“So tell me again why you’re not unpacking anything tonight?” he asked casually, moving across the room toward her.
Vivienne was standing next to the marble-topped island in the center of the kitchen. Matt didn’t know a whole lot about cooking, but even he could tell that this kitchen was a chef’s dream. Done in a French country decor, the cabinets were done in a muted green with ornate crown molding along the top. White subway tile lined the backsplash, and the white marble countertops flowed along to one of the largest kitchen sinks he’d ever seen.
He’d heard Aaron and Vivienne talking about the stainless steel appliances and how the eight-burner stove was a thing of beauty. Matt wasn’t sure about that, but every time he caught Vivienne looking at it, she would smile and sigh happily. He shrugged. It was a stove. Why did people get emotional over inanimate objects?
His gaze lingered on Vivienne. Now there was a thing of beauty, and he knew he had to be careful not to stop, smile, and sigh whenever he looked at her—dark eyes; long, dark, curly hair; and a curvy body he would love to explore. She wasn’t tall—well, at least not compared to his own six-foot frame, but her head came up to his shoulder. Which was the perfect height difference in his mind.
No! he silently reminded himself. There was no thinking of Vivienne in terms of perfect. She was Aaron’s sister. Aaron—the only person in the world who seemingly cared about him and was willing to open his home up so Matt could have a haven until this whole stupid media circus was over.
Forcing himself to focus, he realized Vivienne had been talking the entire time he’d been lost in his own thoughts. Now he had no idea why she was doing things the way she was. Great. Now he’d either have to pretend he was paying attention and hope for the best, or admit he hadn’t been listening and look like a jerk.
“Matt?”
Yeah, she knew he wasn’t listening based on the annoyed look on her face. He supposed it was better if she stayed annoyed at him and kept her distance—less likely for him to do something stupid, like make a move on her and piss everyone off.
“Why French country?” he quickly asked.
“Excuse me?” Her brows furrowed as she asked the question.
“The place,” he began, motioning to the kitchen and the living area. “What made you go with French country?”
Vivienne eyed him suspiciously. “Because I like it,” she said simply. “I think the color palette is lovely, and the textures give the place character.” She shrugged. “The cottage was a blank space, so I was able to pick out every little thing from countertops to light fixtures and paint colors.”
He nodded and leaned against the island. “So you must enjoy cooking.”
She seemed to relax a little, her posture a little less stiff. “I do.”
“What’s your favorite dish to make?”
With a nervous chuckle, Vivienne shook her head. “You don’t want to know any of this. It’s late, and I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than stand here listening to me yammer on about cooking.”
Her laughter made him join in. “Believe it or not, I have nothing else to do.” Then he stopped and laughed a little harder. “I know that didn’t sound quite the way I meant it. I mean I would like to know about what you like to cook. Honestly, I’d like to hear all about what you’ve been up to for the last…”
Secretly he was hoping for her to fill in the blank, and then maybe he could figure out where he’d last seen her.
But she didn’t take the bait.
“Twelve years?” she supplied with a grin. “That’s a lot of time to fill in.”
“As you can tell, I’ve got nothing but time on my hands. I’m going to be living in veritable isolation for the next month so…”
Vivienne’s expression turned serious. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“What is the big deal?”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
“So you got a bad review,” she said. “So what? It happens to people all the time. Why are you taking this to such an extreme?”
Matt sighed and looked around for someplace to sit. He might as well tell her all about it, so they don’t have to tippy-toe around the subject for the next month. It was either boxes or the floor, so he opted for the floor and was surprised when Vivienne came and sat beside him. She was quiet, and Matt had to figure out how to explain the whole thing without sounding like some diva having a hissy fit.
Which is where he decided to begin.
“This isn’t just about me getting pissy because of some bad reviews.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice sounding completely neutral.
He sighed and rested his head back against the wall. “I put everything I had into that show. Hell, it was my idea to begin with.”
That seemed to take her by surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I was getting burned out touring, and I felt like the band was getting a little stagnant, and I wanted a change. Broadway seemed like a good way to go—I’d still get to perform onstage, in front of an audience, and honestly, I thought I could handle it.”
“So what changed?”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “Apparently I’m only good when I’m playing with the band. I was able to get through rehearsals without it being such a big deal. Everyone knew I was nervous, and I kept saying I needed the energy of the crowd to put me at ease.” He shrugged. “I guess I was wrong. It was worse once there were people in the seats. And I crashed and burned.”
Rather than offer empty platitudes, Vivienne remained quiet.
“When they decided to shut down the show, I was relieved. I don’t think I could’ve kept going. By the third night, I was completely freaking out.”
“What about the previews? Don’t shows normally run for a few weeks before doing the—what’s it called?—opening night?”
“Everyone thought it best to limit the previews because I wasn’t performing well enough. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I see we probably could have used the feedback.”
“Would it have changed anything?” she asked carefully.
“Probably not. I was arrogant and didn’t want to admit I was overwhelmed.” He shook his head. “I’ve performed for audiences ten times the size of that theater, maybe more, and I have never felt so completely out of my element before.”
“They’re two completely different things.”
Turning his head, Matt looked at her as if she were crazy.
“It’s true,” she said. “When you play with the band, you are a unit. Sure Riley’s the front man, but you’re all playing together. It takes the four of you to make it work. It seems to me, with the show, the spotlight was solely on you. That’s enough to freak anyone out.”
Could it be that easily explained? “Yeah, but—”
“So you got stage fright and you weren’t very good at acting. It’s still not enough to make you go into hiding. Or at least…it shouldn’t be.”
He had a feeling she knew all of this, but he was finding it helpful to say it all out loud. “Yeah well…I thought it was all going to finally die down—all the negative media stuff. Then someone started spouting off about how if I sucked that bad, what did it mean for Shaughnessy—the band. If I sounded that bad live, was it me singing or playing on our albums? Then it started people speculating about whether any of us in the band were playing or if we were just some hacks with no talent.” He sighed again. “That’s when Mick, my agent, finally said enough. He’s got our PR team working overtime to get people off the idea that the band is a bunch of phonies. I’m telling you, Viv, it’s exhausting.”
“I’m sure it is,” she agreed. “So…what are you supposed to do while the PR people are doing their thing?”
He shrugged. “Rest. Wait.” He chuckled. “I have no idea. I’ve never had to do th
is before. Even when we were on breaks from touring and recording, and I was supposed to be on vacation, I never rested. It’s just not who I am. I hate not having a purpose. It annoys the shit out of me how I can’t do anything to make this right.”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe something will come up and take the media attention off of you and the band.”
“That’s the thing—Riley’s got a great tour going on right now for his solo stuff, and this nonsense is marring it. He’s going on the talk show circuit, and rather than promoting his own stuff, he’s going to have to clean up my mess.”
“What are your options? Would you want to go out there and face the media yourself?”
Hell no. The press was brutal. There was no way he would be able to stay calm and not cause more of a PR nightmare if it were up to him to face everyone. Rather than answer her, he simply shook his head.
“What does Riley have to say?”
“I haven’t talked to him yet. I was planning on tackling that task tomorrow, calling him and Dylan and Julian. I should have done it a week ago but…”
“I’m sure they’ll all understand. You’d be understanding if the roles were reversed, right?”
Would he? Matt would like to think so, but he knew he could be a hard-ass sometimes when things didn’t go according to his plan. “Maybe. I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “We’ve never had to deal with a situation like this.”
Vivienne nodded and then yawned loudly. “Well, I hope for your sake that they all stand behind you. I don’t think Riley’s the type of guy to hold a grudge, but I don’t know the other guys, so…” She shrugged and then slowly came to her feet. Matt immediately did the same. “Thanks for helping me tonight.”
“I really didn’t do much of anything except carry in some boxes.”
She chuckled. “Don’t worry. There will be a lot more of them coming in and then the unpacking can begin. I’ll have it all mapped out tomorrow so we can get started.”
“You have to map out how to unpack?” he asked with a grin. “I mean, the boxes say what room they go in. How much more information do we need?”
She frowned at him. “Some things aren’t as cut-and-dried. I have a system.”
“Ah,” he said and took a step back.
“Ah? What does that even mean?”
“It means you’re a bit OCD. I get it.”
“I am not OCD,” she countered. “I just like things organized.”
“No,” he said as he took another step back. “You like everything organized and you like to be in control of it—OCD.”
She rolled her eyes as she huffed. “Do you even know what OCD means?”
“Obsessive controlling disorder,” he said with a grin. Then he winked at her as he turned and made his way to the door. “I’ll see you—and your map and directions on how to unpack the silverware—tomorrow.”
“It’s not like that!” she called after him.
Matt was almost out the door when he turned and met her irritated gaze. “Prove it.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she snapped, “Prove what?”
“That you don’t have OCD,” he replied.
“I don’t.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he teased. “Show up here tomorrow without a list or a map or instructions or whatever it is you were planning on, and let Aaron and me unpack.”
Her dark eyes went huge. “Are you crazy? I’ll have to tell you—”
“Uh-uh. The boxes are labeled, so we won’t need you telling us where they need to go.”
“And what am I supposed to be doing while you and my brother are randomly dumping my stuff all over the house?”
Matt stepped back inside and faced her while making a tsk-ing sound. “Oh, ye of little faith. Aaron and I are perfectly capable of unpacking a couple of boxes. You can pick one room for yourself but the rest we’ll do. Deal?”
She immediately went back to frowning. “This is ridiculous. I don’t see why I can’t—”
“Because you’re OCD,” he said, enjoying this playful banter. Although, to be fair, he was pretty sure he was the only one thinking of it in those terms. The look on Vivienne’s face was proof she was most definitely not amused.
“Fine,” she finally said.
“Fine?”
She nodded. “Fine. No instructions. You and Aaron can handle the bulk of the unpacking while I work on one room myself.”
“And you won’t try to micromanage us?” he asked.
“Not even a little bit.”
He had a niggling feeling he was missing something—she agreed too easily all of a sudden. But for now, he’d take it.
“Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” With another wink and a wave, he was out the door.
* * *
It wasn’t even noon and Matt was already on the verge of losing his mind.
He had left Vivienne’s the previous night and come back and hung out with Aaron until almost midnight. He’d slept fine, and so far this morning, he had avoided his phone as if it were the plague.
Make the call.
It wasn’t as if anyone was expecting his call—not really—but still he couldn’t seem to make himself take the first step and just do it. Riley had to be first. Matt owed it to him. And yet no matter how much he rationalized with himself, it didn’t make him spring into action.
Make the call.
Part of him wanted to call Mick first and find out the initial reactions of all the guys. Matt knew Mick had been planning on talking to all of them, and he had secretly hoped his agent would simply call and give him the heads-up before Matt called them. No such luck.
Make the damn call!
“What the hell,” he huffed and stalked across the room and picked up his phone. It was late enough on the East Coast that even if Riley was back on the West Coast, it was still a decent time to call.
Two minutes later, with his heart pounding in his chest, Matt listened and waited for Riley to answer the phone.
“Ah, so you do remember how to use the phone,” Riley joked rather than going for a typical greeting. “I was beginning to wonder if all the years of people helping you caused you to forget basic life skills.”
Instantly Matt relaxed. “Ha-ha,” he deadpanned. “Thank God for the ease of having numbers programmed into the phone and being able to swipe the screen. I don’t know if I could have handled more than that.” They both laughed, and Matt realized how much he’d been missing his friend. “How’s the tour going?”
“Better than I ever expected,” Riley replied. “I honestly thought it was going to be weird being on the road without…you know…you guys…but it’s been great.”
“I’m sure having Savannah with you helps too.”
Riley chuckled. “I still can’t believe how lucky I am. Hell, I still can’t believe I’m married!”
“Neither can your fans,” Matt teased. “I’m sure there are thousands of women who are still crying over that one.”
“Yeah, well…I guess you’ll have to take up the cause.”
“If only.”
“So how are you doing, man? Seriously,” Riley said, his tone filled with concern. “I talked to Mick, and obviously I’ve seen the reports, but…”
Matt sighed. “I cannot even believe it all hit the fan like this.”
“You know how the press can be. You remember how they tormented the hell out of me while I was struggling with the album? I thought I was going to lose my mind!”
“Look, Riley, you have to know how sorry I am that I brought all this negative attention on you and the guys. I hate that it’s going down like this.”
“It’s not your fault, Matt. This is how it goes—people like to kick you when you’re down, and when it’s a slow news week, it’s not unusual for them to start making up shit to keep peo
ple interested in a fizzling story.”
“I just can’t believe how it turned so damn fast!” Matt snapped, finally relieved to be able to talk about this with someone he knew fully understood how it felt. “Broadway shows close down all the damn time! Why did the media have to latch on to this one?”
“Like I said,” Riley began, “slow news week.”
“It’s not right.”
“No, it’s not. I totally agree with you. Where are you? What are you doing with yourself?”
“I’d rather not say,” Matt said miserably. “It’s probably better if no one knows.”
“Okay, now I’m worrying about you. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Matt gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. I’m fine. Really. I just hate being the butt of the joke and being forced to hide out—not that I have anything else to do. I had no fallback plans. In my mind, the show was going to run for a while, and then you’d come crying to me about wanting to get the band back together.” Another laugh. “Joke’s on me there too, I guess.”
Riley groaned. “It’s not like that, Matt. I’m having a great time on this tour, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not the same as playing with you and Dylan and Julian. We’re like brothers. I couldn’t imagine never playing music with you guys again. It’s just—”
“Yeah I know,” Matt interrupted. “It’s gonna be a while.”
“Have you talked to Dylan and Jules?”
“No. I wanted to talk to you first. And believe me, it was harder than I thought possible to find the balls to pick up the phone and call you.”
“Dude, we’ve been friends since we were twelve. You never have to be afraid to call me. Ever.”
Matt grew silent for a minute. “I feel like I let you down, Ry. You’re always the one taking care of everything, and the one time I branch out on my own, I screw up.”
“We all screw up,” Riley corrected. “I’m sure you haven’t been paying too much attention to what else is going on in the world, but believe me when I say we’re all guilty of it.”
“What do you mean?”
This Is Our Song Page 33