Chapter Twenty-Eight
Scarlett
“… until the weight of love turns you into something ugly”
Tav stood by my side as Ryden outperformed himself, song after song, lighting Radio City on fire.
He was, well and truly, exactly what the headlines coined him.
The greatest rock star of this generation.
The greatest rock star I’d ever laid my eyes on.
And he was mine.
You never see the crew, but behind the curtain, we were all silent admirers. No, there’s no way they could be fans, we’re the fans! The ones decked out in merch, glow lights like halters around our necks!
That sea of bodies out there… they couldn’t have been more wrong.
The shining pride in Tav’s eyes held a sentiment familiar to my own. I made a rock star, he was undoubtedly thinking.
I love one.
“He’s a real superstar that one,” Tav nudged my shoulder as Ryden leapt off Derek’s platform, screaming out song lyrics like an ascent of passion.
I smiled. “He found his destiny.”
“You think the kid was made for this?”
I rolled my eyes. “Tav, when will you ever refer to us as mere adults?”
“When you act like one.”
“Excuse you,” I pinched his wrist. “I single-handedly carried the entire tour on my back.”
“Was this before or after you ran away to Neverland upon hearin’ Ryden’s little serenade?”
I bit back. “After.”
The corner of his lips turned in victory. “What did I say the other –”
“Sir –” A security guard tapped him on the shoulder. “There’s uh, someone who wants to speak with you at the gates.”
“Lots of people want to speak with him,” I teased. “Unfortunately I always have the pleasure.”
Tav opened his mouth in response, but the security guard seemed adamant, insistent. “It’s important, sir,” then leaned down to whisper in his ear. Huh.
Tav’s mouth contorted in a frown. Double huh.
“Everything okay?”
“I’ll be right there,” Tav told the guard, then faced me. “Ryden’s done in what? Ten? Fifteen?”
“He’s on his closer,” I supplied.
“Fucking hell. Get him to do another song, will you Red?”
My eyes turned to slits. “What’s going on, Tav?”
We stared at one another, testing, waiting. I could tell he wanted to say something, the truth maybe. But he moved away before he let himself. “Stay fuckin’ put, I mean it, Scarlett.”
Was I curious? Of course. Did I care enough to lose my job? No. Fans and reporters were battleaxes, determined to pry through the gates during a tornado, let alone his final concert at home base. It was probably that, yeah – definitely that. And firmly out of my jurisdiction of problems.
Tav was the band manager, I was Ryden’s.
He was my problem.
And my problem was currently performing his final song to an ocean of supporters, in awe of his impact.
I was front row, wearing the pride of a thousand hearts.
No, nothing could stop me from watching him perform.
I’d be here until the very end.
It’s so peaceful, I thought. Having someone through it all.
[It could have been so peaceful.]
***
“ENCORE! ENCORE! MORE, MORE, MORE!”
The crowd was hungry, shrill, teeming with excitement and nerves.
After last night, seeing Ryden’s fragility, I didn’t want to go to his final sound check this morning.
Was it in part due to the dozens of phone calls I made with the press, Gladis Roberts hounding down Ryden’s next available time slot for the New York Post’s Interview with a Rock star tribute? Could have been.
Some people are fucking relentless.
But I accepted the distractions with open arms.
My life was never supposed to stand still. I was in a time loop of aggrievances, spontaneity.
Standing behind Ryden’s show, hearing him sing… turning it all off – that, that was the only moment I could breathe.
“ENCORE, ENCORE, MORE, MORE, MORE!”
“You hear that, guys?” Ryden turned to the rest of Jaw & Lion, “they want more! What’d you say we give them one more?”
“MORE, MORE, MORE!” They chanted.
Ryden glanced at Donny, Derek, Dean, then… me. A quick nod, a small smile – but it was enough to make my insides turn into falling snow.
“Aw, no! Seems like the band’s a bit tired!” The guys started filtering off stage, waving at the audience. But this…
Was unusual.
Did they – did they rehearse this?
“BOOOOOO!!!!” The crowd lost their minds.
I did too?
“What’s going on?” I grabbed onto Dean’s arm. “Why are you all leaving?”
He replied in the form of a half-hug. “I think he’d really appreciate it if you stayed for this one.”
And then he was off.
They were off.
My stomach dropped.
And I knew what was coming.
“I’ve been working on something real special for you guys!” Ryden called out, looping Harley’s strap around his neck. “Just me, though. Hope you can understand.”
The crowd cheered like I’ve never heard before. “WE LOVE YOU RYDEN!”
“YOU CHANGED MY LIFE RYDEN!”
“YOU SAVED ME RYDEN!”
[You… saved me, Ryden.]
“This song,” he gripped the mic, “this song is dedicated to someone very special.”
My lungs plummeted.
He didn’t need to look at me.
He just needed to make sure I didn’t run this time.
I took one, two, three steps back until my frame hit a wall of muscle. “Morty,” I knew.
“He… worked hard, Ms. Emory-Blake.” Morty peered down at me with sad eyes. “Not just on this song, but. With it all.”
I swallowed my fear, my hurt, my emotions – pretending to adjust his tie, lapels – anything that could distract me from the raw feeling plastered on his face.
Morty, the one who found Ryden the first year he overdosed.
Morty, the one who bought us groceries for six weeks when we just moved to New York City – nothing but a threadbare jacket on our backs and a dream in our hearts.
Morty. The father we never had.
“Bodyguards should never have opinions,” I sniffed, tapping his chest.
He chuckled lowly. “I hope by now, I’ve earned one.”
“Oh, fuck,” I swatted at him, retreating back to my position at the corner of the stage, watching Ryden sing his stupid little song.
His stupid little beautiful fucking song.
His beautiful, beautiful song.
Our song.
Our beautiful song.
***
Did I have tears running down my face?
Yes.
Did they stay there?
Not for a goddamn second because Ryden was walking towards me, plastered in sweat, and I –
God fucking dammit, I couldn’t hold back.
“Dove,” he reached out, laying Harley against the wall as I jumped on top of him, burying myself in his perspired tee, soaking up all that he was – another tour – coming to its final end.
But not us.
We were fucking infinite.
“My Dove,” he murmured, one hand around the back of my neck, another holding me up, legs wrapped around his waist. “My Dove.”
“Mhm,” was all I could muster out, because I was losing brain cells being this close to him, inhaling his energy, holding tight because I was scared of letting go.
He finished his tour, in our chosen home, by singing the song he wrote for me.
The song he wrote for us.
The song that healed some part of him, and in turn, that healed some part of our past.
“One more minute,” I begged, wrapped up in his embrace, hiding all my worries underneath the blanket of his safety.
“Take all my time,” he promised, pulling me closer. “It’s yours.”
***
For once, we held hands and I didn’t bat an eye.
For once, I allowed his heart and mine to shine – rays like a solar beam – together for everyone to see.
He wrote me a song. He wrote me a song. He wrote me a song.
It replayed in my head upon sliding down his body, holding him close, forehead to forehead. “How long did it take you to write that?”
His grip tightened around my waist. “How long have I known you?”
I was high.
High on life.
High on music.
High on Ryden fucking Spectre.
I could kiss him. Just fucking kiss him.
Give in. KISS HIS BLOODY FUCKING MOUTH YOU IDIOT WOMAN WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU.
Give in. Make him yours. His eyes, they’re staring at you with want, they’ve always stared at you this way, like a prince cursed to save his princess until he reached the very top, fell down the hill, and the last person he saw was me – me, the one who has been there through it all, ME, the one who has loved him through it all – ME.
Me and him.
Dove and Eagle.
KISS HIM, YOU GODDAMN IDIOT!
“Scar,” he whispered, throat bobbing, pupils dilating. Want, want, want.
“Mhm,” I raked my fingers through his hair, “Mm.”
“Use. Your. Words.” He closed in, “Tell me what you want.”
His breath danced with mine, our lips mere inches apart. Eyes, fuck, his eyes so impossibly green, like the aurora borealis in the middle of winter.
One good thing, Scarlett. You deserve one good thing.
My heart hammered in my chest as I opened my mouth, and leaned in. “You’ve always known the answer to that.”
Amore de ferro.
Iron love.
The curve of his lips barely brushed mine before we were wrenched apart, hands – hands all over me, all over Ryden, a mass of screams and yells tearing into my eardrums.
What?
What the hell??
What’s happening –
“NO! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” I screamed, though I recognized his grip – Morty’s – WHY?
WHY IS HE HOLDING ME?
“Ryden!” I ripped, watching as a crazed fucking woman, dirty blonde hair grabbed at him, Derek and Donny holding him back, Tav and Dean hoisting this feral fan off of him.
So much security.
So much press.
Another mess.
Another fucking mess.
We can never have good moments, I thought in the haze of it all. We can never be happy together.
“Morty, let me go or I’ll dig my heel so far into your foot you’re never going to walk –”
“Mom?”
I –
…
I…
…
I couldn’t… move.
…
“M… Mom?”
His voice, Ryden’s voice, it was… smaller now.
I hadn’t… I hadn’t heard him speak that way since we were kids.
Since we lived on Slater Street.
Since…
Since he saw… Clara, Clara Elise Spectre…
Before she ran away.
***
“Ryden…”
She, this woman, she rushed up to Ryden but he put a hand up, shaking, revolted – a wounded animal that had been starved for over a decade, starved of parental love, starved of a stable home.
A home that wasn’t ours.
“Clara, there are private rooms at the back –” Tav, clearly of no use, tried.