Chapter 25 Alexander
Friday
Thoughts collide, merge, blend, tangle, separate, and merge again in my mind.
My heart beats against the walls of my chest, like a trapped hummingbird in a glass jar.
Of all the names he could call me, Skater Boy, Chicken Wing, Al, Alex, Alexander, he called me by his ex’s name. Ryan. Worse, it’s the same name as Samuel’s ex. And Samuel had done the same thing right after we’d gotten together.
My body shudders at the sense of Déjà vu.
Rob bursts into the bedroom, scanning every inch of the room, before his gaze land on me.
“Everything okay in here?” He looks between me in my briefs on the bed and Christopher, collapsed into one of the armchairs with his head in his hands.
“He needs to go.” I point at Christopher, cutting him a look to let him know I am angry and hurt. His shoulders sag as he lifts his head to meet my gaze.
Rob takes three strides toward Christopher, before Christopher lifts a hand.
“Rob, I’m not going to do anything to him. Can you just sit between us, help Alex understand it was a mistake?” Fear lines his every word, but I’m too angry to care.
“Boss?” Rob diverts his gaze back to me.
“A mistake is messing up the lyrics on stage or forgetting to turn your alarm on—not calling your boyfriend by your ex-boyfriends name.” I grip the edge of the bed so tightly that my fingers begin to tingle.
Rob takes a step back, leaning up against the cabinet. The TV on top wobbles slightly before Rob reaches over to steady it.
“Is that what this is all about?” Rob asks, raising an eyebrow.
What the hell?
Is Rob taking Christopher’s side?
Am I overreacting?
Wouldn’t anyone lose their shit if their partner called them by their ex’s name?
“Your loyalty is to me!” I poke my finger into my chest as I rise from the bed.
Rob’s expression is wiped clean like a chalkboard. It’s replaced with the same look he gives me when I go against his command and he’s left compromised.
“No. My loyalty is to your safety. And after this week, it seems I need to protect you even more. Not from Christopher. Not from your fans. But from yourself.” His deep tone reverberates in my chest.
“It was a stupid mistake,” Christopher says, sitting upright. “I promise you, you’re the only guy I care about. The only one I want to be with.” His eyes are cloudy as they meet mine.
I feel as if the walls of the room are closing in on me, squeezing all the air from my lungs. Both Rob and Christopher stare at me, waiting for a response. But my thoughts are still zooming at a million miles an hour.
“I need a minute.” I walk by both of them toward the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind me.
“Leave the door open,” Rob shouts, and I release my grip from the door.
The toilet seat stares back at me, and I get an instant flashback to the bottles of Belvedere on the floor. The papers scattered everywhere. Me collapsed in a helpless state after Christopher stormed out.
How is it fair that I’m always painted as the bad guy?
That I’m always the one left in the wrong?
I shake my head, and step toward the sink, trying to control the burning behind my eyes, then turn my focus to the mirror, practicing the box breathing that helps me regulate before I go on stage.
In for four.
Hold for four.
Out for four.
Hold for four.
I complete ten rounds, and then stare at my reflection long and hard. Wondering how many other things in life I’ve overreacted to. What I’ve misjudged and flew off the handle over.
I make my way back into the bedroom, where Christopher is now sitting on the bench at the end of the bed opposite Rob.
“Maybe I did overreact.”
“You have every right to be pissed,” Chris says. “But I promise you, he’s a distant memory now. He’s in the rearview mirror; you’re my dashboard view. My future. Heck, I can reverse and run him over just to prove it to you.”
A little smirk appears on his face, prompting an answering smile on mine.
“We good here?” Rob asks, waving his finger between the pair of us.
“I think so,” I say, looking at Christopher. He nods.
“Good. I’ll leave you both to it.” Rob pushes himself away from the cabinet, making the TV wobble again, but this time he leaves it. “Oh, and if you start screaming and shouting for a different reason, a little heads-up wouldn’t go amiss.” He laughs as he heads to the door, shutting it behind him.
Christopher motions to me to join him on the bench and I sit down beside him.
“We’re not very good at conflict, are we.” He reaches for my hand.
“No, but then we do get to make up after,” I say. I lift my hand but bypass his, reaching for his crotch. Christopher stops me.
“I’m genuinely sorry.” He raises his hands to cup my face. “I’m in this for the long haul.” The glisten in his eyes causes discomfort inside me, and I fidget on the bench.
I’m so used to resolving conflicts with sex, avoidance, or money that I’m thrown by Christopher’s genuine bid for emotional connection.
“You can call me anything, but promise me you’ll never call me by his name again,” I say. His long dark eyelashes bat up and down, distracting me.
“Sure thing, chicken wing,” he says, winking at me before pushing me back on the bed.
Saturday
One more day. One more show.
One more day. One more show.
I continue repeating the words in my head as I brush my teeth in the mirror.
I can’t believe that after nearly ten months on the road, I’m actually at the end of the tour. The end of this album cycle. And to top it all off, My Anchor is number one here in the UK and in the top five in America.
Not only that, but the live album seems to be going down well online, and I’m due to record the studio version of Stolen Moments downstairs in one of the hotel rooms today. Freddy has been there all night, working away on the track.
I did question why we were recording in a hotel room and not a proper studio, since there are so many historic studios here in London, but Paul said time wasn’t on our side and that Kanye and Jay Z had recorded their whole album in hotel rooms. One Direction recorded their last album on the road in hotel rooms too.
Plus, I guess there’s something cool about recording Stolen Moments in the same hotel I wrote it in.
Freddy had texted me earlier to alleviate my other concern about the noise, reassuring me that with the room facing into the atrium and not the street outside, we wouldn’t pick up anything, and we can use a duvet to soundproof when laying down my vocals.
I return to the room and see Christopher sitting upright, scrolling through his phone. It’s a sight I could get used to seeing every day, but I realize that after tomorrow we won’t be in the same hotel anymore.
“What happens when we get back to Los Angeles?” I ask, pulling a T-shirt on.
“What do you mean?” He rests his phone on his lap.
“Like, what’s your life like back there?”
“As in my schedule?
“Yeah.”
“Well, I work Monday through Friday, the usual hours when I’m in town, and I have to go into the office a minimum of three days a week in Culver City.” He stretches his arms above his head as he lets out a yawn.
“What’s usual hours? My schedule is all over the place, so my usual hours are anything but usual.”
They’ve been anything but usual since I was fourteen. Even when I was younger and the law mandated it, Paul managed to find a way round it.
“You really do lead a different life don’t you?” Christopher says, removing his earbuds and swinging his legs around to get out of the bed and come toward me.
“It’s the only life I’ve known.” I shrug.
“Is your life as mad as this back home?” Christopher draws the curtains back to look down at the road below. The faint sound of the fans is omnipresent, as always.
“Oh God no. My place is in a gated area in the hills off Mulholland, and there’s quite a few places down in the Valley where I’m left alone.” I make my way over to the window to join him, and he puts his arm around me, squeezing me inward as he kisses my forehead.
I’ve never really been a fan of LA, but it does provide me with a level of anonymity that most other places in the world don’t. And that allows me to go about my business and live a somewhat normal life.
“My favorite English pub is in the Valley. Me and my housemate go every Sunday for sausage rolls and a chip buttie and watch soccer. Then we make our way across to the best Indian place in town in the early afternoon.”
“A chip buttie?” I scrunch my face up, trying to grapple with the turn of phrase.
Christopher releases me, turning around and gripping my arms.
“Oh my God, you have to try one. It’s carbalicious. It’s what you’d call steak fries in a buttered roll, and I smother it with vinegar and ketchup. It’s an orgasm in the mouth.”
“The only orgasm I want in my mouth is that or that,” I say. I look pointedly down at his boxers and then over to my iced coffee on the bedside table.
Christopher rolls his eyes and pushes my shoulder as he shakes his head.
“Maybe I’ll take you there when we get back?”
“Will you now?” I smirk and head to retrieve my coffee.
“If you’ll take me to your favorite haunt?” Christopher turns back to face me.
Christopher’s phone begins ringing and I let out a squeal, my cheeks immediately flushing as the noise leaves my mouth. Christopher snorts as he jumps across the bed to retrieve it, answering and putting it on speaker.
“Where are you?” An angry voice echoes out of the phone.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, turning back to me and mouthing Kelly.
“Everything! The makeup artist has rung to say she’s ill with the flu and now I have no one to do our makeup.
The wedding dress is too tight, and the shop doesn’t open for another hour, so I don’t know if they can send a seamstress to alter the dress.
And Mum’s driving me insane.” Panic is etched into her voice.
“It’s going to be okay,” Christopher says, trying to reassure her. But his expression tells me he’s not sure what to do.
“I have an idea,” I say, heading to unplug my phone from the charger.
“Who’s that?” Kelly asks.