by L.J. Shen
That had been Blake putting out one of the many fires I’d created. There were no sound issues—though I’m sure someone got fired for the non-existing one Blake reported—and the embrace I’d given Lucas outside our Berlin hotel had almost snapped his neck.
“Either way, will they even meet? I mean, chances are they won’t.” A brunette girl with bold red lipstick picked dirt from under her acrylic nails.
“They’re all going to be at Chateau De Malmaison’s Halloween event in Paris.” The older man snapped his fingers.
Someone tapped my shoulder, and I realized the queue had progressed, but I’d stayed rooted to the floor. I took a few steps forward, my eyes still glued to the screen. There was something cathartic about the pain coursing through me. It made me feel so human. So vulnerable.
“There’ll be no media at the event. And they’ll all wear masks.” The blond girl sounded disappointed. At least someone still got a mental hard-on for my personal life. Shame it wasn’t me.
“Mask or not, Will and Fallon owe Alex an explanation, don’t you think? Their engagement came as a surprise to everyone.”
For a second, I was in purgatory between my life the second before I’d heard it and my life after.
Engagement?
En-fucking-gagement?
I sucked in a slow breath. Fucking Fallon was the hottest mess Hollywood had had the displeasure of producing in this decade and Will was happily married to his work. What business did they have getting married?
“The preparations for the wedding have been going on for weeks now. Do you think they’ll invite him?”
Weeks? They’d been engaged for weeks and no one had told me? Then it dawned on me like hail. Trickling down at first, then all at once, pouring down on my fucking parade.
No Internet.
No social media.
Stay away from the laptop.
Channels in my hotel rooms hooked on news and porn and nothing else because of…
Cockgate.
Blake had created Cockgate. My jaw locked so hard my teeth meshed into dust. He’d do whatever he needed to divert the scandal from “British rock star loses his shit and goes on a three-week bender consuming every single gram of cocaine in Europe” to “British rock star fucks a random starlet and leaves her a souvenir.”
My blood boiled, and I made a U-turn, pushing the door open and storming out. Blake was still on his mobile. He had one eye on me, like I was going to drink myself to death in a coffee shop in the middle of Barcelona. I motioned for him to follow me up to our hotel with my hand, and he did, the device still cemented to his ear.
“All right. Gotta go. Talk later. Bye.”
We got in. Into the lobby. Into the lift. I was sick and tired of Blake and Jenna pulling shit like this. I had a babysitter, I was not allowed on the Internet, and every time I acted in a way that didn’t suit them, they’d dump the blame on other people and bark at me, like in Moscow.
Not to mention I suspected he put my fucking dick on the Internet.
Yeah, enough was e-fucking-nough.
“What crawled up your arse?” Blake’s defiant eyes dragged to meet mine when we were in the lift, and I had to tell myself, not now. When we get to the room. When we get to the fucking room, which only served to make every second tick like a year.
The minute the door behind us clicked shut, I grabbed a vase and threw it across the wall. I wanted to scream, but this time we didn’t have the entire floor for my entourage.
“How long have you known? About Will and Fallon. Don’t lie.” I wasn’t a bad man. I knew that. I paid my taxes. I always made sure my sexual partner orgasmed before I kicked her out. I took care of my family and mates, even when they let me down. So this didn’t make any sense.
“How did you…” He gulped, widening the loop of his tie like it tightened around his neck. “What…”
“They have fucking TVs in Spain, that’s how!” My voice hitched up, the control I’d clung to seeping slowly out of me. I looked aside. I needed air. I didn’t have air. Not in the physical, but fucking spiritual sense. I always had someone babying me. I could drag Indie from her room and have her accompany me, but I didn’t want to do it. As it was, she was overworked and dealing with personal bullshit. Plus, I needed to be alone. Bollocks.
Bollocks!
“Look, I can explain.” Blake held his palms in the air in surrender.
How many times had I seen him in this position? One too many. That was the exact number. And I was sick and tired of it. I pushed him, bloodthirsty for a fight.
The more I had money, and power, and fame, the less I had freedom, and happiness, and the ability to be me. And the person I’d become was imperfect. He occasionally fucked things up, including his drummer’s kit. The person I was wanted the truth. The person I was—I am, I always will be—couldn’t settle for the life he had. A life where I worked for so many people—Jenna, Blake, my former publicist—and the only thing that kept the illusion of control was the fact I’d taken the biggest slice of the pie. A pie I was no longer hungry for.
I didn’t need guardians.
And babysitters.
And people who leaked pictures of my dick on the Internet.
I needed to get out of there. Now.
I made my way to the door before my fist could make its way to Blake’s face. My manager panicked and grabbed my wrist to turn me around. What the hell did he think he was doing? The minute I swiveled and he saw the look on my face, his eyebrows popped.
“I did it for your own good, Alex.”
“Fuck you,” I spat, shaking his touch off me. “You don’t get to pretend it’s even half-true after everything you’ve done.”
“Where are you going?”
“Doesn’t matter. Wherever it is, no one’s coming with me. Not Indie, and definitely not you.” The minute I said these words, I realized it was a demand I’d been afraid to make months ago. Sure, I’d bullied my past babysitters and taunted Indie, but I’d never put my foot down. I’d never said no. Until now.
“Alex.” He jumped in front of me, blocking my way to the door. “I’m afraid if you leave now, you’ll make a huge mistake. If a punch in the face is what I need to tolerate to keep you sober, I’ll take one for the team.”
I threw my head back, shaking it on a bitter chuckle. “Aren’t you a goddamn saint.” I shot him a serious look. “Out of my way.”
“Alex…”
“Now!” I grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on and swung it in his face with force.
He tripped sideways to prevent the hit. Tania crashed with force against the door, chipped wood flying everywhere from the thump. She broke into two pieces, leaving me standing there, choking the neck of my guitar while the rest of her was lying on the floor. She lay under my feet like a dead lover. Beautiful and broken and no longer mine. She was all the diaries crammed into one object. The empty box that was full of tunes and lyrics. She was the most special, important gift I’d ever received, and the only possession I actually cared about.
And she was gone.
Tears pooled in my eyes, and I squinted to prevent them from falling. When was the last time I’d cried? Never. I mean, I’m sure I did—who hadn’t?—but it was so long ago I couldn’t imagine it was after I hit thirteen. So. There was that. I was crying. I was fucking crying.
Blake was standing behind me, his pulse so fast I could hear it thrumming in my ears. He wanted to offer an apology but knew better than to speak. I’d kill him. Shit. Tania. Shit.
I don’t think my world had ever been so silent as it was in the moment I stepped out of the room. Indigo stepped out of hers at the same time, like she could sense me. When I looked at her face, all I saw was another mouth I needed to feed. I bypassed her. She stood there barefoot, with that Paris dress she always worked on clutched in her hand.
“Alex? What happened?”
“Whoever is stupid enough to follow me will get fired on the spot,” I said coolly, then left.
I wand
ered around the streets. Alone. It was reckless, and stupid, and kind of cool. I bought a pack of cigs and finished them as I walked. I thought about everything. About Will and Fallon, who were on the same continent, probably not many miles away. About their wedding. I thought about my life and what it had become. About my mates, or the people I referred to as such. Of Blake, who pulled no punches to further his career and mine. Of Alfie, who was oblivious to anything other than his dick’s desires, and about Lucas, who’d tried to seduce Indigo. Then I thought about Stardust, about the way she’d made me feel. Like I was living in a semi-normal universe, where I didn’t have to worry the girl I was shagging would sell our sex tape to The Sun or lure me into buying her something expensive. She was, perhaps, the only real thing I had in my life, and that was utterly pathetic, seeing as she was my employee, and only on tour because I paid her to save me.
But I’d saved her, too, hadn’t I?
In the only way I truly mattered.
With my money.
It was only when I strolled back to the hotel that it occurred to me what my heartbreak was really about.
Tania.
Blake.
Alfie.
Lucas.
The list wasn’t short, but it was telling. There was one thing omitted from it—two, actually—and those were the things I should have considered the most.
Will and Fallon. They made me feel nothing.
And that, somehow, made me feel everything.
Hudson: No longer on your period, Jenna?
Jenna: You can say that again. Indie, how are things?
Indie: I hate your client, Jenna, and your boss, Hudson.
Jenna: What has he done?
Indie: Is Fallon really all that amazing?
Hudson: She’s pretty the way the Eurovision is. Fascinating, but ultimately makes you want to puke. Why?
Indie: Alex found out she’s engaged to Will. He was not happy. We can’t find him.
Jenna: ???
Jenna: ELABORATE.
Indie: Blake is roaming the streets, along with Alfie and Lucas. They asked me to stay in the hotel in case he shows up.
Jenna: Keep us posted. I don’t need this right now with everything that’s going on.
Hudson: What IS going on?
Jenna: Doesn’t matter.
Hudson: Tell me, Indie, is Alex still mad at Luc?
Indie: Very much so. Why?
Hudson: Oh, no reason. If you ever get to it, tell Lucas he’s a jerk. He’ll know why.
Unattainable. Cold. Disturbed.
I knew that. I wasn’t, after all, stupid. But maybe that was what drew me to Alex. He was categorically unreachable—he would never give me his heart or future or even the greater chunk of his presence—but he still gave me something. Some fuel to run on as I knitted together patches full of stupid dreams and idealistic ideas about us. And I did. I absolutely did. Despite my best efforts, and what I so often told myself, I wanted Alex in more ways than he wanted me. It was very easy to figure out, actually. Every time we touched, it was always in my room, always in the dark, always on his terms. I was his little doll. The one he’d bend over and finger under the dinner table, his fingers ascending up my underskirt, meeting my wet flesh and playing with me while he was engrossed in a conversation about record labels with Alfie at the hotel ballroom. I was the just-for-funsies girl he’d pin to the bed—arms above my head, always, legs spread wide—and kiss until I begged and panted and made a fool of myself. I was now the girl I’d always detested. The one who took something, even though she wanted everything, because in the end, she settled for less.
I tried to convince myself I was after the desire, and not the desired. That he was just a tool, and that with time, and space, and distance, I’d forget about him.
I’d realized how wrong I was when I stood in the hallway, The Paris Dress clutched to my chest. I’d been about to walk over to Alex’s room and ask if they had an extra pair of scissors, since I couldn’t find mine.
He stormed down the hallway, taking the stairs, not the elevator, despite the fact we were on the twentieth floor. His door was still open, and his scent was everywhere in the hallway, so different and masculine and uniquely his. Blake looked back at me from the threshold. I quirked one eyebrow, silently asking him to explain. Alex’s eyes shone, and the pain etched on his face couldn’t be mistaken. It was there, and it was raw.
“He found out about Fallon and Will’s engagement.”
I pulled my lower lip into my mouth with my teeth, my eyes widening. The dull pain in my chest intensified. For him. For me. Maybe even for Blake. The notion that this was over—that we were over—took over me.
Maybe we’d reached a boiling point.
Maybe we were done.
I spent the remainder of the day in my hotel room, watching TV. I’d Skyped with Natasha, Craig, and Ziggy. Craig couldn’t leave the house, and Natasha wouldn’t bring him any booze, which prompted him to stay reluctantly sober. It wasn’t fun to watch him moping around, but I hadn’t seen him look so healthy in years. His cheeks had a natural pink hue again and his skin looked smoother. The bags under his eyes were less prominent. And he was functioning. Ish.
Yet, I didn’t find myself happy about it.
“Craig, go fix Ziggy his dinner. There’s mashed potatoes and chicken in the fridge,” Nat said that day.
I smiled tiredly at that. They could afford chicken. I was glad, despite everything, that I was still touring with Alex. Whoever had said money can’t buy happiness was never truly poor. Money could buy happiness, but that doesn’t mean you need too much of it.
When Craig and Ziggy were out of earshot, Nat took the extra step and grabbed the laptop, jogging to her bedroom and shutting the door behind her. She jumped on the bed and fixed the monitor so she could see me better.
“What’s going on?” she whispered. “Tell me everything. And there are things to tell, I bet. There was a paparazzi picture of you guys in Greece. It looked like Alex was half-hugging you, half-grabbing your ass.”
Oh, shit.
I mentally browsed through everything that had gone down in Athens. The guys had wanted to go sightseeing, and I’d had to watch Alex extra carefully, because apparently, he used to party in London with some drug dealer who’d moved to Greece, and Blake was on edge about it. I’d worn a polka-dot blue dress and a scarlet smile that day. The weather had been glorious. We’d admired the ancient ruins with a bunch of starstruck tourists from Japan and Germany, taking pictures of the Parthenon, when Alex had slid his hand over my butt when everyone else was walking ahead of us, listening to the tour guide, and pressed his mouth to my ear.
The Parthenon was the temple they’d built for their goddess, Athena, the tour guide explained. Athena was the symbol of arts and freedom.
“Two things you remind me of.” Alex’s lips had dragged to my neck, his voice gruff with cigarette and lust. “But tonight, darlin’, you’ll be the one to call me god.”
He’d dropped the “G” in ‘darling.’ For me.
“That’s corny as hell.”
“I like corn. Corn is good. And we’re so hot we could make popcorn.”
“Jesus, Alex!” I’d laughed.
“See? I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already half-religious.”
I’d been so happy at that moment, which only reminded me how unhappy I was now when my face heated and Nat’s smile widened.
“Holy hell, Indie! You’re sleeping with a rock star. My inner slut is cheering for you. Or should I say my former slut? I think I’m still her. I’m just reining in on that shit since I’m married and have a kid and all.”
Another arrow of sorrow shot to my heart. Nat deserved so much more than Craig was giving her. Had she brought the subject up a few hours ago, I might have felt braver. Safer. Like it didn’t matter at all that Alex was looking forward to Paris so he could pursue his former flame.
<
br /> “It’s not like that.” I pulled a lock of my blue hair and fingered the ends, my eyes concentrating hard on them instead of on my sister-in-law.
“What’s it like then?” I heard her grin.
“It’s really casual. He’s still in love with his ex.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Of course not.”
“So, why the long face?”
Because I’m a liar, just like him.
“I should probably end it,” I said aloud, making the idea real and scary. Not that I was in love with him, or even needed him. But he was the one thing in my life that made me feel good, and the list of things that made me feel that way wasn’t very long.
“Maybe you should, but you definitely won’t,” Nat said, and I looked up to see her expression, which turned from amused to worried. “Remember, Indie. Three months. Enjoy what’s there, and leave it at that.”
Easier said than done. I changed the subject, and we ended up talking about other things. About Clara from Thrifty, who had been calling Nat and asking about me. Then about Ziggy’s new obsession with pulling his pants down, which Natasha was very happy about, because she thought it’d meant he was ready to be potty trained.
After that, I ordered room service. Philly cheesesteak and fries. Not exactly authentic Spanish cuisine, but I was desperate to feel like I was back on US soil, even for a little while. I was drawing figures on the plate with a French fry and ketchup when he pounded on my door. I didn’t need to open it to know who it was. Alex was always minutes away from crashing the door down with his force. I ignored the knocks for the first ten minutes, but after that knew I was entering a dangerous territory. If he was drunk or drugged up—two ideas that weren’t farfetched, seeing as he’d disappeared for hours on his own—I needed to deal with that. No matter how hurt I’d felt, this was still a job, and one that paid well. Well enough, in fact, to get Ziggy the tubes he needed in his ears. He had a consultation appointment next week. Plus, I wanted to put Craig in rehab and get Nat’s car running so she didn’t have to take three buses on her way to her temporary job. That meant that no matter how foolishly angry I’d felt about Alex being devastated about Fallon’s engagement, I had to swallow my pride. But that didn’t mean I’d humor him anymore when it came to us.