Chapter 33
33
Valerie
I’ve been hiding out in my apartment.
No media. No contact with the band. I don’t even talk to Wade about his team’s image rehab plan, but I’m following it closely enough. No public appearances, no interviews, not even a trip to a convenience store where I could be spotted by the wrong person. It’s effectively a full blackout, and I follow the advice even if it’s less strategy and more survival.
Or a simple lack of any desire to engage with the world.
So just as Wade and the agency wanted, I haven’t been seen in public since I was on that stage. Without more Epic Theme Song money, I can afford to keep them on for another six months or so, and then I’ll need to book something or fade into obscurity.
Maybe obscurity isn’t so bad. Other than the kind person who discreetly delivers my groceries, no one who knows where I live has stopped by my place. No one’s worrying about me, but that’s fine.
I’ve spent the week poring over my old notebooks. It’s like a switch has flipped in my brain, and the only catharsis I find is in the music. I’m tweaking old songs and writing new ones, and these aren’t songs I’m writing for public consumption.
They’re spilling out of me just because I need to write.
I forgot about the healing power of my guitar and a blank page. Other than working on “Daydreams Like This” with Caleb this summer, I haven’t written anything original in years. I’ve sung other people’s music. I recorded songs written by strangers for my failed solo career. But I haven’t poured my emotions onto the strings like this since before we became famous, when I started to realize that Caleb was always more than a friend to me. All these years, and I haven’t bled into a melody. Haven’t pulled a new rhythm deep from my bones.
But even though exorcising my emotions is painful, it’s also a release. It reminds me that I never got into this industry for the fame. I got into it for the music, just like Caleb did. Once upon a time, we had the same motives. I just got so distracted by the public attention, my face in the glossy pages of magazines, my name trending online…that I forgot what a joy it is to be making music for music’s sake.
And I took it for granted all over again.
I let myself believe the Glitter Bats were still just a call away. Thought they’d go along with any plans to keep the momentum going, because I assumed they wanted to keep it going. I didn’t think of any of their feelings, much less their own goals and hopes for the future.
The fallout with Caleb feels the worst, and it’s something I’ll never forgive myself for, but I’m racked with guilt about the others too. Keeley’s anger, Jane’s quiet disappointment, Riker’s resignation—they haunt my dreams as much as the betrayal on Caleb’s face does. I broke more than one heart on that stage.
So I write about it all. I write about guilt and shame, about hurting the people I care for, about chasing fame and feeling empty.
And I write love songs.
Every lyric smashes my shattered heart, but I can’t stop. Every morning that I wake up and Caleb isn’t in my bed, I feel lost, and I need some way to process those feelings. So I write about him. About us. About longing and desire and falling for the person who makes your heart beat faster. About being tangled in sheets at three a.m., about holding hands on a beach at sunset, about kisses that taste like sugar and promises.
It’s all catharsis, but none of the songs feel like what I’m looking for .
Until one does.
My heart races as I reach over the guitar in my lap to jot the words and chords into my messy notebook. I chase that feeling of rightness for hours until I’ve captured every detail. With the ink on paper, I revise the lines, move around the chords, play with the melody until it’s perfect.
Glancing over at my soft bed with bleary eyes, I realize that’s not enough. There’s no way I’ll sleep now. I need to do more with this song, even if it hurts, even if it’s all in vain. So I set up my Mac and a microphone, then stay awake past midnight to record a rough sample.
I upload it and send an email to Wade with nothing but “Thank you” in the subject line, and the music file attached:
Wade,
I’m sorry for being radio silent. Please help me figure out how to release this, and then I’m done. With all of it.
Thank you for everything.
Valerie
My eyes are tired, but I have another message to send:
Me: I owe you three an apology, and I’d like to do it in person. Can I make you dinner tomorrow night? Or rather, tonight. 6PM? I hope your phones are all on silent, otherwise I apologize for waking you up too.
When I finally wake up the next afternoon, I have three texts.
Riker: Sure.
Keeley: Fine, but I’m not going to be happy about it.
Jane: What can I bring?
Their acceptance of my invitation is more than I expect and far more than I deserve. But because I’ve got all the ingredients for vodka sauce in my pantry, I begin preparing the meal. I even throw together a green salad and garlic bread.
My heart flips when I hear the knock on my door, right on time. I hurry to open it, trying to settle my nerves.
“Are you going to poison us? I’ve had your awful grilled cheese, and this smells way more intensive,” Keeley says. She’s got Jane and Riker in tow, and I realize they’re here as a united front. It’s them versus me, and it’s up to me to get us all on the same side again.
“Theo was an asshole, but his mother was Italian. I learned how to make this pasta from her one weekend,” I admit.
Riker cocks his head as he steps through the door. “At least you got something out of that bastard.”
Jane surprises me with a small smile. “It’s really good to see you,” she says.
“Thank you all for coming,” I say, anxiously clearing my throat. “Wine? I’ve got red and white.”
“No rosé?” Riker says, pouting.
I laugh, then pull the screw top out of my fridge. “Just for you, bud.”
“Yes!” he says. Instead of pouring it into one of the stemless wine glasses I have set out on the counter, he drinks it right from the bottle.
“Riker!” Jane says. “What if we wanted some?” But there’s no bite to it as she pours herself a glass of the chardonnay instead.
Keeley laughs. “All yours, dude.”
While they all get started on their wine and relax onto the couches in the living room adjacent to my kitchen, I go to check the sauce. It’s the perfect creamy color, and the scents of garlic and prosciutto and Parmesan hang in the air.
“If you cook like this for all your partners, no wonder everyone wants to date you,” Keeley says. “I’d put out for good Italian.”
“Noted.” I laugh.
But she doesn’t; she just purses her lips and leans back, examining me. “Are you trying to fuck us or fuck us over, though? That’s the question.”
My jaw clenches. Of course it was never going to be this easy. I didn’t expect to feed them and be forgiven. Swallowing thickly, I take a sip of my own wine for courage, then turn to face my friends.
The energy in the room is tense, and I square my shoulders. I can do this.
“Keeley’s right, and I suppose there’s no use in beating around the bush. This is an apology. I’m not asking any of you for anything—I’ve already done too much of that. But I need you all to know how sorry I am for ruining the concert, and for dragging you into a reunion in the first place with sketchy motivations. I was looking for validation in all the wrong places. While that doesn’t excuse how I’ve treated all of you, I want you to know I never intended to hurt anyone. I love you guys. And I am so, so sorry.”
“Do we have to forgive you to eat the pasta?” Keeley asks dryly.
“No,” I say, even though tears tighten the back of my throat. “You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to.” My voice breaks, but I fight through the tears knowing they don’t owe me any pity, keeping my words as steady as possible. “But I just hope you all know I’m really sorry, and I’m going to work on thinking about others before I make any more impulsive decisions.”
Now, Keeley’s the one crying. “Dude, I want to stay mad. What you did was bullshit.”
“I know,” I say, sniffing. “It was the worst. You should all hate me.”
She huffs and swipes at her wet cheeks. “But I love you too much, you dumbass.” She rises and pulls me into a hug, and I realize it’s the first time anyone has touched me in days. I collapse into her arms and start sobbing in earnest.
“Damn it,” Riker says thickly. “Now I’m crying too. You’re all the worst.”
Blinking hard, I lift my head and glance over Keeley’s shoulder, catching Jane’s eye. Tears are quietly streaming down her face too. “Of course we forgive you,” Jane says. “I forgave you the second I saw the news about your show. What you did wasn’t okay, but I understand you were hurting too. It all made so much sense. We should have been there for you instead of abandoning you.”
“Speak for yourself,” Keeley says, still holding on to me. “I only forgave her when I smelled the pasta.”
We all laugh.
I pull back from Keeley. “Let’s eat, then.”
“And then we can talk about the future of the band,” Riker says. “I think it’s time.”
I groan, unable to hide the shame rising in my chest. “There’s no future,” I say. “I’m not asking you to get back together again.”
“Maybe we want to,” Riker says. “You’d know that if you asked us.”
I sigh, extracting myself to the kitchen to start dishing up. The others follow, and Riker grabs plates while Jane pulls the salad out of my fridge. “I think I need to be done.”
Jane purses her lips. “Is that why you’ve been writing? Because you’re done?”
“How did you…?” But she’s nodding at the open notebook on the counter, the one Keeley is flipping through—no privacy, but then again, I shouldn’t have left it out if I didn’t want it to be found.
“This is really good, Quinn. Did you write this for Caleb?”
My stomach churns, because she found last night’s song.
I nod. “I sent it to Wade, thinking maybe I could record it, send the proceeds to charity or something. I just don’t think an apology is going to be enough. But now, I’m not really sure I want to put it out there.”
The three of them share a look and seem to decide something.
“We could produce it, if you wanted help,” Jane says, nudging me gently. “I have access to a studio. Contractually, you might owe it to Label after your announcement, but at least the personnel could be some familiar faces.”
My chest warms at the offer. “I don’t know…” I say. “I’m probably just going to put my heart out there only for it to break again.”
“You’ll never know unless you try, though,” Keeley says.
The thing is, she’s right. Caleb has my heart, and if there’s any possibility he would hear me out, I have to take it. Maybe it’ll all come to nothing, but if there’s even a chance this will reach him, even a chance he’ll consider talking to me…
“He’s worth it,” I say. “I want to try.”
“Oh, hell yeah,” Riker says, leaning back against my counter. “Is this the moment when Heath Ledger sings with the marching band?”
I grin, letting his enthusiasm stoke the last ember of stubborn hope in my chest. “You’re damn right it is.”