by Nikki Wild
What the fuck had happened to me?
I’d let myself believe, that’s what. Fuckin’ fooled myself into thinking I could have a different life.
I reached up and grabbed a handful of Catherine’s breasts as I came inside her, her hips rocking against me until every last drop had escaped from my body. When she leaned down and kissed me, I kissed her back, wishing things were different.
But they weren’t.
They never would be and I had no choice in the matter.
“You’re so fucking amazing, Liam,” she whispered, smiling down at me, her eyes filled with love. I looked away, a pit forming in my stomach. Shit. I knew this would happen.
Love wasn’t in the plan.
I shouldn’t have led her on. I should have kept my fucking hands to myself and not been such a huge asshole. But I hadn’t done that, had I?
No, I’d fucked everything up, once again.
Ian was right, I was a fuckin’ loser. I was going to hurt this girl, and it fuckin’ killed me that I had to do it. It was just like Ally, all over again.
Catherine didn’t deserve this shit. Neither did Ally. They were better than that.
Catherine was better than me.
She was pure, sweet, a good woman.
Why she’d ever opened her legs for a man like myself was beyond me.
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close. Her naked skin felt like heaven against mine, and I pushed my cock up into her again.
“One more time,” I whispered, my body aching to come inside her one last time.
***
It’d been several days since I got pissed drunk, and I was certainly making it up for it tonight. I’d brought a bottle on stage with me, much to Ian’s frustration. By the time the show was almost over, my vision was blurred and I was swaying a little. It felt bloody amazing, and for the first time since this afternoon, I wasn’t consumed with guilt about fuckin’ Catherine over.
I knew she was confused, I could see it in her eyes, when I dared myself to look. After I’d finally disentangled myself from her this afternoon, I’d withdrawn without a word. I started drinking early and kept quiet, because the last thing I was able to do was explain myself.
I’d sound like a bloody fool if I tried to explain what was going on inside of me.
So, I did what I always did - I shut my mouth and drank myself numb.
It felt good. Like a familiar, old sad song that I couldn’t stop playing, the misery felt like home. I let it sink into me, low and deep, until the familiar grimace had found its way back onto my face. When the last chords sounded, and all the bows were over, I walked back to my dressing room alone, walking right past Catherine without a word, her eyes forming a question I didn’t want to answer.
To her credit, she gave me my space, leaving me alone completely.
Later, in the hotel, the party was jumping. Rocket grew up in Seattle, so his entire family and group of friends filled the party suite. Everyone was so fuckin’ joyful, it made me sick. Catherine stood in a corner, quietly talking to Rhone with a glass of wine in her hand, and every time she looked at me, that question was still lingering there, along with exactly the thing I hated seeing - pain.
I found a couch and sank down into it with my whiskey bottle and laid my head back and closed my eyes. I’d have gone to my room, but as much as I wanted to be alone, the thought of it unnerved me. I wanted to be close to Catherine, even if I had put some self-imposed restrictions on myself. I wasn’t sure if I could keep my hands off of her or not, but I figured I had to at least try. And I knew as soon as Rocket figured he had a shot, he’d swoop in like a fuckin’ vulture.
I avoided her gaze and did my best to keep to myself. Which was impossible. All of Rocket’s friends wanted to talk to me and they kept sitting on the couch, cornering me with their stories about Rocket, or blubbering on about how much they loved the band, blah blah blah. I did my best to be polite, but I was so over it.
I was just excusing myself from the latest one, a tipsy blonde with huge tits that were threatening to explode from her skin-tight black leather dress.
“I lost my virginity to one of your songs,” she gushed, leaning in to me and pressing her tits up against me. At any other time, my cock would have responded, and I might have dragged her into the bathroom for a quick shag and she would have thanked me afterwards.
“Is that so?” I replied, looking over her shoulder for Catherine. “Which song?”
“To the Moon,” she said.
“Oh, yeah? How was it?” I asked. “The sex? It was good?”
“It was okay,” she replied with a giggle. “I’ve learned a lot since then,” she pushed her tits into me again. “Why don’t you let me show you?” her voice lowered seductively. I looked into her heavily-lined blue eyes, her long blonde hair framing her beautiful face. Her tits rested against my arm, and I looked down at them, and then down at my cock.
Nothing.
Man down!
What the hell was going on? I’d have jumped on this ride in a second in the past, with my cock leading the way. But there were no signs of life right now.
I chalked it up to too much whiskey, and politely excused myself from the blonde’s clutches. She pouted as I walked away, and I wondered what it would feel like to have those pillow lips around my cock. Again, I pictured it in detail and there was still no movement down below.
The party swirled around me in a haze as I stood up, and I walked towards the door. I had every intention of going to straight to my room. The last thing I wanted to do was cause a scene tonight. I’d wanted to disappear since I’d arrived, and the feeling only grew as the hours had passed. All I had to do was make it to the door, down the hall, in the elevator and up to my room. I’d pass out quietly in my bed and forget about everything.
I wish I could say that that is what happened. For fuck’s sake, if I could it would have been so sweet. But no, I’m Liam fuckin’ Mercury, and I always live up to my reputation.
The doorknob was in my hand, I was turning it slowly as I glanced to my right just before I opened the door. Maybe my eyes were playin’ tricks on me, maybe it was the whiskey. Or, maybe it really happened, I’ll never truly know.
All I remember is seeing Ian, Rhone, Catherine and Rocket talking in a circle, and as I glanced down, I saw Rocket’s hand brush against Catherine’s ass. It might have been nothing. It might have been completely innocent. Hell, even if it was intentional, even if Catherine had grabbed his meaty paw and rubbed it all over her backside like she was buttering a turkey, it doesn’t excuse what I did next.
Does the whiskey excuse it? Maybe. Probably not.
But it’s the only excuse I’ve got, so I’ll wave it loud and proud as I tell you this next part.
Well, what I remember of it. It’s a big blur, actually.
I remember flying through the air and the resounding thud that shot through my body as Rocket and I hit the floor. I remember glass breaking and the distinct thought of how remarkably warm and sticky my blood covered hand felt. There wasn’t any pain, though. That came later, the next day. I remember the look of shock on Rocket’s face, and the sound of shrieking behind me. Once my fists started flying, the blood from the cut on my hand starting splattering all over everything and the both of us. By the time someone pulled me off of him, we were covered in my blood.
I remember looking down at my hand and seeing a huge gash in my palm and being pissed that I’d wasted all that good whiskey.
What I remember most of all, and what I wish I could forget more than anything, is the look of utter disgust on Catherine’s face as Ian dragged me out the door.
Twenty-Nine
CATHERINE
I’d never seen so much fucking blood. Liam appeared out of nowhere, knocking Rocket to the floor and breaking the bottle in his hand as they landed. The cut on his hand was huge and while I was incredibly worried about him, I had no idea how to respond. Luckily, Ian jumped into action and took charge of the s
ituation before I had to do anything at all. Which is good, because all I could do was stare dumbfounded at the chaos in front of me.
The aftermath was not pretty. Blood from Liam’s hand was all over the kitchen, and Rocket’s eye was swelling quickly. Rhys put ice on it, and sat him down on a couch in the living room, while Rhone cleaned him off. He wasn’t cut at all, which meant all of the blood was Liam’s. Once we’d figured that out, my worry for Liam grew.
I wanted to run to him, to make sure he was okay, but after his behavior this afternoon - the way he had shut me out so quickly - I knew I needed to just stay away. Ian was his family, and he would take care of him. It was not my place.
At this point, I had no idea what my place was. I was incredibly confused. Everything was going amazing, and then in a flash, he’d changed and grown cold. At first, I thought he just needed some space, but then with every hour that passed where he wouldn’t even meet my eye, I knew something was terribly wrong. I tried to chalk it up to pre-performance nerves, but he didn’t talk to me after the show either. By the time we’d gotten to the party, I’d given up trying to figure out what to do.
He’d have to come to me, I wasn’t going to chase him, no matter how I felt about him.
And now he pulls this? He was like a ticking time bomb ready to go off at any moment. Rocket was the target this time, for whatever reason. Liam hadn’t given any warning, he didn’t say a word, he just attacked.
Who would be his target next time?
I didn’t want to stick around to find out. There were just a few more days left of the week, and then I’d be gone. Back to my quiet life. Back to my friends and my apartment in New York. Back to peace and quiet.
After everything had calmed down in the suite, I made my way back to my room for the night and crawled into bed. I was exhausted, and even though it had all been so amazing with Liam, I was reminded of why I shied away from relationships. Who had the stamina for all this drama?
I’d been lying there for over an hour, unable to get to sleep despite everything, when I heard a knock at the door and Liam whispering my name.
“Catherine, are you in there? Open the door, luv. I want to talk to you.” His voice was slurred and my heart broke as I lay there quietly. It would be so easy to just open the door and pull him into my room. It would be so easy to open up my legs and pull him back into my body. It would be so easy to open my heart, and let him inside.
But that would be like inviting a tornado into my life. If I wasn’t careful, he’d sweep me up into his lifestyle and never put me back down.
If he was anyone else, I’d have flung open the door in a second. But he wasn’t. He was chained to this life and he’d never change. I’d never survive in this whirlwind.
I lay there quietly, listening to him knocking with tears running down my face. It took all my strength, and I had to fight against every instinct I had, but the door stayed firmly closed between us.
***
Of course, I felt like shit the next morning, and I tried to call him to check in with him. He didn’t answer his cell phone, though.
I’d woken up with a renewed sense of purpose, vowing to finish out the tour and get the story done and be on my way. Sleeping with Liam, while absolutely mind-blowing, was a huge mistake. I was determined to classify it as research for the story and move on, in order to pretend he hadn’t gotten into my heart and under my skin.
I’d focus on the story, and nothing else. I had an hour before we had to be downstairs and I was not looking forward to the flight to San Francisco today. It was sure to be an awkward piss-fest after last night. I was looking forward to getting through the next few days and moving on.
But first I had a story to write.
I picked up the phone and called Callum again. I had several questions for him and was hoping to be able to draw something out of him that would be useful for the story. Liam still hadn’t expressly asked me not to use the story about Ally. I didn’t want to, because it wasn’t a flattering story at all. But the charity was, and if I could play that part up enough, maybe I could leave out the reason for his connection to Callum.
He answered on the third ring.
“Callum, it’s Catherine, is this a good time?” I asked.
“Sure, I guess so,” he replied.
“Great. So, Liam told me a little about the charity and your involvement with it.”
“Yeah? I’m sure he didn’t tell you everything,” he replied, to my surprise.
“Well, if you mean Ally, he did tell me about her. I’m sorry about the loss of your sister.”
“Thanks,” he muttered. “She was a great kid. She just went down the wrong path. Had a lot of pain in her life.”
“Yes, I understand. Liam had nothing but wonderful things to say about her.”
“Is that so?” he replied, and I detected a slight thread of anger in his voice.
“Yes, I think he has a lot of regrets about that time in his life.”
“Well he should,” he replied curtly.
“So, I mainly wanted to talk to you about the charity. Can you give me a list of organizations you’ve donated to?”
“Yeah, sure. I can email you a list, if you want.”
“That would be great, thank you. And an amount donated, as well, please? I think this will be a main part of the story, and a great opportunity to show the world Liam’s charitable side.”
“Right, uh huh,” he replied, hesitantly.
“Do you see a lot of promising progress going on with the research organizations?”
“I guess so. I just give them the money and then let them do their thing. I don’t like to interfere with their work too much.”
“So, you basically just donate and sit back, waiting for a cure? I’m assuming you actively seek out new, cutting edge researchers?”
“Yeah, we have a person who does that.”
“Oh, okay,” I replied, wondering exactly what Callum’s actual job was other than doling out the checks. He was obviously very hands off.
“When did the charity start?”
“It’s been almost a year.”
“And how much has been raised and donated?”
“Look, I’ll email you all the info this afternoon, okay? This is too much to go into right now.”
“Oh, sure, that’s fine,” I replied. I rattled off my email address and he ended the call quickly.
I put the phone down, having not learned one thing from that call. Hopefully, his email would shed a little more light on the situation, or this was going to be one very short story.
Unless I wrote about all the sex. As fun as that sound, I was sure that wouldn’t fly with the folks at Rolling Stone. To my surprise, my computer notified me five minutes later that I’d received an email from Callum.
I opened up the attachment and my whistle echoed through my hotel room. Millions of dollars were listed, going to at least a dozen charities. I was impressed. Liam and Ian were not stingy when it came to their charity, and I was happy to see so much money being funneled into such a good cause.
I forwarded the email to my office for verification and packed up, bracing myself for the shit storm I was about to enter for the next few hours. Hell, the next few days, actually.
I took a deep breath, repeated my vow to just focus on the story, and headed downstairs. If I could get through the day without fucking Liam, everything would be just fine. Considering his behavior yesterday, I was feeling pretty confident about achieving that goal for the first time.
Thirty
LIAM
Matt had to bang on the door forever to get me out of bed. Sharp pangs of brutal throbbing pain shot through my head and my hand, and as the memories started flooding in, I tried to turn them off. After I’d punched Rocket and fallen on the bottle, Ian had taken me to his room, and called the medic we kept on staff to stitch me up. It hadn’t hurt last night, but it was screaming this morning. Ian had allowed me to leave, after promising to go right to my room.
Instead, I’d stumbled to Catherine’s room and then back to my own room when she didn’t answer.
But I didn’t want to remember any of it. I didn’t want to see it all play out in my head over and over. I didn’t want to feel like such a fuckin’ prick, but I just was, for fuck’s sake. If everyone didn’t piss me off so much, maybe I wouldn’t have to lose my shit all the time.
Rage raced through my veins as I showered and dressed. I tried to avoid getting the stitches wet, but it wasn’t easy, which just pissed me off even more. Rage had been my closest companion since Lennon had died and had continued throughout losing Ally and now this huge responsibility of constant touring - sometimes it’s all too much to fuckin’ handle.
And then they push me. Over and over.
But that was no excuse for my fuckin’ violent outbursts. I felt like shit for hitting Rocket. I hadn’t hit an actual person in a long bloody time. Fuck, if I was him, I wouldn’t put up with this shit, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he had bailed on the tour by now. Who could blame him? I have no idea why any of them stay.
Oh, wait. Yes, I do.
The bloody money.
It’s always about the fuckin’ money.
Gotta sell tickets. Gotta keep moving. Gotta sling the merch. Gotta sell the records.
I always thought once we’d gotten this big, I wouldn’t have to worry about the money, that it would just flow in and I’d get to sail the Caribbean in my yacht or something. But it wasn’t like that. Not at all. It was a lot to take, it exhausted you, the constant traveling, and partying and then leaving every physical ounce of energy you have on the stage every night.