Endless

by Kaylene Winter

  Ironically, rather than my reclusiveness hurting the band’s reputation, it supercharged our fame.

  None of us could go anywhere without getting mobbed by well-meaning fans who wanted autographs or selfies. It felt invasive and strange, but I was loyal to my bandmates who hadn’t let me fall completely apart, so I played the game. I cringed when people touched me, shouted my name, giggled and pointed, took pictures, or whispered when I walked by. All of it was annoying and scary.

  By the time we made it back to Seattle nearly two years later, my heart and head were in a completely different place. I was still brokenhearted, but I was also truly angry. When Carter confessed his role in Zoey’s ghosting, I refused to speak to him. I felt manipulated. Betrayed.

  I was furious at Zoey too. How she reacted didn’t make any sense. Didn’t she deem me worthy for even one phone call, one message, one chance to talk through what happened? To save my own sanity, I decided to get closure and put Z in my rearview mirror. My suffering had gone on for far too long.

  First, I bought a place to live. With the royalties from our songs lining my pocket, I was able to buy, with cash, a big house on a secluded street in West Seattle overlooking the city and Puget Sound. I’d never have to worry about where I lived again.

  Next, I splurged and bought a black Porsche 911 Carrera and sped around the city in my badass ride. Determined to give Zoey a piece of my mind and maybe a little taste of what she was missing, my first stop was her house.

  Her dad answered the door.

  “Ty, what a surprise! Come on in.” He certainly seemed shocked to see me but welcomed me warmly and showed me into the great room. His kindness took a bit of the vinegar out of the reason for my visit.

  “Mr. Pearson, I need to speak with Zoey. I haven’t seen her in two years and I just want to know what happened.” I slumped in the chair that I’d spent so much time in nearly two summers before.

  “Hmm. I don’t know, Ty. She didn’t take your breakup well, although she’s always told us that it wasn’t your fault.” He sat across from me, clearly uncertain of how to have this conversation with me.

  “I’ll tell you what happened. Carter told her to break up with me for my own good. He was wrong to do that. I’ve tried to contact her, I’ve left hundreds of messages.” My voice cracked.

  “Yes, she mentioned that. Tyson, are you okay?”

  “No, I’ve never been okay. I just don’t understand why Zoey won’t even talk to me. I loved her and wanted to—” I sighed without finishing, wincing with embarrassment. Her dad wasn’t the right person to have this conversation with, but it was as close as I’d been to Zoey in two years. Suddenly, I didn’t know why I was even here and realized how ludicrous all of this was at this point. What the hell was I doing?

  “Zoey’s doing better but it was a long road. She’s convinced that she did the best thing for you. And the band. Her studies take up all of her time. She finished her undergraduate degree in two years. Now she’s waiting to see which law school she’ll attend.” He smiled with a look of unabashed pride on his face. “We’ve always worried about her because she’s so focused on her studies. Too focused when she gets her mind set on something. Now she’s cramming seven years of school into four.”

  Oh, I believed it. I had known what it was like to have Zoey’s attention concentrated on me, and it wasn’t something you’d ever forget. It was the loss of the focus that was unbearable.

  “Do you think she would talk to me?” I pleaded. “Are you willing to tell me where she is?”

  “Ty, it took her a long time to—well—begin to recover,” he replied. “How about this? I will pass your number to her, and we can leave getting in touch with you up to her.”

  “Okay, thank you, Mr. Pearson.” I looked him in the eye, while absentmindedly rubbing our initials on the bracelet that I couldn’t bear to take off. “She left without even saying goodbye, I wanted to marry her someday.”

  “Ahhh, Ty. You guys are so young. Please don’t beat yourself up, she’s still protective of you to a fault,” he sighed.

  “But why?” My voice was raw.

  “You already know. Carter convinced her to let you go be a rock star without being chained to her,” he explained.

  “She was never a chain.” My voice caught. “Never.”

  “Hey, hey. Listen. She’s sincerely happy for your success, we all are.” He patted my hand soothingly. “Carter was wise. Your worlds are not each other’s right now. At this stage in your life, you are both better off working on yourselves. Become who you are supposed to be. Live life. Make mistakes. Stay positive. You never know what the future holds.”

  My entire body crumpled with disappointment.

  Mike Pearson sighed. “Ty, remember she’s only twenty. You are twenty-four now, with a new car, fame, success. She will be in law school this fall, it is very intense and requires a lot of dedication.”

  “She never told me that she wanted to be a lawyer.” I studied her dad’s expression.

  “Zoey is only now discovering what is possible for herself. You are already achieving your dreams, even an old guy like me hears your songs on the radio every other minute.” He continued to pat my hand. “Look, give me your number and I’ll tell her you stopped by.”

  Although I gave Mr. Pearson my number, something about the conversation felt like the final nail in our coffin. Instinctively, I knew that she wouldn’t contact me. It was over. With a belly full of acid, I said my goodbyes and left.

  A few days later, I woke up and saw that I had a voicemail from a number I didn’t recognize. My heart pounded. I hit play.

  Hi Ty, it’s Zoey. My dad gave me your number. I don’t know what to say to you. It hurts too much for me to talk to you. I’m sorry. I’m finally feeling somewhat normal. I hope you are too. The band’s doing great. You look like you’re taking to fame well. I wish you all the best and to continue your amazing success. I know you want to talk to me, but I’m about to start law school and it will be so intense that I just can’t. I hope you understand, but every time you reach out it makes it harder. For both of us. I think its best if you let me go.

  Hearing her speak for the first time in two years was jarring. She sounded so disengaged and aloof, until the last bit when her voice broke. I listened to the message a few times and began to harden my heart against her.

  “Fuck this. It’s over,” I bitterly muttered to myself before throwing the phone across the room.

  Resolving to do as she asked and let her go, I devoted all my energy to writing new songs and honing the songs I had already written into masterpieces. I’d get back at Zoey once and for all by pouring my thoughts, feelings, and emotions—good and bad—into my lyrics and melodies. Soon, the whole world would hear about how much I loved her and how she fucked me over.

  When we went back into the studio, it was cathartic and like catching lightning in a bottle. Instead of hard-driving, cheerful power rock, these recordings were darker and more personal. A nearly complete reversal of style. Shine, Butterfly, and Down were some of the songs chronicling my anguish, anger, and acceptance about Zoey.

  I unleashed every ounce of emotion into my vocal tracks which, when permeated by Zane’s haunting guitar riffs, came out exactly how I felt. Jace and Connor’s rhythm section created a thumping, pulsing heartbeat that ebbed and flowed with the melody.

  Carter and I fully reconciled after I realized he was truly remorseful for imposing his own history on Zoey and ultimately destroying our relationship. He repaid me by producing our new recordings, and the reward for LTZ was a powerfully produced album of hits. A journey of a man’s heartbreak from heavy to beautiful to melancholy to ethereal. When the five of us sat in Carter’s living room listening to the final masters, we knew we had magic. An elusive unicorn album that every band strived for, but few achieved.

  The world would soon learn more than they ever dared about the elusive Tyson Rainier.

  When the Z album was released, one song at a ti
me over a six-month period and then the entire album as a whole, critics and fans went wild. No one had released music that way before, and each song shot to the top of the charts and stayed there for over two years, crushing the statistics of every record released in the digital age.

  The cycle we went through on our first album repeated—touring, festivals, interviews, television appearances, more Grammys. This time, as a more successful band, we had more perks and learned that with increased fame came increased responsibilities.

  Everyone all around the world wanted to know who “Z” was. It was the single question that everyone asked any of us about. We all decided that she wasn’t a public figure and didn’t deserve to have her world turned upside down while she was in law school. Jace did an amazing job of scrubbing our social channels of Zoey. It was a good decision. Some of our fans, well my fans, categorically raked “Z” over the coals on our pages, so it was just as well that no one knew her true identity.

  For Jace, it was a turning point. He couldn’t keep up with our social and marketing, so we decided to hand both over to a publicity firm. After so many years of working basically two full-time-plus jobs, he rightfully wanted to have a little more flexibility and freedom in his schedule. We all suspected he had a secret girlfriend somewhere, but he remained tight-lipped.

  Our new publicity team, Andrew Nolan and Sienna King, were more than on board to help me dirty up my image a bit. I became their dream client, diving headfirst into the whirlwind rock-star life during what my bandmates privately called my “booze and sex” phase. With unlimited access to a new “elite” lifestyle, Andrew and Sienna saw to it that I didn’t miss any party, celebrity event, or red-carpet opportunity.

  I never paid much attention to how my antics played out in the media. Mostly, I checked out completely and got lost in whatever the experience of the day was. Drinking, partying, getting high, getting my dick sucked, fucking in public. Our publicists encouraged me to be deviant and shocking. With an endless number of gorgeous women to pick from, I mindlessly sampled models, actresses, fans, and basically any female who didn’t look like Zoey. Refusing to learn anyone’s name, I didn’t give two shits about any of them.

  My reclusive image cast aside, I was now a bad boy who treated women like shit and broke their hearts. Crazily, the fans ate it up and so did the companies who paid me handsomely to endorse their products. I partied with celebrities and athletes, went to the best restaurants, vacationed in elite locations, flew in private jets, and indulged in whatever experience came my way. Andrew and Sienna were often along for the ride, on the band’s dime of course.

  After a couple of years of bad behavior, Jace offered to get sober with me. I almost took him up on it. Unfortunately, right before he left for a vacation in Italy, he showed me that Zoey’s Instagram account had been reactivated. There was only one recent picture of her. She was stunning. Her hair was wild. She had cute librarian glasses perched on her nose, a cocked brow, and her striking hazel eyes stared into the camera in front of a guy tagged @nickmartin. He appeared to be her boyfriend, considering he was hugging her from behind. The only caption was #lawschoolgrads.

  It set me back big time.

  Before long, I was off on another European tour full of debauchery. One night I attended an afterparty and went on a bender to end all benders. The next morning, I woke up feeling like death warmed over, but I was not alone. Glancing over at a familiar body in my hotel bed, horror overtook me with the realization that we were both naked. Relieved to find a used condom on the floor, the experience jolted me out of my insanity. I knew that I had to make a change. There were too many nights that I could barely remember. Too many unidentified naked women I’d find in my bed.

  I started on a journey to get healthy. Which translated into me stopping drinking completely, changing my diet, adding in workouts with Jace, and putting all my efforts into music again. The timing worked out well because LTZ management had been on my case to clean up my image and demanded that Andrew and Sienna change tactics.

  Even at my worst, I’d been religious about protecting myself and getting tested, so I wasn’t facing any little Tys or disgusting diseases. Once I pulled my head out of my ass, I was ashamed to learn that many of my escapades had been widely posted on social media. A simple Google search pulled up thousands of photos of me in various states of depravity. Mortifying. Humiliating. Excruciating.

  I realized that I was living a lie, trying on other people’s lives for size. They didn’t fit. At least getting the decadent perks of success out of my system helped cement what was important. I fought hard to escape what could have been a tragic existence. Wasting the opportunities of our achievements was no longer appealing in any way, shape, or form.

  To fill up the void once I was through with partying, I wrote songs for artists outside of LTZ. Discovering that I had a talent for all types of music outside of my genre increased my songwriting and publishing portfolio. It also kept me inspired. This entire new wave of creativity also influenced my writing for the band. The four of us collaborated more often and the results made our entire team proud.

  More LTZ hit records meant the touring and publicity cycle started all over again, although this time we kept a better control over our schedule to allow more downtime. During our breaks, I worked with artists all over the world as a writer and a producer resulting in hit records and significant royalties for me outside of the band. It was comforting to know that I would never have to worry about my finances again, no matter what happened with LTZ. I was finally secure beyond my wildest dreams. Forever.

  And yet, I’d never felt more alone in my life.

  Sensing my loneliness, the publicists insisted on setting me up in a “relationship” with a beautiful, kindhearted sitcom actress named Veronica “Ronni” Miller. Ronni had been around the band a couple of times during events and award shows. I liked her a lot and decided that it was time to take a stab at a relationship.

  Our romance ended up being only for show. On our first meeting, I went back to her house in Malibu. Ronni’s full, lush lips were made for kissing, but I felt nothing when we tried. Neither did she. After our failed attempt at romance, we sat back on her couch overlooking the ocean and laughed uncontrollably. With absolutely no sparks between us we became good friends and milked the PR ride for all it was worth.

  To the world, we “dated” exclusively and were deeply in love. In real life we rarely saw each other but coordinated schedules to be at other’s respective red-carpet events and other Hollywood functions. Our publicists were ecstatic because the tabloids and entertainment world went batshit crazy at the thought of the two of us as a couple. “Tonni” became our moniker, and my bad-boy image improved. Paparazzi followed both of us separately and together wherever we went. Rumors of weddings and babies and cheating followed us everywhere.

  As much as I had initial hope for Ronni and I to have a real chance, the fake relationship only served to highlight that I still was in love with Zoey. Like a masochist, I’d saved her voicemail to the cloud, but I only allowed myself to listen to it once in a while. Each time, my anger subsided just a little. I’d abided by her wishes to let her go, but something inside me hoped that she’d change her mind someday.

  I’d have very Zen days and sometimes I’d feel like a huge idiot. Until I got over her or met someone else, my love life felt like it was in purgatory.

  Ronni knew all about Zoey, and I knew Ronni was interested in someone else. She was convinced that someday Zoey and I would reconnect, that we were each other’s destiny. I wasn’t holding my breath, but it felt good to have someone to talk about her with since I’d worn out my welcome on the subject matter with my band brothers.

  Though we were friendly partners in crime, Ronni and I eventually got tired of the paparazzi and fans being in our business everywhere we went. Individually and together, our photos garnered a lot of money, so we had to carefully plan public outings to either create or avoid pandemonium depending on our team�
��s publicity goals. It became too contrived and complicated, and we began to hate the bullshit. During a rare extended time when we were both in LA, we decided that the simulated-for-the-press romance wasn’t who we were as people. We gleefully faked a dramatic ending without telling our publicists, thinking we’d be off the hook.

  Wrong. Suddenly all of my old booze and sex paparazzi pictures surfaced, and the tabloids made me the “bad guy” heartbreaker again. Ronni felt terrible, but we had no choice but to let it play out. It was a lesson learned, though, because it was only then that I realized how much celebrity media was manufactured and controlled. Or how hungry the press was for celebrities to be built up only to be knocked down. I’d played into it for years. Now it made me sick.

  Luckily, a new Justin Bieber scandal hit within a couple of weeks and we became yesterday’s news.

  As a sage old man of nearly thirty, with age came perspective. Maybe it was the therapy I’d been attending for the past few years at the urging of the band and Carter. Maybe time healed my wounds. Who knew? I worked through all of it. My mother. My drinking and promiscuity. Zoey. I felt like a grown-up. A man. I was a true version of myself for the first time ever.

  With LTZ’s year-long hiatus looming, my plan was to focus on doing something lasting, something bigger than me, bigger than the band and bigger than me and Zoey. Inspired by what Carter had done for me in high school, I spent my free time on the road working out a strategy. It was finally time to execute.