by Selena Kitt
That didn’t last, of course. I had lows again. There were times I curled up on the tile floor in the shower and sobbed and hated myself for not seeing, not knowing, not paying closer attention. Tyler took me to meetings. He found me another therapist, and I really grew to like her. We lived in the same house with Rob and Sabrina, but unless we were eating dinner at home, I only saw them in passing.
They were cocooning. And truthfully, so were we.
Tyler was determined that I wasn’t going to use again—ever. So, he never let me out of his sight. For a while, that was pretty easy, because the band was on a break. The tour was over, and they weren’t set to record their new album for six more months. We swam, we went for long drives along the coast, we slept as long as we wanted in the morning, we stayed out as late as we wanted at night.
There were plenty of parties, and I met more celebrities than I could count. And yeah, there were drugs. Everywhere we went, there were drugs. But Tyler didn’t use, and neither did I. Honestly, I don’t know how either of us kept our resolve, except that maybe, now, we had each other. We had seen the worst in each other, and we were both still here.
I didn’t know if my therapist would have called it love or codependence, but I didn’t ask her about that. Whatever it was, what I had with Tyler was enough for me. I’d never felt so close to anyone before. I had been infatuated with Tyler before we met—star struck. But after I went on tour with Trouble, I’d fallen for him so hard I could barely think straight.
And now, after everything we’d been through together, his addiction, mine, recovery, a whole lot of honesty, I wasn’t just in love with this man. Somehow, he was a part of me. And I think I’d become a part of him, too. We were inseparable now. KatieandTyler. TylerandKatie. If we were big enough to be a “celebrity couple” they probably would have given us some cute name like TyKat or KatTy, but the tabloids were far more interested in Sabrina and Rob.
Which pissed Arnie off to no end.
We were out to lunch with him, listening to him vent about Rob’s continued insistence that Sabrina become a part of Trouble, when Tyler dropped a bombshell I hadn’t ever expected him to tell anyone.
“Arnie, I can’t play anymore.”
“What?” The man’s balding head came up from where he’d been cutting up a giant porterhouse steak. I held my breath, looking between the two of them.
“On the album,” Tyler said with a shrug. “We’re supposed to start recording next week, and I can’t play.”
“What do you mean you can’t play?” Arnie peered at him curiously through his round-framed glasses like he’d just come across something odd and interesting. He wasn’t angry, simply curious.
I knew Ty’s hands had been bothering him more. We’d gone to a new doctor in San Francisco—and had spent a week sightseeing afterward—and this doctor had started him on a new drug. And, to Tyler’s chagrin, a new diet, one that did not include Twizzlers. He wanted him to cut out gluten, red meat and most carbs, so Tyler was currently eating a salad made with organic greens, hormone-free chicken, and no dressing at all. And he didn’t look happy about it. He kept stabbing his fork into it like he wanted it to die a very painful death.
“I haven’t told Rob… or… well anyone.” His hand slid across the table to touch mine. To show solidarity, I was eating a salad, too, although I’d really wanted to order a burger. “Except Katie. I’ve got a condition.”
“What kind of condition?” Arnie wheezed, sitting back in his seat. He was a big man, short and rather round, and he looked even rounder when he crossed his arms over his barrel chest.
“I’ve got rheumatoid arthritis,” Tyler said softly, glancing up as a waiter passed. I was sure he didn’t want anyone in the posh restaurant to overhear him and go public with it.
“Fuck me.” Arnie whistled through his capped teeth. “What does that mean?”
“My hands…” Tyler held up a fist, flexing it. “They’re bad. And getting worse.”
“Well, we’ll get you to a doctor.” Arnie looked relieved now that he’d found a course of action and picked up his fork. “The best doctors. Let me call—”
“Arnie, stop.” Tyler interrupted him. “I’ve already been to the best doctors. Believe me. I’m doing everything I can. But I’m not going to be able to play guitar forever. I may only have a couple years left.”
“Ahhh kid…” Arnie frowned, tossing his fork onto his plate with a clatter like he’d just lost his appetite. “Goddamnit.”
“I have something I want to ask you.” Tyler looked at Arnie, and then at me.
“Anything,” Arnie assured him. “You know I’m here for you.”
“I need more parts,” Tyler told him quietly.
“Parts?” I asked, confused. What kind of parts was he talking about? My first thought was body parts, which just made me want to laugh.
Arnie gave a little nod. “I’ll do what I can.”
“What sort of parts?” I asked again, nudging Tyler under the table with my knee. What in the world were they talking about?
“He didn’t tell you?” Arnie grinned, picking up his knife and fork again. Clearly, his appetite had returned. “I got the kid here a part in the upcoming Bond movie.”
“What?” I blinked at Tyler, my mouth dropping open. “When? You didn’t tell me?”
“It was before I met you.” Tyler shrugged, and he actually looked a little embarrassed. “They needed somebody, and I happened to be in the office when Daniel Craig and the director were in talking with Arnie…”
“They took one look at his face and wanted him.” Arnie chuckled.
“You met Daniel Craig?” I blinked at Tyler, then at Arnie. “Wait—do you represent him?”
“Matter of fact.” Arnie nodded.
“You got a thing for Daniel Craig?” Tyler raised his eyebrows at me.
“Well, he does have that sexy accent.” I grinned when he scowled at me. “And I don’t think I’ve seen a man look better in a tux.”
“Well, now I’m definitely not taking you to the premiere.” Tyler looked askance at me, arms crossed.
“What?” I squeaked, sitting up in my seat. “You get to go to the premiere? Of the new James Bond movie? Doesn’t it open next week?”
“I was gonna let you walk the red carpet with me and everything.” Tyler scoffed. “But if you’re gonna be looking at James Bond all night…”
“I was kidding!” I clutched his bicep. “Just kidding!”
“Oh yeah?” His gaze narrowed at me, but he was smiling. “You don’t think he’s hot?”
“Well I’m not dead,” I grumbled.
“No, but he’s gonna be,” Tyler snapped.
“Oh, come on, Ty.” I laughed, nudging him and pointing to the waitress who had asked for his autograph before we were even seated for lunch. “Do you realize that women come up to you every single time we’re out together?”
“That’s different.” He made a face. “They’re interested in me. Not the other way around.”
“I was kidding.” I poked him, and he smiled. “So, what’s this part? Did you get to shoot anything?”
“It was just one line,” Tyler said when Arnie laughed. “I played a waiter, big deal. But the director liked me. And I thought, hell, it’s something I could do, that wouldn’t be so hard on my hands…”
“That’s true…” I agreed, thoughtful. Tyler Cook an actor? He was the best guitarist alive, as far as I was concerned—although I was a little biased. The thought of him not making music anymore made me ineffably sad.
“I’ve also got some songs,” he said to Arnie. “I wondered if you could sell them? Rob doesn’t want to use them for Trouble. He and Sabrina are writing together now.”
“Tell me about it.” Arnie gnashed his teeth on a piece of red meat. “He wants her to join Trouble. She’s a nice girl and all, but there’s no way I can get the label to agree to it. Can you talk some sense into him?”
“Well, she could replace me…” Tyler
suggested with a shrug.
“Are you kidding me?” Arnie nearly choked on his steak, grabbing a wine glass full of water to wash it down. “No one could replace Tyler Cook!”
“I just meant, you know, once I can’t play anymore…” Tyler flexed his hand again, looking thoughtful, and that just made me sadder.
“Trouble’s a boy band,” Arnie said with a shake of his head.
“I resent that.” Tyler frowned at his salad, poking at it with his fork.
“I know, I know!” Arnie rolled his eyes, waving the comment away like he’d heard it before. “But you know what I mean. The girls want to fawn over you, like Katie said. They want you and Rob and the boys, and they want to think you’re footloose and fancy-free. They don’t even want to know that you’re dating, man.”
Arnie pointed his fork at the aforementioned waitress, who was in the corner near the bar, talking and giggling on her cell phone. Who knew how many friends she’d already Snapchatted her selfies with Tyler Cook to, and what they were saying about him.
OMG.
He’s so hot!
I’d fuck him!
“They hid John Lennon’s first marriage, did you know that?” Arnie grumbled. “There’s a reason I do what I do.”
“No, I get it.” I nodded, glancing at the waitress, who still looked flushed and excited after her brush with the greatness that was Tyler Cook. “Fans want to think they have a shot—even if, in reality, they don’t.”
“You did.” Tyler leaned over to kiss me.
“One in a million, baby,” I whispered when we parted, seeing the dark light in his eyes.
“Yes, you are.” He grinned back at me.
“Why don’t you record them yourself?” Arnie asked, cutting off more of his steak. Tyler was looking longingly at the giant piece of red meat, but he was doing so well on his diet—and I was encouraged, because his pain seemed better. Although that could have been the new medication, too.
“What?” Tyler chewed his salad, looking bored with the taste.
“The songs,” Arnie replied. “Why don’t you record them yourself?”
“Are you encouraging me to leave the band, man?”
“No. God, no.” Arnie shook his bald head vehemently. “But they’re not mutually exclusive, you know. You could be in Trouble and be a solo artist. Rob Thomas did it. You know, Matchbox 20?”
“You know, if you were singing lead… you wouldn’t have to play guitar,” I said thoughtfully, and then I turned to Arnie. “He can sing, you know. I mean, he can really sing.”
“I know.” Arnie looked at me, like, are you kidding? How long do you think I’ve known him? “Tell you the truth, you don’t actually need to sing well to make it in this business. But he’s already got a foot in the music door. You’d have a better shot in that department than you would trying to break into acting, kid.”
“I don’t know.” Tyler sighed and put his fork down, giving up on his mostly eaten salad. “I guess I’m just tired.”
“Of being a rock star?” Arnie gave a little laugh. “There are twenty guys lined up behind you, breathing down your neck, who want your job.”
“None of them will ever be Tyler Cook.” I gave Arnie a cool look as I put my hand on Tyler’s denim-covered knee under the table.
“I knew it had to happen someday,” Arnie said, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin and a sad shake of his head. “I just hoped I’d have another couple years. Rob, I expected—he likes stability and monogamy. But you, Tyler? I expected you to be a manwhore for at least another ten years…”
“Gee, thanks.” Tyler laughed, sliding my chair over so he could put his arm across my shoulders, a very satisfying show of ownership that pleased me to no end.
“You must be quite the catch,” Arnie remarked, looking between the two of us.
“Thanks… I think?” I wrinkled my nose, looking at Tyler.
“That’s as close as you get to a compliment from Arnie,” Tyler said, grinning. “Hey, man, did I tell you we found a house?”
“We? As in you two, together?” Arnie blinked, pointing his fork at me, then Tyler. “What did that cost you? Rob’s mansion isn’t big enough for all of you now?”
“Quit bitching about money,” Tyler complained, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I bought it already. Oh, and Sarah’s got her own place, too. She graduates next week, you know.”
“Christ.” Arnie shook his bald head, spooning sour cream onto his baked potato. “No wonder Rob’s been in such a mood.”
“Well, if you’d let Sabrina join the band, he’d stop destroying really expensive guitars,” Tyler said, giving me a sidelong glance. I just shrugged. Rob had mangled a fifty-thousand-dollar guitar when Tyler had told him Arnie refused to let Sabrina in the band.
“That’s not happening. The label flat out refuses.” Arnie’s jaw worked as he chewed. “But I have an idea. Leave it to me, kid.”
Tyler held his hands up in surrender. “If anyone can make it happen, it’s you.”
“Well, it’s a compromise, of sorts.” Arnie snorted. “Rob isn’t going to be happy, exactly. But I think I can keep him from busting up my furniture.”
“Oh, speaking of which.” I glanced down at my phone. “Ty, they moved up the date for delivering the patio furniture—it’s today between three and five. And we’re going to need it if we’re having everyone over for Sarah’s birthday.”
“Well, guess we’ll have to get back for it…” Tyler pushed his salad away, looking kinda happy about that. “So, Arnie, you coming to Sarah’s birthday-slash-graduation party?”
“Invitation’s on my desk,” Arnie replied. “Wouldn’t miss it. Dusty’s already bought her a gift. I told her no alcohol, even if Sarah’s turning twenty-one this year. Hopefully, Ms. Brainiac listened to me for once.”
Dusty was Arnie’s secretary. He loved making “dumb blonde” jokes about her, but I’d talked to her a few times, and I thought he just liked giving her a hard time, because she was pretty on-the-ball when we’d spoken.
“Anyway, I’m hoping to have this whole Robalina thing buttoned up by then.” Arnie snorted when he said the media nickname that had been circulating to indicate Rob and Sabrina as a couple.
“You should really hear her sing,” I told him, defending Sabrina. She was my best friend, after all. And she did have an incredible voice. “She’s amazing.”
“I’m sure she is.” Arnie sighed, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin and signaling the waitress for more water. “But the label wouldn’t be willing to risk Trouble’s revenue stream, even if Taylor Swift wanted to join the band, you know? My hands are tied.”
He held them up and shrugged.
“However, I think they’d be thrilled to have a separate album of your stuff, Ty,” he said as the waitress poured us all more water. “And we’ll see what they say about recording Rob and Sabrina together.”
“Separate from Trouble?” I perked up at that idea.
“I said we’ll see.” Arnie made a twisting motion in front of his mouth with his fingers. “Keep your lips buttoned, you got it? I don’t want to say anything until I know for sure.”
“Got it,” Ty agreed.
“My lips are sealed.” I made the same buttoning-up motion Arnie had.
“But Arnie, I wasn’t kidding—about finding me some parts?” Tyler reminded him as he put his cloth napkin over his plate. “I’ve got time, while we’re not touring. What do you say?”
He narrowed his eyes at Tyler. “I’ll see what I can do for you, kid.”
“Thanks, man.” Tyler winked at him. “You’ll work your magic. I just know it.”
Arnie snorted. “Well, you won’t be the next Ironman, but—”
“Maybe the next James Bond?” I offered with a grin. “He’s actually hotter than Daniel Craig. And he’s got a built-in fan base who would follow him anywhere.”
“She’s got a point.” Arnie nodded, looking at Tyler, up and down, speculatively. “Smart cookie, this one.”
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna keep her.” Tyler stood, holding out his hand for me. “Okay, we gotta run. We’ll see you next week, at Sarah’s party. We’re having it at our place.”
“Yeah, couldn’t have it at her new place.” Arnie made a face. “Don’t let Rob see where she’s living. She told me what neighborhood it’s in. He’d have a heart attack.”
“Yeah I know.” Tyler sighed. “She won’t use any of the money Rob sets aside for her. Says she wants to make it on her own now that she’s got a degree.”
“She’s a smart cookie, too.”
“She worked hard,” I said with a nod. “She’s getting her degree a year early.”
“She’ll be fine,” Arnie said with a grunt. “I’m not worried about that one.”
“Just the two boys, huh?” I laughed.
Arnie’s eyes sparkled. “They’re more of a handful, for sure.”
“Hey, man, I’ve been clean for ages,” Tyler protested.
“You’re doing great, Ty.” Arnie looked up at him, and I saw something pass between them, something warm and honest. “I’m proud of you.”
He said it like a father, which made me choke up a little. A father figure was something that Tyler was sorely missing in his life. Rob had tried his best to fill that role, and here was Arnie, stepping in there, too. It was kind of sweet.
“Come on, baby,” I said, tugging Tyler’s hand. “New car’s waiting.”
“New car?” Arnie choked.
“Hey, I’m sober. I can drive,” Tyler reminded him with a smirk. “Although I’m hiring a limo for the premiere. And I have a surprise for you.”
“Me? A surprise?” My eyes lit up when Tyler pulled me against him, his hand not-so-secretly squeezing my ass through my jeans. “Does it have a designer label in it?”
“How did you know?”
Nothing could have prepared me for walking the red carpet.
I’d experienced the rush and noise of fans before, of course. After being on tour with Trouble, I’d gotten used to never being able to go anywhere with Tyler without being stopped for an autograph and, occasionally, being mobbed by fans. That’s why we rarely went anywhere by ourselves, without a bodyguard or a driver, some means of escape.
