by Shey Stahl
Leaning back in the chair, I run my hands through my hair and then flop them at my sides. “What do you want me to do?”
For a moment, Liz doesn’t say anything, but I know where this is going. She’s been our manager for years and kept her mouth shut when we did stupid shit. This time, I don’t think I’m getting off that easy. With a flush to her cheeks, she adjusts her black-framed glasses and does that thing where she starts to speak, then stops, and sighs. “I. . . want you to appreciate your life. You have talent. You’re by far one of the most, if not the most talented singer/songwriter in the industry. The way you draw crowds in, your performance, it’s incredible. But it’s you who needs to change. I get it. You were seventeen when you made it and I know it’s young, but at some point, emotionally, you need to grow the fuck up. You can’t go around beating the crap out of people when you’re at the level you are. This is one you can’t talk your way out of or use your fame. Your blood alcohol content was .28 when you were arrested not to mention they found cocaine in your system!”
“I don’t—”
“Nope. No talking!” She stops me from speaking, her hand snaps up, silencing me. “I’m not finished. You’re an idiot. I’m sorry, you’re an amazing artist, but you’re a dumbass. You need to appreciate those fans who witnessed you at your worst. The fans who waited in line for hours in a blizzard that night to watch you throw it all away, yet still stand by you. Appreciate Cruz, Hardin, and Deacon for being your family. Through everything you do, they stand by you.”
Again, I nod. She’s not going to let me speak, so there’s no other option but to listen, and I do, for once.
“I want you to appreciate your life and that the world doesn’t owe you a goddamn favor. News flash, they don’t. I get it. You didn’t have the ideal childhood and that’s where all this stems from. It’s what makes your music so influential, but buck up, bitch.” Her eyes drift to the table, the coffee in her hand and the ring on her finger from a man she never discusses with us. She won’t even let us meet him. Can’t say I blame her. “I grew up in foster care. Your grandma might not have been perfect, but at least she was there. Try packing your belongings in a garbage bag and being moved from home to home every six-to-eight weeks because the family who took you in wanted a baby, not a teenager.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure what else to say to her. I never knew any of that about her and it only makes me feel worse.
“I don’t want your pity. That’s not why I’m telling you any of this. I’m telling you this so you realize what’s at stake here.”
“I do.” It’s the truth. I do know. I just don’t know if I’m ready to face it.
COLD AND DISTURBED
TAYLAN
I think of Revel and my heart does that thing where it beats so hard it hurts. It’s worse than any anxiety attack I’ve ever had. And I’m sad for him, for us, reality, and knowing he might go to jail for a long time for what he’s done.
I think of Breckin and my dad, and I’m instantly enraged to the point my lips are numb and I’m sweating and pacing the room. For the last two days, I’ve been sick to my stomach, constantly. Anxiety builds and builds, and it feels like I’m swimming in an ocean, barely able to keep my head above water. My hands shake staring at my phone and the constant ringing and messages. I scroll through them all, never responding to them until I see one from my mom, urging me to call her.
I’m not sure how much of my dad’s past Mom knows, or chose to know. Had she known about Hensley? Were there others? Maybe she’d been blind to it all along, or maybe the good southern woman in her chose to focus on her family. I’m certainly not saying it was right of her to do that, but in my heart, I can understand why she did.
I call her that afternoon while Revel’s meeting with his attorney, and the first thing out of her mouth is, “I’m divorcing your dad.”
For a moment, I don’t say anything. Maybe it’s not my place. Maybe she’s not looking for anything but someone to talk to. I want to say good for you, but instead, I simply listen to her words.
“You deserve so much more,” I whisper, trying to hold back tears. “I just can’t believe him.”
She chokes on a gasp. “Tay, honey. I knew for a long time. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
“So you stayed in a broken marriage where he disrespected you?” I ask, wondering what the driving force behind her staying with him would have been.
“I stayed for two reasons. You, and I wanted him to admit it.”
“Why would you have stayed because of me?”
She sighs, and then speaks, her voice softer now. “He’s your manager, your label, and more importantly, your father. I didn’t want our issues to destroy your image of him.”
I laugh, though I know I shouldn’t. “He destroyed that image by treating me like a possession rather than his daughter.”
Surprisingly, Mom laughs. “Sounds a lot like my marriage for the last twenty-five years.”
We make small talk for an hour, and it’s nice and the closest I’ve ever felt to her. For the first time in my life, it feels like she actually cares about me. She even asks how Revel’s doing, which if we’re being honest, I don’t know the answer to that question.
I meet with my dad that same afternoon, against my requests not to see him. He pushes past security to find me in my room, packing to leave for LA tonight. With the tour canceled, I can’t stay here, and with everything going on, it’s best I’m not here. I can’t even go outside the hotel without being mobbed by the media and paparazzi.
“You’re fired,” I tell him, angrily stuffing shirts and jackets into a suitcase that’s clearly not going to fit all my clothes in.
“It’s not that simple, Taylan.” Adjusting his cuff links, he leans his shoulder into the doorframe, the same place Revel stood last night. “You’re under contract.”
“I’ve hired a lawyer, and with the amount of trouble you’re in, I think I’m okay.” I turn to face him, shrugging. “Did you know Hensley was seventeen the first time you met her?”
He swallows, his jaw clenching. He didn’t think I knew that, but it’s amazing the information my mom had on him but didn’t divulge until he admitted it publicly. Maybe she had been waiting for that final punch she needed.
“The worst part about this isn’t even your lies, or the way you destroyed your relationship with a very loyal and loving wife. It’s that you hold no regret for it. And I’m sad. You have no idea what it was like to grow up as Taylan Ash, the image you molded and selfishly made me fit into. Do you have any idea how lost I felt inside? You took my childhood from me.”
He nods, the first indication of regret creasing his brow. He swallows, his voice shaky when he begins with, “For what it’s worth—”
“No.” I shake my head. “Your word isn’t worth anything.”
His frown deepens, his brow pinching together. And then he turns and leaves, walking out of the room without another word.
I break apart the moment the door closes, unable to keep my head above the water any longer. I wanted to find myself on this tour, so why does it feel like I lost a part of myself in the process, and my guilt for letting it happen the driving force behind the tears?
IT NEEDS TO BE DONE
TAYLAN
Four days after the concert, the judge orders Revel to rehab, issues a fifty-thousand-dollar fine and six months of probation.
The headline? Not quite as bad as I was expecting, but still not good.
ROCK STAR REVEL SLADE WAS SENTENCED TO TWO YEARS PROBATION FOR HIS ALTERCATION WITH FELLOW TOURING MUSICIAN, BRECKIN THOMAS.
Revel Slade pleaded no contest to the alleged fight that broke out at the One Vibe concert in Denver, Colorado. Though neither party has commented on why the fight started, fans in attendance said the fight broke out immediately after an incident with Taylan Ash, another musician on the tour—rumored to be dating Slade—and Thomas during the encore of the night. Thomas remains in a local hospital where his con
dition is unknown at this time. Based on the terms of his probation, Slade’s been warned that any incident where he’s caught doing drugs or alcohol, he will be in violation of his probation terms and land himself in state prison for three years. Slade has also been ordered to thirty days of rehabilitation for drug and alcohol abuse, seek anger management counseling, and perform 200 hours of community service.
I’ll tell you one thing, Revel got freaking lucky because if anyone else had done what he did, they would have landed themselves in jail and with a heavy lawsuit. Revel Slade? Slap on the hand, really. Promoters are going after Revved for loss of ticket sales and it’s a mess, but legally speaking, there’s no jail time for him, which is a miracle.
Breckin doesn’t press charges. For what reasons, I don’t know, nor do I care. I won’t be asking him why. Of course part of me wants to go to the hospital and ask why he would purposely cause so much hurt, the other part doesn’t care what his reasoning behind provoking Revel was.
While my heart begs to forgive Revel for everything, my head tells me otherwise. He’s destructive, and spiraled out of control, and the only way he’s going to see this the way he needs to, has to be without me. It’s a harsh reality to accept that not only am I not enough to save him, but I also need to remove myself completely.
Liz warns me he’s not in the best of moods, but given the amount of time I’ve spent around him these days, is he ever in an approachable mood?
Nope.
I find him that night still dressed in his black suit, the top few buttons undone and the tie lying on the ground near his foot. He’s on the patio of his hotel room with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in another. Seriously? So much for rehab.
I watch him closely as I approach the balcony overlooking the city, darkness enveloping the city and his mind. I look at his fragile body, still so strong and muscular, but inside, he’s slowly dying without help. He needs to be sober. He needs away from everything and everyone. Including me.
Hot tears roll down my cheeks. Everything he has ever said to me slowly replays in my head—haunting, destroying, crippling me. He notices me, his bloodshot eyes snapping to mine. He tries to offer a weak smile, but he doesn’t have it in him.
“You need help, Rev,” I say, moving closer. I sit next to him on the concrete patio, my hand on his cheek. “Please do what the judge ordered. I’m begging you.”
Nodding, he leans into my touch, his hair messy from the cool afternoon air. “I know,” he cries, choking on his words. He knows what this is. He knows my intentions. He’s barely moving, barely breathing, waiting for me to say something else. This beautiful man, he’s so broken.
I stare at the ground trying to process everything, but I can’t think clearly, let alone say anything else. My eyes drift to the city, hoping for words of comfort for him, but nothing comes to mind.
Setting the bottle aside, Revel puts the cigarette out and then pulls me into him. He hugs me, kissing down the side of my face with wet lips. “Do you have any idea how hard it is knowing what you want, yet you can’t have it?”
I nod. “I definitely have an idea.”
His face gives nothing away, expressionless, like he’s attempting to turn off any emotion he has or didn’t want to have. Clearing his throat, his eyes move to mine. Breathing through his nose, his eyebrows draw together, his chin quivering. “I guess I can’t expect you to be waiting for me, can I?”
This is the worst pain I’ve ever felt. It’s so hard to believe there’s no other way around this. Liz was right. Revel can’t continue like this. It’s not healthy, and if he doesn’t get help, I know the outcome. I think about his question. Will I wait for him? Revel was never my rebound or retaliation against my dad, or even Breckin. No. He was so much more than that, but in some ways, not enough. My words remain trapped inside my throat. When would I be me if I’m waiting for someone else to get their life together? Where’s my identity in that?
“Red.” My silence sparks Revel’s anger, his tone harsh and demanding. “Say something.”
I touch the side of his face. “I can’t tell you that I’m going to wait for you, Revel. That wouldn’t be fair to you or me.”
“Why not?” he hisses, jerking my chin up so I meet his cold eyes. “Why won’t you?”
My eyes narrow and I twist my head from his grasp. “Because… then you’ll go to rehab because of me. You’ll go through all the steps just to get back to me, but that’s not enough. You need to go because of you, and only you.”
“I wouldn’t do it for me,” he groans, running his hands down his face and letting go of me. Bringing his knees up, he rests his elbows on his legs, his head hung between them. “I don’t give a shit about me.”
Look at his face. He’s speaking the truth. “That’s the problem,” I admit, a sharp sting of pain radiates throughout my body, my heart, and my soul. “We can’t work if you don’t.”
He lifts his head. His face contorts into an unbearable amount of agony, and he turns away, pulling his hands through his hair. “Fuck,” he whispers painfully. “Why are you always right?” After a moment, he breathes in a deep breath and looks over at me. Reaching over, he twirls red curls around his finger. “I’ll always remember this. . . with you,” he says, attempting to smile, but it doesn’t touch the pain in his eyes.
“I will too, but please do this for yourself.” It hurts to watch, but it’s harder to look away as he processes what I’m saying. I can tell my words are hurting him. “For your career. For your band. Do it for you because the Revel Slade I fell in love with, he’s in there and this crap”—I gesture to the bottle—“it’s destroying that guy, and pretty soon, there’s not going to be anything left.”
For a moment, he says nothing and stares at the bottle of vodka at his feet. After a minute, his eyes lift to mine. “Will you promise me something?”
I nod.
Swallowing heavily, he runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Don’t lose yourself trying to be something you’re not.”
Holding back a sob, I bury my head in his chest, savoring the connection a little longer. We cling to one another tightly, his body shaking against mine.
“I’ll do it for me,” he says slowly, his breath on my skin and in my heart.
Burying my head further into his chest, I breathe in deeply—cinnamon and cigarettes. I squeeze my eyes shut. Hot tears flow like a waterfall as I process his words.
Then he lets go and creates distance between us, holding me by the tops of my shoulders. “I can’t fucking walk away from you.” He struggles to control his emotions and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “And that terrifies me.”
Before I have a chance to say anything, Revels stands, his eyes cast down, hidden from mine.
“As much as it kills me to say this, I hope you find someone better than me. Not that fucker Breckin.”
“Pretty sure you took care of that.” I laugh through tears.
He doesn’t. There’s absolutely no humor in his expression, only an emotion between anger and agony.
He sighs but doesn’t move. His Adam’s apple bobs with his heavy swallow. “You have to do it. I’m not strong enough to end it.” His gaze falters, long enough for me to see the truth hidden deep within. He’s weak. I’m the one addiction he can’t let go of.
I hold onto his hands as he leans forward, gently brushing his lips to mine. For a moment, nothing but silence fills the space between us, until I whisper, “It’s over,” regretting how wrong those words feel, yet somehow, the tiniest bit of relief washes over me knowing he’ll be stronger because of it.
Dropping his hands, his eyes move to my mouth, and my chest hurts at the thought of never feeling his lips against mine again. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my skin, so close I can imagine the taste of his lips pressing to mine. He draws in a sharp intake of breath and then nods, kisses me one last time and then walks away.
Words escape me, my heart twisting inside my chest at the onslaught of emo
tions. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I watch as Revel Slade walks out of the room and my life, his hands in his pockets, chin down, the same way he came into it.
There’s a reason why I came on this tour. Revel once asked me if I was the same person when others weren’t looking as I was when they were. I didn’t know who I was when they were looking, let alone when they weren’t.
But Revel Slade. . . knows me, and it’s the only way he walks away.
The question remains, will I wait for him?
For me, for him, I can’t give him that promise, but deep down, I have no idea if I can truly walk away. For everyone else I had to play this role. I had to be their princess. I wouldn’t let Revel use me as a crutch to find happiness and fill his empty void. I knew that space and the fame that created it, but I’m not the filler.
PRISON SENTENCE
REVEL
I won’t bore you with the details, but I’m sure you can guess I land myself in rehab. It’s awful. I hate it. And if I’m honest, it’s exactly where I need to be.
You don’t realize what fame does to you until the sentence has been handed down. When you’re living in the spotlight, after a while, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You’re lost inside, and escaping is more powerful and necessary. Everything in between is simply a one-night stand. A nameless face. Even the fucking cities you’re in hold no meaning. You jump off a plane, rush to a hotel, unpack a little, go to sound check, relax for a little while and then it’s time to perform. Then you’re so amped at the end you can’t sleep. Then it’s onto the next city. Nothing changes but the name of the town. Eventually though, it catches up with you and you find yourself in rehab, or worse, dead. I guess I could say I got lucky on that hand, didn’t I?
Oma found out what I did in Colorado, and the rehab, and said to me, “How could you have let this happen?”