Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“Yo, what is up with you?” Eli asks, bumping my shoulder with his as he passes. “Why’re you acting like someone shit on your kit again?”
I fire a tight grimace at my bass player. “ Again ?”
His smirk triggers all kinds of questions as I return to my absent strum of the guitar in my lap.
I never told the others about Luke. There was no point getting their hopes up until I checked out the situation, and now I’m glad I didn’t.
The trip here to Richmond was brutal. No amount of burying myself in my phone and laptop could block out the constant replay of everything that happened since I showed up at Luke’s suite the other day. It stings that my presence didn’t seem to have any impact on my friend.
But hers has.
She broke through somehow. That girl woke something in Luke. I saw it at breakfast. The spell clearly didn’t last, but it was enough to offer hope, even though I have no clue what to do next.
“I’m fine. Just tired,” I assure him .
“It’s your own fault for cramming your personal shit between shows. Where’d you go anyway?”
Sweeny stops in the doorway of the green room, his gaze landing on me with the same question Eli just asked.
God, I hate lying to the guys, but what else can I say? They’re still pissed at Luke for leaving us. Luke is pissed at me for existing. I don’t need to close the “pissed” loop.
“I told you. Family stuff. Molly had a thing.” I return my attention to the guitar, hoping they won’t probe further. “I think we should cut ‘Better Get Back’ from the set.”
“ What?!” my bandmates cry, the previous topic forgotten.
Mission accomplished.
“That’s our biggest track!” Sweeny says.
“Did you see the crowd at sound check?” I return.
“There was no one here at sound check. Doors weren’t even open yet.”
“Exactly.”
I push up from the couch to head backstage. That confusing exchange should keep them busy for a while.
They’re still mumbling to each other about whatever’s up my ass as I escape down the hall. The fact that this place even has a green room was a surprise.
Another surprise? The scratch of new lyrics and melodies that’s been haunting me since I boarded the plane yesterday. It’s not a full song yet, but it’s enough to know I’m in deep shit.
I’ve spent the last five years surrounded by celebrities and beautiful women, and it’s some random girl in a diner who’s cemented herself in my brain. A woman I will probably never see again.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
Nothing in me wants to entertain this weird compulsion, but I find myself pulling out my phone anyway. I open the notes app and start typing. Maybe just writing things down will purge them from my turbulent head .
For a few minutes, I dump the strange words onto the notepad. It feels good just to be writing again—until I read them back.
A chill runs through me at what I just wrote.
“I can only dream of ending all the waiting
Praying that I’ll see you again
Traveling the world, I’ve seen so many others
But I can’t keep from thinking of you
But I still walk alone
Should I just move along
Only time will tell
If I can be the one inside your dreams
Can it be me?”
What the actual hell?!
I scrub at my face and stare at the sappy lyrics that make no sense. My finger hovers over the delete button. Embarrassed and confused, I re-read the lines from the wing of the stage as the dull murmur of the crowd evolves into a cheer when the lights come down.
Delete it. Let it go. There’s nothing for you in that damn city.
A smack on the arm startles me, and I glance up to see Marcus with a questioning look on his face.
“You good, dude?” our contract guitarist asks as our intro music blares through the house.
“Fine, why?”
Instinctively, I shut off my phone and shove it in my gig bag beside a crate. I feel Marcus studying me like he caught me with stolen contraband instead of inappropriate lyrics about a woman I’ve known for five whole minutes.
“Let’s do this!” Eli bellows, ending the awkward moment.
He and Sweeny join us to prepare for our entrance, and I plaster a smile on my face .
For the next two hours we pretend all this shit still means something.
We’re thirty-six minutes into an interview at a luxury hotel in L.A., and my brain is exploding. Eli and Sweeny have had to field most of the questions, because I can’t get my head out of a different hotel suite on the other side of the country.
It’s been four days since I saw Luke. Four days of lying to my bandmates, acting like nothing’s changed when my entire universe has been shoved off-axis. Nothing is right anymore. Nothing makes sense, and I?—
“Casey, you’ve been quiet,” the journalist says, drawing me back to my present hell. “This next one is for you.”
I return a tight smile as dread pools in my stomach.
I begged TJ to postpone this interview, but the Label wouldn’t have it.
Supposedly, this feature in Songset Magazine is going to be the catalyst that propels us back to the top.
I would have laughed when he said that if…
Wait, no. I did laugh. Which is why he’s still pissed at me.
Our manager blasts me with a warning look from where he’s leaning against a wall behind the journalist.
I divert my gaze back to the other probing stare locked on me.
Kara Corbin. This woman has made plenty of careers.
Ruined plenty more. Only Mila Taylor did more damage to us after what happened a year ago, and I still don’t understand why the Label thought a feature written by the industry’s queen of shit-stirring was a good idea.
Redemption arcs only work if all parties are on the same page. Based on the direction of this interview, we’re in different libraries.
“Your fall from grace has been well-publicized over this past year.” Her tone isn’t exactly smug, but it isn’t exactly not. I lock my glare behind a bored expression. “What are you doing to make yourself relevant again?”
The blow hits hard and fast. Even TJ winces as he turns a pleading look on me.
My fist clenches in my lap. Maybe I’m even more annoyed at her attempt to be delicate. Not sure why the hell they’d start now after ripping me and my life apart for the last twelve months.
“You mean are we planning to relaunch a new brand without Luke or are we going to continue limping along as a pathetic shadow of our former glory?” I fire back.
“Casey…” TJ warns.
My bandmates fidget uncomfortably beside me.
“What? That’s what she’s really asking, isn’t it?”
She returns a casual shrug. “Sure, that’s one aspect. Don’t you think your fans deserve to know what the future holds? There are rumors you’re planning to walk away from Night Shifts Black to pursue other projects.”
The room goes still. All eyes lock on me with silent horror and betrayal.
“I never said that. Not once,” I hiss. “Who told you that?”
Her eyes bore into me. “So it’s not true.”
“No. Of course not.”
“So you’re writing new music for Night Shifts Black?”
“I…” Everyone is looking at me. My heart slams against my ribs. Pressure builds around my eyes, my chest.
Think!
God, I just want to melt into this couch and disappear.
“Casey? Are you writing new music for Night Shifts Black? It’s a simple question.”
Kara’s accusatory gaze slices into me, already flashing with the cruel glint of victory.
“Yes,” I lie to a chorus of surprise. “Yes, I’m working on new music.”
“But I still walk alone… Should I just move along…”
Maybe it’s not a lie thanks to the mystery breakfast club girl. Technically, I am writing again after all this time, even if it’s just a few baffling lines that will never see the light of day.
“Really.” Her tone is skeptical as she leans back in her chair. Her gaze sifts over me, and my heart beats faster at the challenge pooling in her eyes. “Anything you can tease for your fans? We’ve been waiting a while.”
“Not yet,” I say. “But it will be epic.”
I hide a cringe at the grave I’m digging. As if I don’t have enough of those sprinkled around me.
“Okay, then let me ask you this. I have Jana Furmali on record saying you told her Night Shifts Black was done and she broke off the recent engagement with you after you cheated on her. How do you respond to that?”
By fighting the urge to detonate.
My blood boils as I stare at her in disbelief.
“Casey, how do you respond?” she repeats.
“That you shouldn’t be looking to my bitter ex for anything on-the-record about me.”
“So it’s not true?”
“No.”
“What about her claims that there’s more to the night you and Luke overdosed than people know about? According to her, the two of you were in a violent fight and he assaulted you?—”
“Enough!” I jump up from the couch. “This is bullshit,” I snap at TJ. “I’m not doing this.”
“Casey,” TJ warns. “You promised. You have to…” He goes quiet at my hostile look.
“I have to… what? Defend more ridiculous rumors I’ve already addressed a hundred times? The world knows more about me than I do, apparently! Everyone does, so why are we even here?” I wave around the room. “What’s this accomplishing?”
Targeted stares burn through me from all sides. Shock and anger from my bandmates. Smug glee from Kara and the producers. Abject fear from my manager who’s watching his biggest account slip into oblivion.
And I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being a symbol and a prop and a fucking chess piece for other people to drag over a board while they monetize my trauma.
“So there was an assault. Is that really what landed you in the hospital? Is that the real reason for the split? Casey!”
Her questions become shouts as I storm away.
“Are you getting this?” a producer hisses.
“Got it,” a camera operator says.
I ignore them and smash through the door.
Tears pound the backs of my eyes as I tear down the hall toward my hotel room. My hands are shaking, my head pounds with old scars and fresh wounds. God, everything hurts, and I can barely function enough to open my door.
As soon as I do, I slam it shut, secure all the locks, and slide to the floor.
Arms trembling, I wrap them around my legs and rest my forehead on my knees. Sobs form in my chest and work their way up my throat. I shake my head and swallow them back down in painful gulps.
I never give in to them. I can’t. I have to be the strong one. I’m the one who stayed. The one who survived. The one who was here to bear the brunt of the anger and abuse and frustration and exploitation. Just like I was my entire life.
Casey Barrett, the invincible shield who takes the blows meant for everyone else .
But I’m not invincible. I’m scared and alone and just as broken as the ones I’m protecting.
I pull out my phone with unsteady hands.
I don’t even know what I’m planning to do with it.
Molly is studying abroad in Europe, but I don’t dump my pain on my little sister anyway.
I don’t dump it on anyone, and that’s the problem.
I only take it. Absorb it and internalize it so other people can survive, even though it never works.
All it does is turn me from a victim to an enemy when I’m not enough to save them.
Please. I need you. I can’t do this alone anymore. Please don’t leave me in this hell alone anymore.
The words blur through my tears. I’m shaking so hard I can barely type them out. In a hazy pocket of agony, I press send before I realize what I did.
When I do, my phone clatters to the floor, my head falls to my knees, and I break down for the first time since that night.
I wake to an aggressive bang.
The sound reverberates through me, and I realize it’s coming from the door behind me. It’s not the first one I’ve felt since escaping to my room. I ignored the others until they finally stopped and I fell into a fitful sleep.
With the blinds drawn, I can’t tell what time it is, but nothing’s changed since I left the private lounge on the second floor of the hotel.
“Casey!”
Every inch of my body is cramped and sore as I try to push up from the floor. Another pound on the door is interrupted by a second voice.
“He wants to be alone. ”
“He needs to fix this!”
“Fuck, dude, cut him a break, will you?”
“It’s your career on the line too!”
“Yeah? Well, maybe he’s right. Maybe this is over.”
“How can you say that?! He’s being selfish.”
“He’s being a fucking human being! You suits keep treating him like some damn commodity! He’s a person. His life was ripped apart. Worse than the rest of us. I’m tired of this. You want to keep torturing him, fine, but I’m done.”
“Sweeny! Hey! Jeff!”
I clench my eyes shut. There are no tears left, just scratchy pain as I try to soothe the burn inside and out.
I know who’s standing on the other side of the door. All he wants is confirmation that I’m not broken. That once I finish pouting, I’ll pull myself back together and play my puppet role with a smile on my face like every other time.
But I can’t do it right now. I can’t take more criticism and anger and disappointment. Even worse would be the pity if anyone saw me like this.
My phone buzzes near my head, and I roll my aching eyes toward the illuminated screen.
The surface is covered with notifications.
Probably missed texts and phone calls from my bandmates and TJ.
Maybe a diatribe or two from the Label when word got back to them about the disastrous interview.
I’ll pay dearly for that, but it’s hard to care when it feels like I have nothing left to lose.
Last night, I broke.
Today…
I don’t know yet.
I push up to my elbows, testing my limbs and my blurry vision. My phone flashes again, and I can’t help the programmed response of checking the notification.
My heart stutters in my chest.
Can’t be .
I scoop up the phone for a closer look and activate the screen.
The name is unmistakable. Not TJ or the Label or a bandmate, but the last person I expect to see.
A new text. A reason to keep going and force myself to confront the reality of what I’ve done.
I unlock the phone and scroll to my messages. Sure enough, there’s an unread stream at the top…
From Luke.
My heart pounds as anxiety erupts in my stomach. The next few words could make or break me, and I don’t even know what response would do which. No matter what that message says, everything will change when I open it.
I command my shaking finger to click on it and stop breathing for several long seconds.
Luke: I know dude. Me too. Come back. I need you too.