When the guards were next to Jim, he let go of the man on the floor and scrambled to his feet, panting. 

Crimson stains marred the front of his shirt, and his bow tie was askew.

I made a step toward him, but Jay gripped my arm, stopping me. "Ava, wait."

"I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to leave," one of the guards told Jim. The other one stood by his partner's side, ready to intervene. 

"Leaving." Jim's eyes roamed his surroundings and landed on my face. "Ava."

Jay let go of me, and I followed Jim out of the hall. The security was behind us. There was no chance to leave the building unnoticed, and each scenario in my head was more sickening than the last, although all of them featured us on the front pages of tabloids.

I kept my eyes down until we were on the street, and someone called Jim's name. 

His gaze sought mine. "Wait for me in the limo, okay?"

Andre and Cayden walked up to Jim, and I strolled to the car. The driver stamped out his cigarette and opened the limousine door for me.

"Thank you," I said, slumping into the leather seat. 

I was too far to hear what Jim was telling his manager and producer, but I saw him rake his fingers through his hair and rub his palms over his face.

Each minute that passed fueled my concern. Jim was gesturing with his hands, and judging by how his mouth twisted, the conversation wasn't pleasant. When he pivoted and marched toward the limo, I inhaled deeply and moved so he'd sit beside me.

As soon as the car door slammed shut and Jim plopped down on the bench by my side, the driver started the vehicle and drove out of the parking lot.

"Jimmy." My voice came out in a whisper. 

Jim rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. "Later. When we're home."

"Okay." I took his hand and flinched at the sight of his raw knuckles. He must've been in pain on top of being in trouble because of me. 

Silence stretched between us for the rest of the drive. When we got out of the car next to the apartment complex, Jim headed into the building, only pausing for a split second to make sure I followed him.

As soon as the apartment door clicked shut behind us, he turned on the lights and shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. I picked it up and put it on the arm of the couch.

Jim poured himself a drink in the kitchen and sat on the sectional with a tumbler full of amber liquid in his hand.

For the first time, I had no clue what to do with him or what was on his mind. I slipped off my high heels and perched beside Jim, waiting for him to talk to me.

But he didn't. His whiskey was almost gone, and he hadn't uttered a word.

I cleared my throat. "Jimmy?"

He turned his head at the sound of my voice. "Yeah?"

"Are you in trouble for hitting that man?"

"I don't think Wyatt deserves to be called a man," Jim said, studying the contents of his glass.

"So, you know him."

"He's the label guy I told you about. Where's your phone?"

"In my purse. Why?"

"Get it."

After I did, Jim took his cell out of his pocket and powered it off. 

"Do the same," he said. "Tell your dad you're with me till Monday and turn it off."

"Jim. Do you think…"

Jim groaned. "Ava. Please."

"Okay." I sighed. He must've had his reasons, and I probably should've insisted and made him talk, but I'd never seen him act so weird. Or be so cold with me. 

Did he blame me for what happened? If so, that made two of us. If that disgusting man represented the label, Jim's career was in jeopardy. And if he pressed charges—

"What did he say to you?"

I swallowed. Jim must've seen the panic in my eyes because he rose from the couch and crouched down in front of me. "Ava. I saw him talk to you. And you looked scared. And then he gripped your arm and said something else, so please tell me what he said."

"That you weren't enough for me." I clasped my clammy hands in my lap. "And that I was dressed to attract the attention of men like him and then playing dumb."

"And what else?"

"He asked me if I thought about his offer to be his mistress cause I was with you for your money."

The glass shattered against the wall. Shards flew in every direction and landed on the hardwood floor, glistening in the light of the lamp.

Jim jumped to his feet and paced the length of the living room, the muscle in his jaw working as his hands balled into fists.

"Jimmy, it doesn't matter. He's just disgusting. When I saw him at the club before—"

Jim halted, giving me an incredulous stare. "At the club. Before."

He didn't know, and my heart sank. True, we weren't technically together, but knowing Jim, he didn't see our break as a real break. He cared in the same way I did, although we were thousands of miles apart.

"Jimmy, I didn't hide it from you on purpose. I had no clue who he was. He tried to hit on me, but I ignored him and made sure to stay away from him for the rest of the night."

A weary sigh pushed past Jim's lips. "Turn off your phone, okay? I promise we'll talk, but now I just need some time to myself."

"Do you want me to leave?"

His eyes softened. "No, baby. I want you to stay. I just need time."

"Do your knuckles hurt?"

"I'll ice them. Take a shower and go to bed, okay? It's been a long fucking day."

I didn't want to go to bed without Jim. I wanted to be there for him, but insisting would make things worse. He hit someone because of me, risking his career, and smashed a glass against the wall. And now, he was barely able to look at me because he faced away each time our eyes met.

I scurried to the bedroom and sat on the bed with my phone in my hands. After sending a text to dad, I switched the cell off, put it on the nightstand, and took off my dress.

If the evening had gone as I hoped, Jim would peel it off me. We'd make love and fall asleep together instead of being in different rooms with tension thick in the air of the condo. 

Sighing, I grabbed Jim's tee and headed to the bathroom. Rest made things better, they said — if I was lucky enough to fall asleep.

☆☆☆

I woke up to the feeling of warm lips on my neck. Jim drew an arm around me and pulled me to him, my back to his front. "Baby."

"Good morning," I mumbled, turning in his arms.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he whispered, moving strands of hair out of my eyes. "I just needed to calm down and clean the mess I made."

"I'm sorry too, Jimmy." I placed a small kiss on his jaw and looked into his eyes.

"Let's go shopping today," Jim said. "Remember you told me my apartment looked a bit empty? Let's buy some things. I don't know, plants or shit like that. Okay? Then we could have lunch at the mall, take a walk somewhere, have some ice cream."

I looked at my boyfriend's defined chest because if I looked at his face, he'd see the incredulous expression I surely was sporting. We probably made the news after yesterday, and he wanted us to shop in a crowded mall and eat ice cream?

Jim slid his hand under my tee and rubbed my stomach. "Please?"

Leaning my forehead against his collarbone, I blew out a rush of air.  "Okay. Let's get ready."

I thought things couldn't get more bizarre. I was wrong. 

After getting ready and before heading to the kitchen, Jim pulled out two matching baseball caps from the closet and put his on backward. I put on mine, chuckling because our outfits were similar too—shorts and white tees — although we didn't dress like that on purpose. 

Jim patted my butt and went on to make coffee. 

"Want to buy some books, too?" he asked.

"Books?"

"Yeah. Why not? And then we could stop by that store that has cute notebooks. I wanted to get you one. Do you need clothes? You don't have enough clothes here."

"I don't know, Jimmy."

"Well, you have enough time to decide." Jim winked.

I sat at the breakfast bar, eyeing him. He looked okay, but what the hell was he doing?

I expected him to yell, freak out, and compulsively check the headlines for mentions of yesterday's fight. Or even call his producer, manager, and bandmates. Jim had his phone off instead. Mine, too, and the TV remote was nowhere to be seen.

There was a pink elephant in a sparkling, glittery tutu in the room, doing pirouettes, and Jim ignored it. And I had no clue what to do, so I played along.

An hour later, we were browsing the shelves of a bookstore in the mall. 

"Baby, look." Jim handed me a book. "Tantric sex. Sounds fun. What do you think?"

"I don't exactly know what that is," I said.

"I have no clue, either, so we're buying it. I'm eager to learn new ways to stick my sword of desire into your hot little furnace."

I died a thousand imaginary deaths when an older woman whipped her head around and looked at us, wide-eyed.

"Jim," I hissed, tugging at his hand and dragging him away. 

He laughed. "What? You were reading about sex the other day, and you know how it ended. We could read together tonight and finish together, cute little thing. You, me, the library, some wine. A fireplace. Fuck, we don't have a fireplace. Let's buy one of those electric ones with pretty flames."

After paying for my romance novels and the book about tantric sex, Jim led me to the giant home goods store.

He bought an electric fireplace they'd deliver to the apartment in the evening.

I chose plants, throw pillows, and framed artworks to decorate the condo, as well as a mirror Jim said we could hang in the bedroom. Or the library, because apparently, it was our sex sanctuary now, and Jim said mirrors were erotic.

By the time we sat to have lunch, the pink elephant was doing backflips, his ginormous ears flapping in the wind. 

"Ice cream?" Jim asked after we ate a giant pepperoni pizza.

"I'm too full for ice cream, baby." I patted my stomach. 

"We can wait and eat it later."

Or we could go home and finally talk, but a conversation wasn't in store for us.

The rain started to fall when we left the mall. Jim's plans to stroll in the park were ruined, and a sliver of relief settled in my insides when he drove us home.

I loved spending the day with him as a normal couple, but we were anything but normal. And ignoring the pink elephant didn't mean it wasn't there, putting up the show of the year. 

There was Jim's career and the man who could ruin it. There was my guilt because of making my usually calm boyfriend lose it, breaking noses and tumblers. Let's not forget the media coverage of the gala and its not-so-glamorous parts. Only the footage of us in the bathroom would be worse than the photos of his fight.

Jim carried our shopping bags into the living room and left them on the rug by the coffee table. Then, he took off his cap and slid his fingers through his hair. 

Massaging his neck, he winced. "You know what I want?"

"What do you want?" 

"A blowjob."

I halted, holding one sneaker, the other one still on my foot.

"Yeah, cute little thing, your boyfriend wants a blowjob. And Netflix and chill or whatever normal kids do nowadays. He wants to eat ice cream with you and laugh at a stupid show on TV. And have sex. Lots of it."

I took off the other shoe and took a timid step forward. "I can give you a blowjob, baby."

Jim's shoulders shook. He covered his face with his palms, but they didn't muffle the sound of his laughter.

"Blow me whenever you want, baby." His expression grew serious, and he sat on the couch, patting the spot beside him. "That wasn't the point. The point is, I don't know if I can do this, Ava. I don't know if I can stand working with the guy who disrespected the girl I love knowing she was mine to prove some fucking point."

I sat by Jim's side and rubbed his back. "Let it all out, okay? Talk to me. Please."

"Would you love me if I quit?" Jim whispered.

I kissed his shoulder. "Of course I would, but you don't mean that. It's your career, baby. You worked harder than anyone I know to get where you are."

Jim shrugged. "I'm not useless. I have a degree and can get a well-paid job. What I've earned is enough to live comfortably even if I don't work for a while. The condo is paid for."

"Jimmy, you don't mean it."

He took my hand in his and laced our fingers. "Don't I, though? I have to tolerate two disgusting human beings who hurt us both and swallow my fucking pride. Bite my fucking tongue. I told you to turn off your phone because I don't want you to see them paint me as a fucking hothead who can't keep his temper in check. I'm sick of the media. I'm sick of assholes like Wyatt. I'm sick of this lifestyle, Ava. I hate that you worried about someone seeing us today while spending time as all normal couples do. It's been only a few years, and I don't know if it's worth the lack of sleep and the stress and what you had to go through because of me."

"It was because of Tasha, not you." I traced Jim's still red knuckles with my fingertips. "She and her uncle are awful people, baby."

"I know." Jim exhaled. "But that awful person has us by the balls. We can't break the contract. I know it, Cay knows it, the guys know it. We'd lose what we earned if Wyatt sued us. He can still press charges for battery, although the label made too much with our latest songs to do something that dumb. That's why I didn't want to talk, Ava. Cause I don't know what to say or do. I'm lost. And I'm mad. And I'm sad because I remember how scared you looked when that piece of crap cornered you."

I wanted to tell Jim he wasn't to blame, but he was probably too upset to listen. I understood him. There was some truth in everything he said, but he was too talented to give up. He'd regret it if he did.

For the first time today, I wished both of us could pretend the pink elephant didn't exist.

Thoughts?

Jim reached the breaking point.