Chapter One #2
Troy had tried so hard to fix their dad.
He’d always been there to haul him up and drag him to bed.
Mom slept in another room because she said Dad had restless leg syndrome.
So it was Troy who’d take off his shoes and help him puke into a bucket.
All the while pretending nothing was wrong.
Pretending it was just a bad night, and it would be better tomorrow.
Never saying a goddamned word until it was too late.
And he’d done it again in Perth a week ago when Ty had gotten fucked up on booze and coke, bouncing off the walls before crashing. Ty had made his promises, so familiar that Troy could see their father, his blond hair sticking up and dried vomit on his collar.
Guilt and sorrow and icy hot resentment compelled his feet to move.
It was time for a new approach. If he quit, Joe and the label would have to do something. They wouldn’t be able to ignore this.
Bruno, one of their massive security guards, barreled in as Troy reached the door. Bruno had done four years with XP, a drug-crazed rap group who’d torn up the charts like they did hotel rooms. There was nothing he hadn’t seen.
“Everything okay?” he asked tonelessly.
Nodding, Troy shoved past him into the hush of the hallway. Two more security guards at the end of the corridor started toward him. His stomach clenched, and he leaned a hand on the textured beige wallpaper. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Could he really do this? Would it help? Was he abandoning Ty when his baby brother needed him most?
No. He had to take a stand. He had to do something dramatic.
If he stayed now, Ty would know his threats were empty.
Troy would go home and get their mother.
Wake her up to the truth she hadn’t been able to face with his father.
He was going to puke.
“Baby?”
He reeled away from Savannah’s touch just as the guards approached. He barked, “We’re fine!” Like he’d waved a magic wand, they retreated, their steps silent on the plush carpet.
Arms crossed, she looked up at him with glistening blue eyes. Her feet were bare, and without her usual heels she was barely over five-two. “You can’t walk out. What about the fans?”
He shoved away the sticky swell of guilt. “The fans will be a hell of a lot more upset when Ty and Nick OD. They need help, and I need to force them to get it. Force the label to do something.”
“Okay, after the tour’s over—”
“No! Now! There’s still a whole leg left in Japan and Korea. I can’t wait. I won’t.”
“But you have a contract. You’re in the biggest pop group in the world! The most popular boy band since One Direction and Backstreet put together. They won’t let you quit.”
“They can sue me. I don’t care. I’m not going to stand here with my thumbs up my ass while Ty kills himself. While he and Nick pull you into this shitshow too. Are you shooting up now? Jesus Christ, Sav. You’re smarter than this. Don’t throw your career away. Your life.”
She shook her head vigorously. “I just did a little coke. I was keeping an eye on them, Troy. Making sure they stayed safe.”
“Spare me!” His nostrils flared as he breathed through the surge of fury. “Making sure they were safe would have meant making sure they didn’t do any of that toxic shit.”
Savannah opened her mouth and then closed it and pressed her too-red lips together, apparently unable to argue.
Troy wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “You know how I feel about this stuff. What we went through with my dad. What I went through. I can’t do this again. For years I’ve tried to protect my brother. I’ve tried to do all the right things and make everyone else happy.”
Her face softened. “I know, baby. That shit with your dad growing up was horrible. Ty needs you now more than ever.”
“So I can enable him? No. I’m done. With all of it.”
Her lips trembled. “Even me?”
“You don’t need me. You’ll be fine.”
“No, I won’t!”
“Come on. We don’t have anything in common. We fuck, and we watch TV, and we—it’s all…fine. Nice. But it’s not real. What do we even talk about?”
She scoffed. “Hello? Music, for one. We have a million things in common! We hit it off the day we met.”
“Yeah, the day Lara and the PR flacks introduced us? They orchestrated our relationship from the get-go. Ohhh, the strong, silent, mysterious bad boy is finally settling down, falling for the opening act with the voice like honey. Savannah Jones tames Troy Tanner and wins his heart.”
She clenched her jaw, but then fresh tears spilled over her pale cheeks, streaking her mascara. “Didn’t I? Or did you never actually care about me at all?”
He sighed, guilt returning in a rush. “I do care about you. Of course I do. I want you to be happy. But I don’t think I’m the one.
Hell, you know I’m not the mysterious bad boy who barely talks.
I’m not who they manufactured. So how can I be the right guy for you when I don’t even know who the fuck I am? ”
“So it’s not me, it’s you.” She swiped at her eyes. “Right. Okay. I hope you can find yourself and all that shit. Have a nice life.” Spinning on her heel, she stalked down the hall. At her room, she rattled the door handle. “Someone fucking open this!”
As one of the security guards hustled to comply, Troy hesitated.
Even if he didn’t love Savannah, he didn’t want it to end this way.
She was a good person and hella talented, and she deserved someone who really wanted to be with her.
He took a step, but then she was gone, the door slamming and the security guard returning to his post.
Someone cleared his throat, and Troy turned to find Bruno in the entryway of Tyson’s room. “Everything okay, BT?”
No. Everything is a fucking disaster. But Troy simply nodded. “Thanks. Sorry for all the shit you guys have to deal with.” He stuck out his hand, and Bruno shook it, a frown appearing on his meaty face.
With a deep breath, Troy turned to the private elevator and jabbed the call button. He could do this. He had to do this. He’d failed his father by not taking a stand, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
“You know—the broody one in the black leather jacket. Never says much in interviews.”
“This presupposes that I’ve ever had occasion to watch an interview with…what are they called again?”
Slouched in a chair at the Sydney airport after midnight, Troy studied the reflection in the large window looking out on the tarmac.
The pilots stood several feet behind discussing him quietly.
The private jet he’d rented was flying out of a small terminal separate from the main three, and he’d fortunately been able to shuffle in without being noticed.
The only other people in the terminal had been businessmen who surely couldn’t have cared less who he was even if they’d recognized him.
He’d stuffed his stupid leather jacket in his enormous suitcase and worn a gray hoodie instead, which was clearly a smart choice. He tugged his baseball hat lower on his head. There was a wide pole behind his chair, and it seemed the pilots thought they were alone.
The woman sipped from her paper cup of coffee. “Next Up. Are you sure you don’t live in a cave? Is that why you’ve never invited me round?” She looked Filipina to him, short and pretty like his mom. Her accent sounded like the ones he’d heard in New Zealand—“next” came out like “nixt.”
Troy glanced around the deserted terminal.
It was unnerving to be completely by himself; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been truly alone in public.
Shit, he was hardly ever alone in private either.
There was always someone there, whether it was a girlfriend or Ty or one of the guys in the band, or the seemingly endless stream of record label staff.
Troy had never minded too much since he liked being with people, and especially since when he was alone, he started thinking.
When he started thinking, he wondered how the hell he’d gotten to twenty-six without making any decisions about his own life.
His father had made them all until he died, and the label had picked up where he’d left off.
Troy floated along in the current, and what did he have to complain about? He was a millionaire. So what if Next Up’s music wasn’t the kind he wanted to do?
He could hear his father’s voice even now: Be grateful for everything you and your brother have been given. This is the American dream!
Rubbing his hands over his thighs, Troy tried to calm his pulse. Was he throwing it all away? Was he ruining everything for Tyson too?
The male pilot opened a file folder. “Aren’t you a little outside their target demographic, Paula?”
Paula flipped him the bird. “I’m barely thirty. Okay, so I’m a little old for boy bands. But hey, thirty’s the new twenty.”
Groaning, the man muttered, “Terrific. Living through my twenties once was bad enough.” His accent was American, surprisingly.
Troy had lucked out in finding a private jet to go international on short notice, and he glanced at the terminal doors, expecting the cavalry of Joe and assorted minions to charge in any moment.
They likely didn’t think he’d actually leave the country, but he should still get moving.
Yet he was rooted to the spot as the pilots continued talking.
Paula said, “This is going to be a huge scandal. Their world tour isn’t over yet. They still have Asia to get through.”
“You really do know an alarming amount about this boy band.” The man spoke with mock solemnity. “Captain, you know we have a strict policy against sexually harassing our passengers. Just for the record.”
Going up on her tiptoes, she mimed pouring her coffee over his dark, neatly trimmed hair, garnering a low chuckle. They both wore the standard uniform of navy pants and jackets over white shirts. Troy wondered where their hats were as his mind whirled with half-formed thoughts.