No one’s here for a solo concert, especially not with me so off my game, but somehow I manage to flub my way through the set. It’s not a complete disaster, but I wouldn’t be surprised if half the audience asks for their money back. But I can’t think about that right now. I can’t think about anything other than Chelsea’s broken expression, the hurt and betrayal in her tear-reddened eyes. I can’t stop thinking about that baggie and where it came from. Could it possibly be left over from before? Did I not clean out my whole suitcase when I got back from rehab?
I don’t know and it’s the not knowing that’s killing me.
For some unknown reason—maybe they’re giving me the benefit of the doubt, or it really wasn’t as bad as I thought—the crowd’s calling for an encore. But I can’t go back out there. I barely made it through the set. There’s no way I can act like everything’s fine for an encore when Chelsea’s not there.
So instead, I race to her dressing room, praying she’s still there, praying she’s ready to listen to what I have to say.
But she’s not. Her dressing room is empty and as I’m walking out, I come face-to-face with Rosa, her face screwed into absolute rage. Her arms are folded and she’s blocking my way.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” she throws at me.
“I haven’t done anything!”
“You’ve done plenty. Chelsea’s reputation is going to take a big hit from this, not to mention the state she’s in because of you. I warned her this would happen and you wormed your way in anyway. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”
“I don’t care what you think. You’ve never liked me and that’s fine, but I’m not lying. Just let me talk to her. Let me explain.”
Rosa narrows her eyes at me and steps closer, a threat in her expression. “If you care about her at all, you’ll back off and let this die down. There are four shows left, and if I’m lucky I can convince Chelsea not to pull out of the rest of the tour. But stay away from her, do you understand me?”
I meet the challenge in her eyes with conviction of my own. “I haven’t done anything wrong,” I say, glaring at her.
“Just stay away,” she says, clearly not believing me either as she walks away.
“Goddammit!” I roar, slamming my fist into the wall. It doesn’t give me the satisfying break I hoped for. Instead, my knuckles are bruised and throbbing and the wall is left unblemished, taunting me along with everyone else.
I’m pissed that no one will believe me, but more than that, I’m pissed at myself. Because if I were them, I wouldn’t believe me. Not with my history. Not with what I know about addiction. There’s really no reason for any of them to buy my side of the story, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.
Chapter 17
Chelsea
I’m not sure I ever really managed to sleep last night with my phone ringing constantly. I don’t know who leaked my number, but every reporter and blogger and industry person is calling for the juicy gossip. And even when no one’s bothering me, my phone’s still blowing up with notifications from all the news outlets reporting our split.
Yeah. In less than twelve hours, the whole world has found out that Ian and I are through. And somehow everyone knows that our brief affair is over because he’s using again. Every time I see it in writing, tears swim in front of my eyes and I’m crying again. Until eventually I’m out of tears and my head hurts and I’m exhausted, but I can’t stop thinking about how wrong everything went.
I turned the sound off my phone first. Then I had to turn the vibration off. And then, when the notification light was flashing like a freaking lighthouse in the dark, I turned the whole damn thing off and shoved it in my bag. This is why I have Rosa and PR people. They can handle this me
ss.
That thought just makes me cringe though, because I know Rosa’s got to be feeling pretty smug with “I told you so” satisfaction. She warned me about this. She told me not to get in too deep, but I wouldn’t listen. And look where it got me.
I’m still lying in bed, trying to force myself to sleep when the sun comes up. And I keep lying there well into the morning until there’s a knock on the door. I groan and roll over, ignoring it. Whoever is here can just get the hell out.
“It’s me, and I have a key,” Rosa says. I groan again and pull the blankets up over my head. I don’t need her to see me like this. I probably look awful. I know I feel awful.
It’s not fair that I can’t run away or tell her to leave. She swipes the key card over the door and I hear the lock click open before the knob turns.
But I’m not coming out of my blanket cocoon and she can’t make me.
I can hear her footsteps across the plush carpet and then she sits on the bed with me, making the mattress sag toward her.
“Hey,” she says gently. “How are you feeling?”
I shrug, but with the blanket over me, I don’t know if she can tell what the gesture is.
“Well, I’ve got some news you might like to hear…”
I really doubt it. There’s nothing that can make me feel better right now. Nothing that could possibly ease this pain in my chest. The one that’s making it hard to breathe, hard to think without nearly falling into tears again.