Chapter 31
31
Valerie
In the aftermath, Wade hands me over to security. Head pounding, I’m ushered into the back of a town car as flashbulbs spin my vision. My stomach lurches as the driver speeds away.
It’s all just a blur.
Finally alone in my hotel room an hour after the concert, I pull out my phone with shaking hands. My self-loathing kicks into high gear as I realize just how much I fucked up. When you’ve ruined your whole career in one night, you deserve to read the comments.
And I deserve everything they’re saying.
Loose cannon.
Desperate poser.
Lying whore.
The hits just keep on coming, and not in a chart-topping way. I absorb the impact of each jab, letting myself get more bruised and battered with every confused post, every scathing article, every vicious comment. Whenever the sting starts to lessen, I come back for another round.
Like social media is the bottle, and every angry word a swig. My mind whirls as I get drunk on it all.
A few fans are defending me, but I wish they wouldn’t. I’m not worthy of it. Their loyalty has been misplaced in me from the beginning, and I just keep letting them down as I fall apart under the pressure of the spotlight.
The person who calls me a “stupid, fame-hungry bitch,” though? I earned that. I could have prevented this if I hadn’t been too single-minded to consider anyone but myself. I just clutched at the first opportunity to stay in the spotlight, not pausing to think of how it would affect the people I care most about in this world. Jane, Riker, Keeley…Caleb. I’ve lost them all.
I ruined everything.
There’s nothing left to do but wallow in my misery. I don’t even bother changing out of my stage clothes, but I wrap myself in the fancy, oversized hotel robe and order room service. Soon I’m eating a giant ice cream sundae like Kevin McCallister at the Plaza . But instead of watching some violent noir flick, I’m watching this violence of my own making tear my career to shreds. A few times, I drop the spoon and smear chocolate syrup on the fluffy white fabric, and I don’t even care. I’ll just pay for the robe.
I’m just about to order a second ice cream—it’s not like I’m going to be singing anytime soon, so bring on the dairy—when I’m interrupted by a knock on my hotel room door.
My heart stops. Maybe it’s Caleb.
Sure, he could have knocked on the door between our rooms, but maybe that’s too intimate. Or maybe he checked out, and then thought better of it and came back to talk to me. I launch off the bed, leaving my bowl to rest precariously on the duvet, and run to the door.
But it’s the last person I want to see.
“What are you doing?” my mother demands, striding into my room. Tonight, she’s wearing a too-loud floral-print designer blazer over leggings, and the stench of cigarette smoke and too much Chanel No. 9 is strong enough to make my stomach roil. She glances around the room with a wrinkled nose; all my possessions are strewn about. “God, you’re such a mess.” She gestures to the ice cream. “You know you need to watch your figure for the cameras, right? I taught you not to eat like this.”
“Right.” I flinch. She’s always watched my figure so closely that I don’t have to. When you have a parent who comments on your appearance, who expects you to look Hollywood thin, it’s bad enough. It’s even worse when you actually work in media.
Or, rather, used to work in media. My stomach churns.
She sniffs. “You’d better go run on the treadmill. They’ll open the gym up for you, I’m sure.”
I clench my jaw. “Fine.” I have no desire to run on the fucking treadmill, but she doesn’t need to know that. I just need to get her out of here.
“And it looks like a teenager is staying in here. Are those designer jeans in a ball? You know there’s an entire dresser right in front of you. I taught you to fold your clothes properly, and I expect you to do so.”
“Sure.”
“Seriously, Valerie, what will the staff think? Someone is going to leak to the press that you’re a total slob. How embarrassing that my daughter can’t even keep her room tidy.”
I roll my eyes at the familiar lecture. She always finds something to criticize, and she’s on a roll tonight. “How’d you get in here?” Only guests can use the elevator, and we asked security to keep her away.
“I told the receptionist it was a family emergency,” she says.
So she lied. Wade is going to have a meltdown when he finds out—any fan could exploit that if they learned which floor we were on. Most of our fans haven’t been scary, but after tonight, they might be out for my blood.
Understandably.
“Well, good for you,” I finally say, setting my empty ice cream bowl on the tray and slipping it off the bed. My instinct is to shrug off the dirty robe, but I don’t want her to see I’m still in my stage clothes.
It’ll just give her another thing to criticize.
She places her hands on her hips. “Now, what are we going to do about your image?”
I blink at her. “My image?”
“Of course. That little stunt you pulled has consequences, Valerie Elizabeth.”
As if I haven’t been working in the industry for my entire adult life. The infantilizing isn’t new, but it still sets my teeth on edge. “I’m aware.”
“Obviously we’ve had a setback, but I just got off the phone with Label Records and they want that third album, despite the negative press. They’re willing to record without Caleb.”
My stomach plummets at how casually she dismisses him. “I can’t do this without Caleb.”
I don’t want to do anything without him. That’s what I was trying to say tonight, but it came out all wrong. What have I done?
She rolls her eyes. “Grow up, Valerie. Plenty of other bands have survived losing a member and gone on to great success.”
“This is different!”
“What, because you think you’re falling in love with him again? It’ll pass.”
It’ll pass. Like Caleb is just a summer storm that rolls through one night and leaves in the morning. But he’s not the storm—he’s my atmosphere. I’m not sure I can breathe without him.
Because…I am still in love with Caleb Sloane.
The realization hits me like lightning, and I want to collapse on the floor. Of course I love him. I drove him away again , and I don’t know how to function without him. I certainly can’t continue the band we created without him by my side. Even if any of the other Glitter Bats agreed—which they absolutely wouldn’t now—it’d be like living every day with a hole in my chest where my heart used to be, then pouring salt in the wound.
I can’t. Tears well in my eyes, and I wish I had the kind of mom who would let me cry.
But there’s no appealing to emotions with Tonya Quinn. “There’s no way the rest of the band will move forward, especially if Caleb isn’t in the mix.”
She purses her lips. “Everyone is replaceable. Besides, they won’t walk away when they realize how much money is on the line.”
“For you , you mean.”
My mother raises a brow. “And?”
“You’re not here because of any kind of sympathy or maternal affection.” Heat rushes up my cheeks. “You only care about this because it’ll get you a paycheck. Did you come here to push me when I’m down because you know it’s your last chance?”
“How dare you!” Her eyes flash. “You ungrateful little bitch. After everything I’ve done for you all, I deserve to be compensated for managing the beginning of your careers. Hell, I should still be managing, but you insisted on hiring a baseball player over your own flesh and blood when you got a little taste of fame.”
I swallow thickly, but no, I’m not going to cower before her this time. I sweep my arm in her direction. “I didn’t need you to be a manager—I needed my mother!”
She juts her chin. “I was there with you from the beginning!”
“No, you weren’t!” Adrenaline rushes through my body, and I let out a huff. “You were never there for me in the way I needed. In case you haven’t noticed, becoming famous at seventeen absolutely destroyed me, and I can’t help but think it all would have been different if I’d had your support and protection. Instead, you used me.”
My mom rolls her eyes at me. “Oh, please. You wanted this life! I helped you get it.” Her voice is nonchalant, but I don’t miss the vein popping on her forehead.
“At what cost?” My heart races. I’ve never really confronted her, not like this, and now I can’t stop. “You expected me to do everything they asked because it benefitted you, even if it meant crash diets or lost sleep or endorsement deals for companies I didn’t believe in. Hell, you gave my very personal, intimate photos to the press without my knowledge or permission—even though I was only nineteen and it branded me a slut! But you said it made me relevant, so I stayed quiet and counted headlines. I bet that tabloid paid you for the damn photos. You turned my self-esteem into this bruised, spotlight-desperate monster who hurts everyone around her. And right now, I’m having the worst night of my life. It’d be nice if you’d, I don’t know, check if I’m okay before trying to exploit me again. But you just don’t understand basic empathy.”
You’d think any of this would move her, but it doesn’t. She just scoffs, like she’s bored with the conversation, and sits primly in the chair. “Don’t be so dramatic, Valerie. It’s immature.”
“I’m not the emotionally immature one! You’re making this all about you, and I don’t have the energy. We’re not discussing my career any longer.” I laugh dryly. “Not that I have a career left to speak of.”
She gapes, rising again. “Now wait just a moment—”
I interrupt her. “No. It’s over, Mom. You need to leave.”
She throws up her hands. “Fine. When you come to your senses, you have Gina’s number. We’ll all be waiting to hear from you when you’re ready to fulfill your obligations.”
And then she leaves, slamming the hotel door behind her. I wonder how many times we’ll have the same conversation. She’s never going to understand—she’ll always want something from me. The best thing I can do is cut her out of my life. Maybe I won’t even have to—once my career is gone, there will be nothing left to take. She’ll go find someone else to manipulate.
My mouth goes dry as I realize…maybe I’m just like her. I manipulated everyone in this band to get what I wanted from them. I orchestrated this reunion for my career, and then I tried to exploit more from it. How could I have done that to my friends? To Caleb?
It’s exactly what Tonya would have done.
God, I don’t want to be like this.
My mind is still reeling as I collapse back onto the bed. My phone buzzes, and I brace myself for another media contact reaching out for comment.
It’s probably better if I start ignoring my phone, but I don’t.
Fortunately, it’s not the media at all. It’s a text from Wade.
Hey, kiddo. I don’t need to tell you that you screwed up, but nothing is ruined forever. I just met with my team and we’re going to work on an image rehab plan. We’ll email you when it’s ready, but don’t look at it right away. We can discuss everything next week. Try to get some sleep.
Sleep? As if.
I almost call down to the restaurant and order another sundae, but my stomach lurches as I open a new tab and try to catch more headlines, and suddenly I feel like I’m going to be sick. I can’t make sense of anything. It’s all horrible.
So I give up and do what I always do when the world doesn’t make sense—I pick up my guitar and start writing.