by Becky Wicks
Before He Was Gone
Starstruck 2
Becky Wicks
Copyright © Becky Wicks 2014
The right of Becky Wicks to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
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This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover design by Jeanine Henning
http://jhillustration.wordpress.com
DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction. Whereas I researched reality television shows in order to write this book, this story in no way represents how things are structured or conducted on those shows. All events in these pages stemmed from my overactive imagination entirely. Thanks!
A NOTE BEFORE WE BEGIN!
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OK... NOW LET'S BEGIN...
You come to love not by finding the perfect person,
but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly.
– Sam Keen
1
Alyssa
The wooden doors swing open and the collective gasp from the crowd makes my head turn. In a second I’m taking in her dress. I’m looking at her shoes, the painted toenails under glittering straps as the lacy, cream-colored fabric sweeps the floor. The song The Knot by Jill Barber fills the room. Wow. She looks amazing. We all knew she’d choose vintage.
I grin at her as she glides past and flashes me a scarlet smile, just as a hand reaches for my arm and squeezes it hard.
‘She looks stunning,’ Chloe whispers in my ear, and I cover her hand with mine as we watch Dani reach the front with her two bridesmaids and take her place beside Jack.
He’s every inch the gorgeous groom. He looks so proud and my heart melts. I can’t actually believe today is real - a Lockton wedding day. It’s so surreal. It feels like yesterday we all camped out in the mountains after Chloe and I graduated high school; no cell phones, no nothing, just each other. That was way before things got crazy… way before Noah won Show Us What U’ve Got and people started camping out outside their houses, wearing his face on their clothes.
Noah’s on Jack’s right side now, grinning. From behind it’s sometimes hard to tell the Lockton brothers apart. They have the same wild, curly hair, though Jack’s managed to tame his today somehow. They have the same confident air about them, too, standing tall. From the front they both have those piercing gray eyes.
I guess the easiest way to differentiate the Locktons from a distance these days is to check who the paparazzi’s chasing. Noah’s the one they want, seeing as he’s pretty much the most famous singer on the planet, but I had the hugest crush on Jack for about a year when I was thirteen. That’s something I’ve never actually told Chloe. I think every girl in Boulder’s had a crush on one of the Lockton brothers at some point though - even before the fame thing.
‘That dress is so gorgeous,’ Chloe says dreamily to my side.
‘You can always borrow it when it’s your turn,’ I tell her and her cheeks actually flush as she flashes her eyes at Noah.
‘Maybe you’ll be needing it before me,’ she says, motioning to Sebastian standing to my other side. I turn to him.
He’s looking stupidly hot in his suit, with his hair all combed back, staring into space, tapping his foot. As a drummer, my boyfriend hears rhythms in his head that he says his body has to move to, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing. He’s half-Colombian and has better eyelashes than me. He doesn’t speak all that much in public - not like Noah - but he has a crazy fire inside him - a South American passion, which he says he recognized in me too, from across the room on day one... even though I’m half-Greek. He calls us soul mates. He also calls me his Greek Goddess, which makes Chloe cringe, but the rest of the world calls me that too now, so it’s kind of had to grow on me.
It’s been a year since Sebastian walked into the Lockton’s house and changed my life. I’ve had to get used to the so-called-friends who crawl from the bowels of Facebook when they see photos of us together; writing me things like ‘hey Alyssa, it’s been a while since school, hope you’re good. So, listen, my cousin’s friend has this demo CD…’
Some of them sell stories about me. I feel like I have to delete friends as fast as I can make them sometimes and to be honest it’s hard to know who to trust. But still, downsides aside, it still makes my head spin when Sebastian acknowledges me and our relationship in public. What girl wouldn’t want a rock star - a member of Noah Lockton’s band, no less, expressing his love for her to the world?
‘Friends and loved ones, we thank you all for coming to witness the marriage of Jack David Lockton and Daniela Marie Whitehouse,’ the priest is saying now. My heart speeds up. Jack takes Dani’s hands and I nudge Chloe as Noah turns and winks at her. He’s such a charmer.
A flash goes off at the front - another shot the world won’t get to see. Posting anything from inside this church to social media is a no-no, obviously.
Chloe doesn’t think it’s a good idea for me to be on Facebook, or any social media for that matter. She and Noah deleted their private accounts months ago, but they have their reasons. I refuse to let my real friendships suffer just because I’m dating someone famous. Not much else has changed, really. I mean, when I’m not at movie premieres in borrowed designer gowns I still shop in Safeway, even though I get followed sometimes. I still hang out with the same people… even though they get followed sometimes. I still do social media for the phone company in Denver, for Kenneth Lane, or K-Lame as Chloe calls him because, well… he’s a little lame.
I think my manager hates that I have a ticket to a different life. He’s never really liked me. He has permanent coffee-breath, too, and the other day he posted a hideous photo onto the staff kitchen wall that some photog caught of me climbing out of a limo. My red lace panties were on full display. Kenneth claimed he didn’t notice my panties were on display but we both know he’s lying.
That shot was taken in Vegas. Sebastian flew me there a few weeks ago so we could all watch Celine Dion. Their label HotFlush got us all backstage passes and it was kind of an out-of-body experience when Celine looked at Noah like an old friend.
I still remember singing that Beauty and the Beast song she did, with Chloe - me dressed in my puffy yellow princess dress while she waved the teapot around me in my living room. We made Noah play guitar for us while we danced. I almost told Celine that story actually, but Chloe stopp
ed me.
We took a helicopter over the Grand Canyon on that trip. We landed as the sky was turning from purple to pink; sat on the dusty rocks and drank coffee from plastic cups, huddled in blankets. We could see the curve of the earth and lightning coming at us from a million miles away. Amazing! Sebastian drummed a beat on the rocks with his fingers. I watched the way Noah and Chloe wandered off to the edge, sat on their own, took selfies and kissed and laughed like the whole canyon couldn’t even contain their love.
‘Is there cake after this?’ Sebastian says now. I put a finger to my lips. He shuffles awkwardly in his fancy shoes and I can’t help smiling. He always hates dressing smart, in spite of all the red carpet events he’s expected to attend. I love the idea of these things, and being flown away at the last minute, but honestly, the part about being slapped in every magazine and scrutinized in every comment box afterwards gets old fast.
I look down at my dress. Is it good enough for USA Today? Doesn’t matter. I’ll be in it anyway, soon as the photogs outside get a look-in.
‘We are gathered together here in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in Paradise…’ the priest recites from the centre of what looks like the world’s entire supply of white lilies. Chloe squeezes my arm, pointing at The Commander, her mom, who’s already soaking a Kleenex.
‘If any man can show any just cause why this pair may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.’
The church is silent, obviously, except for the sniffing. Jack and Dani are perfect for each other. Just like Chloe and Noah. Just like me and Sebastian. I’m a damn lucky girl and I know it.
‘I do,’ Jack says, looking into Dani’s eyes.
‘I do,’ Dani says moments later, wiping her tears.
And just like that they’re bound to each other. Stitched and tied and stuck like glue, as any one of Noah’s fans, the Lockette’s would sing. My heart’s a drum. So surreal.
I smile at Chloe, join in her happy little dance on the spot, glance at Sebastian again. He’s fiddling with his cufflinks, staring at the scene. But is he… is he shaking his head?
He catches me looking at him and for a second the drum in my chest beats harder. I know he’s moody sometimes and a little unpredictable. But there’s a look in his eyes now that I’ve never seen before and it almost knocks me off my heels.
2
Joshua
Imagine yourself a hundred feet from the floor. You’re sweating like crazy. Your fingers are grasping a barely-there ledge and your feet are balanced precariously on platforms the size of pennies. You know the holds will get better if you can get a little higher, but if you fall, you fall hard. And you fail.
‘Are you OK?’ I call down to Harri. I’m relying on the knot I just tied between a rope that’s half an inch thick and my climbing harness, and of course, Harri, who I can hear grunting behind me as she fumbles for the next place to put her fingers. I’m not normally concerned about her. She can pull her own weight like a pro, but today she’s hung over. ‘Stop if you can’t do it,’ I tell her, reaching for another hold.
‘I’m OK, Joshua,’ she snaps and I’m sure I hear her mumble the word asshole under her breath. I ignore it. She’s always moody when she’s tired.
Most people think rock climbing is all about strength. It does help to be strong but having a proper technique is what really matters. You need to be flexible, balanced, and you need to keep your shit together mentally. If your legs are wobbling like jello when you’re making your way up a vertical wall, the strength of your body won’t mean anything. It’s the fear that will land you in trouble.
‘You don’t look OK,’ I call down as she falters and almost falls. We’re just top-roping today, which means the rope is already fixed through the safety gear at the top of the climb, but falling is always as tough on the pride as it is on the body. It would be worse today, especially with Mitchell heckling us from the bottom.
‘Come on Team Potter!’ he’s yelling now. ‘What’s taking so long?’
‘Fuck off, Mitchell,’ Harri yells back at him, re-finding her balance. He snorts.
‘Just ignore him. Stay focused,’ I tell her.
‘Seriously, Joshua, he needs to cut the stupid Harry Potter jokes or I’ll…’
‘Forget him. Focus!’ I wish she’d just focus before she gets us both into shit. I finally reach the top, pull myself up and look down at the climbing center, catching my breath. I reach down to help her top out beside me. She’s panting, breathless and her green gym shirt is a shade darker with perspiration as she reaches for my hand, swiping at the escaped strands from her ponytail.
For a moment her hands are on my chest and she flashes me a look. ‘We shouldn’t still be doing this, Joshua,’ she says. My pulse quickens. I know she means a number of things.
‘Then why are we?’ I say.
Her eyes cloud over before she looks away. ‘Some people are summer,’ she says on an exhale and my heart pangs. I bite my cheeks. She’s said this before – just after we met and sat making out, dripping our ice-creams all over the Pennybacker Bridge overlook: Some people are summer and some people are winter. You’re definitely summer, Joshua. I’m glad you’re here.
Harri’s been relatively cool since we agreed to stop sleeping together and go back to being climbing buddies. We were never official and being English with a crazy hot body to boot, Harriet McKinsey has a string of suitors after her. I guess I should’ve known she wasn’t as OK about us ending as she said she was, though.
She reaches for my harness and we do the obligatory equipment check to prepare for our descent. ‘You still do this every day?’ she asks, adjusting her sports bra under her shirt.
‘When I’m in town.’
‘Which is only when there’s something in town worth your time, right?’
She’s not meeting my eyes, tugging at my ropes a little too hard. I say nothing. She’s in the mood to pick a fight, I can tell and I can’t get into things with her again right now. Don’t get me wrong, I like Harri a lot and yes, we met here. But I never joined this place to meet girls the way some guys do. The truth is I climb because it helps me focus; keeps me sharp.
When I’m thinking about where to put my hands and feet, my other thoughts seem to categorize somehow and slot themselves into all the right places. I like the rush of pain when it roars through my limbs; the urgency that comes with having to find the perfect placement. It’s something I don’t feel in the real world. I feel no desire to find a place, or make a plan.
‘Where’ve you been this time?’ she asks, as she crosses to the other side of the wall and goes to start her descent.
‘Just spending some valuable time with mother nature,’ I say, checking the ropes as they stretch with her weight.
‘I think mother nature gets more of you than your own mother,’ she replies as she sits back on her harness and lowers herself further towards the full-moon grin on Mitchell’s face. Mitchell doesn’t even hide the fact that he’s staring at her approaching ass.
She’s right about my mom. I need to go see her, but the thought of going back home, where everyone knows me and asks even more questions than Harri is something I can’t even consider. Whereas most people act like they’re fascinated by my lifestyle, they all start to look at me like I’m a freak before too long. Why don’t I have a home? Why don’t I have a cell phone? Why don’t I have a regular job?
‘I’m right behind you,’ I call down to Harri, stepping over the edge.
Before my last expedition I was in New England for two months, learning and then teaching the healing powers of medicinal plants with a guy called Rainbow, who ate a few too many cactuses when he was a teenager and thinks the plants all talk to us. I never heard them; although I’ve seen some pretty crazy stuff these past few years. Maybe it’s only a matter of time before one yells at me.
‘Team Potter, you’re lag
ging today,’ Mitchell booms as Harri reaches the bottom and tells him to ‘sod off’ again. I laugh to myself at her British scorn – it’s cuter when she’s pissed. His screwed up way of flirting works with a few of the women here but it hasn't with her, yet. He is pretty much what Harri would define as winter. The thought of him finally getting his way when I’m gone makes my insides twinge involuntarily, but I push the thought from my head as I reach the bottom and start undoing my harness.
She has hers off in seconds and stands looking at me expectantly as I do the same. ‘Lunch?’ she asks, wiping her forehead with a towel and then gulping thirstily from her water bottle. ‘You can tell me all about your adventures. How long are you sticking around for this time?’
‘Weren’t you just shooting up zombies, someplace?’ Mitchell interrupts, strapping himself up for the climb and looking between us in amusement. ‘When exactly can we expect you to save us from the apocalypse, Brenner?’
Harri’s looking at me in confusion as she drinks. Mitchell knows a guy I was just loading guns with at Zombie Survival Camp – a special place for super rich rednecks, basically. He was bound to bring it up. I'm not on Facebook, never have been, but I know some of the guys were uploading photos the whole damn time.
The camp had us holed up in some New Jersey location in the middle of nowhere, where a team of us pretended the world was about to end at the hands and foaming mouths of the un-dead. They pay good money to help train people up for an apocalypse – I couldn’t exactly turn it down. There weren’t too many other people for the job.
For twelve days straight I’ve been focusing on nothing but helping middle-aged men and their tattooed sons master basic firearms, aim crossbows, gather supplies from a series of above and below-ground locations without being eaten. They also learned to defend themselves with a form of hand-to-hand combat us gurus call Zombitsu. It was pretty hard going.
