Chapter Thirty-Three. Some Strings Attached
Chapter Thirty-Three
Some Strings Attached
This isn’t best for the band is permanently etched into my psyche.
I’ve tried everything short of hypnotism to make myself believe leaving was the right move. But is anything really right if you have to convince yourself it was?
The question ricochets around my brain like a pinball and exacerbates my little I-can’t-stop-thinking-about-Felix’s-annoyingly-attractive-perfectly-symmetrical-face-and-how-much-I-want-to-smash-my-lips-into-his problem.
I look at the list of ASL sentences on the whiteboard in the front of the classroom, reconnecting myself to the world around me. I turn toward the students, hoping I wasn’t zoned out for too long.
While they sign flawlessly, my mind drifts again because, as if this situation couldn’t be any messier, DAYDREAM’s in Seattle for their grand finale concert tonight.
In fact, thanks to social media—which has thankfully moved on from posting death threats, though I still see the occasional theory about Felix’s mystery lover—I know which hotel they’re staying at, the license plates of the SUVs they’re driven around in, and even what Calum DoorDashed last night.
The internet is a scary place, but Felix being twenty minutes away is scarier.
At the end of class, I reach under the desk and boop Ginger’s nose before grabbing the eraser and wiping the board. My cleanup is interrupted when Jo pops her head into the room.
“Someone’s here for you,” she signs, waggling her brows. “In the office.”
The eraser clatters to the floor and startles a sleepy Ginger. Someone randomly dropping by the Center to visit me, the day after DAYDREAM arrived, is too much of a coincidence for it to not be Felix. Right?
Shit, shit, shit.
Did he come all this way to pull an UNO Reverse Card and break my heart? Does he want to tell me I’m the literal spawn of Satan and he loathes my very existence? Either way, I’d probably deserve it.
I take a beat to center myself before heading for the office. My pulse pounds, nerves alight with anxiety. I stop outside, hand floating above the doorknob, and my thoughts run wild.
If he’s behind this door—strands of long hair framing the face some deity hand-sculpted, wearing his obnoxious BURBERRY trench coat—what do I do? What do I say?
Should I apologize? Kick him out? Superglue our hands together so he never leaves my sight again?
I steel myself and twist the handle. A familiar face sits at my desk, his arms neatly folded on the desktop, blond hair shining underneath the fluorescent lights.
A surge of distress, shock, and irritation hits me, and I scoff. He has a herculean amount of audacity to show up here after everything he did.
“Hey…” Lachlan greets.
“I have nothing to say to you,” I spit, harsher than intended.
I turn to leave, but he pops up and blocks my path. He grabs my hand and uses SimCom with the other. “He’s going to quit after our Seattle show.”
I yank my hand away. “W-what?! He can’t! I left so he can stay in the band!”
“I know. But he won’t listen to anyone. Especially not me—”
“No shit,” I murmur, but he ignores me.
“—and you’re the only person who has a chance to get through to him.” He grabs his phone and flips the screen toward me. He shows me a VIP ticket in his Apple Wallet for tonight’s concert. “You have to come and talk— —him.”
“Don’t tell me what I ‘have’ to do!” I huff. “This is real rich coming from you. So, what, you see the value in our relationship now?” I bite down on my cheek. “I can’t go. Have his family talk to him, maybe, but I’ll ruin everything.”
“Everything is already fucking ruined!” he snaps.
“And whose fault is that?!”
Dirty blond hair falls in his eyes as he hangs his head. He scrubs hands over his face before looking at me. “Natalie…” he starts, wetness forming in his ocean eyes, emotion bleeding through the calculated calmness I’ve come to expect from him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse for how I acted or treated you, and— —don’t expect you to forgive me.
Actually, you shouldn’t forgive me, but seeing Lix absolutely head over heels for someone hurt more than— —thought, and I snapped.
I never should have gone behind your backs.
You make him so happy, in— —way I”—he falters, voice breaking—“in a way I never could. I love Felix, but that’s not his problem. Or yours.”
My jaw hits the ground. What the hell?!
“Lachlan … you’re … in love with Felix?” I stammer, unable to comprehend the bombshell he just dropped.
Lachlan wasn’t being a shithead because he had a crush on me … He was in love with Felix and wanted me out of the way?! (As if that isn’t the I-need-to-stop-making-assumptions-about-others icing on the cake. Good lord.)
He rubs his eyes, nodding. “I didn’t want to lose him, so— — tried to keep you apart. But I’m going— —lose him anyway. We all are. There’s no DAYDREAM without Felix, and it seems that there’s no Felix without Natalie.”
“Lachlan…” I shake my head in disbelief. “I appreciate the apology, but you or the boys or his family will have to convince him. I’m not going.”
“Please! You’re the only one he might actually listen to.” I gulp. He works his jaw but ultimately backs down. “OK. Fine.” His hands are weak as he signs. “But I’ll email you the ticket anyway. Think about it.” He plucks my business card off the desk and leaves.
I double over and squeeze my eyes shut, lip pressed between my teeth, willing myself not to cry as memories are thrust to the forefront of my mind.
Felix’s heat shielding me from biting nighttime wind, the stolen moments where we escaped and explored, the arsenal of supplies in his PRADA fanny pack. Memories of the tour and the feeling of loving and being loved are seared into the depths of my soul.
No, I tell myself. I can’t.
The thought cuts through me like an order, a command I repeat in my mind. I have to stay away. For Felix’s own good. Memories can’t rewrite the rules, and my feelings—dangerous, complicated feelings—can’t cloud my judgment.
Time on the lobby’s wall clock passes with ruthless precision. 5:28 p.m. By now, the boys are backstage, reconnecting with their families, while fans buzz with anticipation outside the venue.
This is torture.
I try to distract myself by going through mail. My mindless, zombielike sorting halts when I come across a white envelope hand-addressed to me. There’s no return address.
I swallow a clump of nerves as I slice into it with the letter opener.
Please don’t be another huge bill. I take the letter out and unfold it; a smaller slip of paper and a USB drive fall out.
I snatch the paper before it floats to the ground, and my eyes widen in disbelief. It’s a cashier’s check for $23,500.
Picking my jaw off the floor, I lean down and grab the USB drive, which has a pink sticky note attached to it. It’s impossible to tell if my heartbeat speeds up or stops completely as I read the familiar and charmingly messy handwriting.
WATCH THIS AFTER READING THE LETTER.
THANK YOU FOR EVRYTHING.
XXX
With shaky hands, I turn my attention to the longer letter.
NAT,
I’M NOT SURE WHERE TO START. YOUR BETTER WITH WORDS THEN ME.
1—I TRIED FOLLOWING MY DREAMS I crank the volume. Bold text on a black screen appears.
Story of Our Love
Written by Felix Song
Shot and edited by DAYDREAM
My breath catches in my throat as Felix appears on-screen. He’s standing on a surfboard on a beach while Calum steadies him. I recognize it from LA.
Subtitles at the bottom of the screen appear as the song starts.
The scenes in the video keep changing, and I remember nearly every one.
I even filmed some. From Will being sprayed by water guns and Mateo’s alligator-induced meltdown in Miami, to Calum and Felix holding hands at the National Mall, to footage from various concerts and them holding up state flags onstage.
Tears well in my eyes as footage from Rockefeller Center plays. Felix’s ruby-red cheeks as he accidentally does a split, his dark eyes clearly focused on someone off-camera, his impossibly wide smile as I’m telling awful jokes triggers agonizing pain straight into my heart.
It’s like I can physically feel my heart crumbling into dust, every suppressed emotion suddenly raw and bleeding again.
More clips play—Calum throwing the first pitch at Fenway Park, Lachlan and Felix laughing in the gem hall, and clips from cities I wasn’t there for.
San Antonio, Phoenix, Portland. I try to focus on the subtitles through watery eyes.
(Verse 1) Oh, our love was like the summer breeze
Gone too fast, wild and free
Hand in hand, we found our way
You were a risk I loved to take
(Bridge) Underneath the stars, we talked ’til dawn
Silence and sound, the difference in our lives
Walking in the wind, hidden in the shadow of doubt
You and I came together in the haze of fleeting summer days
(Chorus) Did I not hold on tight? How did I go and lose my light?
In the story of our love, this chapter ended far too soon
The story of our love was an honor to write
(Outro) So here’s to us, the love we shared
Though seasons change, my heart stays true
In the story of our love, I’ll always choose you
As the video ends, tears cascade down my face. I furiously wipe them away, but my chest heaves, and shocks of regret and guilt shoot through me. But after watching it again to make sure it isn’t some lovesick hallucination, I burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.
I’m so desperately in love with Felix Song I feel it in my very core.
My love for him is woven into the fabric of who I’ve become over these past few months.
I love him so much I don’t even balk at the fact he sent a $23,500 cashier’s check in the mail as nonchalantly as my grandma sends birthday cards with five bucks.
This letter and song and video, beyond a shadow of a doubt, solidify my choice: I’m going to the concert. I’m going to say everything I never got to. I’m never going to leave his side again.
Jo watches in perplexed alarm as I launch out of the chair and scramble for my keys. “Where are you going?!”
One foot out the door, I hurriedly reply, “I’m getting my boy back.”