That jab was aimed at both Fletcher and me, and it seems Grady isn’t very impressed with any aspect of what happened between Fletcher and me. Maybe the dissolution of the band isn’t such a bad thing. I can’t imagine how Grady would’ve reacted had we opened up to him before what we had went public.
“Check your mailing address at the top,” the executive says. “We’ll make sure each of you have an official copy of the paperwork once it’s signed.”
He starts to pass the thick packet around the table, getting everyone’s signature.
My heart is racing as I sign my name. I never thought it would come to this. I knew I didn’t want to spend my entire life on tour and cranking out albums, but I didn’t see it ending this way. I figured we’d have a final sold-out tour after announcing our retirement. I saw people begging us to keep going because they loved our music.
This is a disgraceful way to go. Lucid Unrest will be the punchline of jokes. I hate that for us.
What I hate more is that I feel like I’m seconds away from losing my shit, knowing that all it would take was Brooks’s hand on my back to calm me down. He wouldn’t even have to touch me. If I could feel the warmth of his body near mine, I could possibly breathe easier.
I’m still sitting when everyone else stands. I don’t open my mouth to apologize because I know there isn’t a man in this room that would care about my guilt.
Fletcher sneers at me before leaving the room.
“Let’s go,” Brooks says, but he doesn’t touch me to urge me out of the seat.
I stand woodenly and leave the conference room, trying to get control of my breathing while we wait for the elevator.
I look to the right, wondering how long before the record label takes the picture of us holding our first Grammy Award off the wall. I suspect it’ll be in the trash within the hour.
The ride in the elevator is silent, but I’ve come to expect that from Brooks. He answers questions when he’s directly asked, but he rarely offers up any other form of conversation.
I see the horde of vultures through the front glass doors of the building. We were swarmed at the airport and again when we walked into the building. I wouldn’t put it past the record label to have called all the people out here. They want news of cutting ties with me spread as wide and as fast as possible.
I see the back of Fletcher’s head as he makes it through the swarm of paparazzi as I push through the doors. I watch as my oldest friend climbs into a car, his head ducking once inside. I have to be imagining things because there’s no fucking way I’m seeing Davien reach up and cup his face a second before they press their lips together.
I’m jostled, but I keep my eyes locked on the car.
Davien defended Fletcher during our last conversation.
You’re lucky he found a new job.
I didn’t understand it then because I was so upset, but that was a clue about this going on. Fletcher had just told me himself about taking a spot with Behind the Lies, but Davien had no idea about that from me. He knew it because of what I’m witnessing.
Neither man looks back in my direction before Davien pulls away from the curb.
“How does it feel to be the sole cause of Lucid Unrest’s demise?”
“Is this going to make you go on another bender?”
The paps get even closer, closing in on me.
“I thought you and Brooks Morgan broke up.”
“Why did you lie to everyone about your relationship with Brooks?”
“Brooks, why are you still working with him if he broke your heart?”
“Are you going to kill yourself today, Archer?”
I turn my head in the direction of that last voice, and it gives another one of the paps the opportunity to take me by surprise. As if they are piranhas sensing blood in the water, they all converge on me. Something hits the backs of my knees, and I go down, my head bouncing off the concrete hard enough to make me see stars.
Celebrity photographers have always been more aggressive on this side of the country, but I never saw myself being attacked in a group of them before.
My eyes are having trouble focusing.
“Brooks!” I yell, but I don’t see him before my eyes flutter closed.
I’m not surprised. I’ve known all along he’d leave me when I needed him the most.
Chapter 33
Brooks
“Get the fuck away,” I growl, feeling one of the photographers press against my back as I reach down for Archer.
Being the sharks that they are, they begin fighting among themselves like a pack of wild dogs fighting over the last scrap of food. The problem is that Archer is the food in this scenario.