to swat it away with a, much to my embarrassment and Jordan's amusement, girly shriek. Then, Jordan wonders why I'm a little pissed off....really?
"Do we have to search this last room?" I whine.
She ignores me.
"Can't you just search the closet for me?"
"Can't you just suck it up and go search it yourself?"
I glare at the back of her head.
"You better be glad I like you," I grumble, stomping over to the closet.
Flinging the doors open, I am met with a bare closet, no surprise there.
"Jordan, there's nothing in here!"
"Don't halfway search, Bailey."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I innocently say.
"Check the top shelf."
With a groan, I perch myself on the tips of my toes and run my hands along the dusty shelves. Suddenly, my fingers brush against something stiff, like cardboard. I stretch to try to reach the object but to no avail.
"Jordan, I found something. Can you give me a boost?"
"Now you want to look?" She mutters with a sigh, cupping her hands and squatting down.
I place one foot in her cupped hands, steadying myself as she cautiously raises me up.
"You're so fat, Bailey. It's amazing that she can even lift you. You're probably putting her through so much pain."
I breath in and out, willing myself to stay calm as my demons continue to whisper. I manage to awkwardly lift the box that is on the shelf.
"Do you think I should drop this?" I question down to Jordan.
"What if there's something fragile in the box, Bailey?"
"Yeah...you're right," I glance over the closed box before releasing it from my grip, allowing it to catch air.
"Hey! Nothing broke," I grin when back on solid ground.
Jordan just shakes her head, sitting on the ground beside the box.
"What do you think is in it?" She wonders.
"Do I look like I have x-ray vision?"
Before she can retort, I lift the dusty lid of the box. I frown at the contents.
"It's just paper," I wrinkle my nose up in distaste, disappointment evident in my tone.
"You sound as if you were expecting a dead body or something," Jordan jokes, rifling through the many sheets.
"Maybe I was!"
Her gaze flickers up for a second before returning to the box.
"Ah, you're getting used to my epic weirdness and extreme craziness," I smile proudly.
"Don't forget about your ESD."
"And I'm still zero days clean."
"These aren't blank pieces of paper like we originally presumed," she comments, flipping a sheet over.
"You know that changing the subject is rude, right?" I feign annoyance.
"They're letters," she continues, ignoring my antics completely.
"Who writes letters anymore?" I snort.
"Mom apparently did in 2014."
I can feel the corners of my mouth quirk up in amusement.
"I'm sorry, but I do not see Demi sitting down at a desk, writing a box full of letters, not even fourteen or fifteen years ago."
"It's in her handwriting," she lays the letter face-up in front of me.
"And they're numbered," I raise an eyebrow, pointing towards the top right corner where a #7 is scribbled and circled in black ink. "Where's number one?"
She rummages through the box, flipping over page after page.
"Here," she thrusts a piece of paper towards me.
"I'm going to read it."
"Bailey, that's, like, an invasion of privacy!" She scolds.
I blink at her.
"Privacy is meant to be invaded."
"That's not how the phrase goes."
"I guess I just invented a new phrase, then. Don't worry, it'll catch on," I pause. "Now, go stand by the door, and be my lookout."
"That's not funny, Bailey."
"And that's why I'm not laughing."
She doesn't move.
"Fine, then. If we get caught, I'm blaming this whole charade on you," I state, beginning to skim the letter.
A letter that Demi wrote can't possibly be interesting enough to read at full attention. When finished skimming, I furrow my eyebrows in deep thought.
"Hand me the second one," I mumble.
I hastily snatch the letter from her grasp.
"Third one," I softly command, having skimmed the second one.
"Fourth-," I'm cut off by what sounds like a car door being slammed shut.
Jordan looks at me with wide eyes before rising to her feet and sprinting to the doorway.
"Hurry up, Bailey!" She urges over her shoulder, her voice nothing more than a faint, muffled buzz.
I feel numb and shocked, yet I can also feel my rage slowly building. She lied to me! They both lied to me! How could I have been so stupid, so ignorant, so gullible? I knew he was acting way too nice to be just a long-time friend of Demi's. Jordan grips my shoulder, startling me, jolting me from my thoughts. Her distraught face shatters my train of thought, smothering my anger for the time being.
"If we don't hurry up, Nick might just murder my dad."
"Oh, shit," I mutter, scrambling to my feet.
I quickly fold the three letters up, shoving them in my back pocket. Jordan and I race down the stairs. Nick has Wilmer pinned against the wall, fist clenched and slightly raised, as if ready to strike at any moment. Demi stands off to the side. I don't blame her for not trying to break them apart.
"Jordan, go upstairs and get our suitcases."
"But-,"
"Go."
She hesitates slightly, before following my commands. I slowly walk over to Demi, avoiding the two men.
"Demi, go upstairs and help Jordan with our stuff," I softly command, pushing aside the anger that I feel towards her.
She shakes her head.
"Please."
Her eyebrows raise. I know I don't say 'please" often, but is it really that much of a shock? She glances at the guys before nodding, scurrying up the stairs. I sigh.
"Nick, let him go. Go start the car."
"I left the car running," he states in an eerily calm tone.
I roll my eyes.
"Fine, go get in the car, then."
"Give me a good reason as to why I shouldn't beat the shit out of this guy like he has to Demi."
"Because that would make you just as bad as him. Because that would get you in a lot of trouble. That's two reasons. Think about it this way: soon, once both his daughter and his wife have completely left him, he'll realize his mistakes. By the time he realizes his mistakes, though, there will be no chance of him ever having the same relationship with either Jordan or Demi again. He'll have to live with that guilt slowly eating away at him for the rest of his life. He'll die knowing that he can't take back all of the cruel words and all of the forceful hits. He'll die knowing that his daughter despises him. He'll die knowing that he ruined his one chance at happiness. Isn't that much more painful than any punch?"
I anxiously gnaw on my bottom lip, waiting for Nick to release the bastard that is Demi's soon-to-be ex-husband. When he finally does, I almost breathe a sigh of relief. Jordan stumbles downstairs moments later, her suitcases in tow.
"Jordan, follow Nick to the car," I gently order.
She nods, bowing her head to, I'm assuming, avoid her father's gaze. Nick obediently leads Jordan to his car, much to my surprise. I thought he would at least try to hurl a few insults towards Wilmer. Wondering what's taking Demi forever, I brush the thought aside, assuring myself that she's probably just gathering some last minute possessions.
"I know why you hate me," I confidently state.
"I don't hate you," he arrogantly chuckles, as if what I'm saying is some kind of inside joke.
"Bullshit, you've hated me since the moment you heard Demi adopted me," I pause. "It's because you knew, isn't it? You knew who I was even before I fully did."
His eyes lock with mine.
"What did I know?"
"Don't play dumb with me!" I scoff. "You knew that I was the result of you obviously not doing a good enough job of being a then boyfriend. I mean, she slept with her ex's brother. You obviously were doing something wrong," I smirk as his fists clench. "You want to hit me, don't you? That's how you cope, beating the shit out of people and breaking things," I pause again. "How did you know the situation, though, even before i did?"
"Demi isn't as good at keeping secrets as she likes to think she is."
"Obviously," I snort.
As I'm about to head upstairs to check on Demi, my gaze flickers to the dining room table where a manila folder lays. I open the folder to find the divorce papers, all signed. I close the folder, picking it up and sauntering back to Wilmer.
"Here," I chuck the folder at him. "Considering you told her to sign them, I'm guessing that you'll need them. I'll make damn sure that she sees you in court."
With a final smirk, I jog upstairs.
"Demi?" I call out, glancing in each of the rooms.
I find her in the final guest room, where I left my luggage.
"I know Jordan and I had a lot of suitcases. Do you need any help?" I inquire, my anger forming a dull aching knot in the pit of my gut.
"Yeah," she chuckles, gesturing to the four heavy suitcases.
I grip the handles of two of the suitcases as she does the same to the other two. I allow her to exit the room first. As I'm about to flip the light switch off, I glance in the direction of where Jordan and I left the box. The box isn't there.
"You coming, Bailey?"
I run my tongue over my top teeth, urging myself to keep quiet, to not let her suspect a thing yet...even though she's probably already jumping to her own conclusions.
"Yeah."
I flip the switch and close the door behind me. Demi smiles at me, almost knowingly. I flash her my signature smirk, wearing what I hope is a well version of a poker face. Her smile faltars slightly.
"Jordan and Nick are probably waiting for us," she says, before heading downstairs.
As the anger continues to build within me, the three letters begin to feel like they're burning a hole in my back pocket. I feel like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any given moment. Somebody is bound to get scorched.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
