Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Darcy had been back in Pineford for six hours but she didn’t feel settled at all.
She’d decided to go to Blythe’s after landing at the airport, rather than the apartment above the bowling alley. Er, her apartment.
Because… it didn’t feel like home.
The last night she’d spent there – literal months ago, now, before their album release – she’d realized as she’d walked around that she felt kind of like a hermit crab who’d outgrown her shell. The apartment didn’t feel right, anymore.
So, she’d decided to come to Blythe and Colton’s house. After all, she’d shared the apartment with them back when it had felt like home. It stood to reason that, perhaps, if she was here, with her sister, she’d feel close to home.
Unfortunately for Darcy, she’d spent the last several hours unable to feel at-home here, either.
The house felt like precisely what it was: Blythe’s home.
She didn’t feel uncomfortable here, but…
But she was realizing that she felt like a nomad. Which was ridiculous, really, but it was true.
Scrubbing her hands over her face, she blinked her tired, gritty eyes down at her notebook. Since she’d only been able to grab a few hours of a fitful nap, she’d decided to attempt to work. To write.
… aaaand all she’d been able to focus on was Juliet.
Thinking about how she’d tossed and turned in Juliet’s bed last night for the first time. Which, frankly, was the most disconcerting feeling. Even more than realizing she had no idea where to call home, anymore.
It was all so hard. In her mind, in her heart. After spending time with Kerrington last night – holy shit, had it really only been last night?! – she’d really started to think about it. About what the future could hold.
She and Kerrington Kosta were worlds apart. Kerrington had a huge, involved family, all of whom were in the film world. It was hardly a risk at all for her to come out.
But… she was still doing it. She was still queer and very much in the public eye. She’d had public relationships with women.
Darcy was going to want that. She, now, was very certain about it.
One day, she was going to want to be out and, ideally, be with Juliet.
And she was fine with waiting for that reality, as long as she knew it was going to happen someday.
She could easily make peace with that; she didn’t need the world in her business.
The only real problem was… Robbie.
Nice guy and all, but she thought it was fair to not want to have to see the woman she was in love with on her fake-boyfriend’s arm.
She meant what she’d said to Juliet this morning; she’d spent a long time thinking it over.
Darcy was nowhere near close to wanting to end what they’d found together.
What they’d built up together. She’d never felt as connected to anyone as she felt with Juliet.
What she’d told her was absolutely the truth; from the very beginning of this, she’d felt like they…
they were on the same plane of existence, vibrating on a different frequency than everyone else.
And life wasn’t binary; things were complicated. Juliet had her fifth album to complete, and the obligations that came with it. She didn’t have the right to walk into Juliet’s life and decide she had to change everything she’d spent years crafting.
Darcy just… she needed to understand her place in Juliet’s life. She needed to figure out where she belonged, as something that was true, amidst all of the pretending, the image.
The next time they saw one another, she wanted them to have a real, serious conversation about it all.
She tapped the end of her pen against the page she had open, on her list of questions she and Juliet needed to discuss.
What, exactly, is the Robbie-relationship timeline?
Is there an end date?? (I’d really love to pinpoint this)
As Juliet’s actual/real romantic partner, will I have any say in the events you go to together?
Being the top three, currently.
She snapped her head up toward the door when she heard a quick knock. “Darce?” Blythe’s voice was muffled through the wood. “You awake? Dinner’s going to be ready soon.”
Placing her notebook down on the bed, she called out, “You’ve piqued my interest!”
She slid her feet into the slippers she’d had packed in her suitcase, having brought them on tour. Which was great, because Blythe was very strict about shoes.
When she opened the door, she’d expected to find her sister still standing there. Probably with her arms crossed, most likely with an expectant expression.
Darcy hadn’t told Blythe much about the twenty-four hours since she’d last seen her. She’d simply trudged into the guest room and fallen face-down on the bed. But… Blythe had to know something was up, for Darcy to be home so soon.
That was just typical-Blythe.
Maybe she’d be posing her questions at dinner. Maybe she wanted Colton around to needle her with his curiosity.
Or maybe –
Darcy walked out into the large dining/living room, coming to a surprised stop when she saw Emerson. A smile broke out onto her face. “Well, well, well. It’s only been a day since we’ve spent the last nine weeks together on the tour bus, but I missed you, too,” she teased.
Emerson startled, spinning to look at her from where she’d been turned around, talking quietly to Blythe.
Which… was a little weird.
Darcy darted her gaze between her sister and best friend, who were both standing together a few feet from her.
Emerson sort-of smiled. Actually, it was mostly a grimace. But Darcy could tell she believed it was a smile. “Ha. I mean. Yeah.”
Oh, wow.
Shit.
Darcy felt like she’d swallowed a stone with the way her stomach fell right to her feet. She looked between them again, quicker this time, the worry starting to gnaw at her. “What’s going on?”
When neither Blythe nor Emerson said anything in the couple of seconds that followed, Darcy’s heart tripped in her chest.
It – it couldn’t be Juliet. Right?! She’d have heard. She – okay, she’d left her phone back in the bedroom, but she’d had it on her all afternoon, and hadn’t seen anything.
The list of people Darcy deeply cared for wasn’t very long, though. If it wasn’t Juliet, Blythe, or Emerson –
“Where’s Colton?” She asked, hastily walking toward her sister.
“Colton?” Blythe asked, obviously confused.
Darcy came to an abrupt pause. Blythe wouldn’t be so calm if something happened to Colton. Duh.
“He’s still at work. Why are you asking about Colton?”
Darcy threw her hands into the air, worry and frustration twisting together inside of her. “Because I don’t understand why you two are standing there, looking like you’re about to tell me someone died.” She shot them both an impatient stare, demanding, “So? What’s going on?”
Blythe reeled back. “No one died.” Then she paused. Then shook her head again, her expression far more muted than it typically ever was. Like… ever.
Darcy flexed her hands. “I swear to god, if one of you doesn’t tell me–”
“Now that the tour’s over…” Blythe started, the words jumping from her throat after Emerson hit her with her elbow.
… the tour?
Darcy’s heart rate started to slow back to something normal. “This is about music?” She dropped her head back, taking a deep breath. “Wow. Jeez, warn me next time.”
Blythe’s eyebrows furrowed at her.
Emerson’s stare was cast down at the ground to Darcy’s right.
Blythe set her jaw. Her voice was quiet, as she said, “I didn’t really… we don’t know how to warn you. So – I think we just have to say it.”
Blythe opened her mouth, as if she was going to say “it” only nothing came out.
She stood, frozen, her eyes holding onto Darcy’s, looking wide and nervous. Which, in turn, made Darcy feel nervous all over again.
Emerson glanced at Blythe, taking stock of her expression. Clearly noting how atypical it was, and then she took a deep breath. Darcy latched onto Emerson, instead.
Just in time for Emerson to tell her, “We don’t want to do another album.”
Everything – everything – inside of Darcy seized up. Her muscles, including her heart. Her lungs. Her brain. The matrix glitched.
“I mean…” She breathed out a laugh, forcing it through her lips. “I know I’m, uh, overzealous. I get that. But just because I’m ready to dive in with ideas doesn’t mean I’m expecting us to rush into anything. I know last year was crazy. We can take a minute.”
No, she didn’t intend to pause conceptualizing or writing, but they didn’t have to do anything official just yet. She could take a chill pill, give Blythe and Emerson time to decompress.
Blythe closed her eyes tightly, breathing in through her nose. And she didn’t reopen them, even when she spoke again. “It’s not that we don’t want to do another album right now. We don’t want to do it again, at all.”
Darcy could only stare back at them, feeling almost like she was underwater. Was that normal? That didn’t feel right at all. But she felt – she felt like it was hard to breathe, and hard to hear, and her mind was racing, and so was her heart.
“We’re… we’re We, The Romantics,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “We.”
They’d done this, become so successful, as a group. They’d done it together.
If – if Darcy was one-third of a circle, and the other two pieces of the circle decided not to be a part of the circle anymore – she couldn’t fault herself for not making sense right now! – then she was just a triangle with one weirdly rounded side.
“Darcy, you don’t need us,” Emerson said, her voice so quiet, but very steady.
Emerson was quiet, and when she sounded so… unshakable, it meant that a decision was already made. Emerson and Blythe were both decisive people, when it came down to it. Very different people, in terms of how they engaged with the world, but decisive, nonetheless.
“I do need you,” her voice broke, taking her by surprise.
Apparently taking all of them by surprise, as Emerson and Blythe’s eyes both widened, and they stepped closer to her.
“I need both of you. I need – you’re…” They were her family, her people.
For most of her life, they’d been the only people she’d ever really had. The only people she could count on. Her successes were their successes. Her failures were their failures.
When she’d told everyone in interviews during their skyrocket to fame that they made her better – that they all made one another better – she hadn’t been giving lip service. She meant it.
What did it mean for her? If there was no We, The Romantics… where was she? Who was she? She’d put everything she’d had, her blood, sweat, tears, time, energy, money, into this for the last decade.
It was only then, as she pictured herself fracturing off from this group that was such a fundamental part of her, that was her foundation, that she replayed what they’d said.
The we of it all.
We aren’t going to do another album.
Everything slowed down again. The world went back to normal speed, as she stared at them. First at Blythe, who looked so much more emotional than she usually ever did. Then at Emerson, who looked deeply worried.
Then she took a step back, a step away from them, and looked at them standing there, together.
“You… you two are totally in agreement.”
That hit her heavily, like a second blow. It was a second, entirely separate blow from We, The Romantics dissolving in front of her very eyes.
She saw how Blythe and Emerson exchanged a look, and it made taking her next breath hurt. Because – because she was on the outside.
In this moment, it wasn’t the three of them, together. It wasn’t Darcy-and-Blythe, sisters. It wasn’t Darcy-and-Emerson, best friends.
“How long have you two been talking about this?” She asked, quietly, a terrifying calm washing over her.
A calm before the storm, she could feel it brewing. She was going to fucking crash. Like, in a big way.
“Just… we really only came to the solid conclusion in the last couple of weeks on tour,” Emerson explained, wincing.
“A couple of weeks,” she echoed, hollowly.
Weeks.
She’d never felt betrayed by either Blythe or Emerson, before. Never in her life. Individually or otherwise.
“This is the biggest thing that–” A shuddering breath snuck up on her, and she reached up, pressing her hand over her mouth. Trying to smother the emotions back down that she could feel about to erupt. “The biggest decision you could make, and you made it together. Weeks ago. Without me.”
It was falling apart. Everything was falling apart in front of her, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. They’d made their decision.
She’d done everything she could, though, hadn’t she?
She’d done all of the breathing exercises with Emerson, she’d done all of the talking for her whenever she made the signal, she was totally fine whenever they skipped out on events that made her uncomfortable.
She’d bent over backwards to arrange their schedule so Blythe would always be able to have her time with Colton, every night.
She’d gone to parties alone, she’d gone to editing and production meetings alone, she’d tried to juggle it all to make it work.
She’d obsessed within an inch of her life to make sure it was perfect, to make sure they were successful.
To make sure it was worth everything Blythe and Emerson had worked for with her.
She’d tried so hard to be the glue that kept them going.
And it hadn’t been enough.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she distantly heard something snap. Something broke, something that she hadn’t even been aware of.
Because suddenly, she felt totally untethered.
Numb with it, she turned and started toward the door.
“Darcy, stop.” Blythe finally seemed to find the strength in her voice. “Let’s just – have dinner. We can let this settle, and talk things out, and–”
“I can’t talk about this right now,” she muttered, shaking her head without turning around. She could already feel it in her chest, the erratic way her heart was beating. She was going to fucking crumble at any moment.
“Where are you going? You don’t have your car,” her sister pointed out, her voice close behind Darcy. Obviously having kept pace with her, hovering behind her.
Darcy did turn around, then. Turning so suddenly, Blythe stumbled back a step. Emerson, too, who had been right behind Blythe.
“You two had weeks to think about this and be okay with it. I think I deserve a little time of my own.”
With that, she shoved open the front door, pulling in desperate breaths of the fresh evening air. All she knew was that she refused to crumble right here.