by K. K. Allen
He loved my lyrics. What’s worse, when he found out I was the mystery songwriter … he started to love me.
Our relationship was doomed from the beginning. Both of us were suffering from past regrets and self-imposed rules that we told ourselves would keep us safe from each other, from falling, from ending up right where we are now. We knew we’d only leave disaster in our wake.
I tried to be smarter this time.
Wolf made it impossible to stay away.
He grew persistent. Vulnerable. It took everything in me to resist him, and I failed miserably, letting my walls collapse around me in defeat. Because although he was still a bad boy with layers upon layers of issues, he was my bad boy. And I was his Lyric.
It’s been forty-eight hours since the morning I woke up to a social media explosion that made me out to be an unfaithful whore. Not unfaithful to Wolf, though. Unfaithful to Tony, the lead singer of Salvation Road and my asshole of an ex-boyfriend.
Tony showed up when I was floating on my cloud of bliss, and he shattered everything Wolf and I had. That night changed everything. It falsely exposed me as a cheater because the media is clueless to the fact that I left Tony months ago when I caught him fucking my best friend. Yet somehow in the public’s eye, I’m the unfaithful one.
It’s all lies. And this… This is exactly why I didn’t want to date another rock star. Well, it’s one of many reasons. But this is what inevitably happens when I follow my heart. I get hurt. And then I hurt others.
Wolf didn’t deserve to get caught in the crossfire. He trusted me with his heart—something he never thought he’d trust another person with after losing his mother to cancer. Yet he trusted me. We managed to build something amazing … and now that it’s broken, I’m not sure if or how I can fix it.
I’m sitting in the main conference room of Perform Live, the tour company I’ve worked for since I was fifteen. A panel of executives sits across from me at the table, multitasking on their phones and laptops. None of them gives a shit about the gravity of this situation for me. To them, I’m not a person. I’m a means to an end. Someone they deliver a paycheck to in return for making them look good. At the moment, they don’t look so good.
I’ve just been given two choices, and they want my decision immediately. Wincing, I release my hand and set it on the table. It’s safe to say my anxiety is at an all-time high. I’ve scratched my poor scalp to shreds over the past two days, and it stings as I anxiously rub the side of my head with my fingers.
“Let’s go over the terms again,” I say, stalling. I know what the terms are. There are two contracts in front of me. One frees me from all contractual obligations of Wolf’s tour, but it also releases me from my employment with Perform Live. The other has me rejoining the tour—but as an assistant to the tour director, Doug. It looks like he’ll give up the luxury of his office to take the reins from the road, making my former position as road manager obsolete. I’ll become a ride-along. A joke. It’s clearly a filler position, halfway between a groupie and a road manager because I’m no longer trusted.
Either option is humiliating. While I wish I could say I did nothing to deserve this, that’s not entirely true. Wolf’s band manager, Lionel Crawley, may be a prick with a gigantic stick up his ass, but I should have been more careful on the road. It may not be written in my contract, but mixing business with pleasure is an obvious no-no. They hired me to do a job, and that should have been my primary focus. Not falling in love with the lead singer, even if his mind and body are sexier than chocolate covered strawberries.
I never stood a chance.
Wright Stevens, CEO at Perform Live, clears his throat to speak. “Lyric,” he begins, “you’re like family here at Perform Live, and you’re a valuable asset to the company. I hope you’ll choose to stay with us.”
Wright is normally a kind old man. He’s been with the company since its inception in the seventies, and like Doug, he has a soft spot for me because of his history doing business with my parents. It seems, though, in any situation that puts a negative spotlight on his company, that soft spot is replaced with cement. Although his words seem kind, everything about him is hard. Unforgiving. His expression, his posture, even the crease between his graying, bushy eyebrows seems to be stuck in permanent disappointment.
He continues, “Our PR team is working on calming down the rumors, and all will be dissolved soon. You can trust us.”
Trust. I scoff. This coming from the company that has no qualms with letting me go if I don’t make the decision they want me to make. This is so frustrating.
“But an assistant?” I ask, simmering with dismay. This has got to be a joke. “My job wasn’t the problem. Tony was the problem.”
Wright nods carefully, but I can see that he’s not entirely convinced. “We understand this isn’t what you were hoping for, but it will take time to smooth things over. It’s not a permanent decision. If the situation was unsalvageable, we wouldn’t be pushing you to go back on that tour at all. Besides, the options were presented by Wolf’s team first; you can stay on tour or leave without responsibility to the contract. And we agreed to them, but we had to add our own stipulations. I hope you can understand.”
So, Wolf is inviting me back on the tour, but he’s also giving me an out. How should I take that? That he doesn’t care if I stay or go? And on top of that, even though I’ve worked at Perform Live for close to a decade, they’re okay with letting me go because of a one-time slip-up.
Okay, so maybe it was more than one time. I had to end my contract with Salvation Road prematurely too. Maybe it’s true; I’m not as great at my job as I thought. I sink into my chair, letting the shame beat down on me.
“Can’t you just put me on another tour? Or maybe I can work here in the office for a while…” I look around, knowing that is the worst idea ever.
Staying stationary has never been my thing, especially when it comes to the music business. But I’m not sure if I have the courage to go back on that tour, assistant or not, if Wolf is done with me. Eventually he’ll go back to being the rock star he was before meeting me, happily noncommittal. It’s the only life he knows. I’d have to witness things I don’t know if I have the heart to see. I’m already broken, but that would end me.
“I’m afraid not, Lyric. If you choose to leave the tour, then we will have to let you go. It would be hard to find you another gig after this, no matter who your parents are. And we all know you’re not an office worker. Your heart wouldn’t be in it.”
While he’s speaking, the rest of the panel looks anywhere but at me—at their phones, their computers, the lovely view of the bay out the window. They are totally and utterly done with me. As this sinks in, more blood rushes to my head in a boil. I want nothing more than to get their attention. I let Wright’s words sink in before I speak, and I’m ready to burst. But I aim for a calm rebuttal first.
“What do my parents have to do with any of this, Wright? You know I work damn hard to stand on my own two feet. Their involvement is null.”
He looks beaten and malnourished at the start of new conflict. I almost feel bad. Almost. “Of course you do, Lyric. I was just making a point that not everyone has the luxuries that you have had. Your name is well-known. Other road managers work years to get their foot in the door with artists like Wolf and still never get the opportunity you got. Maybe you could afford to remember that the next time.”
What the fuck?
I stand, and my chair grates across the porcelain floor. I hope I scratched something. “The next time? What do you think it is I did wrong, exactly? I was dating him; so what? I still did my job, and a damn good one. Is there suddenly a rule against fraternizing with the talent?” I raise my eyebrows.
This is where I should stop, but of course I don’t. He lit the match; he just didn’t know he tossed it on a pile of dynamite. “What about marrying them? Wasn’t your wife one of your clients? Yet, you’re telling me my career is on trial.”
Wright stand
s, his own chair slamming into the wall behind him. He furrows his eyebrows in fury—I guess they do move—and crimson colors his face. “Young lady, let’s not make this personal.”
Thank God there’s a large wooden table separating us, or we’d be spitting our words directly into each other’s faces. “You, sir, made this personal by mentioning my parents.”
There’s a flicker in his eyes as he acknowledges I’m right. He gives it two beats and then lowers his voice. “I apologize, Lyric. I shouldn’t have mentioned your parents. Your reputation in the industry has been above par until this incident. Even when you left Salvation Road, we overlooked it. Unfortunately, this situation has leaked to the public. The damage is done, and now you must decide. Our response to the matter is final. We approve either of the two options presented. We’ll look at your position again when your contract with Wolf is—”
“What about Tony?” I’m fuming. Despite his apology, he’s not answering my questions. My own guilt aside, on paper, I did nothing wrong, and he knows it.
“I’m not following,” Wright answers dryly.
“Tony physically violated me, and Wolf stood up for me. Tony should be exposed, and Wolf should be cleared of the rumors. It’s unfair to his reputation, not to mention mine.”
Wright’s eyes shift to the rest of the panel. At some point, probably during the screaming match, their focus moved to where it should be: this meeting. Now they’re all just looking around at each other, baffled, as if I had no right to bring up Tony’s name.
“That will be up to Tony’s label to decide. We just book the tours.”
“But I’m your employee. Have you even talked to the label?”
“Lyric!” he shouts. “How we choose to handle this situation is our business, not yours.” The poor old man is shaking. He sucks in oxygen like he’s been starved of it.
My heart is hammering as I glance back down at the papers. I’m not going to win this war today, but this isn’t over. No fucking way. If Perform Live isn’t going to do anything about Tony, I’ll find a way. I’ll file charges if I have to, and then it will be public knowledge.
“We’ll excuse ourselves while you think about it,” Wright says. “Would you like anything? Coffee, tea, water?” Wright’s polite tone makes me want to carve my name into the hideously expensive conference room table. The other executives are already out of their seats and heading for the door.
“Whiskey,” I say dryly and plop back into my seat.
Wright chuckles as if we haven’t just been slinging angry words back and forth. “One whiskey coming up.”
He’s gone before I can tell him I’m kidding, and then I’m reading the contracts again, line-by-line.
I’m definitely going to need that whiskey.
“I should have just quit,” I’m telling Terese over drinks a few hours later.
My friend’s normally perky eyes scan me sympathetically as she throws her long, blond strands up into a messy bun and then reaches for her beer. We found a hole-in-the-wall bar in town and ordered some cheap drinks and food. Not because we need to save money, but there’s just something comforting about eating dive bar food in a dark establishment. Punishing myself with grease and booze seems like the perfect distraction from what about I’m to return to.
Terese and I recently reconnected when I ran into her at Perform Live before Wolf’s tour. She works for the local tour team now, but we met a few years ago when Tony booked a three-month gig at a hotel in Vegas.
Salvation Road was given the opportunity of a lifetime when they signed that Vegas contract, one that contributed largely to how quickly they blew up. As soon as the three-month run was complete, their new single debuted at number one, and their new album dropped one month later. It climbed to the Top 10 on the charts almost immediately. Waves were made, egos were riding high—but then just six months ago they hit their crest when their newest release flopped. The wave broke. And they’ve been drowning ever since—in competition. In booze. In drugs. They’re lucky they have a hit single out right now, charting just one spot below Wolf, but that number one album was what they desperately wanted. I’m lucky I got out when I did.
“You’re stronger for seeing this out,” Terese says, firmly. “The circumstances are shitty, but you’re doing the right thing.”
I frown. “I guess it’s only two more shows, and then I’ll have a week off to get my shit together.”
Terese laughs and takes a swig of her beer. “You sure you don’t want to come to Florida with us?”
I shake my head. The band will be in Miami for the week following the tour to record “Dangerous Heart” and take a short break. Derrick, Wolf’s drummer and best friend, invited Terese since they’ve been having a ridiculous amount of phone sex. She’s taking a week off work to be with him. Surprised the hell out of me. I knew they liked each other and had been talking casually, but this seems like a huge step for both of them.
“Definitely not.” I shudder, thinking about how awful that experience would be. Wolf has rented a large house for his band. Rumor has it, it will be a nonstop party house. The band’s ready-and-willing fan club is already on alert, with girls from all over the country booking trips to Miami in hopes of meeting the guys. It’s the perfect opportunity for Wolf to go back to his manwhoring ways on tour. I’m definitely not putting myself in the same house as him to have a front row seat of the action. No, I’ve already made plans to take that week to regroup, fly to Seattle to tie up some loose ends I left behind when Tony and I broke up, and meet up with Deloris—my live-in nanny from the time I spent living with Destiny.
“Why not? Don’t you think you two will get back together?”
Terese is such a sweet person. She has no idea what it’s like to date a rock star like Wolf. She’s getting a taste of it with Derrick, but she’s fresh to the game. She doesn’t understand that the minute things get rocky, Derrick will have a slew of distractions and countless other women to dip his stick into.
If I’m being honest, I’m torturing myself thinking about how Wolf has probably already forgotten me. There’s no shortage of rock skank to go around, and they literally line up for Wolf. All he has to do is take his pick.
“He was pissed when I left him.” I shake my head sadly.
“Then why don’t you at least apologize? I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn.”
“I’ve tried calling him! Not even an hour after I left, I was texting and calling him like a crazy person. He must have blocked me because my messages and calls stopped going through. If he won’t even talk to me, then what kind of chance do we have?”
“Of course he’s pissed,” she sighs back at me. “The real question is, why aren’t you trying harder?”
“Because,” I start, trying to find the words. But I’m not even completely sure why I left with so much anger like that back in LA. Of course I was reacting to the situation with Tony and to our fight, but it’s more than that. Fixing things with Wolf would mean divulging why I hold so much resentment toward my parents, especially my mother. I just want to forget the past. I don’t want to have to explain it to anyone, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting that wish anytime soon.
“It’s just … complicated. I’ve loved the music scene my entire life, but it’s also led to all the people closest to me hurting me somehow. I should have never given myself to Wolf like that. Not so fast. It was reckless. As much as I care about him, I can’t stray from the path again.”
“What if he is your path?”
I stare at her. Something tugs in my chest at her question. Words don’t come.
“Lyric, this is coming from someone who wasn’t there, so you can completely ignore everything I’m saying. But as your friend, someone who is listening to you now and seeing your pain, I don’t think Wolf is someone you should give up on. Whatever your parents and Tony did to you, fuck them. You’re letting your past control you. Don’t give them the satisfaction. You deserve to be happy, and you deserv
e to be loved the way it seems like Wolf loves you.”
I swallow. Fuck. There’s a thickening in my throat and my eyes grow heavy with the weight of an oncoming flood. We sit in silence for a moment before Terese excuses herself to find the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
God, I miss him. So much. It hurts to think about. By putting up these walls again, I’m bracing myself for the worst. But what if we can fix things? Wolf might be hurt, but I can get him to trust me again. I can make things right with him again. I have to.
With my eyes pressed closed, Wolf invades my mind. His morning kisses that start on my lips and work their way down my body until he has me fully awake and aching with pleasure. His strong arms that wrap around me the moment we’re alone because he’s missed me. His sweet lovemaking, because “fucking” always seems like such a crude way to put it when each moment together makes a home in my heart and soul.
And then an image of Wolf’s caramel eyes invades my reminiscence. A shiver runs down my spine as I remember the eyes that could see through me like no one else’s.
The buzzing of my cell phone pulls me from my dreams of Wolf. I sigh and look at the screen. Every muscle in my body locks. I swear I can feel the blood drain from my face as, with one shaky finger, I press a button on the screen to view the message in full.
Terese comes back to the table, and it’s clear she’s noticed my reaction to the message.
“What’s wrong?” she leans over to see my screen. “Shit, is that your mom? Do you seriously call her Destiny?”
“She lost the title of Mom a while ago. I’m not sure she ever wanted it.” I’m fully aware of the disdain dripping from my tone.
“What is she saying?” Terese is still trying to catch a glimpse of the words on my screen.
I laugh and pull my phone up. I can trust Terese. After clearing my throat, I read the text aloud in my best Destiny accent—sophisticated arrogance at its best. “Heard you’re in town. Did you think of maybe calling? I am still your mother.”
