Chapter 9 #2
My hand tightens on the mic stand as I look out into the empty rows of seats at Carnegie Hall, where I’ve been rehearsing for my VMA performance all afternoon.
The red chairs where Paul, Connie, Lucy, and the team were all sitting an hour ago are now empty.
They’d said something about needing to head back to the hotel, to go over things for the week ahead.
They’d left me with the band and our sound engineer.
Rob had stayed behind, but he's nowhere to be seen.
“Let’s take it from the top,” Freddy shouts from the drum kit behind me. He starts the backing track in my in-ear monitors. I count the measures, waiting for where I come in as Andy plays the opening guitar chords for Stolen Moments.
The double-paneled doors at the back of the hall open, and Rob enters, Christopher following behind.
Both walk down the red carpet and stop a few rows from the front.
Christopher stands there, staring at me, looking handsome in a brown polo shirt, cream cardigan, and jeans, as Rob leaves him and exits through the side door.
I loosen my grip on the mic stand, desperately fighting the urge to jump down from the stage to hug him and kiss him, but I need to nail this medley. The transition between Stolen Moments and My Anchor is still filled with teething issues.
Thankfully, Freddy came up with the ingenious solution of having me set the guitar on a stand behind me when I finish Stolen Moments and then walking over to the baby grand piano to play My Anchor, rather than having Aiden play the track.
The only issue is that we need another two bars of music so there’s enough time for me to make the instrument switch.
Thankfully, this time Freddy double loops the previous two measures, and I make it over to the piano, kickstarting the second verse to My Anchor.
I try to stay focused on the performance, but I’m transfixed by Christopher. His hazel irises are hypnotic. My eyes well up with tears as I sing the lyrics, thinking about how he used to be my anchor, but now I’m lost without him in my life.
I swallow down my regret and push through to the end. Freddy lets out a Fuck yeah! as we finish, bashing his drum sticks on the cymbals.
“Great work, guys,” I say into the microphone and remove my in-ears, letting them flop onto my grey T-shirt.
“I’ll get those two bars sorted out tonight, then bounce the track across,” Freddy says, getting up from his drum stool.
“No rush,” I say, though I know Paul is probably on his back. The VMAs invariably want all the music with them before the dress rehearsals, so they aren’t blindsided by any issues.
“See y’all tomorrow.” I leave the guys and jump down to where Christopher stands at the front of the stage.
“That was great,” he says, clapping as I go to hug him.
Christopher doesn’t stop me from embracing him this time.
“There’s still some bits to sort out, but I’m glad you like it.” I nestle my nose in right by his neck, breathing in his scent.
“Have you changed your cologne?”
“Yeah. Burberry Hero.”
“Ah, keeping on the Burberry brand I see.” I pull lightly at his brown Burberry polo shirt. “You can take the boy out of England, but you can’t take England out of the boy.”
“Yep, eighty percent sarcasm, and twenty percent colonial guilt.” His infectious laugh worms its way into my ears.
Oh, how I’ve missed his laugh. That smile of his. His warm body pressed against mine.
I want to soak in this moment for as long as possible, but I know there’s a difficult conversation to be had.
“Let’s head up to the dressing room.”
As I lead him out of the hall and up the stairs, Rob joins us and follows behind.
Once we’ve settled in the small, cramped dressing room, an awkward silence ensues. One of us has to break the tension, so I go with the question that’s been haunting me for weeks.
“Why didn’t you return my voicemail?”
My gaze slides toward him to gauge his reaction.
I rest my bum on a small wooden table. Lightbulbs framing the edges of the mirror behind me cast my shadow over Christopher, who sits on the worn-out couch in the corner.
Looking down, I see a few specks of white dust—the cocaine I’d snorted earlier—left on the surface next to me, and I quickly flick them away with my finger.
“Oh, we’re jumping straight in?” Christopher leans forward. “No lubing me up first. Well, if that’s the case, why did you leave me in your hotel suite without the decency to let me know what was happening or to say goodbye?” The corners of his eyes crinkle. His smile is replaced by a frown.
My heart drops to my feet. A boulder-sized lump forms in my throat.
In all the pain and rejection I’d felt when he didn’t respond to my voicemail, I’d forgotten how hurt he must have been that I left so abruptly.
“I wanted to.” I move toward him and sit down on the couch beside him. “But Rob and Lucy came in that morning, grabbed all my stuff, and rushed me out the hotel.”
Christopher edges away from me, making the growing distance between us feel more like an ocean.
“But you could have woken me up. Left a note. You could have given me a heads up. Instead, I was startled awake by housekeeping, with no clue what had happened to you.” A moth flapping by a lightbulb draws his focus away from me.
“I wanted to, I really did, but Rob rushed me out to get the flight. I’m sorry. I really am.” I rake my fingers through my hair, scraping them over my head and down through my beard. I feel clammy, itchy.
“You were my boyfriend.” His eyes swirl with growing anger.
“I still can be.” I’m desperate to reignite the flame between us that turned to ashes.
Christopher gets up and moves toward the window, looking out. The gap between us is now so wide that I feel like I’m losing him. And if I’m going to lose him, then I might as well ask about the other issue that’s plagued my thoughts.
“Why were you so quick to sign the agreement?”
Christopher turns from the window back toward me.
“I thought you wanted me to sign it.” His tone is now less accusatory, more despondent.
“I never—”
“I know. Connie told me the truth last night.” His shoulders drop as he reaches for a bottle of water from the table, then tenses as he twists firmly at the bottle cap when it won’t come undone.
“Told you what?” I shake my head at this revelation.
“That you hadn’t approved of the idea to pay me off and silence me, to cut all communication. That she felt bad for the way it was handled, the way I was handled.”
“Connie did that?” Anger and gratitude collide inside me. At what she did back then and what she’s done now to make amends.
“Can we forget about them? They’re not the main issue here.” Christopher takes a sip of water and returns to the couch.
“I’m sorry about the way I handled things, I truly am. The one thing I always insisted on was you were not made to be the scapegoat,” I say.
There’s an awkward beat as Christopher goes to speak, then stops himself. He takes a deep breath and straightens his back before continuing.
“I get that, but it still hurt to not know any of that, to be discarded so flippantly.” Christopher lowers his face to look at the bottle.
“I didn’t have my phone the whole time. Paul had taken it away.
And as soon as I got it back, you were the first person I called.
” I reach out, lifting his chin upward to face me.
“I even left you a voicemail. But you never responded to that, or to any of my calls. So I just assumed you wanted nothing to do with me.”
“I was hurt and angry.” His pupils dilate.
I can feel the last of the heartstrings tying us together fraying. I start panicking as I run out of options for how to handle this. I need to do something, anything, to stop this from heading in the wrong direction.
“Let me make it up to you.” I grab each of his arms, taken momentarily aback by the size of them. “Oh, wow! Someone’s been working out.”
“I’ve been working on my fitness.” He fights back a smile.
I run my hands from his biceps down to the bottom of his polo shirt, lifting it up to reveal a six-pack.
“Damn, I guess your sister won’t be calling you pigeon belly anymore.” I slide my hand further down, over his jeans, and feel his cock stiffen.
“Stop.” Christopher yanks my hand away. “Just stop.”
His words are a blow straight to my chest.
My heart is broken by the ice in his tone, even though I know it masks his true hurt.
My vision blurs.
“Are you telling me there’s no way back for us? From this?” A tear starts to flow down my cheek.
Christopher stares at me with an odd intensity.
His jaw clenches, like he’s fighting back what he really wants to say.
“You can’t just expect me to forgive and forget in one five-minute conver—”
Banging on the door interrupts Christopher mid-sentence.
“Not now!” Anger comes up in my throat as Rob opens the door.
“We need to leave.” Rob ignores me and grabs my bag.
“We haven’t finished,” I say and try to grab the bag off him.
“He can join us, but we need to leave.” Rob snaps the bag from my grip with one yank.
The room fills with a silent tension as Rob stares at me. Christopher’s gaze drifts between Rob and me. There’s so much still left to say, and I don’t want to leave things between us as they are.
“Come with us, so we can finish this conversation? I promise that whatever you decide, I’ll respect your decision.” I hedge my bets in the hope it buys me more time, that it will give me more of a chance to fix things between us.
After an awkward pause, Christopher finally nods. Not at me, though, but at Rob.