Chapter 27
Istumbled off the stage, sweat dripping down my back and the roar of the crowd still deafening me. At one point in my career, that sound was enough. It fuelled me, gave me the energy to get back up there night after night, to roll into the studio between tours, eagerly lay down our next hit.
It should have been the same tonight. The show had been incredible, easily one of our best.
Yet all through it, I couldn’t stop my gaze from scanning the side of the stage.
I’d gotten so used to seeing Liv there, dancing and singing along that it was jarring without her.
My own fault, I know.
I wove through the heaving backstage area, roadies and techs rushing past with purposeful strides, barely sparing me a glance. I needed air. Space. A moment to just breathe and process the shit show that the last few days had been without someone interrupting me.
My eyes scanned the dimly lit corridor, searching for an escape of any kind. A dark corner would do.
Spotting a small alcove, tucked away from the main traffic paths, I ducked into it and leaned heavily against the cool brick wall, my damp t-shirt clinging to my skin.
I dragged a hand down my face, my wedding ring startlingly cold against my heated skin. I’d thought about taking it off, but every time I tried, I couldn’t do it. I’d never wished to be just a normal guy, but caught in this screwed up situation, I couldn’t help but think life would have been much easier.
If I hadn’t joined The Brightside, I wouldn’t have developed this anxiety-inducing fear of people knowing that I loved a woman. I would have drunkenly married Liv and shared in her joy the next day, called my mother and let her berate us for stealing her dreams of watching me get married.
I would be a different person because…
My sister wouldn’t have been harassed by the press and the public.
She wouldn’t have committed suicide and I wouldn’t have spent the last eleven years letting guilt eat away at me for my failure. I’d been so wrapped up in the spectacle of fame that I’d missed all of the signs. Too busy partying and living it up in LA, to notice that my baby sister was struggling with the increased attention from not only her classmates but the entire world.
But there was one unavoidable hitch in this dream.
Without the band and the fame that came with it, I never would have met Liv.
And fuck didn’t that just tie me up in a whole new kind of knot because I didn’t know which I would choose.
My spiralling thoughts scattered as the sharp click of footsteps approached. I straightened, expecting to see Tom or Andy, ready with a post-show debrief or a half-hearted scolding about going AWOL.
But my bandmates didn’t round the corner. Instead, a weedy looking man in a rumpled suit appeared, a press badge dangling from his neck and a hungry glint in his eye. He zeroed in on me like a shark scenting blood, his thin lips curling into a triumphant grin.
“Lewis! Just the man I was hoping to see.” He sidled closer, invading my space, his voice dripping with false friendliness.
“Sorry mate, no interviews tonight.” I tried to brush past him, but he stepped into my path, blocking my escape.
“Just a quick comment. Won’t take more than a minute.” His grin sharpened, a glint of something predatory in his gaze. “Word on the street is you and your opening act, Ms. Monroe, tied the knot in Vegas. Care to confirm or deny?”
Ice slid down my spine. How? How did he know? “We aren’t married. We’re just friends and co-workers.”
The words burned like acid, the betrayal of them searing my gut. But I pushed through, my fear overriding the sickening guilt.
“Whatever you think you know, you’re mistaken. There’s no story here.”
The reporter’s eyes glittered with malice, his smile razor sharp and a retort on the tip of his tongue. A large hand clamped down on the reporter’s shoulder before he could get it out, spinning him around.
“Alright, that’s enough.” Anderson’s deep baritone cut through the tension, his scarred face set in a scowl. “This area is off limits to press. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
The reporter sputtered, indignation colouring his weaselly features. “I have every right to be here! The public has a right to know?—”
“The public has a right to fuck all, and particularly not from trespassing reporters who stick their noses where they don’t belong,” Anderson growled, his grip tightening on the man’s shoulder. “You can walk out of here on your own, or I can personally escort you out. Your choice.”
For a moment, the reporter looked like he might argue. But one glance at Anderson’s thunderous expression and bulging biceps seemed to change his mind. With a final, venomous glare in my direction, he shrugged out of Anderson’s grip and slunk away, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
I sagged against the wall, my legs suddenly weak, my head spinning. Anderson watched me, his hard gaze softening a fraction.
“You alright, Lewis?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. He studied me for a long moment, then sighed, shaking his head.
“I know you want to keep it hush, but your time is running out. Once the vultures start circling, they won’t stop until they’ve picked you clean.”
With that cheerful bit of wisdom, he turned on his heel and stalked off, no doubt to shout at security for letting the smarmy git slip through in the first place.
Alone again, my words echoed in my mind, slapping me in the face.
Christ, what had I done?
I’d panicked. I’d let my fear, my doubts, my stupid bloody pride get the best of me. And in doing so, I’d betrayed the one person who mattered most.
* * *
Iburst through the door of Carly’s makeshift office, the flimsy plywood rattling on its hinges. She looked up from her laptop, her perfectly arched brows climbing to her hairline at my abrupt entrance.
“Lewis? What’s wro?—”
“I fucked up.” The words tumbled out of me in a rush, my voice raw and ragged. “I fucked up so bad and I need your help.”
She straightened in her chair, her expression shifting from surprised to alert in the space of a heartbeat. “Okay, close the door and sit down. Tell me everything.”
And so I did.
I spilled everything, from our first meeting at Rhymes to our impulsive wedding. I told her about the morning after, the doubts and the fear that had gripped me, the way I’d panicked and pushed Liv away. I told her about the argument at the farmers’ market and the fans.
And then, with shame burning hot on my cheeks, I told her about the reporter. About the story he threatened to run. About the denial that had spilled from my lips in a moment of blind panic.
Through it all, she listened. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t judge, though I could see the wheels turning behind her cool blue gaze. When I finally fell silent, grimacing, my eyes stinging with unshed tears, she leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers together.
Anger bled into her expression and I braced myself.
“Are you a complete idiot?”
Apparently I wasn’t the only one asking that question.
“Marriage licences are a matter of public record. You should have told me the second a ring slipped onto your finger, because this confrontation was inevitable.”
I shook my head once, shame stealing my voice.
“I taught you better than this.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
I opened my mouth, an apology on my lips, but she held up a hand to silence me.
“Save it.” She glared. “Right now, my priority is minimising the fallout. But you and I are going to have a serious conversation about communication and trust, because this?” She waved a hand between us. “This cannot happen again. Understand?”
“What do I do? How do I fix this?”
She tapped her manicured nails against the desk, her brow furrowed in thought. “First things first, we need to get ahead of this story. I’ll reach out to my contacts at the major outlets, see if I can get a handle on what they’ve got and how far it’s spread.”
I nodded, my throat tight. “And then?”
“And then…” Carly sighed. “Then we do damage control. We release a statement, confirming the marriage but stressing the private nature of the ceremony. We paint it as a spontaneous, romantic gesture, not a drunken mistake.”
I flinched at the word “mistake,” guilt churning in my gut. Because that’s what I’d made it seem like, wasn’t it? A regret, a lapse in judgement. Something to be ashamed of.
But it wasn’t. It was the best fucking thing I’d ever done, even if I’d been too much of a coward to see it until now.
“I just… I can’t let what happened to Tegan happen to Liv. I can’t watch another person I love get destroyed by this fucking circus.”
Understanding dawned on Carly’s face, tinged with sorrow. “Oh, Lewis. What happened to your sister… it was tragic, and awful, and completely unfair. But Olivia isn’t Tegan.”
“Isn’t she?” I laughed, the sound bitter and broken. “A small-town girl thrust into the spotlight, into a world she never asked for? Tegan was strong too. Until she wasn’t.”
She sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk. “Look, I can’t promise you that it’ll be easy. That there won’t be challenges, and scrutiny, and assholes with cameras looking for their next headline. But I can promise you this: Olivia is tougher than you think.”
I wanted to believe her. Wanted it so badly my chest ached. But the fear, the doubt, they were insidious fuckers, and they had their claws in deep.
Her expression softened, a touch of sympathy breaking through her professional mask.
“I know this is hard. I know you’re scared and overwhelmed and probably questioning every choice that led you here. But you need to be honest with yourself, and with Olivia. Do you love her?”
“Yes.” The word left me in a rush of breath, a bone-deep certainty that settled over me like armour. “God, yes. More than anything.”
“Then fight for her.” She stared at me. “Don’t let fear or pride or the fucking tabloids come between you. Go to her, tell her everything you just told me. Beg for her forgiveness and then spend every day proving that you meant those vows, that she’s it for you.”
I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat. She made it sound so simple, so straightforward. But the chasm of hurt and betrayal that yawned between Liv and me felt vast, unbridgeable.
“What if…” My voice cracked, the words sticking in my throat. “What if she can’t forgive me? What if I’ve ruined everything?”
Her lips quirked in a sad, knowing smile. “Then you live with the consequences and learn from your mistakes. But… I don’t think it’ll come to that. I’ve seen the way that girl looks at you. Like you hung the moon and stars just for her.”
A shaky laugh bubbled up my throat, half sob and half relief. Because God, I wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that the love I’d seen shining in Liv’s eyes, the love I felt burning in my own heart, was strong enough to weather any storm.”
“I need to go.” I pushed to my feet, my chair scraping harshly against the floor.
* * *
Iturned the corner, my long strides eating up the distance. Couple more minutes and I’d be late for our departure and the guys would start blowing up my phone. Even knowing that, it didn’t feel like I was rushing towards the bus.
More like I was running from a spectral image of the press circling Liv. The need to put as much distance between me and the suffocating weight of my fears as possible rode me.
I’d barely made it halfway down the hall when a familiar voice stopped me dead in my tracks.
“Lewis! Wait up, man.”
Kevin. Fucking perfect. Just what I needed, more bad news and bullshit from my self-serving prick of a manager.
I briefly considered ignoring him, pretending I hadn’t heard and making a break for the nearest exit. But something in his tone, in the uncharacteristic urgency lacing his words, made me pause.
Slowly, reluctantly, I turned to face him. My stomach dropped to the vicinity of my toes at his expression. The tightness around his eyes, the grim set of his mouth. Unease pricked at my spine, a sinking feeling in my gut telling me that whatever had put that look on his face, it wasn’t good.
“What’s going on?”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. A tell, one I’d seen a hundred times before. Usually right before he delivered news that would fuck up our carefully laid plans.
“It’s Olivia.”
My heart stopped, my blood turning to ice in my veins. No. No, no, no.
“What about her?” The words came out strangled, barely audible over the roaring in my ears. “Is she okay? Did something happen?”
A dozen scenarios, each worse than the last, played out in my mind in rapid fire succession. Liv hurt, Liv scared, Liv in danger. Christ, if anything happened to her…
“She’s fine. Physically, at least.” Kevin’s voice cut through the spiral of my panic, but his words did little to ease the knot of dread in my stomach.
Had the story already broken? Were the press hounding her while he held me up?
“What the hell does that mean? Spit it out, for fuck’s sake!”
“She quit.” He held up his hands, a placating gesture that only served to ratchet up my agitation. “Packed up her stuff and left without a word to anyone. Well, anyone except me. I caught her on the way out the door.”
I stared at him, uncomprehending. The words made sense individually, but strung together, they were nonsense. White noise. Static in my head, because surely, surely I’d heard him wrong.
“I’m sorry, she what?”
Kevin pressed his fingers into his temples like he could physically ward off an impending headache. “She quit the tour. Olivia’s gone.”
Olivia’s gone.
This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. She wouldn’t just leave, not without a word, not without…
Not without a damn good reason.
And suddenly, with a clarity that made me want to vomit, I knew. I knew exactly why she’d left, why she’d run as far and as fast as she could.
Because of me.
“Did she…” My voice cracked, my throat closing around the words. “Did she say anything? Leave a note, a message, anything?”
Kevin shook his head, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Tough break, man. She said she was leaving because of you. Didn’t give specifics, but it doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines, if you know what I mean.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “Guess she finally got tired of being your dirty little secret, huh? Can’t say I blame her. It must’ve been exhausting.”
“I have to… I need to…” I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped it twice. I had to call her. Had to explain, to apologise, to make her see that I hadn’t meant it, any of it. That I loved her, that I would fix this, fix us.
But when I finally managed to dial her number, it went straight to voicemail.
She wasn’t going to pick up. Not now, maybe not ever again.
I’d broken us. Shattered the beautiful, fragile thing we’d been building with my own clumsy fucking hands. And now…
Now I had no idea how to put us back together again.