by Amber Lin
“Ah,” he said. It was a common enough story in the industry. Some talent scout sees the four-year-old and wants her instead. Fresh meat.
“I could get more gigs. Better paying ones.”
“Jamby’s is the sweetest.”
“Jamby’s got the widest play, but there were more. Lots of them. Then I got picked up by KidMania.”
“That must have been a crazy ride.”
“In a good way. If we weren’t shooting a show, we were in the music studio. I basically lived in a trailer on the set. I didn’t have to worry if my mom had paid the electric bill or put groceries in the fridge.”
He was silent a moment. No one knew the full extent of it. Even that Behind the Music exposé hadn’t drawn an accurate picture of her life before, and that was fine with her.
“You got emancipated.”
So he did pay attention. “By then I had three full-time employees and a bunch of people on retainer. And those people had families depending on them, so by extension, they were depending on me. Every time I sang or acted or breathed, I knew people were counting on me to succeed.”
“That’s a lot of pressure for a little girl.”
She laughed shortly. Most of the time she felt ancient. “Who’s little?”
He tucked her head under his chin. “You are, princess.”
A weight lifted off her chest. She breathed in deep, smelling musk and sex and warmth. “Compared to you, yeah.”
“I guess I’m wondering why you want to be in charge. Of me. In bed. With all the other responsibilities you have. All the other work.”
“Would you tell me what to do?” she teased. “If I wanted you to?”
A beat. “I’d try.”
That touched her, because she knew it wasn’t his thing. Oh, he was gruff and surly and occasionally a total asshole, but he wanted to give in most of all. He wanted to be pliant and needy instead. But he would try to be different if she asked him to.
She’d never ask him to. Never want him to. He could be bi and submissive and anything at all around her. Safe, with her.
Besides, he’d already given her something sweeter. “With you, being in charge isn’t work. It’s a gift.”
Chapter Twelve
The shrill ring of the hotel phone jarred Krist awake. He buried his head farther under the pillows trying to drown it out. It stopped, only to start again a moment later. At least he wasn’t hungover. If he was, he’d be plotting the murder of whoever was on the other end of the insistent, unignorable ring. Instead he flailed for the nightstand, knocking over a bottle of water and jostling the bowl of condoms. Colorful foil wrapped reminders of last night’s magical marathon.
He almost yanked the cord out of the wall to silence the damn thing but thought better of it. Thought of Maddy and her race to get ready for the morning show. He’d silenced her phone, and that had been a huge mistake.
“What?” The word felt raw in his throat.
“Hold for Alex Ward.”
“The fuck?”
“Good morning to you too, Sunshine.” Ward’s voice, smooth as snake oil, vibrated through the receiver.
“Cut the pleasantries. They don’t suit you.”
“Fine. I don’t have time for them anyway. Not after my assistant spent twenty minutes redialing your room. I wanted to give you a progress report and go over some plans for the event tonight.”
Krist remembered Paige saying something about an opening. Another pony show. He sighed and bunched the pillow behind him so he could sit up. “Let’s hear it.”
“We haven’t done any demographic research yet, but response to the press so far suggests your male fans are much happier with you now that you’re linked to Madeline. Your female fans seem split, but that works for us too. Her label is thrilled with the press she’s getting right now. Coffee Talk beats the hell out of Celebrity Intervention. Those bottom feeders actually pitched for her. The nerve. That’s where D-listers go to resuscitate dying careers.”
“I thought that’s where they went to get help.”
“How quaint. People go to actual rehab for that.” He could picture Ward on the other end, lips pursed in condescension.
“I’m glad it’s—”
“We’ll have to handle the breakup carefully. Something showy and tragic. You’ll be the villain. It fits your brand.”
They were already planning the breakup and casting him as the villain? Of course, he’d played the demon in her video. It made a sick kind of sense that he’d play one in her real life too. They’d probably time the split to when the single dropped. But damn, he was going to end up with whiplash. “I thought you said I was supposed to be Romeo. With more eyeliner?”
“In the beginning. Now you’re the wolf to her Red Riding Hood. We’ll set you up with a porn star. I think my colleague represents one shopping a reality series right now. She’s hungry. She’d do it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing any more fake relationships.”
“It wouldn’t be a relationship, sweetie. You’d just be seen together and people would assume…what people assume when porn stars and rock stars have coffee on a Saturday afternoon in Friday night’s makeup.”
“And what about Maddy?”
“She’ll be devastated of course and playing the darling victim of your debauchery. More dedicated to her work than ever. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I’ve got some talking points for you to use at the club opening tonight. Two words. Honey. Moon.”
“Not the wedding?”
“What? You want to go on Say Yes to the Dress? No. Madeline talks white lace and promises. The groom is traditionally in charge of the honeymoon anyway.”
“Fuck tradition.”
“It’s about sex, Krist. Every time you say the word ‘honeymoon,’ all people will think of is sex. Sex on the French Riviera. Sex in an Aspen cabin. Sex in a gondola on the canals of Venice. Sex in a BDSM dungeon in the red-light district of Amsterdam. I don’t care. Give every journalist you talk to a different destination. Make it a game. Cover all the bases.”
A game where he played Romeo and the big bad wolf. Where he pretended to cheat on his fake fiancée with porn stars. Where he didn’t talk about weddings, just sex. What did any of this have to do with the music? With him?
“How does that help Maddy?”
“The more they believe you’re really invested in the relationship, the more betrayed they’ll feel when it ends. She’ll get so much sympathy press, her stock will be sky-high when it comes time to renegotiate.”
“That’s good then.”
“It helps you too. You’ll come out of this more dangerous and sexier than ever.”
“You mean straighter, right?”
“Look, sexy glances between you and Lock onstage are hot, but you were on camera with a dick in your mouth. This may be the twenty-first century, but there’s a stigma. I didn’t create our society; I’m just trying to help you stay on top of it.”
He didn’t feel on top of it. He felt crushed by it.
He ended the call unsettled and on edge, too keyed up to go back to sleep and too worn down to do anything. He should get up. Take a shower. Work out. Any number of normal things that normal people did during the day. If normal people had press junkets and publicity appearances and PR nightmares that wouldn’t end. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his palms, pressed until he saw stars behind his eyelids and let out a ragged groan.
His phone buzzed. Ward sending him the details for tonight, because telling him wasn’t enough. There were also messages from Maddy.
This day should’ve started with a leisurely fuck, a cozy spoon cuddle turning into something more. He smoothed the covers over the empty space beside him and swiped through the messages.
Working out at the gym so you can sleep. Then meetings. Then stylists. See you at the opening tonight.
She’d been up for hours already, probably sucked down six chai lattes and run a marathon. That girl didn’t stop
. She was incredible.
Rest up. You’ll need it.
Just thinking about her schedule, her drive, exhausted him. Her body exhausted him too, in the best possible way.
I’ll miss you.
His heart clenched in his chest. What could he even say to that? The truth? That he missed her already? That he was pressing his face into her pillow so he could catch the scent of her hair? That he felt like a castaway on a deserted island in this bed without her? That he spent his first moments after waking up talking to their agent about how they’d deal with the inevitable breakup? He backspaced through four different messages, each one making him feel more raw than the last.
*
The club opening achieved an unimaginable level of ridiculousness. Krist couldn’t tell if it was trying too hard to be trendy—and failing—or if it was succeeding as a parody of excess. Ravers in elaborate costumes wandered the dance floor on stilts, serving hors d’oeuvres and shots in stoppered test tubes. Calligraphy-scrawled tags dangled from their wrists: Eat Me. Drink Me. The DJ wore a giant hat that covered his whole face and kept spinning distorted samples of “It’s a Small World” between tracks. Even the valets had been absurd, parking cars wearing short coats and oversize pocket watches. “Welcome to the Rabbit Hole, Sir. Enjoy your trip.”
It had to be a joke. Everything about the place winked and nudged. Only the crowd was earnest. See and be seen. Fuck and get fucked. Last night had been Wonderland; this mad tea party was reality.
Disgust, cold and sick, curled low in his belly. With himself. With the choices he’d made. He’d sold out, again and again, and for what? He’d fallen through a fun-house mirror where fake things were real and real things were fake. And he was the fakest real thing of all. An industry party was the last place he wanted to be and the only place he could stand himself. At least here, every fucked-up thing he did made a kind of sense.
Arriving with the band had been a mistake. The awkward limo ride with Lock glued to his phone the whole time and Moe with his headphones stuffed in his ears. The paparazzi asking for Hailey and Madeline as they walked the red carpet, their women’s absence only highlighting the tension between the three of them.
The crowd parted for them as they crossed the dance floor and headed to the raised bar at the far end of the room. Where the hell was Maddy? He needed her to anchor him in the present. Without her here, there was no fucking point.
He checked his phone again, but there were no new texts. Nothing since the ones he’d woken up to this morning. Probably because he’d never responded. The longer he’d waited, the more impossible it became to answer her. He felt like a fucking idiot.
Moe snatched his phone. “You’re worse than a lovesick puppy. I’ll give this back once we’re behind the velvet ropes with bottle service and you’re not a fucking hazard.”
“A lovesick puppy? Can I quote that?” A woman with attitude glasses, rainbow hair, and a press pass dangling around her neck thrust herself into their conversation.
Krist took a step back. “And you are…”
“Sorry, Mr. Mellas. I’m Lucky St. John with Icon Magazine.”
Moe laughed. “Did you fall out of a cereal box?”
Krist whacked him in the stomach. The last thing he needed was a pissed-off reporter. “Excuse him, he was raised by wolves.”
“It’s totally fine. Moe’s reputation precedes him, so I’m kinda honored. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m magically delicious.”
“She’s all right.”
“Do you have a few minutes for some questions?”
There it was, the point. He had the whole night for questions. “Sure.”
Lucky smiled, pulled a sleek tablet out of her purse, and gestured to the curtained alcoves just off to the side of the main bar. “Do you mind if we sit somewhere quieter?”
“No problem, gimme a minute.”
She nodded and headed for the alcoves. Krist scanned the room for Maddy once more but didn’t find her. Moe squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll keep an eye out and track down a cocktail waitress. The beautiful freaks on stilts only have shots.”
Krist wouldn’t mind a few shots right now. Anything to take the edge off. Though it probably wasn’t a good idea to do that before talking to the press.
He’d make up for it after. “Get me a bottle of Jack.”
Moe turned to Lock. “You okay with that?”
“I’m fine as long as he doesn’t try to pour it down my throat.”
Moe smirked. “Krist putting things down your throat has never been the problem.”
“Fuck you,” Lock said without any malice, but Krist still winced.
Moe flipped him off. “You wish.”
What should’ve been good-natured ribbing sliced Krist to the quick. Not just because Moe was an ass, but because Krist felt like he’d lost a layer of skin with this publicity stunt he still hadn’t told them about. It was supposed to insulate him, but everything stung. Why hadn’t he told them it was all a ruse? Because he was ashamed. Not for helping Maddy out, but because deep down he’d wanted to help himself out. He’d wanted to take some of the heat off, to stop dealing with the questions that didn’t have easy answers.
He left Lock and Moe to face one more inquisition. Hopefully Lucky only wanted to talk about the honeymoon.
“I gotta say I’m surprised to find out you’re ‘lovesick’ over Madeline Fox. That’s really…endearing. Have you ever been lovesick before?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who spends a lot of time lovesick?”
“Honestly? Yes. If Half-Life were a boy band, you’d be the sweet one. Even with all the tattoos and piercings, you still exude that sensitive vibe.”
Burn. But he couldn’t call her on it, couldn’t do anything but nod and smile. He had a mission. And talking points. “Maddy must bring the sweet out in me.”
“What about Lock?”
“What about him?”
“Aren’t you a little ‘lovesick’ for him? It must be hard, his whirlwind courtship with Hailey, the crazy Vegas wedding, and you left out in the cold. Scorned. Are you trying to one-up him with this engagement?”
Scorned. Like a lover. Like their song. They might be talking weddings, but this had drifted so far away from honeymoon talk he couldn’t see shore. He clenched his jaw. “No.”
“Hey. This is a safe space, Krist. Relax. Icon Magazine is sympathetic to your situation. We’re prepared to pay for the exclusive on your coming out. When you’re done playing dream house with Barbie.” She slid her card across the table.
Nothing felt safe at all. This was the lion’s den.
“Come out? I was never in.”
“You haven’t made a statement.”
“I’m not obligated to make a statement or check a fucking box. I live my life.”
“You could be living your life more authentically.”
“We’re done here.”
She tapped a glittery fingernail to her card before slipping out of the booth. “Call me if you change your mind about that feature.”
She left the curtain open, exposing him to the club.
I don’t want to check a box. He’d said that in interviews before. Shrouded himself in mystery, ambiguity. Let people make assumptions. Let them make themselves comfortable. But you can’t be invisible when you live your life onstage.
He watched Lock from the corner of his eye. He crossed the room like he owned it, comfortable in his skin. He answered those questions with a middle finger and a vicious sneer. He just liked fucking, and he fucking loved Hailey.
Lock slid in beside Krist and pushed his phone across the table, eyes hooded with something Krist couldn’t name. A swirl of skepticism, appreciation, and annoyance. “Those are some crazy pics of you and Madeline Fox. Really classy engagement shots. Did you know she wasn’t wearing underwear when you spread her legs like that, or was it a happy accident?”
“Don’t. At least they aren’t talking about the elevator.”
Lock raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I didn’t know you two were so close.”
“Jealous?” Krist knew the answer was no. Lock might be hurt that he was on the outside of this particular relationship, the last to know, but he wasn’t jealous. And Krist didn’t really want him to be jealous either; he just wanted him to stop being so fucking distant. At least they were talking for a change.
“Just because I didn’t want to do that reality show didn’t mean you had to sign on for one of your own. It’s not your job to save me.”
Krist snorted. “I’m not doing it for you. Everything isn’t about you. This is for the band.”
“You need to start doing shit for you, bro. Otherwise what’s the fucking point of having anything?”
“Do we? Have anything? They want to shut down the tour. We can’t even…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. Can’t talk. Can’t play together. If they truly couldn’t do those things, there really wasn’t a point.
Lock took his phone back and stood. “I learned a lot of mostly useless shit in rehab. Well, useless unless you’ve found yourself at the bottom of a bottle. But this might apply. Sometimes you have to let everything fall apart before you can put it back together.”
“Is that why you can be so damn chill? You’ve already been to rock bottom, so one more trip is no big deal?”
Lock leaned down so they were eye to eye. Close enough that Krist could feel warmth and breath, close enough to kiss. Six months ago Krist’s body would’ve lit up like a firecracker; now all that remained was the vaguest memory of an ache. Lock shook his head and sighed. “Maybe. Maybe I just have faith in our ability to rebuild. You obviously don’t.”
But it wasn’t that easy for Krist. It was about more than fucking for him. More than faith. He couldn’t just let it all go. It was about feelings. He’d gotten his feelings tangled up in Lock because he’d had nowhere else to put them. Now they were tangled up with Maddy. And none of that was real either, was it?
