“I’m happy,” I lied.
Shaking his head, he sighed. “You’re a shitty liar. Life is too short to be anything but happy, beautiful. Change your story. There’s still time.”
Leaning my head into his chest, I squeezed my eyes closed. “Can we just have easy tonight, Logan? I just want to be with you. Nothing heavy.”
“Okay, babe. I just worry about you. The tabloids sure have a lot to say about you.” He pulled away and shifted me over so he could open the door. “Slide in.”
Sitting down, I buckled in while he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. Opening his door, he settled in beside me, buckled in, and started the car. “Let’s go jam.”
We were silent on the drive to his apartment. His words rang in my ears and I hated that I thought about where my life was going. Rolling to a stop, he parked and cut the engine. “Ready?”
I was. More than ready. Climbing the stairs to his apartment, he unlocked the door and let us inside. As I closed the door, he smiled. “So, Chinese or pizza?”
“I don’t care. I don’t eat much anymore. I gotta fit into sample sizes,” I explained.
“Then you should treat yourself. I vote pizza. Lots of cheese.” His eyes twinkled and I kicked off my shoes and nodded. “Why not?”
“Cool. Come sit down in the living room and I’ll order a pie for us. Then we’ll jam.”
I kicked off my shoes and padded into the living room. Dropping onto his plush brown couch, I crossed my legs and waited for him to return. “Hey,” I called as he walked back in.
“Hey beautiful, so the pizza’s ordered. Will be here in thirty. Want to jam? What do you want to sing?” He pulled a guitar from the rack on the wall and plopped down beside me. “Chances are good I know it. So name it.”
My brow furrowed as I thought. “Do you know “Starry Eyed” by Ellie Goulding?”
“I do. I dig Ellie, but don’t tell the guys.” Grinning, he strummed the strings. “Ready?”
He played and I sang. It felt incredible to sing again. Not just lip-sync to over-produced songs that I really hated. My eyes slid closed and I poured myself into the words. The music came to an end and Logan whispered, “Damn.”
“Ellie does it better,” I laughed, opening my eyes.
He shook his head. “Nah, it’s you babe. When you close your eyes and sing like that? God damn, you own everyone in the room.”
Flushing, I looked away from him. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that. It’s been like that since you recorded your demo. The guys haven’t shut up about you since. They periodically remind me that I could be replaced. What next?”
I was speechless. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I suggested “Give me Love” by Ed Sheeran.”
“Ah, another good one. Sure.”
We played and sang until the pizza came. He jumped up from his position on the couch and paid the pimply-faced teenager at the door. I made sure to stay turned so the boy couldn’t see me. I didn’t want the tabloids having a field day.
The door closed and he returned with our pizza. “Eat some, please,” he asked, offering me a soda and a paper plate.
I nodded, opening the box and taking a gooey slice of cheese pizza. The first bite was heaven. “Mmm, so good,” I moaned.
“You’re killing me,” Logan teased.
Blushing, I finished my slice. “So, what have you been up to? I’m so sorry to hear about the cancer. I feel like a shitty person not keeping up with you.”
“You’re a shooting star, babe. It’s hard to keep up with the people on the ground when you’re flying high.” He shrugged and sipped his soda. “The cancer has been cancer. No big deal. I am beating it. The guys and I are still making music, our next EP will be out next month. I’m content with my life. How are you?”
Turning my can of soda in between my palms, I shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Hell yeah you are, but let’s not state the obvious. How are you really?” He leaned close and squeezed my knee. “Talk to me, kid.”
Suddenly, like word vomit, everything poured out. “I’m miserable,” I started. “I hate what I’m doing and I don’t know how to get out. Patrick, the record exec follows me around all the time...he’s at almost every show, and he makes me have sex with him and I hate it and it makes me feel disgusting. I want to sing, really sing. I want to make real music and be happy, and I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Category five hurricanes don’t get to have happy endings, Logan. That’s what I am. I destroy everything.”
Looking down at himself, he blinked. “I’m still here.”
“Just wait, I’ll destroy you too.” I sipped my drink morosely. “I’m in love with a man I’ll never have.”
“You can have me, babe,” he chuckled.
“I wish it was you, Logan. God, I do. It’d be so easy. I could see myself being with you, but I’d never be fully in love with you. Not when someone else holds my heart.”
He sighed. “Still hung up on the guy you were when you first moved to Seattle?”
Nodding, I glanced up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, babe. You can’t make your heart do something it doesn’t want to.”
“That’s the problem. My body wants to. My brain wants to. But I have no heart to feel with. It wouldn’t be fair to you. You’re too nice to get mixed up with me.”
Sliding down the couch, he pulled me into his arms. “You’re lucky I love you, Brielle Harper. I’ll always be there for you. Whether that’s as friends or lovers.”
Wrapping my arms around his middle, I squeezed my eyes closed. I didn’t deserve two men in one lifetime telling me they’d always care. I didn’t.
Chapter Thirteen
I wish I could say that after being with Logan that night I straightened my life out and lived happily ever after with him. It would’ve been easy, and I could’ve been happy. My story wasn’t over and I was too chicken shit to change the storyline. That required work I wasn’t willing to put in. Energy was a precious commodity all of a sudden. I had to use pills to keep me up, pills to help me sleep, and pills to make me wake up again.
Burning the candle at both ends only works for so long until you’re left with nothing. Aurora Records pressured me into a record a year, then a full tour each year. Worldwide. I toured three hundred twenty days a year. In between tour stops I did photoshoots, music videos, partied, and ran myself in to the ground.
I was on top of the world. I had it all. Everyone in the world knew my name. Bri Harper was marketed just as hard as your favorite macaroni and cheese. Women mimicked my blonde hair color, I helped to create a clothing line that teenagers went crazy for, and my perfume sold like hotcakes.
Bri Harper should’ve been a hell of a happy woman.
Here’s a secret that the tabloids would’ve killed to have…she was miserable. She hated it all.
I periodically called Charlie - he was, in some ways, my lifeline. He would tell me what was going on with Carter, I would lie and pretend I was blissfully happy. He knew I wasn’t. I knew he wasn’t happy either. But we pretended.
“Heard you were nominated for a Grammy,” Charlie slurred late one night as I traveled in the back of my tour bus to Oklahoma City for another show.
“I was.”
“Boy, you sound happy,” he chuckled. I vaguely heard the popping sound of a can opening.
“How many beers have you had tonight, Charlie?” I asked.
“Five? Six? Something like that. Why, are you worried about me or something, kiddo? I’m supposed to be worried about you. Partying all night, working all day. Remember when I came to get you from that guy’s house?”
Closing my eyes I swallowed and nodded, not that he could see me. “I remember. You saved me for a while.”
“Then you took off and saved yourself.”
“I guess.”
“You guess? You should be happy.”
“I am,”
I lied.
“Carter brought in some guys that paint cars. He’s really done well for himself. He makes enough money to keep us both going. I’m real proud of him. You’d be proud of him too, Bri.” Charlie burped in my ear.
“I’ve always been proud of him,” I admitted. “He’s always been the best of us.”
“Yeah, he has. I hate that both of you kids don’t ever come around anymore. He’s always busy. I thought maybe he’d find himself a girlfriend, but nope. No one since you left. He loves you. It should be weird, but it’s not. You two always had something before me and Lisa did. I just want you to know, I’m rooting for you two.” He paused to belch loudly in my ear. “Come home. See him?”
“I can’t. I gotta go, Charlie. I’ll be to my hotel soon. Don’t drink too much, okay? I’ll talk to you soon. I love you.” I hung up before he could respond. I didn’t want to hear anything else about Carter. Even hearing his name ripped me up.
Digging around in my purse, I found my sleeping pills and took one. We had a long ride to go and I needed sleep. But even in my slumber, I couldn’t escape a pair of hazel eyes and a warm smile. Carter Travis haunted me. What I’d done to him never left me, and no amount of pills would ever make that go away. Believe me. I tried.
***
A few months later, I was back in LA recording my next album. Patrick stood outside the studio, watching me with lecherous eyes. He’d taken on the role of my manager so we were never apart. It drove my Aunt Janelle slowly insane. She had to know what was going on. I think she stayed only because of the money. It was an amazing amount of money, she’d gotten a great deal in the contract, but if she walked, she was done.
I sang a song about candy and snakes, and I hated it. It wasn’t real. Carter had always told me what was real came from inside. The only thing that came from inside me was pop drivel about making out with boys and sex. I had notebooks full of poems and snippets of songs that I knew were good.
Logan offered to help me record some of them, but there was no point. I knew what Aurora wanted, and it wasn’t the real me. It was the over-processed, manufactured me. It was the bleached blonde, big-breasted version of myself.
Finishing the last chorus of the song, I peeled off my headphones and yawned loudly. Patrick came over the intercom. “Need an upper?” he asked and I shook my head.
“I need a few days off,” I suggested. He narrowed his eyes and beckoned me forward with his finger. Sighing, I left the studio and came to stand beside him. “Yes?”
“You can have a few days off if you’ll marry me. We could have a honeymoon in Aruba.” Gripping my hand, he pulled me in close.
“I’m not marrying anyone. Ever.” Pulling out of his grasp, I wiped my hand on my jeans. “I’m going to take a break for a few hours.” Turning to leave, I gasped as I was jerked back firmly. Patrick put his hand around my throat as he held me to his front. He squeezed slightly and I panicked.
“You’re going to finish this album. We’re paying for the studio time by the hour. I made you, princess, and I can break you. Do you understand? I don’t know why you think so highly of yourself. You’re nothing but a slut. I could walk down Hollywood Boulevard and find a hundred of you in a minute. You’re nothing special. Now,” he released me and pushed me to the studio door. “Get in there and sing.”
The man working the controls never even looked our way during the altercation. He never said a word. I guessed money made a lot of things disappear...including abuse. He wasn’t the first abusive pig to say something like that to me. I was sucked backward in time to a pimply-faced jerk in middle school who had said something similar.
Putting my headphones on, I blinked back tears and sang along to the rest of the songs. It really didn’t matter what I sounded like, they’d auto tune me to hell and back to make it sound how they wanted. They just needed my voice on the track. A few hours later, we were done.
“I’m out of here,” I told Patrick coolly, shrugging on my jacket.
“We’re going to a new club opening.” He gripped my arm and tugged me out to the limo.
“Patrick, I’m tired. I don’t want to,” I argued as he shoved me into the car.
“You have no choice. You’re being paid thirty thousand dollars to make an appearance.” Sliding in the car beside me, he pulled a packet of pills out of his pocket. “Take these.”
“I don’t want to.”
His hand connected with my cheek in a resounding slap. “Take the fucking pills.”
Tears trickled down my cheeks as I took the pills and swallowed them down without water. I don’t remember much of the night after that. I just know what was in the tabloids the next day. I made out with two DJs, dirty danced on the floor, and collapsed. Then I ended up in the hospital getting my stomach pumped.
“Aurora isn’t happy!” Patrick hissed shrilly. “You need rehab.”
“You gave me the pills,” I rasped. “And the alcohol.”
“Shut up. I had to get you to the club. I didn’t expect you to act like a whore and fall out.”
“I don’t even remember…” my voice trailed off as the doctor walked in.
“Brielle Harper?” he glanced up from his laptop and I nodded.
“Yeah?”
“I’m her manager,” Patrick interjected, stepping in front of me. “What’s going on?”
“She almost died. Weren’t you, as her manager, making sure she was okay?”
“He was giving me…” I started and Patrick whirled around on me. His eyes were dark as night and he narrowed them.
“He was giving you?” The doctor pressed and I shook my head.
“Nothing.”
“I think Bri needs rehab,” Patrick blurted. “We could spin it as something positive.”
“That’s up to Brielle. Do you want to go to rehab?”
“We could still record, and we could do like an outpatient thing so you can still tour.” Patrick whipped his phone out and started to dial a number.
If I went to rehab, it would be to rest, not to continue the frenetic pace he’d set for me. “No. I’m not going,” I whispered.
Patrick stared at me in fury. “Do I need to remind you who is in charge here?”
The doctor pointed at the door. “Brielle is. Get out.”
“I’m her manager!” Patrick roared.
“And you’re badgering my patient. Get out. I will call security.”
Patrick blustered the whole way through the door, and as it closed, the doctor shook his head. “Brielle, if you want to go to rehab, I can get you in one. You’re not an addict, are you?”
“I don’t want to take the pills, but I’m so tired, so I have to be up and alert. Then I have to have something to sleep.”
“We found ketamine and ecstasy in your system, along with a laundry list of prescriptions. You’re lucky you didn’t die. Do you remember taking these?”
“My manager gave me ecstasy. I take that often. Ketamine? I’ve never even heard of that.”
“It could’ve been put into your drink, and you would’ve never known.”
“I had this green drink,” I remembered suddenly. “And everything just felt…I don’t know. Different after that.”
He nodded and sat down on the edge of my bed. “Are you safe?”
“Safe with what? Sex? Sure.” I was. I made Patrick always use a condom, and I used birth control daily.
“No, I mean, are you in danger.”
Glancing up, I saw Patrick watching through the glass in my door. Swallowing, I smiled. “I’m fine.”
“I can help you if you’re not.”
“No, I’m great,” I lied. “Everything’s fine.”
Newsflash. Everything was so NOT fine.
My world spiraled further out of control over the next year. It was a blur. I don’t even remember much of it. I won a Grammy, but I was too high to make a speech. I just said, “Thank you, everyone,” and stumbled off stage. I only know that because I saw it on YouTube months later.
PS, I seriously looked like shit. I often wondered why no one stopped me and said, “Honey, stop. Just sit down. You can’t do this anymore.” But I realized it was because no one gave a flying fuck about me in my circles. The only two men who cared about me were far away. Logan was held away from my grasp by Patrick, and Carter? Well, I’d forced him away long ago.
Patrick pushed pills into my hands and drinks into my mouth. As long as I sang, danced, and screwed him on demand, he was happy. I was happy not feeling, until I woke up and had to feel everything.
“Brielle, it’s time to wake up,” A woman told me, and I heard her. Somewhere. I liked the numbness of not feeling. It was like the warmest, softest blanket ever. Reality hit me full in the mouth with a bucket of icy water and I woke up, hard. I lay in a hospital bed, again. This time in a dusky room with a middle aged woman sitting beside me wearing bright pink scrubs.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” she smiled tightly. “We were beginning to wonder.”
“What happened?” I whispered weakly. My voice didn’t sound like my voice anymore. It was rough and scratchy.
“You nearly overdosed on ecstasy and ketamine at an awards party a week ago. You were in a coma for a short time.” She said all of that quite matter-of-factly and I blinked as I processed everything.
“What?” Nothing made sense. I vaguely remembered being at the Grammys, but other than that, nothing. Just darkness.
“You’re in rehab, Brielle. I’m going to get the doctor for you, okay?” She patted my arm and her touch was warm and soft. I wanted to curl up against her and cry while I figured everything out.
She left me alone in the room and I sat up slowly, attempting to orient myself and figure out what had happened, but everything was simply a hole. A big, yawning black hole of nothing.
She returned a few minutes later with a young doctor who looked like he should’ve been on a teen drama, not working in a rehab.
“Brielle? How are you feeling? I’m Dr. Liam.” He touched the light switch on the wall and flicked it on.
Good Stepbrother (Love #2) Page 12