Chapter 4
the distraction of her
HAYDEN
As the elevator doors click shut, I stare at the space Riley occupied moments ago. Her voice still lingers in the room—sarcastic, light, way too caring for a guy who doesn’t deserve a sliver of her attention or her worry.
Jesus. I’m practically thirty, and here’s this fresh-faced twenty-four-year-old lecturing me about life.
I’ve known her since she was a kid. There were days when teasing her out of her wits was the best form of entertainment.
She’d get so flustered, her cheeks would turn an adorable shade of pink, but she’d stand up for herself no matter what.
She even threw punches at me a time or two.
She’s got a good left hook. A little tigress—not that I ever called her that.
I preferred to annoy her by calling her a little monkey.
A barely there smile stretches across my lips as memories fill my brain. Life was so easy back then, long before Sabotage made it big.
The more time I spend with myself after Owen’s death—and after my talks with Jimmy, Bo, Glenn, and the label about stepping back from the band—the more I think about what life would’ve been like if we’d continued flying under the radar of big labels.
What if we’d never won a Grammy? What if I hadn’t gotten lost in the whirlwind of success? What if I hadn’t been too busy, too preoccupied for deep conversations? What if my brain hadn’t been so overloaded, and I’d really listened when my best friend spoke to me?
The moment the thought hits, guilt slams into me like a freight train. I cover my face with my hands, and I silently scream. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. In a matter of seconds, the numbness I’d found in dissociating vanishes like it was never there. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I was fooling myself.
I need to snap out of it, at least for now.
I pause the movie and take in my surroundings for the first time in I don’t know how long.
My insides churn, and shame engulfs me. This place is a mess.
Takeout containers. A pile of clothes on the couch.
Dust and unopened stacks of mail on the piano I haven’t touched in four months.
The air is thick and stale, like it’s been holding its breath with me.
With a huff, I scrub a hand down my face and push myself off the couch. Shower. I should shower. I smell like loneliness, like depression and wasted space.
On my way to the bathroom, I pull my hood back and rake my fingers through my hair. The sensation pulls a long sigh from me and brings with it a little relief. The day was shit, but I can still turn it around.
The water’s too hot, but I relish the way it burns my skin.
As the glass fogs and steam fills the shower stall, I take my time washing my body.
Riley’s presence silenced my racing thoughts, but once she walked out the door, the noise returned.
So, I stand under the spray until my head is finally quiet.
Thank fuck it helps.
After my shower, I turn my ringer back on, though I don’t check the missed calls and texts.
I make my way through the apartment, tossing out old food containers, folding the throw blanket on the couch, loading the washing machine, wiping down the coffee table.
It’s not completely clean, but it’s an improvement.
Because even though Riley didn’t say the words, I heard the message loud and clear: if I continue this spiral, my family will intervene, and I don’t want them to see me like this, especially not Piper and Hunter.
When I was five, Mom and I returned from Spain to the States, leaving my brother in Europe to pursue his soccer dreams. I always assumed we left Spain the way we did because my parents wanted me to attend school in the US.
Hunter struggled with our parents’ decision to leave, so I never blamed him for distancing himself from me.
I lived with both our parents while his only support came from his agent and a caretaker.
All my life, guilt ate at me. I always believed Mom and Dad chose me over him; in reality, we moved back because my father cheated on my mom, and they were determined to save their marriage.
If I’d known the truth sooner, it would’ve saved me a lot of heartache and pain. If I hadn’t always felt like I caused Hunter’s misery, maybe we could’ve strengthened our relationship sooner.
Only when he returned to the US nine years ago, his daughter in tow, did we begin to reconnect. It took a while, but we figured our shit out, and now, we’re closer than I ever dreamed it could be.
My brother retired a few years ago. Once one of the biggest American soccer players, he’s now coaching Santa Clara’s team. And he’s a good husband to my best friend.
Piper is one of a kind. She’s been my ride or die since we were five years old, so it’s no surprise she always sees right through my bullshit, through all the walls I’ve built.
If she were to see me like this, she’d be on the first flight to New York, and I’d rather not throw her life into chaos like that.
I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I snag my guitar from its stand and sit on the couch. As I drag my fingers over the strings, I wince. Shit, it’s so out of tune, it’s embarrassing. It’s been weeks since I felt good enough to play.
I tune it by ear then strum something soft. G minor. Then D, followed by C. The sound drifts around me, sliding under my skin and burrowing into my chest, mixing with my heartbeat. I hum along and then close my eyes. For a moment, I almost feel at ease, but snapping back to reality is brutal.
The memory flashes in my head like lightning, and I have zero chance of stopping it. The sound. The smell. The fucking image of that room. It’s seared into my brain. I’d give anything to forget it, but I remember every detail so damn perfectly.
The door to his hotel room cracked open—no more music, only silence so heavy, it was hard to breathe. The wrong kind of silence, the kind I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.
I knew something was wrong before I walked into the room. Time stopped when I finally pushed the door wide open. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what I saw.
Blood on the wall. His body slumped on the couch. The guitar still in his lap, his lucky pick on the floor along with the gun.
I dropped to my knees and screamed.
A piercing sound startles me. Shit. It’s me.
I’m on my knees again, screaming and crying like I did that day.
I toss the guitar aside and press my palms to my face.
The guilt I’ve been pushing away surges forward again, swallowing me whole.
I should’ve known. I knew he wasn’t okay, but I let him convince me he was good enough.
I knew he was fucking lying through his teeth, but I didn’t push the way I should have.
I thought I had time, thought he’d come around and tell me what was worrying him.
I was a fucking idiot.
My friend, my bandmate, committed suicide. I should have done more. I should have been able to stop him.
“Fuck,” I whisper, wiping away tears with the back of my hand.
The suffocating guilt never leaves me alone. It’s always lurking under the surface, but it’s especially bad on days when I feel like total shit. Like today.
I force myself to take a few deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Breathe.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I grab it like it’s a lifeline. Maybe it is, because it’s Piper calling, and there’s a good chance Hunter is with her.
I swipe to answer, and there they are, side by side on the couch in their living room in Santa Clara.
Piper’s blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun on top of her head.
She’s dressed in a pastel pink T-shirt, while Hunter is shirtless, both wearing relieved smiles.
Fuck. That both warms my heart and makes me incredibly anxious. I don’t want them to worry about me.
Hunter lets out a dry chuckle. “Look who’s finally taking calls.”
I sit up straighter so I don’t look like I just clawed my way out of a breakdown. “I didn’t expect your call until tomorrow.”
“Riley said she stopped by,” Piper says. “Thanks for not ignoring her, I guess.”
I purse my lips. “She should’ve told you no.”
“But she didn’t.” My best friend gives me a chastising look. “Ry worked today, and she has an early class tomorrow, but she still stopped in to check on you. She cares about you. We all do.”
The ever-present guilt settles in my chest, making it hard to breathe. As if I don’t feel miserable enough already.
I nod. “I’m sorry, really. Just… Some days are hard, and I don’t want to burden you with my shit.”
“We’re family, Hade,” Piper says, leaning in closer. “We’re always here for you, whatever you need. Me, Hunter, even Ry. Please stop shutting us out.”
A strange combination of affection and remorse swirls inside me. “That means a lot. I love you guys. I promise, I’ll do better.”
While they fill me in on what Story and Hudson are up to and talk about their plans for the weekend, I force myself to stay engaged, asking questions when expected, making silly jokes to prove I’m okay.
They only let me end the call after I promise to text more often and to not set my phone on silent when I’m at home.
But before the call is over, my mind’s already elsewhere.
When Hunter brought up Riley again, near the end of the conversation, all my focus shifted to her.
The way she stood in my living room with her hands on her hips, like she was ready to show me her famous left hook, but she still sat and talked to me.
My heart clenches when I recall how her face fell when she told me about that finance guy.
A married fucker with a kid. I really hoped this guy would be a good one.
She deserves a man who treats her well. Her dating stories make my blood boil, make me want to hunt down every asshole who has ever hurt her.
What I hate even more is that she thinks she’s the problem, like she’s doing something wrong and that’s why she can’t meet a man worthy of her.
It’s bullshit.
She’s smart, funny, kind, and while I don’t allow myself to think about her in that way, she’s gorgeous. I’m not the only one who notices how stunning she is. I’ve seen guys checking her out more than once. She’s perfect. I only wish she could see that.
As that thought loops through my brain, I pick up my phone again. I vaguely remember her saying she teaches at that little studio on Broome Street. I could show up tomorrow, just for a few minutes, to say hi. Bring coffee. Do something to cheer her up after that disaster with the finance guy.
And maybe because I need her, or at least the distraction.
Making her see what an amazing woman she is could definitely bring me good karma. Plus, it’s a reason for me to leave this place. One more reason to live a little.
Riley is probably the only person who doesn’t walk on eggshells around me these days, who isn’t afraid to scold me and put me in my place. She even managed to make me laugh after I spent the whole day brooding.
Maybe cheering her up will help me stop feeling like I’m falling apart.
And honestly? I desperately need something to keep me from losing control.