The Night We Fell

Chapter 1

One

ATLAS

“It’s not me. It’s you.”

The words struck me as odd. As wrong, which was strange because he said that shit to me all the time to try and get under my skin.

But I realized that wasn’t the problem. The problem was, I was supposed to be saying it.

Those were the words meant to leave my lips because I wasn’t the fucking problem here and never had been.

It’s not me Raleigh, it’s you.

It was him—him and his fucked-up, warped sense of love.

Him and his narcissistic affection that left me chasing crumbs when he felt like I was reaching the end of my tolerance for his bullshit.

Him and his years and years of affairs he somehow convinced me to forgive him for. And now he was dumping me?

The laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. The profound look of disbelief on my face was wide and in the open before I could tuck it behind apathy. “Grey-rock him,” my therapist had told me. If I wanted to manage his attempts to emotionally manipulate me, I had to learn to grey-rock.

But I wasn’t good at that. To do what I had to do, I had to be aware and in touch with my emotions at all times.

I was a musician. A lyricist. A fucking performer.

I always had been.

I hadn’t realized that becoming the main fucking entrée in the bullshit world of being famous would come with a side dish of constantly being scrutinized and told that I was somehow too much and too little for him to love me back the way I wanted to be loved.

But the fact remained: I was who I was.

I couldn’t hide it.

And Raleigh was going to take full advantage of that now.

“I’ve outgrown you.” He smiled when he said those words, knowing they’d hurt. And maybe I flinched, I don’t know, but his grin got a little meaner.

Something in me snapped, and the pain I’d been keeping under wraps was bubbling to the surface.

I felt panicked for a second because I didn’t want him to know, but I couldn’t hide it anymore.

There was an intense sense of desperation in me to be able to draw out even the smallest bit of empathy from him.

To prove that I hadn’t wasted all these years with a soulless monster who didn’t give two fucks about me.

But I knew the truth the moment our eyes met and I could see he was high on knowing he was causing me pain. His pupils were wide, consuming all of his irises. He was getting off on this.

“You have really shit timing,” I muttered in spite of knowing that more words would only make this worse.

I don’t know why I pulled up my calendar and looked at the date, like somehow he would care.

Like I could point out it was Christmas Eve and he’d have a change of heart.

I wanted to ask him why he couldn’t dig deep into the hollow aluminum lump in his chest that cosplayed as a fucking heart and not do this to me right now.

But if I did that, it would only give him more ways to hurt me, so my logic kicked in, and I took a breath before responding.

“Fine.” That’s all I could give. That’s all I had left in me.

He sighed and reached out to cup my cheek the way he always did when he was trying to get his way, but I yanked my head back from him.

He looked different to me suddenly. He wasn’t the man I’d been fucking and—against everyone’s better judgment—falling in love with since we were two dipshits playing rush week parties on our college campus.

Now he looked…older. Worn. Like a man desperately trying to cling to his youth, and I was simply a reminder that we couldn’t move backward in time. The guy I’d caught him with this time—the fresh-faced, mesh-wearing groupie—could probably make him feel something.

He could most certainly be more athletic and acrobatic in bed than I was. I wasn’t old enough for age-related arthritis yet, but my bones were tired from years on the road.

I wasn’t new anymore.

I wasn’t as pretty as I used to be.

And I was content in that.

I laughed in his face as I dodged his second attempt to touch me, and he reared back.

“Don’t do this, Atlas,” he said, a coldness to his voice. “You don’t want to lose me.”

I scoffed. What, exactly, was I losing here?

The tattered remains of my heart he’d stomped on with those ugly-ass, studded black boots with the two-inch heel because he was insecure about being shorter than me?

Midnight arguments and sleep deprivation because Raleigh thought it was funny when I made a fool of myself in interviews, and he liked to use that as punishment when he felt like I was mouthing off too much.

Or the long nights of drinking myself to sleep because god only knew where he was.

Or how about the gifts that didn’t quite hit the mark.

Like the cheap ring he got me when I pressed him on commitment and he wanted to shut me up.

Or the mugs he picked up at a gas station when I pointed out he’d forgotten our anniversary for the fifth year in a row.

Oh, and the clothes he bought me that weren’t my style and never fit right, and the flowers that died on hotel balconies because I was allergic to roses, and he always—always—fucking got me roses when he wanted to apologize.

God, what was I even doing here? Why had I let this go on for so long?

“I think you broke him,” the mesh-covered arm candy said. I’d forgotten Raleigh had brought his side piece into the room to witness the breakup.

I smiled at Raleigh, and he eased back a bit, looking a little…oh, was he worried? “I’ll have someone bring you your shit from the loft.”

He stared. “What do you—”

“It’s not me,” I parroted back, “it’s you. Right? Tonight feels like a good night to pack your things in boxes.” I stood up and headed for the dressing room door. He managed to catch my sleeve of the god-awful blouse he’d picked out.

The lace made my skin itch so badly I wanted to pull it all off. I tore at the buttons while he watched.

“Where the fuck are you going?” he finally demanded as I made my way to the dressing room door.

I turned and stared at him like the fool he was. “I thought that was obvious. I’m going home to pack your shit.”

“We have a fucking show in thirty minutes!”

Right. We had a show. Thousands of fans were out there waiting for us to go on. This was the last leg in a tour that would culminate in one massive performance on New Year’s Eve to ring in another twelve months. But twelve months of what? More of this bullshit?

I laughed again while he took a step back.

He probably thought I was losing it, which was fine. Maybe I was losing it.

But hell, that was better than being sad about him. I wasn’t wasting another tear on this man. Not one single drop.

“You can’t just go,” he said when I dropped the lace shirt and reached for the door handle.

“Yes I can.”

“The show!” he repeated, like that was going to make a difference.

I looked over my shoulder and shrugged. It was a six-hour drive back to our—no, my—loft, and if I started now, I could get there before dawn.

“Good luck with that. I quit.”

“You can’t just quit. Atlas—”

I grabbed my sweater, then slammed the door behind me before he could finish speaking.

That felt good, especially knowing that for the first time in years, I wouldn’t have to pay for that later.

I think he’d wanted to break me, but the only thing he’d shattered was the illusion that all of this was okay.

Or necessary.

I didn’t need this life. I hadn’t wanted any of this life. Fame had never been the point. I wanted to do what I loved, write music that made me feel something, and spend the rest of my life with someone who loved me as much as I loved them.

Fame had been a consequence of our chemistry onstage. I just wish I’d realized how superficial it all was before I’d signed my soul away on studio contracts with execs who would always choose him because he was the pretty face.

But I was done. I didn’t care what it cost me. I’d pay it for this all to be over.

“Atlas.” I turned at the sound of a familiar voice—one of the few here that I didn’t hate.

One of the few people who hadn’t been taken in by Raleigh’s bullshit charm.

He’d been the head of our security for years, and he was one of the first people to point out that Raleigh wasn’t what he pretended to be.

And that I wasn’t out of my mind for believing something about us was fundamentally broken.

Tarik’s thick, dark brows dipped, and his gaze flickered down to my naked chest. There was sweat glinting off him, his equally dark, short-clipped hair untidy from doing whatever he’d been up to before finding me in the hallway. “You okay?”

“I’m leaving,” I said as he slid up and bumped my elbow with his own.

His eyes—a rich mahogany, several shades lighter than his skin but with the same, rich undertones—widened as he stared. “You’re…leaving? Like…”

“Like I’m leaving. I’m done. Raleigh just brought his newest play toy into my dressing room to tell me he wanted to open our relationship. I can’t…fuck. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be onstage with him. I can’t sing about loving him when I don’t. When I haven’t for god knows how long.”

His gaze flickered to the dressing room door, and I knew he’d seen the little mesh-twink walk in with Raleigh.

“So it’s done.”

“Yeah. It’s…it’s over. I need a car.”

I saw his swallow catch in his throat. “To where?”

“Home.” He lived in Ellis City too. It was a few tall buildings, a river running through the middle of the city, and several underground clubs where we’d gotten our start.

It wasn’t the place I wanted to be, but it was still home.

“I’ll drive you,” he said eventually.

“Tarik…”

“No,” he said, holding up a hand. “You’re the only reason I stayed for so long, Atlas. I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you. I told Zeinab I’d stay through the rest of the year, but she’s been begging me to leave for a while.”

“You should have said something,” I told him softly. “I would have made it worth your while to get out of his hellhole.”