34. Luca
THIRTY-FOUR
Luca
Beads of sweat formed along the back of my neck as Warren Wright continued his line of questioning. It started off simple enough with him asking how I was feeling and how I’d been handling the onslaught of press. But with every response, my mind wandered back to the promise of the surprise message from my past. Nobody who actually knew me would agree to something like that without giving me a heads-up because they’d know how important an interview like this was.
That meant it was someone who didn’t know me at all, which could cause this entire thing to go up in flames.
“I want to talk to you a little about your past,” Warren said, crossing one leg over the other. He was a tall and imposing figure with his salt-and-pepper hair and his tailored blue suit. “During your time with Midnight in Dallas you were known for being a bit…wild.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I was.”
“You were often photographed drinking alcohol, which on its own isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” he began. “But those pictures appeared alongside tales of drunken brawls and unruly behavior. It’s often been speculated that you may have a substance abuse problem. Would you say that’s a fair assessment?”
Between the heat from Warren’s interrogation and the burn of the set lights, I would’ve given my left nut for a glass of water.
“It was,” I admitted. “There was a long period of time when I drank heavily. Nearly every night. I used to pop pills like they were candy and chase them down with tequila. But I haven’t had a drink or taken anything that wasn’t prescribed by a doctor in over two years. I stopped because I saw myself going down a path that scared me. My thoughts were dark enough without the shadows cast by the alcohol and drugs.”
“Hmm,” Warren said. “But there were still some pictures taken of you within that two-year period where you were spotted with a flask in hand.”
I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat. “Yes, there were. But that flask didn’t have any alcohol in it.”
“What was in it, then?”
“Water. Sometimes soda.”
“I think people are going to find that hard to believe.” Warren leaned closer, his brows drawn. “If you didn’t want people to think you had a problem with alcohol, why carry a flask out in public?”
“At the time, I didn’t care what people thought of me,” I said. “Or at least that’s what I told myself. Look, it didn’t matter if I carried around a bottle of water or a Starbucks cup—people were going to say what they wanted. There was this preconceived idea of who and what I was, and I didn’t feel like fighting it. I let people think what they liked.”
“Do you have regrets about that?” he asked.
“Yeah, I do.”
Warren folded his hands together in his lap. “You were also known for the seemingly revolving door of beautiful women you kept on your arm. In fact, it was a running joke in the tabloids. They called you ‘One Strike Sterling.’ Did you know that?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t know about the nickname, but I was aware of my…reputation.”
“In the past couple of weeks, a few stories have come out from various women who’ve said they had encounters with you over the years. They’re saying you didn’t bother to learn their names, that you never attempted to get to know them.” He paused, his eyes narrowed. “Is there any truth in that?”
“Yes,” I confessed.
“How many of these types of encounters would you say you’ve had over the years?”
What the fuck kind of question is that?! Is he really asking for my body count on national television?
“Honestly? I don’t know.” I ran my thumb along the edge of my jaw. “I didn’t respect myself, let alone anyone else. That’s not an excuse for my behavior, but I didn’t have the emotional capacity to give more to anyone.”
“Did these women know that?”
“I can’t speak to what they did or didn’t know, but I was always very clear about what my expectations were for these encounters.”
“Sex,” he said, filling in the blank.
My answer came out almost inaudibly. “Yes.”
“Now, I do want to be clear for our viewers that there have been no allegations of sexual misconduct. But I think some of these women had hopes that their experiences with you might lead to something more.” His eyes bore into mine like a laser. “Do you have any regrets over how you handled those situations?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, being in a band, these kinds of things happen, but I took it to an extreme. Just like I did with the booze, I was always looking to numb my feelings.”
“And what were you feeling, exactly?”
I pressed my tongue onto the roof of my mouth. “Lonely. Sad.”
“Many would argue that you were at the peak of success, surrounded by fans who worshipped you and you had no reason to feel lonely.”
“Being worshipped isn’t the same as being known. Being understood.” I swallowed hard. “Being loved.”
Warren nodded. “I think that’s a poignant perspective on the parasocial relationships people develop with their favorite celebrities and influencers these days.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “There’s so much more to me than what people see in the tabloids or on social media…or even when they have a two-minute interaction with me at the airport.”
“Do you feel people have misjudged you?”
“I do. Some of that is my own fault. In not caring what people thought about me, I perpetuated an image that was no longer an accurate representation of who I am.” I dug my fingers into the rip on the thigh of my jeans. “I can’t deny that version of me existed. I did a lot of stuff I regret. I wasn’t a person I was proud of. But people can change.”
“And you believe you’ve changed?”
“I know I have.”
Warren studied me for a beat. “I want to talk to you about the breakup of Midnight in Dallas. You were a part of that band for most of your adult life. I imagine that split was hard on you.”
I scratched my neck. “It was.”
“What happened after that?”
“After we called it quits, everyone started going their separate ways. It hit me hard because the guys from the band are like my family, and I felt like I was losing them. That’s when I started to withdraw.”
“Several months passed last year with no photos taken of you,” Warren began. “We scoured the internet and couldn’t find a single one. Why is that?”
“Because I didn’t leave my apartment.”
“At all?”
“At all,” I echoed.
“Why not?”
I swallowed hard. “Because I felt like the world would be better off if I disappeared.”
“Did anyone come looking for you?”
“No,” I answered. “I told everyone I was traveling, so they had no idea where I was.”
“Did you ever have thoughts of harming yourself?”
“It was more that I just wanted the pain to stop.”
“What was the turning point that made you realize you were in serious trouble and needed to get help?” he asked, his voice sincere.
The corners of my eyes burned. “I hadn’t been answering my phone. In fact, I’d let the thing die. Then one night at the end of September, out of nowhere, it powered on. I still don’t know how or why, but it did. And when it did, I found a bunch of voicemails from my friends, and I started listening to them. That was when I realized they missed me. I’d assumed they’d forgotten about me because I wanted to forget about me, but they hadn’t. They wanted me around.”
“What did you do then?” he questioned.
“I started leaving messages for therapists, and I went to see the first one who called me back. She’s still my therapist today,” I said. “She’s the one who encouraged me to come back to Nashville to be close to my friends. She referred me to a psychiatrist who prescribed medication for my depression. I started channeling my feelings into writing songs, and” —I took in a breath— “I fell in love.”
“Wow,” he said. “That’s big. Had you ever been in love before?”
“No. Not till her.”
“Who is she?” he asked.
“I won’t answer that,” I said. “She’s not in the public eye, and I’m not going to subject her to that kind of scrutiny.”
Warren chuckled. “Fair enough. What can you tell me about her?”
A series of mental snapshots I’d taken of McKenzie during our time together flashed through my mind. Dancing with her at Basement East. When she’d given me Randy McNutt. The way she’d looked walking down the aisle at Dallas and Katie’s wedding.
“She’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” I replied with a faint smile.
Warren nodded, then turned to the camera. “We’ll have more with Luca Sterling when we come back.”