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  Rey walks away.

  Nobody else does.

  He leaves. Checks out and shuts down until the cycle starts again.

  “You’re the only one who can stop this from happening over and over,” I whisper as he stares stoically at the night sky. “I do love you, Rey. There’s so much to love about you. But what good is that if it means nothing?”

  “What are you saying?” He turns, eyes critical. “It means everything to me.”

  I sigh. Talking with him about this is the equivalent of smashing my head against a brick wall.

  “Look at it this way.” I rise and move toward him, yet keep a safe distance. “You’re an empty vessel, wanting to be filled, right? You want the love you don’t have in yourself.”

  He stares at me, not disagreeing, but also not accepting what I say.

  It’s the best I’ll get.

  “Problem is,” I continue, “you get that love. Fuck, every day you get that love. But you sit there with your goddamn lid on tight, refusing to let it in. There’s only so many times people can pour love over you, Rey, before they get frustrated with it flowing back to their feet, unwanted.”

  His lips twist, eyes dark and his frown deep as he studies me. “Do you regret saying yes to this? Do you regret coming?”

  “Why do you ask that? Is that how I appear?”

  “You’re looking for an out,” he says, gaze searching mine.

  “I’m looking for a way in,” I say gently.

  He allows me to step closer, rigid as I slide my hands on his hips and stroke my thumbs over his T-shirt.

  “I want to help, but I’m struggling to figure out how. That’s why I talked with Toby.”

  “What else did the asshole say?”

  “Your brother,” I scold softly, “mentioned that perhaps you use me as a crutch. That if you can kid yourself that I help, then you can justify why you refuse every other treatment option you’ve been given.”

  “I’m not kidding myself.” He frowns. “You do help.”

  “How, though? Because if I’m being totally honest with you, I’m no cure, I’m a Band-Aid.” I run my hands over his chest. “Loving me gives you something good to distract you from the bad. Am I right?”

  He swallows, a sigh then rushing from his nose. “Maybe. But I think there’s more to it than that.”

  “Why?”

  He relaxes a little, one arm sliding around my shoulders to pull me close. “Without getting mad at me,” he warns, “hear me out.”

  “You’re setting yourself up for trouble,” I tease.

  He grins briefly. “If I wanted to be adored, not loved,” he stresses, “then I could have found that anywhere, with anyone. Fuck, I could put a post up on social media right now and have twenty offers in an hour.”

  “Awesome,” I deadpan.

  He gives me a squeeze, pushing the hair from my face. “But I don’t, because they aren’t you.” His eyes hold the truth as he runs his fingers along my jaw. “Your love is what I need.”

  I rest my head against his chest and hold on tight, hiding my face in case he can see the doubt written in my eyes.

  Just like I could see the doubt in his.

  He gives me a line he knows I’ll love like the natural showman he is, but even he doesn’t know that for sure. I make him feel good, yes, but I. Don’t. Help.

  And that’s the problem.

  Me being here? It hasn’t been a catalyst for change. If anything it’s been an excuse for him to justify what he does. I can see him now, standing before the guys as he argues with them “If she can accept me how I am, why can’t you?”

  I won’t be his excuse.

  “I have something I need to tell you too,” he murmurs.

  I lean back, hands shifting to his waist as he jerks his chin toward the sofa indicating we should sit. “What?”

  “I spoke with Wallace today; about you playing.”

  I sigh and step away, turning toward the seat. “Look, you don’t have to explain. I figured it out for myself.”

  He rubs a hand on the back of his neck as he follows me over. “I thought you might have.”

  “I’m not mad at you,” I reassure as I drop onto the cushion. “It’s not your fault; you tried.”

  “Yeah, but I kind of screwed things up, too.” He stands before me, nervous as all hell. He can’t even keep his eyes focused on me, his gaze darting all over the room.

  “I hate today,” I mutter as I sink further into the sofa.

  “You know he’s got my spending on a tight leash, right?”

  I nod, corners of my mouth turned down while I hear him out.

  “So…” He looks to the balcony, hand brushing his pocket. “Can we do this out there?”

  “Sure.” I slide off the seat and make a quick detour by the bedroom to get my sweater.

  By the time I return, all that’s visible of Rey is the flash of his lighter and resulting glow of his cigarette as he stares out over the city.

  I step out onto the balcony with him, a little at a loss with what to do with myself when he leans both elbows on the railing and looks over the edge at the road below.

  A flash of panic surges through me leaving my stomach churning as it sinks to my toes. Would he think of doing that again if he felt low enough? With me here?

  Pays not to think about what hasn’t happened, Tabby.

  I rest my hip against the glass barrier as he turns his head to look at me. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s not good. I can see that much in the way his fingers repeatedly flick ash that isn’t there off the smoke.

  “He’s given you until the end of this week. Seven days.”

  “Until what.”

  Rey sighs, free hand scrubbing his face. “Until you either have to pay your own way or go home.”

  Oh. I hug myself, opting to peer over the rail, too, rather than meet the regret written across his face.

  “I’ll pay, kitty. You’re not going anywhere, I just thought you should know in case you hear anyone say anything about it.”

  “You don’t have to pay for me, Rey.”

  “I want to.”

  The reality of the fucking situation hits me right there on the twelfth floor balcony of a swanky hotel at 1:00 A.M. “I don’t want you to.” I shift my gaze to Rey, my hands shaking against my sides. “If you pay for me to be here, for no other reason than to keep you company between shows, then you know what that makes me feel like?”

  He sucks the last of his cigarette and then tosses it over the side as he shakes his head.

  “A high-priced hooker,” I level. “This isn’t fucking Pretty Woman, Rey, and I’m not goddamn Julia Roberts. Unlike her character, I actually like my career, and I’m not looking to escape from it.”

  He laughs bitterly, standing tall. “You think that’s what this is?”

  “I don’t know what it is.” I look to the building opposite us, not the slightest bit interested in the glow of the fucking light behind the resident’s blinds, but it’s better than looking at the utter repulsion on his fucking gorgeous face.

  Why? Why when he does nothing but pull me into his spin, do I still want him so badly?

  Because there’s more to him than this. Yeah, there is, and he’s still yet to give me one hundred percent, unadulterated Rey.

  That man standing there, hurling insults at me as he snatches his smokes off the glass table? That’s Rey the fucking prima donna rock star.

  Not the man who begged me to come on tour with him.

  Not the man who listened to me spill my guts on an airport floor and reassured me that I’m somebody worth more than what I currently have in life.

  And he’s definitely not the man who let down every fucking wall he had to show me how bad things are when he admitted he wasn’t afraid to die.

  I leave my back to him and use the reflection in the glass barrier to watch as he strides around the suite, seemingly done with trying to cut me down. His long legs take him to what is essentially our roo
m in a few quick strides, and he disappears from view. Is it always going to be like this? I feel as though I negotiate with a tantrum-throwing toddler half the time. The clang of his belt as it hits furniture tells me how pissed he is, the rumble of him muttering to himself following soon after.

  I stand leaning on that goddamn rail, unable and—more so—unwilling to go after him.

  He might not like what I had to say, but it’s the truth. What have I got from being here? If my presence had actually done something to help Rey, then yeah, I might have let the disruption to my own career—however small it is compared to his—go without complaint.

  But I can’t give up on everything I’ve worked for just because somebody bigger and more recognized than me wants to use me as an ego-booster. Maybe it’s nothing unusual for him, having people knock on your door wanting to offer their services, but I gave up submitting to agents when the “stick it on the fridge” joke became too much of a hassle. Kendall and I had so many of the damn things tacked to our small Kelvinator that at least one of them would flutter to the floor every time we opened the fridge.

  So I tore them off and stashed them away in the dark recesses of my closet. Out of sight, out of mind. I also stopped searching for representation purely to salvage what was left of my self-confidence.

  I could only get chipped away at for so long before I felt as though I was ready to fall.

  “Screw this.” I march inside and snatch up my key card from the TV cabinet before heading out the door without saying a thing to Rey.

  If he can crack the shits every time things don’t go how he envisioned them, then so will I.

  My knuckles dance on the dark wood, my heart tight in my chest as I wait to see if he’s still decent. Sure enough, the door creeps open and I’m greeted with a soft smile before Kris steps back to let me in.

  “I’m sorry to crash your evening.”

  He simply holds out an arm to guide me through to the living area.

  I drop onto the sofa, yet stay perched on the edge until I’m sure he’s okay with me being here for this. “I’m at a crossroads, and I just need somebody to tell me if I’m doing the right thing.”

  “I wondered how long it would be.” He drops into the single armchair, seeming to melt into his enormous hoodie.

  The guy’s quite handsome, really. High cheekbones and friendly eyes. Yet he hides behind his hair, his gaze darkened with the smudges of eyeliner left from the show.

  “What’s your take on this? On having me here for Rey? Is there any point to it?”

  His hands fidget inside the front pocket. “He seems to think there is.”

  “I know what Rey thinks.” This was a mistake. How do I know that everything I say here won’t be repeated back the next time they all get together? “Forget it.” I stand, meaning to make for the door, but Kris stops me dead.

  “You’re not the first.”

  I’ve never wanted to undo the past weeks of my life so bad. Take me home. “Pardon?” Jesus—my heart.

  “He’s brought a girl along on tour before, thinking it would keep him level.”

  Why the hell didn’t I find any sign of that when I cyber-stalked the guy? “I’m a damn fool, aren’t I?”

  Kris shakes his head slowly. “No. He is.” He indicates I should sit again with a single jerk of his head.

  I don’t think my legs could hold me up much longer if I tried. “When?”

  “Four years back, when we were small fries.”

  “Who?”

  “Old school buddy. It didn’t work out.”

  “Clearly.” I swear I’m going to be sick.

  Kris shifts to the front of his seat, elbows braced on his knees as he clutches his hands before him. “We all thought he was an idiot when he did it last time, Tabitha. Each one of us told him to send the girl home. All she did was make him worse. But this time.…” He reaches out and touches my knee before retracting his hand. “We all thought he’d finally got it right this time around.”

  I won’t cry. I won’t be weak, especially around somebody I barely know. “I still feel like a fool for believing him.”

  “Why? I’m sure whatever he’s said to you, it’s the truth.”

  “He told me he loves me.”

  Kris nods, corners of his mouth turned down. “Maybe.”

  “He said he needs me.”

  “I think he does.”

  “But?” I look to him, hoping for just one little olive branch. One fucking break.

  “But he needs to respect what he has. He’s so damn absorbed in himself that he can’t piece together how you fit into it all.”

  He can see it too. “What do you think I should do?”

  He leans back in the chair, hands back in his hoodie pocket. “What does your gut tell you to do?”

  I shrug. Fuck—I’m so confused. “He said Wallace told him I either need to pay my way or go home.”

  “Sounds about right.” He shrugs.

  “It’s fair, I know.”

  “But?”

  “Rey said he’d pay to keep me here.”

  “And you declined.” His eyes narrow as though trying to work me out.

  “I told him I’m not Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.” I smirk a little at how funny it sounds repeated.

  He chuckles. “Bet he loved that.”

  “He was offended I saw it that way. Called me all manner of things under the sun and then stormed into his room, throwing his belt around and that.”

  He sighs. “You want me to talk to him?”

  “No. I just.…” I look toward Kris and sigh. “Why am I here?”

  “Only you know that for sure.” He flattens his lips. “Rey knows why he thinks you’re here, but what are you doing this for?”

  I narrow my eyes on him. “You think this is a waste of my time?”

  Kris shakes his head. “No. At least, not if your goal is to make Rey happy. But is that all you want from knowing him?”

  I frown.

  “I’m saying”—he leans forward—“don’t you think that a healthy relationship is one where the feelings are mutual?”

  I’m lost. “If you’re implying I don’t care about him—”

  “I’m implying he doesn’t give a fuck about killing your career, Tabitha, if it means that he gets what he wants, which is you. You need to decide what’s more important, which one you can live without, because Rey and other people’s interests? They don’t co-exist.”

  Jesus. He’s sure as hell not holding back.

  I take a moment to absorb what he’s said before rising slowly from the seat. “Thank you for talking through it with me.”

  “I didn’t do much beside point out the obvious.”

  “Maybe not. But it was what I needed, and I appreciate that.”

  He watches me in silence as I make my way to the door.

  “Thanks, Kris.”

  “Anytime, Tabitha.”

  I slip out the door and into the hall, barely holding on to my composure when the latch clicks shut behind me.

  There comes a point in your life, for little girls anyway, where you realize that the magic of the fairy tales you love so dearly are nothing but an illusion. That the sweet love and grand gestures they tell of never really happen in real life.

  I guess standing here in the hallway of a four-star hotel while I feel no more welcome in my own room than I did in the one I just left, is my moment.

  My moment where I realize that this fairy tale? This sweet love?

  It’s never been anything but an illusion, a show put on by one of the industry’s best performers.

  I merely had to stop believing to see it.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Rey

  “Always” - Saliva

  Wherever she went, it wasn’t far. I look at the red imprints in my palms from where I’ve clenched my fists so tight that my stubby nails bit into the flesh. It was all I could do to stop from tearing everything apart.

  She’ll walk in here to tell
me she wants to leave; I fucking know it. And I don’t blame her one fucking iota.

  I’m a selfish cunt—always have been. I love the shit out of her, but for what she does for me. One goddamn conversation about how this all affects her and I throw my toys out of the sandpit and bully her for daring to want anything other than what I do.

  Goddamn asshole. No wonder I always end up alone, huh?

  Toby, Emery… they’ve had relationships with women throughout our years as a band. They might have been brief, but there are two motherfuckers who know how to treat a girl.

  This asshole? Not so much.

  “Can we talk about this now?” Tabby whispers the question from a safe distance, arms folded as she stands in the doorway.

  “When will you go?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  How the fuck could I let it get to this? “No.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d done this before?”

  Fucking Kris. She went and spoke to that moody fucker. No doubt this is payback for me butting my nose into his business when it wasn’t welcome.

  “Because it didn’t seem important.”

  “I thought you asked me to come along because we connected, Rey. I felt like I meant something to you.” I don’t need to look at her to know tears stain her cheeks. “What a fucking fool, right?”

  “I don’t think you’re a fool.”

  “Have the decency to look at me, for fuck’s sake!”

  Her frustration rebounds off the walls; I’ve never heard her that forceful. Her face is a storm, chest heaving with her quickened breaths as I drag my gaze to hers.

  “What am I to you, Rey?”

  God, I want to touch her so bad. “Everything.”

  “Wrong,” she barks. “What am I to you?” She repeats the question a little calmer, but also a hell of a lot less patient.

  “Relief.”

  “Warmer.”

  “Why don’t you tell me then, if you have all the fucking answers.”

  “Medication,” she hisses. “I’m the drug you refuse to take. I’m your damn sedative.”

  Fuck off. “Whatever.” I screw my face up, pissed that she’s no different to anyone else.

  Can’t stand to be around me because of my disorder. Can’t love me because of my disorder. Can’t even see me because of my disorder.