Chapter 8
EIGHT
Eric
? Just Pretend – Bad Omens ?
The contract from my lawyer hits my inbox a month later, and I skim it, making sure Tyler’s requirements had been entered as requested, my eyes locking on one section in particular.
3. Non-Sexual Clause
Both parties agree that, despite their close proximity during the time they will spend together as outlined in section two above, their relationship shall remain professional, and they will not engage in any sexual relations or activities of a sexual nature.
Yep, there it is. In black and white. Legally binding. How badly she regrets sleeping with me. The truth about how differently we each emerged from that night hurts more than I care to admit.
My heart does something funny when I see her beautiful script on each line—the same delicate, swooping letters she left for me the morning after.
I absentmindedly rub at the tattoo on my chest before I add my signatures to the contract and send it back, sealing my fate and subjecting myself to six months of what I only assume will be complete and utter fucking torture.
Six months of being up close and personal with the one woman I can’t shake. The woman who seems to have seeped into my bones and altered my brain chemistry.
I fire off a few more emails; one to Dani, confirming she has Tyler’s travel details squared away, one to our manager, Emily, thanking her for everything she’s done in this final stretch of tour prep, and one to Ty. The one I write, delete, and re-write six times.
Sure, I could save myself the frustration and have Dani send the schedule out with the travel itinerary, but I’m apparently too desperate to have some kind of connection to Tyler.
I don’t know why this is so hard. It’s an email. I write number one songs for a living, for fuck’s sake.
To: Tyler Norris
CC: Dani Scanlan
From: Eric Ambrose
Subject: Schedule
Ty,
I’ve attached the final tour schedule. The first tab contains the cities, venues, and dates, the second contains our travel itinerary, and the third contains a bunch of shit that you can ignore. It’s all stuff for the road crew.
Dani will be sending your flight and hotel information for your stay in Dallas in a separate email.
And here is where I’ve stopped. I want to ask her to dinner or suggest we meet up.
One, to work out what our interview schedule will be, and two—and most importantly—so that I can see her again.
Just…be near her. Lose myself in those crystalline blue eyes.
Pound another nail into my proverbial coffin.
But I don’t.
I end with the lamest fucking thing I can end it with (“Let me know if you have any last-minute questions”) and click send.
Dani follows up a few minutes later with Ty’s itinerary for her stay in Dallas, to which Ty sends a heartfelt thank you, completely ignoring my email altogether, and my guts twist. I understand her hesitation to let me in, but I didn’t expect it to affect me this much.
I close my laptop and toss is on the couch beside me before standing and grabbing the keys to my truck to head to the last day of rehearsals.
One more day before a quick three-day break, followed by opening night, and this entire asinine plan of mine to spend more time with Ty inevitably blows up in my face.
Do I want to release a biography? Fuck no.
I’ve spent my career, the last five years especially, working very hard to keep myself out of the public eye. Was this the only thing I could think of to spend more time with Tyler? Yes. Yes, it was.
I never said I was a smart man.
Desperate? Clearly.
Smart? Clearly not.
My personal life might be a shitshow, but rehearsals are flawless and I’m glad for the distraction.
Thankful that as soon as my ass hits the throne, everything else fades away and I’m left with only my mix of the click track, Max’s guitar, and Josh’s vocals in my in-ear monitors.
Thankful for my ability to concentrate and do the one thing I’m really fucking good at.
“Should we swap ‘Black’ and ‘Moth to the Flame?’” Josh asks as we gather at center stage to chat about how we’re feeling about the set list for opening night on Friday. “Or are we feeling alright?”
“Would that give your voice a break?” I ask. “It makes no difference to me, but I know ‘Moth to the Flame’ is more difficult vocally.”
“It might be better,” Josh says. “I’ll think about it and decide before Friday. Maybe we can try that order out in sound check and see how it feels.”
Other than that, we all feel confident we’re ready.
So far, our latest album, Suspicions, has been a massive success, and I’m looking forward to playing the new songs on this tour.
Not that the staples aren’t a good time—the crowds always love belting out the hits—but I always look forward to a new album coming and introducing new tracks to the fold. Seeing what people are drawn to.
I pull my phone out of my pocket for the first time since I got to rehearsals and start scrolling through my emails, my heart leaping when I see an email from Tyler.
To: Eric Ambrose
From: Tyler Norris
Subject: RE: Schedule
Hey, sorry I didn’t respond to you when I responded to Dani.
Thanks for the schedule, this will be really helpful as I plan out our interviews.
Speaking of…I could type something up and send it over to make sure the schedule I come up with works for you, or we can get together when I make it to Dallas and talk it through in person. I’m down for whatever you prefer.
Excited to see you.
-Ty
Excited to see you.
That last line is enough to make my hands shake as I type out my reply.
To: Tyler Norris
From: Eric Ambrose
Subject: RE: Schedule
I would love to get together. Does dinner sound alright?
Excited to see you, too.
I stare at my phone for five minutes waiting for her reply before I give up and start the drive home. I’d like to say I don’t check it every time I stop at a red light, but that would be a lie. When I pull into my garage, I check again and see her reply.
To: Eric Ambrose
From: Tyler Norris
Subject: RE: Schedule
Dinner sounds perfect. My number is below, in case you’d rather text or call me to work out the details. If you’re more comfortable sticking to email, that’s fine. I completely understand not wanting to give your number to random strangers you pull off the street. ;)
And there it is, at the bottom of the email. The thing I’ve been desperate to have for four months: her number. A connection. A lifeline.
I immediately add her to my contacts but force myself to hold off on sending a message. Just because I am out of my mind desperate for this girl, doesn’t mean I need to act desperate.
I put my phone face down on my nightstand and shower off the sweat from rehearsal before collapsing into bed and picking up my phone. My fingers hover over the keyboard while I try to come up with something clever to say to Ty.
Eric: Hey, it’s Eric.
Okay, so it’s not exactly clever, but I can’t think of anything else, and I just want to hear from her. I’m surprised that as soon as I lay my phone on my chest, it vibrates with her reply.
Tyler: Hey!
Eric: How are you?
Tyler: Nervous, but excited.
Tyler: How are you?
Eric: Feeling good. Feeling ready.
Ready to get this tour underway. Ready to be back in my element. Ready to see her.
Tyler: I’m glad. I can’t wait to see this show. The new album is incredible. You’re going to kill it.
Eric: Do you mind if I call you?
Tyler: No, go for it.
I smile and press the call button. She answers on the second ring.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” she says, and I can hear the same smile in her voice that I know she can hear in mine.
“So, you like the album?” I ask. “What’s your favorite song?
“You expect me to choose?” she asks, sounding offended, and I laugh. “That’s impossible. Truly, Eric, this album is phenomenal. You guys should be really, really proud.”
“Thanks,” I say, running a hand through my hair nervously at the compliment, and we fall into a brief moment of silence.
“I’m not going to say that ‘Fall’ is my favorite,” she eventually says.
“But I will say that if it’s on the set list, I won’t be mad about it.
I’m ready to sing that chorus at the top of my lungs.
Just imagine what seventy thousand people all singing that together would sound like.
I get goosebumps just thinking about it. ”
I smile because I can imagine it. It’s what we had in mind when we wrote that into the song. Thousands of people singing in unison.
I make a mental note to look over to wherever she ends up standing so I can see the look on her face when we play it.
I remember how she looked in the crowd the night we met.
Eyes closed, hands up, neck strained from screaming the lyrics to every song.
Feeling each note like I do. Absolutely beautiful.
We talk for hours, switching to video after the first hour so I can show her my home studio when she asks about it, and I can’t explain what hearing her voice and seeing her face does to me.
She’s so beautiful, even though she’s sitting at home in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair up in a bun and not a trace of makeup on her face.
“Well,” she says eventually, yawning and stretching out in her bed like a cat who just woke up from a nap. “I should probably hang up so I can get some sleep before I head to the airport in the morning.”
“Alright,” I say, and neither of us moves to actually hang up. We just stare at each other and smile.
“Seriously,” she says eventually.
“Alright,” I say again, my smile growing wider.
“Oh!” she says, sitting up. “I guess the whole point of this call is to work out when I’ll be seeing you. I mean—you know, to work out the schedule.”
“Can I pick you up from the airport?” I ask, and she bites her lip to hold back a smile.
“Sure,” she says. “You have the details?”
“I do.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”