20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Tyler
B eing on Mia’s arm at the gala was like jumping into a churning sea after having spent hours floating on my back, staring at the clouds. Each flashbulb, each shout trying to get her attention, blurred together like waves on top of waves. Beside me, she glowed. Every time our gazes connected, it became more and more obvious how much she’d missed this, how much she was sacrificing by being in Little Falls, by having this baby, by settling for any life with me.
Even while I answered questions about the dress and posed for photos with her all over the red carpet, part of my mind was consumed with second-guessing the connection I’d been feeling between us. Maybe being in our bubble in Little Falls was what had made us so close.
No. No. We’d gotten close while we were on tour together too. I’d just always been backstage, never in the swirling storm of fans, paparazzi, and press outlets. Everywhere we turned, someone wanted a piece of Mia, wanted to talk about her cutting the tour short, wanted to know who I was. Her responses came easily, the lies spilling out. It had been months since she slipped on a mask, this mask, and it made me question whether I really knew her.
But I did. I understood her .
I went through the motions, talked about the dress, smiled at the right times, gave Mia my hand when she reached for it.
She had been right, though. Whether for show or if people were being authentic, everyone we encountered loved the dress, were surprised at my talent, couldn’t believe they hadn’t heard of me before. Their flattery reminded me of what I’d wanted ten years ago. Fame. Recognition. I’d wanted what I was experiencing right now.
But I’d also wanted a wife, kids. Back then, my whole dream had felt within my grasp. My first tour of what I hoped would be many, my home with Katie. I’d been on the cusp of greatness.
Then, my life fell apart, and I spent years thinking I’d never get what I truly desired, never reach anything close. I wondered if long-term, comfortable relationships and my shop might be the best I could do.
Mia talked to one of the reporters, and I scanned her lovely face, marveled that I was here, with her. Again, I was so close to having everything. If only it was possible to make someone love you enough . That was the key, at least with her. She felt something. Some sort of intense emotion flowed between us like a current when we were alone—moving, changing—but constant.
“Just one last question before you go inside,” the reporter in front of us begged Mia. As far as I could tell, she was selective about who she talked to, and this reporter earned a wary glance before she slowed her stride. She gave the reporter an expectant glare, the cue to let him know she was listening.
“Can you comment on the Kenny Connors lawsuit that’s pending? He produced your first album.”
“Yes, he produced my first album.” Mia’s tone was pleasant and straightforward, but I could sense the strain .
“Maybe you haven’t heard with your illness, but he’s accused of rape, of committing statutory rape. Of raping the girls he produced.”
“I don’t have anything to do with that lawsuit, so how could I possibly comment?” She gave him a sweet smile, one I knew was fake. She squeezed my hand once we were linked again, while we moved toward the entrance to the art gallery.
“But could you be part of that lawsuit? Should you be?” the reporter called out after us.
Mia kept her focus on the entrance to the art gallery, but I had been following the story, remembered how Mia told me once that Kenny hurt her. The tension zinging through her was unmistakable. This dickhead reporter thought he already had something on her, thought he had a right to these details at an event like this.
Letting go of her hand, I walked back to the reporter and leaned in. “Are you really trying to ask her on the red carpet of a fashion gala whether or not she was raped? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I pointed my finger into the camera. “This guy needs to be fired.”
From behind me, Mia tugged on my arm. “He’s not worth it, Tyler. Reporters ask stupid questions all the time. Small minds, small questions. You just gotta let them go.”
“I won’t let this idiocy go.” Inside, I was fuming. “He doesn’t have the right to ask you that question—not here, not anywhere. The entitlement. It’s unbelievable.”
She laughed, but there was sadness in it while she gripped my hand tighter and led him away. “Welcome to my life—the ugly bits.”
I saw some of the other ugly bits—the social media comments, the magazine articles, the people who didn’t know her ranting about things they didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend. A few times, I was tempted to respond, but I always understood my interference wouldn’t make the hate better. Tonight, I didn’t care. The reporter’s comment had hurt her, and while I might not know all the details, I understood enough. I had no patience for cruelty, especially when anyone directed it at her.
When we entered the art museum, I was still fuming, so caught up in my anger, I didn’t notice the woman approaching us until she was there, too close to avoid.
“Mia!” Laura snatched her daughter from me and enveloped her into a loose hug. “I was so happy to hear from you.”
Happy to hear from you? She’d been in touch with her mother? Laura ignored me while she rattled off things she’d been doing and oohed and awed about Mia’s dress.
“Who’d you pick in the end?” Laura asked.
“Tyler designed it, actually.” Mia tipped her head in my direction, at my spot just behind them where Laura had not so subtly pulled her away.
Her lips pursed, and she glanced in my direction. After making such a fuss over the dress, backpedaling now would make her look petty, and we all knew it.
“You did a nice job.” Her lips barely moved.
“Thanks.” I pushed my hands into my suit pockets. My outfit was the other half of her solar system. The two pieces didn’t make sense separately, but flowed seamlessly together. Had Laura bothered to look at me for even an instant before tugging Mia away, she would have seen it herself.
A giant TV in the entryway was tuned to one of the more reputable celebrity-gossip shows covering the event. There, almost life-size, was my rant at that reporter .
Laura coughed and raised her eyebrows at Mia. “He needs better training. That’s not going to help you or the situation.”
“I asked you here so we could work things out, and that’s what you say? He’s not a dog, Mother. He’s my boyfriend, my partner tonight.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and she shot me a helpless look.
She was crying again, angry tears, but tears, nonetheless. The last week or so, as soon as her emotions overloaded, she cried. Last night, she cried over the last slice of cheese in the fridge. Right now, it was obvious she didn’t want to be in tears. She wanted to be pissed off.
“I said what I said. No one gets to speak to her like that when I’m around.” My pointed comment was probably lost on Laura—that should have been the rule when she was with her daughter, too.
Laura’s eyes flickered with annoyance, as though I was a pest she needed to tolerate for now. When she focused on Mia again, a frown marred her face. “Are you…crying?” Laura stepped closer and stared into her daughter’s eyes. “Our fight has been that hard on you?”
Mia slid a bewildered glance to me before dipping her head. When she made eye contact with her mother, she said, “Yeah, Mom. Of course. We’ve never gone this long without talking.”
“Oh, honey.” Laura gripped her daughter’s hand and smiled. “I thought it was just me who was miserable. Look, I can set up some things for you. Nothing big. Just a few appearances. Honestly, with all this Kenny drama, it’s probably good you’ve been lying low.”
Very slowly, Mia took her hand out of Laura’s grasp and reached for me behind her. “I’m not ready to go back. I need some more time. You’re right, with everything hitting the fan with Kenny, it’s better if I keep a low profile. Stay out of the spotlight. ”
“I have people calling me all the time, so whenever you’re ready. Whenever you’re ready.” Laura’s attention drifted to me and then away.
She hadn’t asked about her birthday, about her songwriting, about her life in Little Falls, about anything that meant something to Mia. Instead, she shifted into business mode, pushing her daughter to sink into their uneasy alliance. My temper had flared with the reporter, and it simmered now. I couldn’t believe Mia had contacted Laura without discussing it or at the very least telling me she’d done it. Laura’s complete obliviousness to her daughter’s needs made the meeting even worse.
“There are some people we need to talk to.” Mia tipped her head in the direction of a small crowd gathered around a large art piece at the end of the spacious room. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Yes.” Laura nodded. “I’m glad you called.”
That was it? No lingering hugs or offers to visit? Not that either of those would be good for our secret. When we wandered away, Mia leaned toward me, eyes cast down, her hands wrapped around my bicep. “I feel so different since I left the tour, you know? I just—I wanted her to be different, too.”
I brought her hand up to my lips, and most of my anger dissipated. At her core, she was a daughter who wanted her mother’s love. How could Laura not see that, not want to fill the void, not wish for Mia’s happiness above everything else?
“Why didn’t you tell me you were talking to her?”
With a shrug, she focused on the people wandering past, offering smiles and saying hello. In front was another art piece, but I didn’t know if she was taking it in; I wasn’t.
“Calling her seemed like the easiest way to keep our secret. I contact her first. She sees me here.” She touched a hand to her hair, to the complicated pattern I helped her do in our bedroom instead of trusting a stylist. With a deep breath, she said, “That’s not really why. It’s just that if I asked her to come, and I told you and she didn’t show up, what would that mean?” Her voice cracked.
Laura would be a shitty mom. No surprise there. Turning up today didn’t change my mind. She was Mia’s manager first when what Mia really needed, had probably needed for a few years now, was a mother.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and leaned into her ear. “It says nothing about you and everything about her. You deserve to be loved.”
When she looked up with her big, gorgeous eyes, glassy with tears, I was a goner. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. In that moment, we were back in our Little Falls bubble, and I couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. With her, always with her, that was where I wanted to be. Our connection pulsed, alive, electrifying.
“I don’t care about all this art. Let’s go home.” Her voice was soft, and she rose on her toes to kiss my cheek.
What would my life be like in a few months when she disappeared? When I watched events like tonight and longed for her? An ache that would never go away, that would be magnified each time I looked at our child.
“Let’s go home,” I agreed, drawing her close and kissing her temple. Even if I was going to lose her, I still had her now.