Play Smart: An Enemies to Lovers Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Work For It Book 5), page 17
“Deplorable?” Abram asks, fighting a smile despite the somber atmosphere.
“What? It’s a great word,” Kaitlyn says.
“It is a great word. I just didn’t know people actually used it.”
“Well, people do,” she quips, then focuses back on me. “It’s the best word for gross Tyler and his gross motives.”
“I believe you. I fully support your word choice,” I say.
We exchange a smile before hers falters again. “Right, well, whether Tyler always intended to ruin Nash, we don’t know, but at some point he went full-on dark side.”
“Deplorable, even?” Abram says.
Kaitlyn raises her brows at him, and he cowers playfully.
“Yes. Deplorable,” she says.
Abram’s humor fades as a fresh shadow skims over his features. “Nash thought they were really good friends,” he says in a dark tone. “Things get intimate on tour, you know? You spend a ton of time with people, literally on top of each other, especially when you’re smaller and crammed in vans and hotel rooms like Tyler and Nash were. Nash must have confided some stuff, and instead of being the friend Nash thought he was, Tyler leaked it all to anyone who would listen.”
“Oh my god,” I breathe out.
“Yeah,” Abram says. “Dick move. Like, beyond a dick move. The worst part is, he waited until it would do the most damage to Nash. His single just hit the charts, his record deal had just been inked, everything looked like it was finally going to happen for him, and then…”
“Splat,” Kaitlyn says.
“Fuck,” Val mumbles.
“Yeah. Exactly,” Abram echoes.
“So does that mean what Tyler leaked is true?” I ask quietly. “I mean, about, well, you know…”
“That Nash slept his way to the top?” Abram spits out. “First of all, do you have any idea how common that’s been in the entertainment industry? I’m not saying it’s right, obviously. It’s wrong, and I’m glad people are finally starting to talk about it, but even if it were true in Nash’s case, it’s hypocritical bullshit for these tabloid editors and record execs to get all preachy and ruin people’s lives over something that happens all. The. Time. Hell, half the vultures on their high horses had probably been involved in their own affair on one side or the other.
“Either way, ethics and logic don’t matter once the media’s claws sink into someone. The truth doesn’t even matter. Once the relationship was exposed, the label ‘had to act’ to save face. They fired the quote-unquote ‘executive’ and rescinded Nash’s offer.”
I can barely get the words out. “But he did sleep with an executive?”
“He explained the real story and we believe him,” Kaitlyn says, her tone gentle like she can read my pain. “Yes, he went out with a woman from the label, but she didn’t have any role in his deal. In fact, she wasn’t even an executive, really, just a mid-level manager in the accounting department who was only a couple of years older than he was. The paperwork for his deal had already been drafted and was in review before they met at some industry event. I’m not sure he even knew she worked for the same label when they hooked up. Their relationship had nothing to do with his contract, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. It did look suspicious from the outside, and the real story isn’t as lurid and attractive as the other narrative, so that’s the one that stuck. Even after the truth came out.”
“And by then he’d been so wounded, he didn’t have the energy to fight the rest,” Abram adds.
The rest.
“You mean, the group home stuff?” I ask, feeling sick all over again.
He nods. “Yeah. Only a monster would use someone’s trauma against them, but hey, that’s Tyler for you.”
“Trauma?”
Abram shakes his head. “That part will have to come from him. I don’t know how much of what he told me is sharable so I’m not touching that one.”
I release a breath but completely understand. In fact, I respect Abram for doing what Tyler should have done, what anyone should do when someone trusts you with a sacred piece of themself. My stomach feels like it’s trying to crawl out of my skin.
“It was back-to-back, kick-him-while-he’s-down blows,” Kaitlyn says. “And it was brutal. We didn’t see him or hear from him for months. He left L.A. for New York and disappeared. No one knew what happened to him for almost a year. We were so relieved when we learned he was finally showing up at events again, even if it was in the tech booth and backstage.”
Memories of his song from last week bubble to the surface. Not just the magic of his voice, but also some of the lyrics that got stuck in my head.
See this grin? It’s for you because mine’s a joke that’s been choked from lungs torn when my heart broke
When you call me your friend
I’m just a tragic loose end
A deadly game of pretend
Let’s say I’m fine
He’s not fine, though, is he? And neither am I. Or Val. Or Kaitlyn and Abram when it comes down to it. None of us are fine. Sometimes we are, but like so many other things, we often pretend because it’s easy. Expected. Safe.
Until it’s not.
“Thanks for the story,” I say, pushing away from the wall.
“Where are you going?” Kaitlyn asks.
“I have to find him.”
“That’s not a good idea. He doesn’t like sharing his baggage with people,” Abram says.
“Yes, well, he’s already used to me ignoring what he wants. That’s apparently my role in his life, so who better to piss him off and force him out of hiding?”
A smile tugs at their lips.
“Fair enough,” Abram says, waving me on. “We’ll go find a first aid kit for when you confront him.”
I smirk and start down the hall.
My confidence fades as I scan the halls and open doorways for any sign of the guy I’m having trouble “pretending” about anymore. With each step, the pieces of our relationship (and my crush) begin to snap into place. As frustrating as Nash can be, I wouldn’t want him any other way. He was right that day in my bedroom. I like that he’s not intimidated by me, that he seems to like that I challenge him just as much. I never dated a lot because most of the guys I came across wanted me to be less smart, less loud, and a lot softer. I always felt like I had to be something else to be what they wanted, but it’s not like that with Nash. I’ve only ever been myself with him, which means the friction that defines us is becoming a dealmaker, not a dealbreaker. He needs a sledgehammer to get through his walls, and I need someone who will force me to look beyond my own.
We are fire and gasoline, and we’ve become addicted to the flames.
I freeze at the sight of a figure strewn on a couch in a dim alcove to the right. It hurts to see him like that, slouched against the backrest, his head leaning back to stare at the ceiling. What’s he thinking? How long would he have stayed here on his own if I hadn’t chased him?
I approach slowly so I don’t startle him. He tilts his head in my direction but doesn’t respond before gazing back at the ceiling like it’s the only picture he can tolerate at the moment.
With a sigh, I close the gap and drop beside him. I shift into the same position and roll my head back to study the ceiling as well.
We sit in silence for a while. I have no words, and he wouldn’t share his if he did. I’m okay with that, but I don’t like the way his fingers scratch absent streaks in his jeans. I really don’t like the tortured expression on his face or the lingering redness of eyes that fought old tears and won.
Reaching over, I find his anxious fingers and lace them with mine. He tries to pull away, but finally relaxes when I give a gentle squeeze that makes it clear I’m not letting go.
“In terms of ceilings, this one isn’t great,” I say, squinting at the water-stained tiles.
He doesn’t respond at first, but when I peek over, his features have softened slightly.
“I used to be afraid of drop ceilings,” I continue. “Not even because I feared it falling or something gross crashing through. It was the ceiling itself. Like, the actual tiles. All those little dots and holes? Shudder.”
The slight curve of his lips sends a rush of warmth through me.
“I used to be afraid of dandelion seeds,” he says. “You know, once the yellow flower goes away and you get the wispy seeds? I hated them.”
“Well, yeah. Of course. You could totally get one of those suckers in your eye. Or worse, inhale one which would wedge in your lung and cause pneumonia. I mean, they’re practically weapons. Pretty sure they’re being researched at secret military bases as we speak.”
He offers a soft chuckle. “I can already see the troops in formation, holding up their little stems. ‘Ready! Aim! Blow!’”
I laugh and tug his fingers to my lips. I know it’s a mistake, but it just feels… necessary. He doesn’t pull away, but averts his gaze, and we settle back into our somber truce.
After another long silence, he scrubs at his face.
“Did they tell you?” he asks in a resigned tone.
“I already knew. I told you at lunch I saw the articles.”
He closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Nice story, huh?”
“The only nice part was the photo of you on stage in that one article. Don’t get mad, but even the scandal version of you is hot.”
His weak smile tugs at me as he focuses back on picking at his jeans. “Yeah? Which article was that?”
“The one on the website with the round, pointy squirrel.”
“Squirrel?”
“I don’t know. It had some rodent in its logo.”
His face scrunches in thought until he releases a genuine laugh that makes my entire body hum.
“Hang on, you mean The Tattletale Review?”
“Maybe? Do they have a squirrel for a logo?”
“It’s a rat,” he says, still chuckling. “As in, ‘ratting’ someone out?”
I squint over at him. “A rat? Really? What’s with the acorn it’s holding? Do rats collect acorns too?”
“It’s holding an acorn?”
“I thought that’s what it had in its tiny paws, but now you’ve made me question my entire understanding of rodent culture.”
“I find it interesting you had an understanding of rodent culture.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
He straightens slowly, the cloud finally drifting from his face. “Hate to disappoint you, but I couldn’t tell you the last time I’ve reflected on rodent philosophy.”
“Whoa, hey now. I didn’t say anything about theoretical rodent concepts. I wouldn’t dare broach that existential landmine.”
His blue eyes sparkle with humor, and I can’t look away. How could anyone want to hurt this person? It makes no sense to me.
You wanted to hurt him not so long ago, remember? Heck, you wanted to hurt him an hour ago. Twenty minutes ago. Most of the time, really. It’s part of your thing with him, right? Nag and criticize, even if it’s because—
Ugh. Shut up, Brain. Go get nihilistic with rodents.
“Most of it’s not true, you know, the way they spun what happened,” he says, growing serious again.
“I know.” I shift and pull one leg under me to face him on the couch.
“Tyler was just pissed that his label offered me a deal after seeing me perform at one of his shows. He resented the fact that it came so ‘easy’ for me. Like he had any clue what I’d been through to get there.” He looks away. “The other stuff, though…” His voice trails off, and he shakes his head. “I thought he was my friend. We got drunk one night after a show, started talking, revealing stuff, you know? One thing led to another and yeah, I told him some stuff. Personal shit from my past no one but Marcos and Nate knew.”
“About the arrests?”
“Arrests?” he scoffs. “The arrests were the least of it. By the time that came out the damage was done. Besides, that was bullshit too. I got picked up a couple of times for trying to run away when I was fifteen. They found me and dragged me back to Bellevue. That’s my shady criminal past.”
“Bellevue is the group home?”
He nods, his face going dark again. “It was the personal stuff that hurt the most, if I’m honest. Stuff that…” He blinks and drops his gaze again.
“Stuff that made you vulnerable?”
His eyes lift to mine, crashing hard in the hazy light. “I haven’t shared anything with anyone since. I can’t. He didn’t just betray my trust, he fucking broke me, Paige.”
Something cracks in my chest, and I don’t care about the rules anymore. I lean forward and pull him into my arms, holding tight until he dissolves into me. My fingers thread into his hair as I cling to him, relishing the warmth of his breath on my skin and the steady beat of his heart. All I want in this moment is to hold onto this person until his pain becomes mine. I want to absorb it, siphon it out of him until he’s light enough to soar.
I want to be the one he hides with not from.
“I chose Sandeke Telecom because I’m weak and scared,” I say quietly, staring past him at the wall. He releases me and leans back to study my face. I meet his surprised gaze and swallow.
“You asked why I chose this path? That’s why. Because I watched what happened to my brother when he broke from the mold our parents made for us and I wasn’t brave enough to do the same. I like business—I’m good at it—so it was easy to convince myself I was doing it for me and not for them. But if it were truly for myself, I’d be jumping into a startup company to build an empire I’m passionate about, not become another robot puppet in someone else’s kingdom. I’ve always envisioned myself as a CEO, but it’s not Sandeke Telecom or my dad’s company I want to run.”
I suck in a deep breath and force myself to meet his stare again. “You asked why I felt Reedweather Media was the path worthy of me and my talents but the truth is, it’s not. None of this is. I’m meant to carve my own path, to gaze down from a summit I conceived and climbed. I deserve that, and you’re the one who forced me to confront the truth. I thought I had it all together, but I don’t. I’m not fine, either.”
I inch closer and reach for his hand again. He accepts the gesture and searches my face as we lace our fingers. I see the understanding in his expression, the compassion. I see a guy who cares.
“I’m living a lie, Nash, and so are you. You deserve so much more than this. The world knocked you down and scarred you, but it didn’t break you. You know how I know that? Because despite what you seem to think there are many talented, intelligent, accomplished people who still believe in you. Who love you.”
I tug his hand for emphasis. “I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through and have no right to rush your grieving process, but I know for a fact that you’re wrong about one thing. You can afford to take risks. You already did, and when it blew up in your face, you had a wide net of people willing to catch you.
“But you have to let them. You have to believe you are worthy of their love and support. You do have a family, and whether you become a superstar or end up back on your ass, you will be surrounded by people who love you and want to see you thrive.
“We’ve all heard your music, seen your talent, and I’m telling you, it’s worth the risk,” I say into the thick air around us. “Whenever you’re ready to try again, we will be here for the highest highs and the lowest lows.”
I lean into him again, and his arms tighten around me until we’re practically one body. I’ve never felt so whole, so safe and certain. Most of that speech should have scared the crap out of me, but instead, I find myself cataloging my own life and building a mental family tree of all the people who would support me if I was brave enough to step out on my own. It’s more than I thought, and as the list of supporters grows, it becomes clear I haven’t been honest with myself about my relationships either. I’ve always assumed Val followed me around because I was protecting him, but what if it was the other way around? What if I’m depending on his support just as much?
“My hair was shorter then,” Nash says, finally pulling back. His pretty eyes blink away a flash of shyness before settling on me. “In the photo on that squirrel website?”
I already miss his warmth against me, the flutter in my stomach whenever we touch. Gosh, he’s so special. I can’t believe just a couple of weeks ago I couldn’t stand him.
“I like it how it is now,” I say, tugging on a dark, wavy lock.
His weak smile hurts after the heaviness of the last few minutes. “Thanks. I like yours too.”
“Yeah? It’s a pain in the butt to deal with.” I fluff the curtain of curls springing from my head.
“It was perfect for gripping.”
My blood stirs at his sly grin, and crap, I’m in trouble. Why do his lips have to look so inviting right now? His soulful eyes, those mesmerizing tattoos? When every brain cell in my head is demanding we go find the others after this long absence, all I want to do is lock us in a room and ravage him for days on end. No brothers or roommates or intrusive parents. Just me and that cocky smile and mouthwatering body and irresistible wit. I want to hear his music, free and untethered by doubt. Over and over until it’s embedded in my soul too.
“Anyway, thanks for the chat,” he says, pushing up from the couch. He reaches out to pull me up as well. “Sorry for all the drama.”
I force away the disappointment at losing him again. The longing.
“Anytime. That’s what co-spies are for.”
His return smile almost makes it okay that I may never get to kiss him again.
Just kidding. Nothing will make that okay.
In the history of terrible ideas that includes a record label passing on The Beatles and someone deciding to put Chad in charge of anything, I can’t say this is the worst idea of all time.
It sure feels close, though, as club lights flash and seductive bass notes thump through a room of undulating, sweaty bodies. Most of them aren’t an issue. It’s really just one that’s causing problems for me. Added to the Terrible Idea List are the two martinis I’ve imbibed that are starting to make terrible ideas seem not so terrible. For example, I am very, very close to breaking a hard, steadfast rule I’ve followed my entire life while breaking another rule I set this morning.
