Chapter 50
50
AGE 21 TO 24
A nger is my new best friend in the months after I discover Vivien married Reeve and had his baby. On the one-year anniversary of her leaving me, I finally kiss another woman, but it takes another year before I can fuck someone else. The whole time, I’m a writhing ball of rage. She’s still my muse, still inspiring songs, but a lot of them during this time are full of the hate flowing through my veins. “Hollywood Ho,” “The Regrets Club,” and “Fuck Love” all top the charts the year I’m twenty-three, and I get immense satisfaction every time I hear them on the radio, wondering if she’s listening right at this moment too. She’s got to know they’re about her. I hope they hurt. I hope they drive a stake through her heart the same way seeing her with him always does to me.
Our careers keep us super busy. Our first US tour is a massive success, and the following year, we embark on a world tour which lasts nine months. Con, Ro, and I enjoy the perks of fame, and nights after shows are spent partying, drinking, and fucking. It’s all a blur, and none of it helps alleviate the constant pain in my heart.
Finding time to visit our family is challenging, but we make it back to Ireland at least once a year. Our brothers and parents have traveled to some of our shows, and we love giving them VIP treatment. Ash graduates with her degree and becomes our full-time manager. Frankie is satisfied with his golden handshake though unhappy to have to walk away from a band of our caliber.
The dough is rolling in now, and we’re all independently wealthy. We’re living our dream, and getting to perform our own music to sellout stadiums is the pinnacle of our careers. I love being up onstage. It’s the greatest buzz, and I’m the best version of myself when I’m entertaining a crowd. Music soothes my soul. Yet I can’t fully enjoy it because there’s always something lacking in my life.
The others don’t bring her up. After some of the songs I’ve written, they all believe I hate her. And I do. But I love her too, and the love in my heart far outweighs the hatred. I’m still not over her. I doubt I ever will be. I think I’ll always pine for my Hollywood.
Jay is the only one who knows how fucked up I truly am. How I still watch Shane and Fiona’s wedding video on repeat. How the songwriting journal Viv made me is my most precious possession, along with the Fender she gifted me. How I obsess over all the photos on my phone and wish I could turn back them to relive the memories all over again. Many nights, I’ve sat up late, pouring out my heart to my best mate when the pain almost becomes too much to bear. Ma would be happy to know I’m venting some of my emotions and not keeping everything bottled up inside.
Viv seems happy. They’re photographed all the time, and I’m sick of seeing their smiling faces everywhere. I try to avoid stalking them on social media, but in dark moments, I fall down the rabbit hole, usually ending up a drunken mess after my heart is well and truly annihilated. Ash ensures there are no awkward run-ins, rescheduling events if they’re due to attend, and so far, we’ve managed to avoid one another.
I regularly take supermodels and actresses to film premieres and industry events. Never the same woman twice, and I’m never interested in dating any of them. I usually fuck them, but the sex does little for me. It’s a release and not much else. They all bore me. Every single woman I’ve ever met fails to match the perfection that is Vivien Lancaster. Every other woman is a pale imitation.
The year I turn twenty-four, I buy my first house, and we settle in L.A. to work on our next album, all of us grateful to put down some roots after a few intense years of touring.
It’s late afternoon, and we’re laying down a new track when my latest mistake sneaks up on me.
“Hey, Dil.”
Ava’s smiling face greets me when I lift my head from my guitar and find her standing at the back of the recording studio at the Capitol Building. Tension brackets my jaw as I inwardly groan. Knew it was a bad idea fucking her at the awards ceremony last month.
For the past couple of years, she’s made her attraction known though I’ve always denied her. Ash warned me not to shit where I eat. Should’ve listened to my sister instead of saying fuck it when I was locked at the awards after party and Ava propositioned me. She has been driving me nuts ever since even though I made it clear it was a one-and-done. “We’re busy,” I reply without even looking at her.
“I just need two minutes of your time. Andy said you’re on a break.”
Our sound engineer is an interfering little shit. “If this is business-related, you can talk to Ash.” I drill her with a look. “If it’s not business-related, I don’t want to hear it.”
The smile slips off her face. “It is personal, but?—”
“Leave,” I snap, the same time Ro says, “Dillon,” in his usual warning tone.
“Butt out, little bro.” I level him with a look as Con smokes a joint on the couch, the twitching of his eyes the only sign he’s paying attention. Conor and I have spent a lot of time together these past few years. He never bugs me about shit I don’t want to talk about, and there’s a certain peace when it’s just him and I together, sharing a joint, jamming, and shite talking about philosophy and spirituality.
“Please, Dillon. I just need?—”
“I’m not interested in fucking you again!” I explode. “How many fucking times do I have to say it? I told you it was one time, and I did not sign up for this clingy shit. For fuck’s sake, Ava, you’ve been around us for years. You’ve seen me screw my way through girls like they’re a dying breed. Why the fuck would you think you’re any different? You’re nothing special, you’re?—”
Tears spill out of her eyes as she runs out of the room sobbing.
“You’re the biggest asshole.” Ro shakes his head as he twirls his sticks between his fingers. “Was there a need to be so cruel?”
“Yes,” I grit out, twisting my neck from side to side to work out the kinks. “She won’t stop calling, emailing, and showing up every chance she gets. I’ve tried letting her down gently, and that didn’t work. Maybe now she’ll get the message.”
“She’s a nice girl.” Ro brings his sticks down on the cymbals, and a high-pitched crashing shimmering sound ricochets off the studio walls. “You should try dating her.”
“You know I don’t fucking date.” Setting my guitar down on the stand, I head to the fridge to grab a beer.
“I know you’re wasting your life pining after a ghost. She’s married, Dillon. You need to move on. It won’t happen unless you try.”
My hands are balled into fists as I swing around and glare at my brother. “Shut your face.”
“I thought you’d be over it by now,” he mumbles, laying his sticks down and standing. He drills me with a look I can’t decipher. “Please move on, Dil. It’s killing me seeing you like this.”
“Fuck off, Ro.” I pop the cap on my beer and knock back a mouthful. “We can’t all be serial daters.”
“At least I’m giving relationships a go. You can’t go through life with a revolving door of casual fucks.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because it’s making you miserable!” His nostrils flare. “Would it kill you to take Ava out to dinner? Clearly, there’s some attraction there. She’s smart, pretty, sweet. She knows you’re a jerk and somehow still wants you, and she works in the industry. You won’t find a better woman.”
“I have found better,” I growl. “I had perfection, utter perfection, and I can’t accept less. Ava is boring as fuck, and she was a shitty lay. I have zero interest in dating her. I’d rather chop my cock off than bang her again.”
A shocked gasp, followed by heart-wrenching tears, greets my words, and my stomach drops. I lift my head in time to see Ava fleeing the studio for a second time.
Fuck. I didn’t realize she’d come back, and neither did Ro or he wouldn’t have started that discussion.
Ash rushes into the room and shoves my shoulders. “What the hell is wrong with you? You just destroyed her!” Steam is practically billowing from her ears as she stands before me wearing the angriest face I’ve seen in a long time.
“I didn’t know she was there.”
“Look on the bright side.” Con blows smoke circles into the air. “I think she definitely got the message this time.”
Ava quits the next day.
“She can’t still be mad at me,” I grumble to Jay a week later when Ash is still giving me the cold shoulder.
“She can and she is.” He grabs a cold beer from the bucket on the table in the VIP section of the club we’re in. It’s become a regular Saturday night spot, and I usually end up going home with some bird.
“Ava leaving without working her notice created a mess,” he adds. “Ash is still putting out fires.”
“I thought she already had that other girl lined up as our new publicist, and she should probably be thanking me for forcing the issue.” Ava worked for the label, and she served their interests first and foremost. Ava quitting gives us an opportunity to hire our own publicist, someone who will further our best interests.
“Jesus. Don’t fucking say that to her. She’s liable to throw you off the roof, and yes, Dixie has signed her contract, but she can’t start for two weeks.”
“Ash will smooth everything over; she always does.”
“She’s the best.” The most nauseating, gooey, lovestruck expression materializes on his face.
I elbow him in the ribs. “Pussy.”
Ro and I have been winding him up a lot lately over when he’s going to propose. We all know it’s coming. Those two are solid. They’ll never break up. It’s still hard sometimes being around them. It’s a reminder of what I once had. What I could’ve had if things had worked out differently.
“Looking a little green there, lad.” Jay prods my cheek, laughing when I swat his hand away.
“Move over,” Ash says, throwing me a daggered look before shimmying into the booth beside her boyfriend.
“You look gorgeous tonight, sis.” I lean in and kiss her cheek. It’s no word of a lie. During the working week, Ash dresses in power suits befitting of her authority. Weekends or when we attend industry events are her only opportunity to ditch the business attire and dress up. She looks a million dollars tonight in a short blue dress with skyscraper silver heels which elevate her tiny stature.
“Lick-arsing will totally work.” Her tiny fist curls around my shirt before I can straighten up. “Apology accepted but keep your cock in your trousers with this new one, or next time, you can handle the shit show left behind.” Ash had interviewed a few guys for the role, and I know she’d have preferred to hire a man, but Dixie was the only one we felt would gel with us, so she got the job.
“I’m done with blondes anyway.”
I have a rule to only fuck blondes or redheads to keep as far away from memories of Vivien as possible, but it’s not doing it for me anymore. Last night, I went home with a blonde I picked up at a local bar but ditched her halfway through the taxi ride when her mouth failed to raise even a modicum of interest from my cock. Watching her blonde head bob up and down was an instant erection killer. I can’t do it anymore. Pretend like I’m not wishing they weren’t a certain brunette, so I’m going to mix it up and see if fucking brunettes from now on will be the cure I so desperately seek.
But it doesn’t help either. It only makes things worse.
A few hours later, I’m back in some up-and-coming actress’s apartment, plowing into her from behind, imagining she’s Viv as I fist her long dark-brown hair, pulling on the strands just the way my love liked. But the sounds coming from her mouth are all wrong as is the way she holds herself upright on all fours, not moving to meet my thrusts or writhing underneath me as I fuck her. She’s going through the motions, just like me, and though I’m buried deep in the woman, in an act that should be personal and intimate, it’s the complete opposite.
I’ve never felt more alone.
My hard-on dies an immediate death, and I pull out, disgusted with myself, with her, with life.
“What’s wrong?” Her pout is instantaneous as she glances over her shoulder.
“We both know this isn’t cutting it.” I pull my boxers and jeans up my legs and tuck my soft cock away.
Yanking her dress down to cover herself, she moves up the bed, pulling her knees into her chest. Her lower lip wobbles, and I take pity on her. “It’s all on me. My head is elsewhere tonight.” I kiss her quickly, feeling nothing. “Good luck with your show. I’ll look out for it.” Only because Vivien is one of the writers, and yeah, maybe I flirted outrageously with her when I discovered that fact. As if Vivien would even care if some actress on her show fucked me. She clearly doesn’t care. She ditched me years ago without ever looking back.
Which is what makes this all the more frustrating.
I don’t go home, getting the taxi to drop me at Ash and Jay’s place. I can’t be alone right now even if both of them are probably asleep. I let myself in, surprised the alarm isn’t on like usual at night. But it makes sense when I find Jay still up in the kitchen.
“Wasn’t expecting to find you up,” I say, removing my jacket and hanging it on the back of one of the chairs. A bottle of JD is resting on the table beside him, and his hands are curled around a half-empty glass. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything is perfect.” The biggest smile crests over his face.
“What’s going on?”
“Ash is pregnant.”
My eyes widen as he just puts it right out there.
“Shite,” he blurts. “She’s going to kill me for blabbing, but I’ve been bursting to tell you since we found out last week.”
“Why didn’t Ash tell me?” Grabbing a glass from the press, I sit down beside my best mate. Guilt is instant at the thought of the additional stress I’ve landed on my sister’s lap recently at a time when she should be stress free. I vow to find some way to make it up to her.
“She wanted to wait until the twelve-week mark when it’s safe, apparently.”
“I’ve no idea what that means, but this is amazing news.” I grab him into a hug. “Congrats, man. I’m made up for ya.”
“I’m over the moon.” Tears fill his eyes. “I’m going to be a dad. I’m equal parts excited and scared.”
“You’ll be nothing like him,” I reassure, knowing exactly where his head has ventured. I top up his glass before pouring whiskey into mine. “A toast,” I add, raising my glass. “To baby Fleming.”
“To baby Fleming.” We clink glasses and swallow the amber-colored liquid.
“How come you’re back so early? You give new meaning to wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.” He snorts out a laugh.
“Wasn’t feeling it.” I shrug, deliberately downplaying it. This is a happy time for Jay, and he doesn’t need my depressive arse dragging him down.
“Spill.” He eyeballs me solemnly.
“Another time.”
“Shut yer face, Dillon. This is me. Talk to me.”
I open and close my mouth, knowing if I start it’ll all just spew like lava. Jamie doesn’t deserve that tonight.
“It’s ’cause you went home with a brunette, right?” he coaxes, and the tenuous hold I have on my control snaps.
A shuddering breath flees my lips as I nod and prepare to drop a ton of verbal diarrhea. “There’s something very wrong with me, Jamie.” I grip the glass tight as my chin lowers. “I flirted with that actress only because she works on Viv’s show, and when we got to her place, I wasted no time getting her on all fours and ramming into her from behind. I treated her like shit. Pretending she was someone else, and when she couldn’t live up to that expectation, I just felt numb inside. My dick lost interest, and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.” I rest my head on the table. “I don’t like who I am anymore.” Pain charges up my throat, garbling my next statement. “I don’t like who I am without her.”
“Oh, mate.” Jay squeezes my shoulder. “I can’t believe it’s still her after all this time.”
“It will always be her, Jamie. She is my one and only.” My voice cracks, and it feels like my heart is rupturing behind my rib cage. “I don’t want to live like this. Why can’t I forget her?” I thump on my temples. “Why can’t I get rid of her from here?” All the booze I’ve drunk tonight has exacerbated my emotional state, and I fall apart in front of my best mate. “Why is her face the first face I see every morning when I wake, and why does she still haunt my dreams? Why, Jay? Why?”
“I wish I had the answers, Dillon. I wish I knew how to help.”
“I’m lonely, but I can’t stomach the thought of fucking anyone else. Not anymore. It’s doing nothing for me. It’s only accentuating this ache inside me because none of them are her.” I squeeze my eyes shut against a fresh onslaught of tears. “I love her, but I also hate her though I think I hate myself more.”
“Maybe you just need more time.”
“Maybe I just need a lobotomy,” I semi-joke.
He pulls me into a hug. “It will get better. It’s got to.”
As much as I want to believe in those words, it’s hard to buy into it because after more than four years I’m still every bit as heartbroken as I was the day I lost her.