Westside Series Box Set

by Monica Alexander

  It was broad daylight, and he’d shot her dead so he could take her car and her money. It was sick.

  I’d known she was dead as soon as I saw the gun go off. There was too much blood, and pieces of her skull were littering the ground near her head, but still I ran to her. I begged her to open her eyes, to hear me, to wake up, even though I knew it was no use.

  Sirens rang in the distance, and then I was being pulled away from her body, forced to let go of her hand. Tears blurred my vision, and that was when things got fuzzy. My recollection of what happened after that had always been muddled, probably because it didn’t matter. My mother was gone, and no matter how many statements I gave or descriptions of the man I shared, it wasn’t going to bring her back. That was something I knew for sure.

  So I went through the motions, did what the cops asked of me, and then I went home with my dad. I never went back to the studio for lessons. I didn’t even ask my dad if I could. Even if I would have been able to face the place where my mother’s life was taken in a senseless act, I knew my father never would have taken me there.

  I lost a lot that day – my mother, my innocence, my feeling of safety, and the teacher I loved so much. I knew what it was like to feel like you’d lost everything, and to know that I wasn’t alone in that pain was more impactful than I’d ever expected it to be. Sabrina and I really did have more in common than I’d ever thought.

  I don’t know if Sabrina recognized the pain on my face, but even in the dark club, she could see that I wasn’t okay. Too many memories had assaulted me all at once, and I hadn’t been prepared to relive them. But she slid her hand into mine, and she squeezed once, offering me a small smile.

  “I miss her,” I said, knowing she’d know what I was talking about even though I was being vague.

  She didn’t even pry. She didn’t ask questions. She just held my hand and said, “I’m sure you do.”

  “She would have been proud of me. She would have come to see me perform. She would have loved that I was chosen to be in Westside.”

  “Your dad doesn’t like what you do?” she asked, again proving that she could read me so well.

  I didn’t even have to say anything for her to know exactly what I was thinking. My relationship with my dad had never been great, but it had gotten so much worse after my mom died. I knew he blamed me for her death, he was angry that she’d been in a dangerous neighborhood because of me, and he’d barely spoken to me after we lost her. When I’d needed him most, he’d pulled away.

  “No, he doesn’t. He’s never come to one of our shows. I’m not sure he’s ever even heard any of our music.”

  Even when we’d performed in Brazil two years earlier, where he’d moved a year before that with Gigi since she wanted to be closer to her family, he still didn’t come to our show. I hadn’t planned to invite him, but in a moment of weakness when I realized I hadn’t seen him in almost a year, I’d called his office. I left a message with this secretary, and then I was actually surprised when he didn’t show. He called during the show, probably when he knew I wouldn't answer, leaving me a lame message about why he couldn’t come.

  I was pissed when I heard that, and I got good and messed up that night, vowing that I was done with him. I’d spent my whole life trying to get his attention, and I’d failed again and again. Kids had never been his thing, but I guess even as a grown-up, I was still a kid in his eyes. Maybe I’d acted out too much over the years, maybe I’d caused him too much time and money, maybe he’d never wanted me in the first place, or maybe the hatred in his heart at losing the woman he’d adored had hardened him too much. Either way, it was clear to me that I wasn’t ever going to get what I wanted from him and maybe I should just stop caring.

  “Well, he’s missing out then,” Sabrina said earnestly. “You’re an amazing vocalist.”

  I gave her a small smile. “Thanks.”

  She leaned toward me. “This is where you say, so are you, Sabrina. I love your voice,” she whispered, and I knew she was doing it to ease the tension I was feeling.

  I rolled my eyes at her, more grateful than she knew for her ability to turn my mindset on its head at will. I didn’t want to think about my parents and all that I’d lost any longer. It was just too hard.

  “You actually do have a pretty amazing voice,” I told her honestly.

  “I look good on-stage too. I’m told I have good presence. It’s a shame you’ve never seen me perform.”

  “It is a shame,” I agreed.

  “You should watch tomorrow night. I promise it’ll be a good show.”

  “I know it will. Even if I haven’t seen it, I’ve heard your show from backstage. Did you really write all of those songs yourself?”

  She nodded. “I did. I’ve got a lot of pain in here,” she said, tapping her heart. “It’s easier to sing about it than dwell on it, you know?”

  “I actually wouldn’t know. I’ve never channeled my pain into music,” I told her, not sure I could ever do that.

  “Well, you should. It’s quite therapeutic.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sure it’s really Westside’s sound, you know. We’re more upbeat. We sing about love and sometimes we sing about break-ups in a lighthearted, fun way. My life would terrorize our fans if they knew about half of it.”

  She smiled. “Then maybe you should consider a side project.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You should write an album that you can sing as a solo artist.”

  I looked at her in confusion. “But I’m in Westside. I’m fully busy with this.”

  “Right, but Westside isn’t going to last forever. Isn’t your contract up at the end of the year?”

  I nodded. “It is, but I don’t think we’re going to break up.”

  “Maybe not, but the shelf life of boy bands is really short by most standards. Five years is a long time. I’m not saying it’s inevitable, but there might come a time when you want to do something else.”

  She had a point. There also might come a time when I’d be forced to do something else. Westside could end without me having a say in it.

  “Yeah, but I’m not really a writer. I mean, I contribute to our songs, but I’m not great at it.”

  Sabrina smiled. “That’s because you’re not writing from the heart. You should just try to jot some things down. Start with emotions, feelings, moments. Write them in a journal, and then go back after a while and see what you’ve got.”

  A journal? I’d never written in a journal in my life. It seemed like such a chick thing to do. But I had to admit I was intrigued, and quite honestly, what she was suggesting was something my therapist had wanted me to do all along. He’d thought writing about my childhood experiences would help me get over them, but I’d never actually believed it would work, so I hadn’t done it.

  “Is it that simple?” I asked Sabrina.

  She laughed. “Definitely not, but it makes the process easier. When I was growing up, whenever I’d get angry about something, I’d write what I was feeling down instead of getting upset about it. It seemed to make sense at the time, even though it probably wasn’t the healthiest of tactics. But when I got out of rehab, I had pages and pages of thoughts and feelings and emotions. Song writing came pretty easily after that.”

  “Sounds painful,” I said, wincing slightly.

  She smiled. “It can be incredibly painful, but it’s also cathartic as hell. And you have your own lyrics to be proud of when you’re done. It does get easier over time though, and the best part is when you wake up one day with an idea that you have to get down on paper because if you don’t, you could lose it. I love those days. Some of my best songs have come from those days.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” I told her, never having experienced a day like that in my life.

  “Or you could try it.”

  “Or I could try it,” I agreed, surprised that it was something I was even considering.

  It was like Sabrina had magical p
owers of persuasion. With very little effort, she could easily convince me to do almost anything. It was a little intimidating to say the least.

  “Are you guys ready to go?” Dillon asked, slurring a little as he leaned forward to talk to us again.

  He had a blond and a brunette wearing two of the skimpiest outfits I’d ever seen flanking him. It was funny. I’d been at the club for a few hours, and I’d yet to notice one girl. Maybe I wasn’t in the mood, or maybe I just liked the company of the girl I was with. Even though we were just friends, I didn’t seem to mind. It was nice to just talk to a girl for a change.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sabrina

  “Do you want to get out of here?” I heard in my ear as I leaned on a table and surveyed the room.

  A local radio station was having a party for us, and I’d already talked to everyone I felt obligated to talk to. I told myself that I was going to finish my orange juice and then get a car to take me back to the hotel. I was wiped and was ready to go to bed.

  We were leaving in the morning, heading from Canada back to the US, so I wanted to get a good night’s sleep. The drive from Montreal to Buffalo was going to be long, and I planned to spend it working through some of the things I’d had on my mind for the past few weeks. After telling Phillip about my strategy for writing music a few days earlier, I found myself with more and more ideas that I’d been adding to my journal. I could feel the beginnings of a few songs that I wanted to get down on paper.

  I had a meeting with my label in a few weeks, back in L.A., and I wanted to show them that I had some good stuff ready for my second album. Even if it wasn’t going to launch for at least another nine months, I was already writing as much as I could in an effort to have variety to present to the powers that be.

  I smiled as I recognized Phillip’s voice as his warm breath bathed my neck, and I turned to face him. “I was just about to leave. You want a ride?”

  “I have a ride,” he said, dangling the keys to a car in front of me.

  “Oh, did you steal that?”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny, and no, I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it. You want to go for a ride?”

  “I was just going to go back to the hotel,” I told him.

  He shrugged. “Or you could stay up and keep me company.”

  I smiled, loving that we’d gotten past the awkward ‘we slept together’ phase and were actually going to be friends. I knew things didn’t always turn out that way, but with Phillip I was glad they had. The more time I spent with him, the more I liked him, and after our open-sharing moment at the club in Toronto where I’d told him about my brother, and he’d told me about his mom, I felt connected to him somehow.

  I wondered if he felt it too, since after that night we’d started hanging out almost daily. Usually the other guys from Westside were there too, but it had been a fun few days with them bumming around their suite and sightseeing in Toronto and Montreal. Phillip had even ridden on my bus between the two cities and we’d passed the time watching classic horror movies, which it turned out we both liked.

  “But I’m tired,” I whined playfully.

  I saw a look pass over his face that seemed like disappointment. “Are you sure? I was sort of hoping you’d want to hang out. I figured we could talk a little, maybe, or we could just get away from everything for a while.”

  As soon as he said that, I knew I couldn’t go back to the hotel. I had a feeling something was on this mind, and that was his subtle way of asking me to listen. If he wanted to talk, I wouldn’t say no.

  “I can absolutely do that,” I told him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Let me just grab my coat.”

  It was about three degrees outside, and I shivered when we stepped into the freezing air. There were a few photographers outside, and I wondered how they weren’t turning into human popsicles. Maybe it was my Southern California blood, but I figured I wouldn’t last five minutes outside in this weather.

  “Fuck, it’s freezing out here,” Phillip grumbled as the valet was pulling his borrowed car around.

  I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’ll keep you warm,” I volunteered.

  He smiled down at me as camera flashes started to go off. “People are going to talk,” he warned me, and I knew he was right.

  I also knew that regardless of what was the truth, they were going to print what they believed. I’d learned long ago that I couldn’t worry about those sorts of things. As long as I was living a life I was proud of, who cared what anyone else thought.

  Pictures of me hugging Phillip were sure to indicate that we were seeing each other, and quite honestly, if that was the worst thing being said about me, I was okay with that. I wasn’t about to start censoring myself so the tabloids would correctly share with the world who I was dating – which was no one. Of course that was too boring for them. They’d much rather dream up their own stories.

  “I don’t care what they think,” I told Phillip. “I’m too cold for that.”

  He laughed as he looped his arms around me. “Then I’m good with it too.”

  “They already thought we were dating after the Oscars, so it’s not a new story for them,” I reminded him, remembering the pictures that had surfaced of us walking the red carpet together that had been made into so much more than they really were.

  “This is true.”

  The valet arrived with our car a few minutes later. It was a brand new Mercedes convertible that had the top up, but it was completely beautiful and more expensive than anything I’d ever owned. It had to be at least a hundred thousand dollar car. Whoever had let Phillip borrow it had been beyond trusting with their swanky wheels.

  “I find it humorous that they sell convertibles in Canada,” I said as we climbed into the car. “Doesn’t it seem a little impractical?”

  “Yeah, now that you say it, it does,” Phillip agreed as he started the engine.

  We set off into the night, and I let out a deep breath, grateful to be away from the loud music and chatter and people who’d had enough to drink to forget personal barriers. Those things had never bothered me until I’d gotten sober. Now I understood the appeal of social drinking and only wished it was something I could have achieved. Of course I was forever destined to be the sober girl amongst the buzzed – aside from my equally sober companion.

  I looked over at Phillip and waited for him to catch me staring and turn his head. Then I smiled.

  “What?” he questioned.

  “You know I really didn’t like you when I first met you.”

  “I know,” he said as if that wasn’t new information.

  “I thought you were a dick.”

  “I was.”

  “Intentionally?”

  He shrugged. “I thought you were crazy. I was keeping my distance.”

  “Crazy. Wow. That’s kind of shitty.”

  “Yeah, well, there were a lot of stories that I caught glimpses of a few years back. No offense, but you did some crazy shit.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I know. The sad part is, I don’t even remember half of it. Of course I can always go back and watch the Internet videos if I want to take a glimpse at my disgraceful past.”

  “Hey, you’re not alone. I almost overdosed and died. It might not have been showcased in the public light, but it happened. If we were to compare mistakes we made while high, I think I’d win.”

  Yeah, don’t be so sure about that.

  A part of me wanted to tell him the one secret I’d never told anyone. Jason was the only person who knew the biggest mistake I’d made while I was using, which had turned into my biggest regret, and he’d taken it to the grave. But I wasn’t ready to tell anyone – especially not Phillip who I was sure would judge me beyond measure. Most people would.

  “Yeah, Damon told me about your overdose,” I said instead. “And for the record, I’m glad you didn’t die.”

  Phillip laughed. “Me too. And for the record, you proved me wrong. I reall
y don’t think you’re crazy.”

  I nodded. “Good to know. Although I might be crazy. I’m inclined to believe the verdict’s still out.”

  He looked over at me and smiled. “Nah, you’re just adventurous. There’s a difference.”

  I returned his smile, appreciating him saying that more than he probably knew. “Speaking of adventure, where are we going?”

  I felt like I needed to force us toward a lighter topic. The way he was looking at me was making me feel all jittery and nervous. I couldn’t explain it, and I didn’t want to try to understand it. Not tonight.

  “I didn’t really have anywhere in mind,” Phillip said as he shifted his gaze back to the road. “I just felt like driving. Being on tour is always weird for me. I’ve been independent for a really long time. I’ve driven myself everywhere since I turned sixteen. Being chauffeured isn’t something I always enjoy. I miss driving just to drive.”

  “Well, I’m glad you asked me to come with you. I like the view from down here better than from a tour bus.”

  “Me too.”

  For the next few miles, we drove in silence, the only sound being the Avett Brothers album playing through the car stereo. It was perfect driving music.

  “So what was on your mind tonight?” I asked Phillip.

  He didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes on the road ahead of us that was a two lane highway leading us farther and farther from civilization. The stars were getting brighter overhead, and the lights from the city were falling away into the distance. I found myself wishing it were warmer. Putting the top down and driving under a blanket of stars was something I hadn’t done in a long time. Maybe when I got home I’d buy a convertible and do that. It sounded like the sort of impulsive decision that might actually be a good idea. I needed to make a few of those.

  “I talked to Leah today,” Phillip said.

  “Oh yeah? How did that go?”

  It was the first time he’d brought up Leah to me since the night we’d spent together. She was a subject he avoided almost exclusively. The only time he’d mentioned her and Gavin was when he told me about the progress Gavin had made after two guitar lessons. He could play three cords, and he was loving it.