by Shandi Boyes
Not even a second later, I jump out of my skin when a warm hand slips into mine. It caresses my hand like Emily always did, the contrast in size making my heart rate rise as quickly as my hope.
The disappointment I was trying to avoid slams into me when I glance down. The hand slipped into mine is as tiny as Emily’s, but the flawless red varnish on her nails reveals it isn’t her.
Emily liked glamor but didn’t wear vibrant, bright colors. Jenni, on the other hand, she loves the old school classic of pale skin with bright red lipstick and polish. “Emily is so proud of you, Noah.”
After squeezing my hand, she shoves me into the blinding stage lights ready to swallow me whole.
Chapter 49
Noah
“Rise Up kicked off their first night of a five-week concert schedule at AT&T Park last night. Lead Singer, Noah Taylor, oozed sex appeal as he strutted across the stage. When you first see the band, you assume they’re a bit of eye candy who can hold a tune. Only once they perform do you realize they have talent hidden under layers of sexiness. The raw edge projected by Noah while performing ‘Hollow’ caused goosebumps to break out amongst the tearful crowd last night. Their set was considerably short, only lasting thirty minutes, and noticeably absent from their playlist was their number one hit song ‘Surrender Me,’ but they still have the devotion of their fans. ‘That was incredible, the best band I’ve seen live in years,’ gushed one fan as she departed the concert. If you like a performance that's gritty, sexy and slightly haunting, Rise Up is the ideal band for you. I give them four out of five stars.”
Cormack closes his laptop before his eyes drift between me and my bandmates. “All the reviews are similar to this one. They loved the performance, but they complain it was too short and that ‘Surrender Me’ was missing from the line-up.”
My jaw ticks when his eyes land on me. The shortness of our show isn't my fault. I explicitly stated I would not perform “Surrender Me,” yet what was the song the sound engineer announced we were to play next thirty minutes into our set? “Surrender Me.”
I was fairly intoxicated, so I wasn’t sure I had heard him right, but one glance at my bandmates told me everything I needed to know. Delilah had gone against my wishes—again.
She thought I wouldn’t notice an alteration in our playlist since I was drunk. She was dead wrong. I finished the song we were performing without skipping a lyric, swung my mic into the crowd, raised two fingers in the air, then stumbled off the stage. Rage burned on Delilah’s cheeks, revealing she knew who my two-finger salute was for, and she was even more ropeable when the remaining members of Rise Up followed me off the stage.
“That fucking bitch.” Nick kicked a bin during the walk to our dressing room.
“Let’s pack our shit and go home. I’m sick of her and her goddamn power plays.” Marcus was the most pissed I had ever seen. Generally, nothing affects his cool, calm composure.
He wasn’t the only one pissed. Slater was so stunned, the only comeback he could gather was about Delilah’s nonexistent lady bits. “She’s got bigger balls than me.”
The roadies were left scampering when we left the stage thirty minutes before the O’Reilly Brothers were due, but they never once approached us to convince us to finish our set. Our standoffish demeanor revealed we weren’t returning to the stage that night, if ever.
Well, I thought that was the case.
I don’t remember much after storming off stage. I was ushered away from the stadium by Jacob. It’s probably no surprise to learn I got rip-roaring drunk. I only woke up an hour ago after being thrown into a freezing cold shower by my asshat of a best friend. A decision to continue the tour must have been decided without me because my bandmates are ready to head out again this morning. I don’t know what caused their change of heart, but I'll follow through with the promise I made to them. I don’t make a promise I have no intention of keeping, just like I expect anyone who gives me their word to follow through.
Cormack isn’t doing that.
“You agreed that I didn’t have to sing that song.” My words weaken when my stomach churns. I feel seconds from barfing. I don’t know if my flipping stomach is because I’ve been drinking so much, or because every time I think about “Surrender Me,” I see Emily’s beautiful face. Then, not long after she smiles at me, the movie in my head jumps to her coffin being lowered into the ground.
Recalling my dad’s trick for settling a queasy stomach, I stuff my thumbs into my fists and hum out a tune. I fight with all my might to hold down the contents of my stomach, but it’s a pointless effort. With images of Emily’s casket flashing before my eyes, I bolt from my chair and run to the restrooms located in the hotel foyer.
After emptying my stomach, I scrub at the spew on my chin with a square of toilet paper before moving to the sink to wash my hands. I've barely cleaned away half the despair when Cormack enters. He takes in my disheveled reflection in the vanity mirror before bridging the gap between us. The dark circles under his eyes reveal the past few days have been tough on him as well.
“You don’t have to perform ‘Surrender Me.’ I spoke to the concert promoters this morning, and they’ve agreed to our stipulations.” The shakes hampering me are more noticeable when he places his hand on my shoulder. “Delilah overstepped the boundaries last night, and she’s been advised her behavior is not acceptable.” He pauses to absorb my head bob before continuing, “But you have to finish the entire set, or we’ll have another lawsuit on our hands.”
He waits for me to nod for the second time before leaving the bathroom.
The next five weeks pass in a blur, which is not surprising. I barely remember what happened yesterday, much less weeks ago. Delilah has been noticeably absent a majority of our tour. Thank fuck. Jacob still shadows me everywhere I go, but gratitude for his support is surpassing my anger. He’s stuck by my side like I wish Chris had when Michael died.
Rise Up is still receiving rave reviews, and our album has held its number one spot for the past five weeks, although “Hollow” overtook “Surrender Me” as the number one single on the Billboard charts. “Hollow” is doing so well because it’s the one song I can perform without thinking. It’s about devastation and grief—all things I'm currently feeling.
Three concerts remain in Los Angeles, then our tour will be complete. I want to say as the weeks ticked by, my devastation from losing Emily has diminished, but that would be a lie. It hurts every single minute of every single day. I miss her more than I could ever explain.
With our trip from San Diego to Los Angeles delayed due to a traffic accident, I keep myself busy with a bottle of whiskey, causing my footing to be unsteady as I make my way to the check-in counter at the hotel the record company booked for us. Although I’m intoxicated, my body is slowly getting a handle on the liquor seeping through its veins 24/7.
I barely slur when I greet the pretty blonde girl behind the desk with a friendly “Good evening.”
“Welcome to the Boulevard Hotel. How can I help you?" Her greeting comes with a prolonged glance down my body, unaware she’s gawking at an empty, hollow shell.
“Noah Taylor, checking in for three nights.”
My voice only holds one-tenth of my usual anger when I'm propositioned. I've not visited one bar the past five weeks without having a hotel room key or number handed to me. I’ve even had groupies offer sexual favors in exchange for tickets backstage. Some didn’t even have stipulations attached to their offers. They just wanted to be bedded by a rock star. At the start, it pissed me off. I couldn’t believe how disrespectful they were being to Emily; then I realized they didn’t know I had lost my fiancée only weeks earlier. No one knew.
I never accepted any of their advances, no matter how fucking drunk I was. I couldn’t betray Emily like that.
The check-in clerk, whose nametag says “Mindy,” lets her fingers fly over the keyboard before her brows scrunch together. “Oh...”
She glances over her shoulder to a ma
n stationed behind her. When he notices her two-finger request for assistance, he struts over. Their shoulders touch when Mindy points out something to him on the monitor.
He huffs, his sigh as pompous as the ridiculous 70s porn mustache on his top lip. “We seem to have a problem with your reservation, Mr. Taylor.” He sneers my name as if it isn’t a formal salutation. “The last time you stayed at our hotel, you did considerable damage to your room.”
I inch back, certain I heard him wrong. I realize the error of my ways when I peer around the hotel lobby. This is the hotel Jacob took me to after Ryan told me about Emily. I remember smashing the vanity mirror, but I don’t recall any other damage.
“Sorry...?” I'm not sure what else to say. My entire world shattered that night. I was not thinking rationally.
“We have stringent policies at our hotel, Mr. Taylor, and behavior like yours is not acceptable—rock star or not.”
My jaw muscle tenses as my fists clench. It’s taking everything in me not to wipe the arrogant gleam off his face with my fists. “My fiancée died that night, so I’m sorry I broke your fucking mirror, but I wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind at the time.”
Needing to get away from the bad memories in this hotel, I pivot on my heels and sprint for the glass revolving doors.
“Noah?” Jacob mumbles when I bolt past him. His long strides help him catch me before I hit the sidewalk. “Where are you going?”
I run my fingers through my hair, tugging it violently in hopes the pain will keep my emotions in check. “I can’t stay here.”
Jacob’s gaze follows mine to the hotel sign swinging in the entranceway. “Fuck, Noah, I didn’t realize.”
He yanks out his phone to call us a taxi, but it’s too late. I’m too far gone. Memories are crushing into me hard and fast. No matter how much alcohol I consume, nothing will stop the events of that evening from replaying in my head. Except today they’re fresher—more disturbing.
I remember how surprised I was when I saw Ryan in LA, but I’d never stopped to wonder why Jacob was there that day too. He was standing on the other side of the glass door when Ryan broke both my soul and my heart with three little words: Emily is gone.
“Why were you in Los Angeles that day, Jake?”
We’re a six-hour flight from LA, and it was a Tuesday afternoon, so there was no reason for him to be there.
Jacob stops scrolling through the contacts in his phone before his eyes stray to mine. He scratches his brow while exhaling a long, sharp breath. He’s either preparing to lie to me, or to tiptoe around the truth.
Peeved as fuck, I step closer to him, only slightly fumbling before asking him the same question again. “Why were you in LA that day?”
Realizing we aren’t leaving this sidewalk until I get answers, he murmurs, “I was there as part of a surprise from Emily.”
“Surprise? What surprise?”
His chest rises and falls with each breath he takes. “Emily planned it the weekend she visited Jenni in Ravenshoe.”
I move to a bench seat in a bus stop so I can bury my head in my hands, certain I’m not strong enough to hear what Jacob is about to say.
My intuition is proven on point when he says, “You asked her to marry you the night before you went back on the road. She filed for a marriage license that same week, so you could get married in Vegas like planned.”
Pain cripples my heart as memories of that night filter through my head. When I asked Emily to marry me, I wasn’t meaning a date months or years away. I wanted us wed immediately—that night. If I could have gotten her on a plane, I would have married her the instant we landed in Vegas. That’s how much I loved her.
I had made so many mistakes the prior two months, and I was only partway through fixing the damage I did when I lost the chance to make things right.
Jacob crouches down in front of me before his gaze seeks mine. “The marriage license was approved. She was coming to LA to keep the promise she made.”
My hand covers the sob tearing at my chest. It’s my fault. The reason she’s no longer here is my fault. I try to hold in my anger. I try to simmer it down by guzzling the last bit of whiskey in the flask I keep in my jacket, but I can’t control the fury building so rapidly, it’s tearing me apart from the inside out. I’m the reason Emily is gone. It’s my fucking fault! She was coming to keep a promise she made to me.
I kick my leg out hard against the billboard flanking the bus stop. It warps under my boot, but the bulletproof casing keeps it from shattering. Unhappy it’s intact when my heart isn’t, I stand before walloping it with my fists. As I unleash my anger in a violent, ugly way, blood surges through my veins so fast, they feel as if they’re about to burst.
“Noah.” Jacob arches a brow, warning me he’ll once again use his size against me if need be.
My fists suspend mid-strike. “Fuck you, Jacob!” I spit out venomously. “Three days. That’s all I have to make it through—three more miserable motherfucking days—then, when the concert is done, I’m done. I can’t handle this shit life anymore.”
I make a beeline for the sidewalk to hail a cab. One stops in front of me a few short seconds later. Jacob barely clambers into the backseat before the taxi rockets into the bustling traffic, my offer of a hundred if he gets me to the closest bar too good for the driver to pass up.
Drowning my sorrows hasn’t worked the past five weeks, but I’m not giving up hope.
The next morning, my head is thumping ten times worse than usual, but my prayer to choke on vomit while sleeping hasn’t been answered. I’m alive and breathing—unfortunately.
I blink to lubricate my eye sockets when I hear a door creaking open. “It’s all over the media.” Jacob leans over me to grab the remote off my bedside table.
“What is?” Not that I care what he is talking about.
“Emily is.”
I jackknife up so fast, my stomach lurches into my throat. “Why?”
“Someone leaked your engagement.”
He dumps the Los Angeles Times next to my thigh. The headline on the front page reads: “Noah Taylor, Lead Singer of Rise Up’s Fiancée Killed in Tragic Accident.”
“It’s all over the morning news as well.” He jerks his chin to the muted TV across the room. There’s a picture of Emily on the screen, the one they used for her funeral. I shake my head in anger. Only after she’s gone does Emily finally get recognition for being the love of my life.
After Jacob fumbles his thumb over the remote, sound comes out of the TV. “Reports confirm Noah Taylor’s fiancée was killed in a tragic accident six weeks ago. We believe this is why Rise Up’s hit song ‘Surrender Me’ was noticeably absent from their recent concert tours along the West Coast. Previous speculations were that the song was removed due to plagiarism concerns, but this morning, Rise Up’s publicist, Delilah Winterbottom, advised it was withdrawn out of respect for Noah’s fiancée, Emily McIntosh.”
Jacob pushes the standby button before dumping it on the bed. “Why are they reporting it now?”
I shrug. “No fucking clue...”
My words trail off when reality dawns. In my anger yesterday, I’d told the check-in clerk and her supervisor that my fiancée died. They must have leaked it to the press the instant I walked out of the hotel lobby. Fucking assholes.
I crank my neck to my bedside table when my phone vibrates. The anger I’m struggling to contain ramps up a notch when I peer down at the screen to discover it’s Delilah.
Certain I can’t deal with her and her antics right now, I send her call to voicemail. It does little to deter her. My phone blows up again and again and again until I’m seconds from strangling it. Or better yet, giving a piece of my mind to the person on the other end.
After a big breath, I hit the connect button then press my phone to my ear. Delilah doesn’t wait for me to issue a greeting. “Did you know about the marriage license?”
“I was informed it was approved last night—”
“Why would you apply for a marriage license when part of your contract was to stay attainable to your fans? They’re a public record, Noah. Anyone who does a quick search of your name will find it.”
Fury scorches my veins. “Attainable to our fans! Are you fucking kidding me, Delilah? Emily is gone, and all you're worried about is the fans!”
I jump out of bed so I can pace back and forth. Neither pacing or Jacob’s watchful eyes can make my rage simmer down. “Do you know what, Delilah? Fuck. You! I’m done!”
I peg my phone onto the bed, sending it bouncing off the mattress and onto the floor, where it remains in one piece. While pacing, I rake my fingers over my scalp, striving to calm down. I’m about halfway there when someone knocks on my door. It better not be Delilah, because if it is, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.
I storm over to yank it open, ready to unleash a tirade of verbal abuse on Delilah. My words stuff into the back of my throat when I’m greeted by Cormack’s remorseful face.
His lips twitch as he prepares to speak, but I beat him to the punch, “You need to fire Delilah—today!” I move back from the door to give him the chance to enter. “Our album has been number one for weeks now. Your record company is making millions off us. If you don’t fire her, I’ll quit. I’ll walk away this very instant!”
Chapter 50
Noah
While standing in the wings backstage at tonight’s concert, I take a moment to reflect. The mood is more subdued than previously. The crowd is still roaring its chants, but their shouts of the band’s name are interspersed between quiet moments. The crowd’s pacified response is understandable. With the media broadcasting Emily’s accident on repeat, the world is now aware of how much I’ve lost.
Fans lined up outside my hotel room windows the past two days, holding up signs of support for both Emily and me. Their tears flowed as freely as mine have the past six weeks, and I saw their heartbreak all over their faces. Those are the fans I love, the dedicated ones who support us throughout thick and thin. Not the ones who live in the fantasy land of lies and deception where Delilah resides.