by Jen Wilde
“The cops were called to Bar 161 after she started throwing bottles, but she fled the scene before they got there. Then at around five a.m., cops pulled her over and got her for another DUI.”
Chloe hands their phone to me, and there on the screen is Jessie’s mug shot. “Fuck. This is bad.”
“Don’t you start blaming yourself,” Chloe says. “This is on her.”
“Is she going to jail?”
Chloe scoffs. “No, she’s white.”
“Truth,” Ryan says as he scans the article on Chloe’s phone. “According to this, she’ll probably get off with community service.”
After seeing Jessie explode last night, I hope she gets some help. But as for me, I’m done with her. For real this time.
“Good riddance,” Chloe says before helping me off the bathroom floor. “Come on, let’s move this party somewhere more comfortable.”
After giving me a long, comforting hug, Ryan leaves to check on Alfie. I tell him to tell Alfie I’m sorry, and he nods.
Chloe and I spend the afternoon in bed, watching movies and eating ice cream. Then I start getting my life together.
I can’t deny it anymore: I need help and this time it needs to hold. I need to stop trying to handle everything on my own. I need to talk to someone who can help me find ways to cope with being famous, who can guide me through my struggles with my parents and relationships, who can help me heal. It makes me shake with nerves to admit it, but I can’t do this on my own. It’s time for me to find professional support.
I call Sal to beg for forgiveness, and then we work with PR to write a public statement taking responsibility for my behavior and committing to seeking help. Sal gives me the number of a therapist, and I promise to book an appointment for tomorrow morning.
Sal wants me to talk to Alfie. She says we need to find a way to move forward. She got an angry call from Tucker from the record company, but somehow she managed to talk him into giving me one more chance.
“I reminded him,” she says through the speaker phone, “that ‘ILY’ is the company’s biggest hit in years, and that you were the one who wrote it. That song saved you.”
I promise her that I’ll meet up with Alfie and Ryan tomorrow and make things right. I don’t tell her that I have no idea how the hell I’m going to do it.
Once I’ve got plans in place to fix this mess, I run myself a hot bath and try to relax. Then I wash my hair, brush my teeth, and put fresh sheets on my bed. I fall asleep with a new sense of determination. My life isn’t over. This is not the end for me.
I’m just getting started.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Thunder rumbles outside my window, waking me up. I check my phone: seven a.m. My appointment with my new therapist isn’t for another three hours. I roll over to get more sleep, but open my eyes when I hear something that sounds a lot like a guitar.
I sit up against my pillows and listen carefully, recognizing the tune. Am I hearing things? I start to wonder if I’m dreaming when the music grows louder, coming from outside. I wrap my covers around me and climb out of bed, wobbling sleepily into the hall.
I knock on Chloe’s door, but there’s no answer so I open it a crack.
“Chloe,” I whisper. They push their eye mask up over one eye to see me.
“Are you playing music?” they ask me, their voice croaky from sleep.
I shake my head. “I thought it was you.”
Thunder booms above us, making us both jump.
“Jesus Christ!” Chloe says. “It’s the fucking apocalypse.” I jump onto the bed with them, waiting for the thunder to fade. When it finally does, we hear the music again.
“I knew I heard something,” I say. We follow the tune down the stairs and through the house. But when we walk into the kitchen, we don’t hear it anymore.
And then a honeyed voice begins to sing, making my heart skip a beat.
This can’t be real.
“Tell me you hear that, too,” I say to Chloe.
A smile spreads across Chloe’s face. “I hear it.” They grab me by the shoulders and push me forward. “It’s coming from the front porch. Go see what’s up.”
I run to the front door and swing it open.
There he is.
Alfie is at the door, playing his guitar and singing “And by the Way.” His hair is dripping wet and hanging messily over his shoulders. A puddle forms around his boots. He reaches a high note and squeezes his eyes closed to hit it just right. When he opens them again, they pierce right through me.
I look over my shoulder at Chloe, and they’re grinning. Then they blow me a kiss and start walking back up the stairs to give us some privacy.
I turn back to Alfie as the chorus rolls around. He’s belting it out like the words are flowing straight from his soul.
Maybe I’m fallin’ …
… maybe I’m stallin’ …
… maybe I’m fakin’ …
… maybe I’m breakin’ …
… but my heart just keeps comin’ back …
… to you.
Thunder shakes the house, but I stay perfectly still. There are so many questions I should be asking right now, but I’m mesmerized by the magic of this moment. From the front step of Chloe’s house, with the rain plummeting down, palm trees swaying from the storm, Alfie is like that one ray of light that pushes through the dark skies. The chilled breeze licks at my skin, but hearing Alfie’s voice keeps me warm.
I’ve got an arrow in my heart, and it’s carved with your name …
… I’ve got an arrow in my heart, and it’s carved with your name …
… I’ve got an arrow in my heart, and it’s carved …
We linger for a second after the music fades into the wind. He stares at me with his big, Bambi-like eyes, as though he’s waiting for me to speak first. So I do.
“Alfie?” That’s all I can say. Even though I’m looking right at him, I still can’t believe he’s here.
“I wrote it,” he says.
“Huh?”
“The song,” he says. “‘And by the Way.’ I wrote it.”
I furrow my brow. “But Ry said he—”
He shakes his head. “Because I asked him to. But Ryan didn’t write it. I did.”
“Why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Why would you ask him to take credit?”
He groans, wipes a hand down his face. “I was scared. If people knew I wrote it, I was afraid they’d figure it out. They’d know who it was about.”
My mouth goes dry. “Alfie.”
“It was about you, Em,” he says. He’s giving me that intense stare again, but his eyes look pained. “It was always about you.”
The lyrics race through my mind.
I’ve got an arrow in my heart, and it’s carved with your name …
… at first I thought it was just a phase …
… the rhythm of my heart has stayed the same …
… one day a switch flipped and then …
… all I could see was you …
… my heart just keeps comin’ back …
… to you.
It’s like a veil has been lifted from my eyes. It was about me. This whole time, it was about me. I cover my mouth with my hands and feel tears on my cheeks.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his face crinkled with worry.
I’m too overwhelmed to speak, so I just nod. And then I shake my head. Because I don’t know if I am okay or not.
He flips the hood of his jacket over his head and takes a step back. “I just needed to tell you that. I couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking…” He glances away and sighs. “I didn’t want you to believe for a second that what we were doing was ever just fooling around for me. I thought I was the one with the lovesick heart. It didn’t even occur to me that you might feel the same way.”
He stops at the steps and looks up at the gray sky. “Anyway. I can tell by your face that you don’t want me here. This was a mistake. Sorry.” He steps out into the rain and walks solemnly along the path.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I yell at him.
He stops, turns around, and shields his eyes from the rain, looking at me in confusion.
“What?” he asks. His voice is low, serious.
I walk to the steps and clutch the railing, screaming at him through the rain. “How can you seriously think I would let you leave after all that? You don’t show up in the middle of LA’s only thunderstorm, at seven a.m., tell me you wrote that song about me, and then sulk off into the rain. That is not happening.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. He runs back to me, dropping his guitar on the porch. The second he’s close enough, I crush my mouth to his. The rain drenches us to the bone, but I don’t care.
He stops and leans back a little, pushing my wet hair behind my ear. He’s looking at me like he’s never seen me before. “Is this really happening?” he asks.
“Yes.” I kiss him harder, taking the collar of his jacket in my hands and pulling him out of the rain and into the house. My fingers shakily undo the buttons on his jacket while I find the door with my foot and kick it closed. Alfie slides his arms around my waist and lifts me up, and my legs wrap around his hips. I push his jacket off and let it fall to the floor.
He presses me against the door and moves his hands to my thighs, squeezing them in a way that makes me gasp into his mouth.
“Wait,” I say, trying to gather my thoughts. “Waitwaitwaitwait wait.”
“What?” he whispers.
“I just—” I suck in a deep breath. “I’m still a little confused. Why did you tell Ryan it didn’t mean anything? When he busted us in the James Bond room?”
He cringes. “I freaked out. Ryan scared the hell out of me with all his talk about our lives blowing up and what would happen if Sal found out. I’d been so wrapped up in finally being with you that I didn’t let myself consider all that. So I panicked. If I’d thought for a second that you wanted me to fight for you, I would have. I swear.”
My gaze trails down his arm and lands on that damn tattoo. I press my finger into it. “And what about this? Only fools? What’s up with that?”
He looks down at it. “That is why you shouldn’t get tattoos when you’re heartbroken.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
He grimaces. “Ugh. This is so embarrassing. I got it because I was feeling sorry for myself. I wanted to brand myself a fool for letting myself fall in love. It was supposed to be a warning to myself to not let it happen again.”
“Well,” I say, grinning cheekily. “I’m sorry to say you are most definitely failing at that.”
He laughs. “So, have I redeemed myself yet? Are you satisfied?”
I pretend to think it over, just to make him sweat. “You have redeemed yourself.”
I kiss him again, then pull away. “But I am not satisfied.”
He pouts, and I grin.
“Upstairs,” I whisper, gesturing to the stairs behind him. “Bedroom.”
He glances over his shoulder, then back at me, his eyes wide. “Are you sure?”
I nod and kiss him again. “Yes,” I say.
He smiles against my lips. “Yes.”
I lower my legs to the floor and we race up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The second we reach my room, he throws his arms around my waist again and scoops me up. I laugh and pepper his neck with kisses while nervous butterflies swirl in my stomach. We fall onto the bed, and my temperature rises as he lowers himself on top of me. Heart racing, palms sweating, breath shallow.
He sits up on his knees to take his T-shirt off, and I climb under the blankets. I stare up at Alfie, his tattooed arms reaching out for me, and smile. I can’t believe this is happening. He tugs at the hem of my tank top, and I sit up so he can lift it over my head. We’re both topless, taking each other in.
I press my lips against the spot just above his collarbone, lingering there long enough to breathe in his scent. He smells like rain and Burberry. I move my mouth down and kiss the tattoos on his shoulder. He dips his head back and closes his eyes as I kiss along his collarbone. I lay down on the bed, and he reaches out to touch my skin.
“Ah!” I gasp as his fingers run down my chest. “Your hand is freezing!”
He falls onto his side next to me, laughing shyly. “Sorry.” He holds his hands over his mouth and breathes into them, warming them up for me. I do the same, then tentatively touch my fingertips to his stomach.
“Too cold?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Don’t stop.”
I walk my fingers up his chest, over his chin and poke his nose. “Boop.”
He side-eyes me and snorts. “Such a dork.”
“I know you are,” I tease, tracing over his soft lips.
“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs against my finger. “You’re the dork.” He tries to bite my hand, and I snatch it away, giggling. He shoves his arm under me and pulls me into his chest, pecking me on the forehead.
“You’re my dork,” he says, and I stifle a happy squeal. His mouth moves over mine, our lips parting so our tongues can meet. I melt into him, wanting nothing more than to be as close to him as I possibly can.
Something feels different this time. Now I know this is real. This is love.
Alfie rolls onto me, his hair falling over my face, tickling my nose. I push it behind his ears as he nibbles on my earlobe, his warm breath making me shiver. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, kissing and nipping and sucking until I leave a mark.
His hand drifts down to my breast again. “Cold?” he asks.
I answer him by shaking my head and kissing him harder. He smiles against my lips. I trace my fingers over his back, following the arches of his shoulder blades, drawing hearts over his skin. He caresses my cheek as he kisses me, his tongue moving with mine.
Our symphony begins.
ONE MONTH LATER
“I’m so proud of you, Emmy,” Jane, my therapist, says as she stands up from her armchair. “You’ve made so much progress already. I hope you see that.”
“I do,” I say with a smile. “I feel it, too.”
She opens the door to her office, and I say good-bye.
“Have fun tonight!” she calls after me. “I’ll be watching!”
I step into the elevator and let out a happy sigh. Talking to a stranger about my personal life is still taking some getting used to, but it’s worth the discomfort. I’ve never felt more supported in my life. For the first time, I’m totally surrounded by people who believe in me. Now the only asshole I need to deal with is the one in my head, and Jane knows exactly how to help me do that.
Jane has held my hand while I waded through layers of baggage from my parents. She listened while I rehashed my relationship with Jessie. She let me scream and cry and swear about every headline and meme and Twitter troll. And every time I leave her office, it’s like I’ve shed another layer of skin.
I drive myself back to Chloe’s to meet with Zach and the rest of my glam squad.
Kass is sitting at the kitchen table when I arrive. She’s flown in from Boston to be my date for tonight.
“Zach is upstairs with Chlo,” she says before sipping her coffee. “He wants to do you next, then it’s my turn to become a star!”
“Girl,” I say, winking, “you’re already a star.”
Just then, Chloe glides down the stairs. My jaw drops.
“I’m a fucking queen.” Chloe beams. They walk over and twirl, grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah you are!” I say, admiring their beauty.
Their dress is a white lace off-the-shoulder number, skintight, showing off their hourglass curves. It sweeps down to the floor in a short trail that makes Chloe look taller and so elegant in a classic Hollywood way.
Zach bounds do
wn the stairs, always a ball of energy. “Prepare to break the internet, Chlo.”
Chloe struts over to the hallway mirror and strikes a pose. “Oh, I’m prepared.”
Zach points to me. “Your turn, sweetie. Follow me.”
I lift my hand to my temple and salute. “On my way, Major Zach.”
* * *
After three hours of tweezing, concealing, contouring, highlighting, and styling, Zach puts the final touches on my look. Then it’s time for my outfit. I’ve chosen a metallic rose gold skirt and matching long-sleeved crop top.
It’s spandex, so it takes a few minutes to squeeze into it, and then I have to call Kass to zip up the skirt, but once it’s on, it’s worth it. Only an inch or two of my skin is exposed in the middle, making it subtle and edgy at the same time. It’s simple, but I’m pairing it with purple lipstick and my new pale pink hair to make it pop.
“Damn,” Chloe says when they see me, their eyes popping out of their head.
“Thank you!” I blush.
We stand in front of the mirror in my room, trying out different poses to find the best ones to use tonight.
“We are gonna burn up the red carpet,” they say.
“The Grammys won’t know what hit ’em.”
We start dancing, and Chloe starts singing “Swish Swish” by Katy Perry and Nicki Minaj.
“Em?” my favorite voice calls from downstairs.
“Oooh. Your lover is here,” Chloe teases. They take my hand, and we walk down the stairs to find Alfie and Ry waiting for us.
I didn’t know it was possible, but Alfie looks both suave and scruffy. He’s wearing tight black suit pants and a rose gold suit jacket that matches my outfit perfectly. Instead of a shirt, he’s only wearing a wide cummerbund, allowing him to show off the stag Patronus tattoo on his chest—and look incredibly sexy doing so. His hair hangs over his shoulders messily, as usual, and his black-and-cream shoes shine.
He drags his gaze down my body, and I shiver. “Em. Wow. You look beautiful.”
I do a weird curtsy thing for some reason. “Thanks. You look hot.”
He flicks his hair back, grinning. “I try.”
I turn my attention to Ry, who’s wearing a classic black-and-white tuxedo. “Very James Bond.”