Chapter 14
Ryleigh
My feelings were hurt for about five minutes after Angus left.
Then anger set in and it’s been simmering in my subconscious for the last two days.
This isn’t my first one-night stand, and we agreed to no-strings sex, but it just felt…rude. We’d barely finished and then he just left. He didn’t even say goodbye. It was so weird and unexpected and insensitive. He could have hung out and talked for a few minutes. I wasn’t expecting proclamations of love or anything, but what the fuck?
I carefully avoided looking at him all day yesterday, but today I have no choice.
Today we’re doing the interview that I’ll include as part of my story.
The band made the decision that they would talk to me together and we’re meeting in Jonny’s room at one o’clock. Once we’re done, we’ll head to the arena for soundcheck.
It doesn’t help that I’m extra tired today, probably because I haven’t slept much the last two nights, but I’m feeling particularly surly as I knock on the door to Jonny’s room.
The guys look about as grumpy as I feel so we’re a somber bunch as I open my laptop to access my notes and turn on the audio recording on my phone.
“I want to start out talking about feelings,” I say, making sure I avoid Angus’s eyes at all costs. I may never be able to look into those eyes again after what we did the other night.
Bad, Ryleigh. This is not the time to think about that.
“How you felt when you found out that Angus isn’t who you thought he was. And why. Let’s start with you, Jonny.”
He drums his fingers on the table. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me it’s about loyalty. Either we can trust each other, or we can’t. And I don’t know how to reconcile this stranger with the guy I’ve spent the last three years treating like family.”
Ouch.
“How does that make you feel, Angus?” I ask the question but keep my eyes focused on my notes.
“Is this therapy or an interview?” he counters, his voice tinged with annoyance.
He’s annoyed?
What the fuck does he have to be annoyed about?
My eyes snap up and I frown. “I guess it’s whatever you want it to be, but this was your idea. If you don’t want to do the interview, I’m happy to bail.”
I don’t know where that came from—because I absolutely cannot bail on this story—but my temper overrules my good sense sometimes.
His eyes meet mine, and I’m positive everyone in the room can see the sparks fly.
“How do you think it makes me feel?” he snaps. “I hate that things went down this way but I did what I thought was best to protect the band.”
“The band—or yourself?” I counter. “Because from the outside looking in, I don’t see much backlash on the band as a whole, but your reputation has taken quite a hit.”
That pisses him off—I recognize the fire in his eyes because I see it in myself all the time—but he hides it well.
“I don’t really care about me,” he continues, his face tight. “I can handle whatever people want to dish out. My concern is the band. Our reputation. Our future. The music.”
“Then why not come clean from the beginning?”
“Because we didn’t know each other then, and as soon as you say the name Hollingsworth, people squint. They think. Then they ask if it’s the Holland-Burke Hollingsworths, and things go south from there. It was brutal in college, which is why I started going by Angus.”
“And you legally changed your name?”
“Yes. After my junior year.”
“How did your family feel about that?”
He pulls in a deep breath, his eyes narrowing slightly. “About how you’d expect.”
“So your goal is to piss off everyone ,” I say quietly.
This time when our eyes meet, there’s something different in his.
Regret?
Guilt?
Maybe it’s my imagination.
Or wishful thinking.
“It’s complicated,” he says after a moment. “I grew up with so much pressure, and I didn’t want to bring that to the band. There’s enough pressure in the music business in general, adding my personal shit to it seemed unnecessary. I was willing to take on that risk on my own, but it wasn’t fair to the guys to have to.”
“Shouldn’t that have been their decision?”
The room is quiet.
Everyone is staring at something different, but no one is looking at each other.
“I look at it differently,” Sam says after the silence stretches out. “I see it from Angus’s point of view, and I get it. I did some digging around online and the hate for what his family did is everywhere. Stories about people who died because they couldn’t afford the chemo meds. Gossip columns about the entire family, showing off the good, the bad, and the ugly. I found some stuff dating back to when Angus was in high school, asking why his father didn’t get him skating lessons so he would be a better hockey player. I imagine carrying that around your whole life is heavy. But sharing it could be heavy too—and we’re guys. We’re all about the music and the parties and having a good time.
“Deep down, I firmly believe that we might have passed on having him audition if we’d known who he was. I know I would have rolled my eyes and thought he was another bored rich guy, looking for a pastime. And Crimson Edge was never going to be someone’s pastime.”
Oh, wow.
That was an unexpected perspective, and I see the surprise flicker in Angus’s eyes.
“I think there’s some truth to that,” Tate adds carefully. “I didn’t think about it until you just said it, but yeah, I definitely would have been hesitant to play with him if I’d known who he was.”
The tension in the air lessens slightly, and I see Tate and Angus exchange a glance, Angus’s filled with gratitude.
Those two are close, and it’s pretty obvious in the look they just shared.
Mick nods before adding his two cents. “I think I would’ve been cool with him auditioning because I honestly wasn’t sure what was going to happen with the band. In the beginning, we were just having a good time. But I probably would have kept him at arms’ length, you know? I would’ve assumed he wasn’t in it for the long haul because… I mean, why? He’s rich as fuck—why would he need to focus on some dumb garage band?”
Sam nods. “Yeah, that’s part of it too. So I get it. I wish he’d trusted us, especially once we started to find our groove, but if I put myself in his shoes, I can see how hard it was going to be to come clean.”
“So where do you go from here?” I ask, looking around the room.
I note that Jonny hasn’t said anything yet, merely following the conversation with an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Time heals all wounds, right?” Tate asks, shrugging. “I mean, our first full album just came out, we’re on tour with Nobody’s Fool, and we’re starting to get airplay. The only way to go is forward.”
“This is a business,” Jonny says, speaking up for the first time. “We don’t have to be friends—we just have to play the music.”
I try to keep my face neutral, because I’m a little shocked that he would say that in an interview.
“How does that work?” I ask him. “You just walk away from years of friendship?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know that there was really a friendship. You don’t lie to your friends.”
“You’ve never told a lie?” I ask pointedly.
He hesitates. “Not to anyone that mattered to me.”
“Come on, man.” Tate makes a face. Then he turns to me. “Will you turn that off for a minute? Please?”
“Of course.” I quickly stop recording.
“Did you seriously just say that to a journalist?” Tate stares at Jonny in obvious frustration. “That’s going in her story—why would you do that?”
“She asked me a question and I answered honestly,” he replies. “Was I supposed to lie? That’s what we’re here for, right? To give both sides of the story. His side—” He jerks a thumb in Angus’s direction. “—is that he’s a poor little rich kid who was afraid people would be mean to him. My side is that someone I considered a friend—a brother —fucking lied to my face every day for three years. That’s the truth. That’s reality. If you want me to lie, just say so.” Jonny gets to his feet. “I don’t have anything else to say.”
No one says a word, and I stare down at my lap, unwilling to get involved.
This is absolutely off the record.
I almost wish I wasn’t here.
As a journalist, this is good shit, but I’m incredibly uncomfortable. I don’t want to witness this. I love this band, and the last thing I want is to watch them fall apart.
Especially since this was my doing.
I would do anything to go back in time and not tell Rich what I heard. I’d been so annoyed that Angus turned me down when I asked him to talk about the theatrics of his drum performances, I made a knee-jerk decision. One I truly wish I could take back.
My damn temper gets me every time.
I have to be more careful in the future, especially when it comes to Angus and the band.
“If you tell me how to make this right, I’ll do my damnedest,” Angus says quietly, watching as Jonny heads to the door.
Jonny pauses, his hand on the doorknob. “I think it’s too late for that.”
He opens the door and slips out without looking back.
Much like Angus did to me two nights ago.
And I don’t like it now any more than I did then.