Chapter 21
chapter
twenty-one
“You don’t have to be okay to be worth loving.” – Cyrus
CYRUS
Just like all the other hospitals and doctors’ offices, this place is bright and welcoming and tastes like lies.
They wheel me out with too much fanfare and not enough dignity.
The band trails behind me, silent. My mother leads the way like a vulture, scooping up every scrap of attention she can.
And Haven…well, she isn’t here. I look for her, hoping that she will walk in before we make our escape, but no.
She left before my evaluation, and a dark heaviness has settled over me that I can’t seem to shake.
Even though there are no flashing bulbs, I can still feel the shutter clicks like sniper fire the second the front doors open. Reporters surge against the barricades, shouting over one another so only the loudest can be heard amid the chaos.
“Cyrus, were you high on stage?”
“Is the band canceling the tour?”
“What medications are you on, Cyrus?”
“Is it true your collapse was a suicide attempt, or just a cry for help?”
“Is Haven Gaillard your girlfriend or your handler, and isn’t she your stepsister?”
“Isn’t it a conflict to be sleeping with the boss’s daughter?”
“Is it true that she slept her way to the top?”
The questions about Haven smack me in the face. I wasn’t expecting them, and they make me want to march across the pavement and pummel anyone who has the nerve to talk shit about her.
“What the hell is all this bullshit about Haven?” I growl as we near the stretch SUV.
It is flanked by four police cruisers while more officers keep the horde of fans at bay.
My mother squeezes my shoulder, a silent warning telling me to shut up. As if she deserves to touch me or tell me what to do. Every question feels like a shard of glass plunged into my chest, and every camera filming is another gun pointing at me.
The driver opens the door for us, and I slide inside. Mr. Gaillard sits there like the reaper of death. He stares at me with a small smile on his face. He’s never been cruel to me, but we’ve never really gotten along.
When I look at Auguste, I don’t see the man that Haven sees. My view is different. Under the warm smiles he shares with Haven lies a cold and calculating businessman. He doesn’t ask questions or throw around accusations. His solemn stare creates pressure in my skull and adds fury to my veins.
Declan climbs in next.
“You good?”
“Sure,” I say, and look out the window.
The others follow. Eren, with his careful eyes. Ledger and Ash, murmuring low, while Vex pretends to scroll through his phone.
My mother gets in last and sits across from me beside Auguste. She crosses her ankles and adjusts her blazer as if it’s insulting her.
I’ve learned a lot over the last five years while Haven was away in New York. For starters, I never realized how much Haven protected me, even unintentionally. With Haven gone, my mother turned her insults and criticism on me.
It has become clear that no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough. Without the stardom, I’m not even sure if my mother loves me. Haven saying that Mom only sees me as a dollar sign, used to anger me, but not anymore.
I stare at the city as it blurs past and let my mind drift.
Ten Years Ago
The roof tiles are warm under my back, baked by the late afternoon sun. From up here, the neighborhood looks quiet and boring. Perfect.
I wedge my sneakers against the slope so I don’t slide and take a slow pull from the stupid vape one of the seniors sold me at school. It tastes like watermelon candy.
I cough anyway.
“Wow,” a voice says behind me. “Very rockstar of you.”
I twist around. Haven is climbing out of the dormer window like she’s done it a hundred times. Which, knowing her, she probably has. This was her room, but I wanted it, and my mother pestered Auguste enough that they made her move.
Her purple hair with the blue ends is tied up in a messy knot, and there’s a smudge of purple dye near her temple where it didn’t wash out properly. She plops down beside me on the roof.
“Who says you can join me?”
“Me,” she says, far too cheerily. She wipes her hands on her jeans, then leans back, sitting quietly.
“You’re going to fall,” I say.
“Why? Are you going to push me?”
I snort. “Don’t tempt me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”
Haven’s quiet for a beat.
“I came out here all the time when I needed to escape.”
“What would you need to escape from?”
Her eyes are sad.
“When my mom was sick. It was nice to have a place that was all my own.”
A tiny thread of guilt travels up my spine.
I hold out the vape. “Want some?”
“You’re coughing like a dying goat. Why would I want any?”
“I wasn’t coughing.”
“You were.”
I glare at her, and she grins.
For a minute, we just sit there, shoulder to shoulder, watching the sun dip lower behind the houses. The younger kids in the neighborhood are riding bikes in the street, while someone’s dog barks at them.
This place is nothing like the home I left behind in Las Vegas.
Dad worked in construction, and Mom was a waitress in one of the fancy casino restaurants. Our house was okay, typical middle-income, a suburban box on the fringes of the strip. We had a postage-stamp backyard in an average area with minivans.
But Haven’s house is a mansion. Who needs eight bedrooms? All the houses in this gated community are just as large. One day, I’ll be famous and own a place like this.
I glance at Haven. She is…quiet. It’s weirdly nice just having her here.
“You know,” Haven says, kicking her feet lightly against the shingles, “if you fall off this roof, your mom is going to blame me.”
“It will be your fault,” I say automatically.
“Of course, you say that,” she says with a snort.
Haven is smiling at something in the distance, her chin resting on her knees. The wind pushes a loose strand of hair across her cheek, and she blows it away.
“Patrick says you’re terrible at skateboarding,” I tell her.
“Patrick lies.”
“You broke your arm.”
“That was one time, and I was trying a fancy trick.”
“You cried.”
“I did not.” She glares at me.
“He said that you cried like a baby.”
“See, now I know you’re lying. Patrick would never call me a baby.”
I smirk. “Fine, that was an exaggeration.”
“You’re such a jerk,” Haven says, nudging my shoulder with hers.
She laughs, and I find myself laughing too.
This feels normal, like we’re just…kids. Not the weird stepfamily disaster our parents created. No anger or hatred exists between us.
Her hand drops beside mine on the roof. Our fingers brush. Just barely, but an electric tingle shoots up my arm like I’ve touched a live wire.
I freeze.
What the hell? I look at her. Haven is staring down at our fingers like she feels it. Then she glances up at me, and something in my chest flips in a way I don’t like at all.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Panic slams into my ribs, and I jerk my hand away.
“God, Haven,” I snap loudly. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want your stupid loser germs infecting me.”
Her smile disappears.
“I didn’t—”
The bedroom door slams open.
“Cyrus?”
My mother’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.
“Here,” I say as she stomps across the room. Great, she’s in a mood. She has a lot of them lately. Mom climbs halfway out the window, eyes already suspicious.
“What the hell are you doing out here? It’s dangerous.”
Haven straightens quickly. “We were just—”
I jump in before she can finish. “Haven tried to get me to vape,” I say.
The lie comes out easy. Too easy. I hold out the pen to my mom. Haven stares at me like I just shoved her off the roof.
“That’s not—” Haven starts, but Mom cuts her off.
“Enough! Inside, both of you right now,” my mother snaps.
Haven’s mouth opens, then closes.
“But—”
“Now,” Mom barks.
Her voice is as cold as ice. Haven climbs through the window slowly, shoulders stiff.
“Did you have any,” Mom asks me. I shake my head. “That’s very good, Cyrus. I’m proud of you,” she says.
Mom gives me a quick approving look before she turns her glare on Haven.
Serves her right. My chest still feels strange from her hand touching mine.
“Ow,” Haven whimpers, as Mom grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the bedroom. “Anita, you’re hurting me.”
“You’re lucky this is all I’m doing. How dare you try to get my son addicted to this thing? You know he’s a singer. Vaping can destroy his lungs or voice. You think of no one but yourself,” she snarls as she marches Haven downstairs.
“I didn’t do anything!” Haven snaps back.
Oh, this is good.
“We’ll see what your father has to say about this.”
Mom pushes Haven through the door of Mr. Gaillard’s home office and slams it behind them. I sneak up close and put my ear to the wood.
“Tell your father what you did, right now,” Mom orders.
“I didn’t do anything,” Haven says.
“Were you or were you not on the roof with Cyrus?”
“Yes, I was. We were just sitting watching the sun set.”
“You were trying to get Cyrus to vape. Look at this, Auguste.” There is a dull, hollow thud, and I can only assume she’s put my vape on the desk. “Your daughter is off the rails. She needs to be punished.”
“That’s not what happened,” Haven exclaims. “I swear to you, Dad, that’s not the truth.” I can hear the tremor in Haven’s voice now. Angry. Embarrassed.
Good.
“Cyrus is not the problem here,” Mom continues, her tone climbing. “You are.”
A chair scrapes across the floor inside the room.
“He was the one with the vape!” Haven shouts, and my lip curls.
Smack.
“Oww,” Haven cries out.
“Anita! That is enough. Don’t you dare hit my daughter ever again, or you will find yourself out of this house and my life.”
The silence that follows is heavy.
“Of course, you say that. Of course, you take her side. She is a menace, and you don’t see it. She is trying to destroy Cyrus’s future. For once, take my side because she is getting worse.”
Footsteps move around inside, and I wish that I could see what’s happening.
“You are nothing but trouble,” Mom says, her voice rising. “Ever since I walked into this house, you’ve been pushing boundaries. Been rude. Trying to undermine me. Evil to Cyrus. It has to stop.”