by R. M. Lynn
“You know what you did.”
I begin to climb out of the bed, Noah turns around to look at the wall, and I pull on the clothes he brought me. I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, and bury my face in my hands.
“Noah, what did I do?” I repeat, even though I know the answer. “Why did I do it?”
“You mean why did you cheat on your perfect fucking girlfriend who’s probably been sitting up for you all night and is waiting for a fucking phone call? Is that what you mean?” he retorts. “I tried to take you home, Kyler. Everybody tried to take you home. Why couldn’t you just come home with us?”
“I don’t need the lecture,” I snap. “Fuck, Noah. Holy shit.”
“I hope she was worth it. The girl you fucked last night,” Noah comes back with. “Because that’s what you did. You fucked someone that wasn’t Alivia. Do you remember now, Kyler?”
My gut turns violently. Noah must see the sudden urge to vomit cross over my expression. He grabs the small garbage can from the corner of the room and hands it to me. So, I sit on the edge of the bed, puking my guts out. I can’t tell if it’s brought on by all the alcohol or if the pure guilt is eating at me from the inside out. Probably both.
“Good?” Noah mutters when I finally stop retching.
I nod weakly. He takes the can from me and puts it down beside the bed. I bury my face in my hands again. My jaw clenches when I feel Noah put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“I fucked up so bad, Noah,” I mumble heavily. “She’s going to hate me. She’ll never talk to me again. I was so afraid of her leaving, and now… I made the fucking decision for her.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I imagine you both overreacted about something stupid. And you really took it to a whole new level,” Noah tells me. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know if you’re coming back from this.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, brother,” I retort as I stand on shaky legs. “You’re sure I slept with that girl?”
“I’m most definitely sure, yeah,” he assures me. “I came up here to get you, and your dick was in her mouth. That was in the hallway, by the way.”
I close my eyes.
“Dylan said when he tried to get you out of the bedroom, he could hear it. You were fucking naked when I walked in, Kyler,” Noah continues to tell me. “There’s really no way out of this.”
“No shit,” I bark.
“When are you going to tell her?” he asks me next.
I look at him and shake my head. “I’m not going to tell her.”
He lurches back. “Are you serious? Kyler, you can’t not tell her. What’re you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I want to keep my girlfriend,” I retort. “We leave soon. I can’t do it now. I want her while I can, Noah. You have to understand that. I’ll tell her, but not right now. I need time. I just… I need her.”
“That’s so fucking selfish, Kyler,” he snaps. “She has a right to know.”
“I know she does, Noah, for fuck’s sake,” I nearly shout. “I know, okay? But I can’t do it. Not right now. I’ll tell her before we leave, but I don’t want to spend the last few days I have with her…without her. I can’t do it without her.”
Noah just shakes his head at me. I know I’m an ass, but I just need the time. Because I know when she finds out, I’ll never see her again.
◆◆◆
We graduated today. It’s hard for me to be excited because it’s also the day I have to tell Alivia what I did. Our plane to Los Angeles leaves in two days, and I have to be on it with or without a relationship with her. But God, I hope she’ll give me the relationship.
The guys are celebrating in the apartment after the ceremony. We all have plans with family members for later that evening. However, for now, it’s just us. And Alivia. I try to get her to go to her apartment with me, but she says Mackenzie is packing up for the summer, and the place is a mess. Not that it fucking matters to me. So, with her in my apartment, refusing to go somewhere without an audience, I take her to my bedroom.
She sits down on the bed and smiles at me. My heart hurts. My body aches. I’ll probably throw up. The last week, I put all I could into my relationship with her. They would've probably been the best days I’ve ever had with her if I didn’t have the constant guilt weighing me down. Noah was constantly judging me as well. Even Dylan wouldn’t look me in the eye for days after it all happened.
“Kyler, you okay?” Alivia asks me softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I just need to talk to you,” I mumble and sit down next to her. Leaning onto my knees, I run a hand through my hair and look at the floor. “I should’ve said it long ago, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I’ve just been… I’m afraid of how you’ll react.”
“Kyler,” she murmurs and turns my head so our eyes lock. “I have to tell you something, too. And I know when we talked about the tour last, it didn’t go over very well. But I swear, Kyler, I’m going to work on my insecurities. I’ll be there at every show I can drive to. I know we can make it work, at least until I graduate. Then we can talk about the next steps.”
“Livy, please, I-”
She cuts me off when she raises a hand and says, “Please, I have to say this, okay, Kyler? I won’t have the courage to do it later. I know we can make it work, and I want to so badly because I-”
“Don’t,” I interrupt. “Please, Livy, please don’t say it.”
“I love you, Kyler,” she whispers, and I swear my heart breaks into a million pieces. My eyes close and she rushes on to say, “You don’t have to say it back. I just need you to know before you go. I need you to know I love you. I really do.”
“I did something,” I respond as soon as she stops talking. “I fucked up, Liv. I’m so sorry.”
“What?” she mutters and pulls away from me. “What happened? What did you do?”
“I should’ve told you,” I say and meet her eyes. “Please, hear me out.”
“Tell me what happened,” she replies lowly. “Kyler, what is it?”
I run a hand through my hair and whisper, “I slept with someone.”
Her mouth opens slightly in shock. She looks as if she wants to say something but the words just won’t come out. She scoots away from me, her back hitting my pillows. I reach for her, and she immediately hits my hand away from her leg.
“Don’t touch me,” she snaps in a shaky voice. “When?”
“When we had that fight,” I tell her. “The night I went out with the guys. After we got the news that they liked the demo.”
“That was ten days ago, Kyler,” she retorts, her voice rising. “Ten days ago! You did this ten days ago, and you’re telling me now? Are you serious?”
“Baby, I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Please, hear me out.”
“Don’t fucking call me that,” she shouts and moves off of my bed. “Why? Tell me why.”
I shake my head and mutter weakly, “I have no idea, Liv. I don’t know what I was doing. I was so fucked up. Half the night, I was blacked out. I don’t remember. I honestly don’t remember.”
“How fucking convenient!”
I cringe involuntarily at her harshness. I reach for her hand, but she steps away from me before I can.
“I love you,” she whispers as the tears begin to fall. “I love you, and we have one fight, and you go and do this. You slept with somebody else.”
“I love you,” I tell her in return. “You know I do. I fucked up, and I know this. I’m not… You know me, Liv. I’m not like this. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I have no idea who you are,” she cries out. “Because the Kyler I know, my boyfriend, would never do this.”
I watch the tears stream down her face, and I stand. She lets me wipe them away, but pushes my hand away when I try to touch her neck.
“I have to go,” she mutters and begins toward the door.
I grab her hand to stop her, and when she looks back at me, I beg, �
��Please, Livy, don’t go. Stay and talk to me. We can fix it. I swear to God, it’ll never happen again. I love you. I love you more than anything. I’d give up all of it for you.”
“Don’t,” she retorts, her voice hard. “You don’t get to do this and tell me you love me. That doesn’t make it go away.”
“I’m sorry,” I try once more.
“Me, too,” she whispers as more tears start coming down.
She pulls away from me, and I follow her out of my bedroom. I internally cringe when we’re met with the guys watching us from the living room. They’re quiet and taking in Alivia’s tearful expression.
“Liv,” Dylan mutters weakly, and I close my eyes wishing he would, for once, just shut his mouth.
“Don’t, Dylan,” she snaps back at him as she pauses in the living room to look them over. “I assume you all knew.” She begins to cry, harder now. “Somebody should have told me… Somebody should’ve said something before I got back into bed with him. Before I fucked him hours after he fucked her.”
“Alivia,” Noah murmurs and stands as my body locks and my eyes close at her words. “I’m sorry.”
“Everybody’s sorry,” she retorts and heads for the door. “Good luck with your music, guys. I mean it.”
I follow her as she leaves the apartment. I stop her just before she reaches her apartment door.
“Please, Liv, I need you to talk to me,” I plead further. “I know we can work it out. I just need you to give me a chance.”
She mutters, emotionless, “Now, you sound like Scott.”
Ouch.
“I deserve that,” I mumble. “Will you at least see me before I leave? Please?”
Her eyes meet mine. “No, Kyler. I’m not doing this anymore. So, please, let me go.”
“I can’t,”
Even if I wanted to, I’d never be able to get rid of her. My feelings would never die, I know this. Her handprint is on my soul. She has all of my heart, and nobody will ever be able to take that spot from her.
She’s crying hard again, and she shoves at my chest. “Let me go. Good luck, okay? I mean it, really, good luck. But I can’t do this with you anymore. It’s too late.”
She hurries into her apartment, the door slamming behind her. I head back to my own apartment in a daze. The guys are watching me from their places in the living room. I walk past them without a word and head to my bedroom. I sit down on the edge of my bed, the bed that’ll never have Alivia in it again. Leaning forward onto my knees, I bury my face in my hands.
And I cry.
I don’t even remember the last time I cried. Maybe when my dad left. The guilt I feel is too much, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over what I did to her. She didn’t deserve any of it. Ever. My shoulders heave with my silent sobs, and I don’t look up when I hear my bedroom door open and close. Dylan sits down next to me, his arm going around my shoulders.
“It’ll be okay, buddy,” he mutters.
I shake my head. “I fucking lost the only thing that mattered to me more than this band. She has no idea… She doesn’t know how many songs I’ve written. She doesn’t know how deep this goes for me. She thinks I don’t give a shit.”
“I know, man,” he responds gently. “I know.”
“How do I tell her now? She’ll never know.”
Dylan tightens his arm and gives my chest a pat. “She will, buddy. One day, she’ll realize it. One day, you’ll be happy again.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then we’ll both be miserable fucks.”
◆◆◆
Part Two
Chapter Thirteen
Kyler
Four years later…
“Mr. Parks,” Violet Lane’s assistant, Holly, calls to me as I head through the hallway past the recording studio, toward the meeting room with my laptop at my side.
I stop and turn toward her and mutter, “Yes, Holly, what is it now?”
“You have a few messages,” she exhales. “Lucy has called you twelve times.”
“Great,” I say sarcastically. “And what does she want now?”
“She’s just wondering when you’ll be home, sir,” Holly explains.
I sigh and give her a small smile. “I’ll call her in a bit. Anything else, Holly?”
“Mr. Staffer and Mr. Girardi will be here a bit late,” she tells me as she scrolls through the iPad in her hands. “They said traffic is bad.”
I close my eyes in annoyance before looking at her to say, “Fine. That’s great. Anything else?”
“No, sir,” she mutters. “I want to confirm the studio space for tomorrow evening as well for Violet Lane.”
“Yeah, confirmed. Can you call the guys and make sure they show up on time?”
She nods once before turning on her heel and heading back down the hall to the offices. I run a hand through my hair and continue to the meeting room. I sit down at the large oval table and open up my laptop. Looking over some emails, I respond to a few, and then focus more on the upcoming schedule for Violet Lane. Our tour date is approaching quickly, even though it’s at the end of the year. Even with that, we’re already getting pressured by the label to begin creating a new album.
Since our first tour with The Lost Boys, Violet Lane has become an overnight sensation. We’ve sold out every show we’ve had since then. Our sales are through the roof when it comes to album sales. Online sales, however, are even more impressive. Our agent and manager, Charles Staffer, took us on after graduation before our first tour. He’s believed in us every step of the way, and even though we probably drive him fucking crazy, he’s made shit happen for us. Donald Girardi, our publicist with the record label is sort of a fuckwit, but with enough pressure, he manages to get things done.
Finally, after waiting for at least an extra fifteen minutes, Girardi and Staffer arrive. Holly leads them to the room, and sits down next to me after they seat themselves.
“So, what’re we here for, Kyler?” Staffer asks me.
Staffer is a thick guy, broad and tall. He looks like an old school Italian mobster to me, with his slicked back, black hair and slight gut. He’s known for his intimidation tactics, and without him, we probably wouldn’t have gotten half of the opportunities we’ve had. He, Girardi, and Violet Lane’s attorney, Greg Fox, are like the triple threat of the music business. Even so, Girardi all in himself wouldn’t be anything without Staffer. He’s a short, pale, fat man with wire rimmed glasses. He’s also balding, but he claims it’s because he’s constantly dealing with Violet Lane’s nonsense. Whatever that means. He handles our media, hires kids straight out of college to post things on social media sites, and deals with news outlets. Girardi spends a lot of time setting up interviews before an album is released or before our tours. Basically, Holly can do his job, and she’d do it for a lot cheaper than what we pay him. What Girardi is really good at is telling us what we’re doing wrong when it comes to connecting with our fans.
“Well, I’ve taken into consideration all of your suggestions, as you put it, Girardi,” I say pointedly. “And I’ve decided maybe you’re actually right this time.”
“What suggestions?” Staffers questions and glares at Girardi from across the table.
“I simply suggested they get someone else in here to write some music for them,” Girardi tells them. “They only can reach so many people and connect with them.”
“Are you fucking daft, Girardi?” Staffer snaps, and I raise an eyebrow in amusement. “Violet Lane’s MO is their own fucking lyrics. That’s how they connect with fans. They eat that shit up.”
“Not that I don’t disagree,” Girardi argues. “What I’m saying is, perhaps getting a different point of view from another writer could be beneficial and possibly reach more potential fans. It’s all in the name of expanding the fan base.”
“They’ve sold out stadiums, Don. They’ve sold out all over the U.S. We own the fan base,” Staffer retorts like Girardi is an absolute moron not worth his time. “If you b
ring in another writer, you’re risking the reputation of Violet Lane writing their own songs. You’re risking the fan base as you know it.”
“Alright, ladies,” I interrupt with a chuckle. “I talked with the rest of the band, and they’re okay with bringing in another writer of our choice. It doesn’t mean we’ll use them, but we’re willing to sit down with them and try it out.”
“You’re shitting me,” Staffer growls. “Kyler, you’re risking everything.”
“The hell they are, Staffer,” Girardi retorts. “This is a reasonable decision.”
Staffer shakes his head at me as Girardi digs around in his brief case, pulling out some papers.
Pushing the papers toward me, Girardi says, “These are some writers I’ve worked with before. I’ve consolidated their profiles for you and included all of their past works.”
I shove the papers back to him and reply, “I don’t want these writers. I have one already, and I want you to get her here under any circumstance.”
“Kyler, if I can just-”
I put a hand up to stop him and repeat, “Under any circumstance, Girardi. Do you hear me?”
“Who is she?” he asks weakly.
I motion for Holly to hand him the profile I created the night before. When she does, I watch him look it over. When he looks up at me to argue, Staffer snags the paper for himself to look at.
“Kyler, I have never heard of her,” Girardi begins. “You can’t be serious.”
“Serious as a heart attack, Mr. Girardi,” I counter with a smirk. “She’s the one we want, and you’ll be the one to bring her here.”
“Kyler, I’m going to have to actually agree with Don on this one,” Staffer counters. “She’s an absolute nobody. It doesn’t look like she’s written for anybody of significance. While I’m against the writer all together, if you must do it, I’m advising you against choosing this one.”
I glare at Staffer and then Girardi. “Bring her here. I want a meeting with her by the end of the week, do you understand? If you don’t make this happen, Don, you’re fired. Are we clear?”
