Chapter 16
GROUND ZERO
I’m a third wheel.
Watching Devon nurse Michael, stroke his hair, wipe his mouth, and be sweet is painful. I can’t help but think it could’ve been me. Not in this exact scenario. However fleeting it was, Devon made me feel special, and seeing him treat Michael with the same care makes me irrationally jealous.
And a deep ache settles in my chest.
I’m so fucking lonely I can barely stand it.
“Looks like you’ve got it covered,” I mutter.
“Yeah. Thanks. You can go back to bed. We’ll be in there soon.”
I swallow hard, still lingering in the doorway to the bathroom.
After a few more torturous moments, I leave. Crawling back into bed, I make sure to face the opposite side of the room.
While I’ve always felt something for Devon—even through the bullying and overall unpleasantness—I care about Michael, too. He’s been nice to me. Kind. Maybe that’s just because I’m desperate. As much as I pride myself on being independent, I wish I didn’t have to be.
I’ve built a career on caring for others. Making their dreams come true. Watching epic love stories blossom and unfold. Seeing addicts recovering. Living in a shadow while everyone shines under the spotlight. It’s exhausting.
And while I do love my job, I can’t help but think I’ll never have someone care about me the way Devon cares about Michael. The way Phoenix loves Eli. How Jorge loves everyone. And how Kelly flutters through life like a whimsical, delusional butterfly.
To make matters worse, I hear Devon telling Michael to get into his bed. There’s some weird noises followed by a whispered, “How do I set this up, Michael?”
I glance over and see Devon filling a CPAP machine with distilled water before securing the lid.
Flipping back, I hear more grumbles from Michael, then a loud whoosh of air.
The two bunk up, side by side, I’m sure.
Possibly spooning. The sheets are cold; the absence of Michael's snores makes everything too quiet.
Tears well while a metric ton sits on my chest. Ducking under the comforter, I slam my eyes shut, hoping to fall asleep soon.
No one cares if I’m slowly dying inside. They all expect me to show up for them.
And I will because it’s what I do, even if no one ever shows up for me.
Eli appears out of nowhere, a to-go cup of coffee in his hands. I side glance in his direction, wondering why he’s choosing to stick close to me. He sips his drink, grimacing like it’s disgusting. I opted for straight black this morning, not wanting to water down my caffeine.
“Jorge asked Kelly, who then asked me to ask you, what’s going on with Devon and Michael?”
I blink, facing him fully. “Are you serious?”
He nods. “Apparently, Jorge doesn’t want you to yell at him, and Kelly thinks you’re mad at her still.”
I seek out my cousin, finding her already staring, and she gives me a sheepish smile, then shrugs. I flip her off. She does the same, so I smile at her to let her know I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?
“I think it’s your face,” he muses, seeming to have read my damn thoughts. “You look like everything offends you.”
I relax my features even more. “Well, you can inform Jorge that I’m completely out of the loop when it comes to the inner workings of Devon and Michael’s friendship.” It still stings that Devon rejected me last night.
This hot-and-cold gives me a fucking headache.
Eli hums. “I don’t believe you.”
“And why the fuck not?” I square my shoulders, bracing for a fight.
He laughs at me. Laughs. “Did you forget what I used to do for a living? You never stop watching them.”
My cheeks are hot. “I watch everyone. It’s my job to make sure they’re all on task—”
“Nope,” he says with a grin. “Phoenix and I were talking about it last night. And we’ve come to the conclusion it’s one of two things, but not both. You either truly despise them, like wanting them to die a fiery death. Or, you want to be the Eiffel of their tower.”
I choke on air, sputtering and nearly dropping my coffee. Eli is pleased with my reaction and smirks. “I’ll relay the info to Jorge.” Then he saunters away, all sleek and cat-like.
When I’m sure no one is watching me, I tuck behind some set equipment, once again lurking from the shadows, and seek out the two men Eli accused me of lusting after.
I wet my suddenly dry lips, stomach flip-flopping, while focusing my attention on Devon. He’s being instructed to stand over a specific X made with tape. That stupid mohawk is up once again, and I’m amazed at how fast he gets it styled in the mornings.
He gets into position, and the director gives him a thumbs-up.
Devon rolls his eyes good-naturedly before glancing at Michael.
I follow suit, finding the All-American blonde yawning and rubbing his eyes.
His backward hat is red and black. I’ve noticed he only wears three different ones.
Dressed in a Dreadful tee and black jeans, he looks somewhat put together.
I sip my coffee, eyes bouncing between them.
Eli’s words leech into my thoughts, sucking out everything I should be focused on and feeding on what’s already been growing. They are polar opposites, Devon and Michael.
Devon is chaotic. Punk to his core, middle fingers raised, and gives zero fucks.
Michael is all calm order. Clean cut, precise, and I think he cares too much about what people think.
I don’t know how I’ve never realized it before, but their individual traits are some fucked up cuttings of my own.
On the outside, I’m put together. I’m on time, have a clear schedule to follow, micromanage—the works. On the inside, it’s a dumpster fire with a miniature Lex running around with his hair on fire, trying to make sense of it all.
I’ve been the third many times, and while it’s fun in a sexual sense, I’m always firmly reminded of my place.
The outsider.
The one allowed to be there.
There’s the couple, and then there’s me—the disposable toy sent home alone, excluded from their intimate moments.
Devon and Michael would make a beautiful couple if Michael liked men.
“Mr. Hale,” the director calls, and I snap out of my thoughts. “A word?”
My stomach is knotting at record speed. Sweat pools under my arms, and a chill works down my spine. There’s no getting out of it, either. This is my job. This is what I’m being paid for. When things aren’t going as they should, I have to step in and make them go right.
But I’ve never had to single him out. Not once in six years of managing Dreadful.
I’ve swallowed more in the past ten seconds than I ever have in my entire life.
Fuck.
“Michael,” I walk over to the faux stage and crane my neck.
He blinks down at me, gaunt and still hungover. The entire set goes eerily silent.
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this.
“Come over here, please,” I say, keeping my tone firm.
Nodding sluggishly, he sets his guitar down and steps off the stage. We move to the side, out of sight of the crew. I double-check that we're alone, then I lay into him.
“The entire video is going to flop because you can’t suck it the fuck up.”
When he doesn’t immediately defend himself, instead swaying and rubbing his eyes, I force all of my internalized anger out to the surface.
“Do you want to stay here another week? Solely to reshoot your parts? I can’t even begin to fathom what that’d do to the budget, let alone the shitstorm that’ll rain down on us from Kingsport! ”
Shit. I said that too loudly.
Glancing over my shoulder, I spot Kelly, her gaze fixed on us in our secluded corner. Jorge lowers his water bottle and whispers to Oli. It’s only a matter of time before…
“Hey!” Devon barks, jogging over, ready to defend his best friend, but I’m not backing down.
I have to do this.
Ignoring Devon, I return my attention to Michael. “If you can’t pull your own weight, the video isn’t happening. You will be the cause of it. Is that what you want? To be the reason Dreadful misses out on its first industry-standard video shoot?”
Michael’s eyes go wide.
“Stop it,” Devon hisses, having reached me. “Back off, now.” It’s a warning, but I’m not dealing with him now. I can do that later.
Michael needs the fear of god put into him, or else the director is pulling out. He told me as much.
“I won’t work with such blatant drunks.”
“You’ve missed every cue,” I continue my rant, slashing my hand through the air.
“Your fingers haven’t touched a single note on the fret board.
You’ve been nodding off and pissing away this opportunity.
So much for all that fame and fortune you go on and on about.
I thought this was important to you? I thought this was your dream—”
Devon grabs my arm, shoves me back, and physically bars me from Michael. “Say another word, Lewis, and I’ll lay you out.” The sheer hatred he has for me is laced around every word.
That weight on my chest triples, the knots in my stomach turn into fusions.
“He’s fucking up everything!” I bark, shooting my hand out. “Your best friend is single-handedly ruining it for everyone!”
“And you’re treating him like some low-life fuck up! He’s a little hungover! That’s all!”
We are too loud. The rest of the band is getting closer, curious why we are yelling at each other. Fuck. I need to get a handle on this and fast, but I’m so shaken up by Devon’s intervention, so pissed that he’s defending Michael when he’s clearly in the wrong.
“Lex is right,” Michael whispers, bringing his fists to his eyes. “I'm a mess.”
Devon whips his head around, and whatever he sees in his best friend fuels him to act impulsively. I spot the threat in his posture. My instincts spike. Fight or flight mode engages. And I completely forgot where we are.
He comes for me, eyes alight with fury, and I react. I kick him in the shin as hard as I can. To my horror, all he does is grunt and keep coming. I scramble backward, out into the open.
“Stop! Stop it!” Kelly screams.
The band roars to life. Phoenix appears out of thin air and throws an arm around Devon, holding him back. “Fucking stop,” he begs.
The entire crew is witnessing our meltdown. I can’t pretend this isn’t the first time they’ve dealt with an unruly band, but shame fills me to the brim that I lose all composure.
I had it under control. But no. Devon had to intervene. He had to make me the monster when all I'm trying to do is make sure they get everything they've worked for.
I just want them to succeed.
“Fuck you, Devon! Fucking fuck you!” I shove at him and, by extension, Phoenix. Eli intervenes, dragging me off the pair. Flailing in his hold, I throw a wild elbow, nailing him in the chin. He lets me go with a howl of pain.
I launch at Devon again, successfully landing an open-palmed slap. Chaos detonates. Hands and arms, screams and arguing. Someone’s yanking at my hair while I do the same to that stupid mohawk. I kick out my legs as a fist lands in my stomach. It’s a full-on brawl, and I can’t stop it.
I’m so angry.
I'm so sick of being hated and never wanted.
Somehow, Devon manages to kick out my legs, and I land hard on my back. I gasp, a true bolt of fear striking me. He straddles my abdomen, fingers like a noose around my neck.
I claw at his forearms, buck my hips, and scream as hard as I can. Hazel eyes bore into me, upper lip curled in a vicious snarl. It's like he's not even present; those hazel eyes are nearly black with rage.
“Why are you like this!?” He demands, shaking me so hard my head slaps against the hard floor. “You never know when to fucking stop! You never know when to back off and leave her alone!” His fingers squeeze impossibly tighter, his irises glazing over.
“Let me go!” I thrash, quickly losing the ability to breathe. I stop clawing and begin slapping desperately.
Everyone swarms Devon, Michael included. They manage to pry him off of me, and as soon as Devon is on his knees, Michael punches him so hard the crack of knuckles echoes like a small bomb. Devon goes down like a sack of bricks. “That’s enough!” Michael commands, losing his composure.
I suck in desperate breaths, rubbing my bruised throat. Devon groans, pushing himself off the ground and wiping his now bloody lip. The police are probably coming at any moment, ready to arrest us all.
This is my fault.
All my fucking fault.
I let it escalate instead of keeping things calm. I’m their manager, and I’ve allowed us to fight and scream all while on a set.
“How dare you?” Michael croaks, shaking from head to toe, hands balled into fists. He’s not talking to me, though. “How fucking dare you become that man!”
Devon’s eyes are comically wide, all the color draining out of his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, but it sounds like a beg. “I— Michael— Fuck! Fucking fuck! I thought I was—that he was— Lex, are you okay? I—”
“What the fuck, Devon?!” Jorge bursts. “You could’ve killed him!” He kneels and inspects my throat, gently poking at what I know are finger-sized bruises. “Jesus Christ!"
“Let me see,” Kelly demands, fussing over me as well.
“That was too god damned far!” Michael continues to lay into Devon, who is now curling into a ball, knees tucked to his chest. “God damn you!”
Hearing Michael yell somehow only adds to the awfulness of our situation. He’s not a yeller. Knowing he’s been pushed to his limit because of me…
“I’m fine,” I croak. “I’m fine. It’s…please stop,” I beg them.
Searching for the director with tears streaming down my cheeks, I find him on the phone, ranting and raving about us, but it doesn’t sound like the cops.
No, it’s much worse. He’s talking to Nils—Kingsport.
This kind of stunt could very well be the thing that terminates their contract.
And it’s my fault. I did this. I could’ve gently scolded Michael.
I could’ve handled this any other way. But I became the tyrant they all know and fear.
I did this.
“No! Wait!” I scramble to my feet, rushing over to the manager. “Please just listen. This was not their fault. Please don’t do this!”
He curls his lip at me. “Get the fuck off my set.”