I’d woken up with a renewed sense of purpose, vowing to finish out the tour and get the story done and be on my way. Sleeping with Liam, while absolutely mind-blowing, was a huge mistake. I was determined to classify it as research for the story and move on, in order to pretend he hadn’t gotten into my heart and under my skin.
I’d focus on the story, and nothing else. I had an hour before we had to be downstairs and I was not looking forward to the flight to San Francisco today. It was sure to be an awkward piss-fest after last night. I was looking forward to getting through the next few days and moving on.
But first I had a story to write.
I picked up the phone and called Callum again. I had several questions for him and was hoping to be able to draw something out of him that would be useful for the story. Liam still hadn’t expressly asked me not to use the story about Ally. I didn’t want to, because it wasn’t a flattering story at all. But the charity was, and if I could play that part up enough, maybe I could leave out the reason for his connection to Callum.
He answered on the third ring.
“Callum, it’s Catherine, is this a good time?” I asked.
“Sure, I guess so,” he replied.
“Great. So, Liam told me a little about the charity and your involvement with it.”
“Yeah? I’m sure he didn’t tell you everything,” he replied, to my surprise.
“Well, if you mean Ally, he did tell me about her. I’m sorry about the loss of your sister.”
“Thanks,” he muttered. “She was a great kid. She just went down the wrong path. Had a lot of pain in her life.”
“Yes, I understand. Liam had nothing but wonderful things to say about her.”
“Is that so?” he replied, and I detected a slight thread of anger in his voice.
“Yes, I think he has a lot of regrets about that time in his life.”
“Well he should,” he replied curtly.
“So, I mainly wanted to talk to you about the charity. Can you give me a list of organizations you’ve donated to?”
“Yeah, sure. I can email you a list, if you want.”
“That would be great, thank you. And an amount donated, as well, please? I think this will be a main part of the story, and a great opportunity to show the world Liam’s charitable side.”
“Right, uh huh,” he replied, hesitantly.
“Do you see a lot of promising progress going on with the research organizations?”
“I guess so. I just give them the money and then let them do their thing. I don’t like to interfere with their work too much.”
“So, you basically just donate and sit back, waiting for a cure? I’m assuming you actively seek out new, cutting edge researchers?”
“Yeah, we have a person who does that.”
“Oh, okay,” I replied, wondering exactly what Callum’s actual job was other than doling out the checks. He was obviously very hands off.
“When did the charity start?”
“It’s been almost a year.”
“And how much has been raised and donated?”
“Look, I’ll email you all the info this afternoon, okay? This is too much to go into right now.”
“Oh, sure, that’s fine,” I replied. I rattled off my email address and he ended the call quickly.
I put the phone down, having not learned one thing from that call. Hopefully, his email would shed a little more light on the situation, or this was going to be one very short story.
Unless I wrote about all the sex. As fun as that sound, I was sure that wouldn’t fly with the folks at Rolling Stone. To my surprise, my computer notified me five minutes later that I’d received an email from Callum.
I opened up the attachment and my whistle echoed through my hotel room. Millions of dollars were listed, going to at least a dozen charities. I was impressed. Liam and Ian were not stingy when it came to their charity, and I was happy to see so much money being funneled into such a good cause.
I forwarded the email to my office for verification and packed up, bracing myself for the shit storm I was about to enter for the next few hours. Hell, the next few days, actually.
I took a deep breath, repeated my vow to just focus on the story, and headed downstairs. If I could get through the day without fucking Liam, everything would be just fine. Considering his behavior yesterday, I was feeling pretty confident about achieving that goal for the first time.
Chapter 30
LIAM
Matt had to bang on the door forever to get me out of bed. Sharp pangs of brutal throbbing pain shot through my head and my hand, and as the memories started flooding in, I tried to turn them off. After I’d punched Rocket and fallen on the bottle, Ian had taken me to his room, and called the medic we kept on staff to stitch me up. It hadn’t hurt last night, but it was screaming this morning. Ian had allowed me to leave, after promising to go right to my room. Instead, I’d stumbled to Catherine’s room and then back to my own room when she didn’t answer.
But I didn’t want to remember any of it. I didn’t want to see it all play out in my head over and over. I didn’t want to feel like such a fuckin’ prick, but I just was, for fuck’s sake. If everyone didn’t piss me off so much, maybe I wouldn’t have to lose my shit all the time.
Rage raced through my veins as I showered and dressed. I tried to avoid getting the stitches wet, but it wasn’t easy, which just pissed me off even more. Rage had been my closest companion since Lennon had died and had continued throughout losing Ally and now this huge responsibility of constant touring - sometimes it’s all too much to fuckin’ handle.
And then they push me. Over and over.
But that was no excuse for my fuckin’ violent outbursts. I felt like shit for hitting Rocket. I hadn’t hit an actual person in a long bloody time. Fuck, if I was him, I wouldn’t put up with this shit, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he had bailed on the tour by now. Who could blame him? I have no idea why any of them stay.
Oh, wait. Yes, I do.
The bloody money.
It’s always about the fuckin’ money.
Gotta sell tickets. Gotta keep moving. Gotta sling the merch. Gotta sell the records.
I always thought once we’d gotten this big, I wouldn’t have to worry about the money, that it would just flow in and I’d get to sail the Caribbean in my yacht or something. But it wasn’t like that. Not at all. It was a lot to take, it exhausted you, the constant traveling, and partying and then leaving every physical ounce of energy you have on the stage every night.
For fuck’s sake. I sounded like a pussy, but whatever. That’s just how it was. I sucked it up, I did my best and I was grateful, dammit, but it was hard. The booze just made me lose it now and then.
And now there was Catherine, who probably hated me by now, so I probably didn’t need to worry about it anyway, but I was. When she didn’t answer the door last night, I was stunned. I’d never been turned down by anyone, and my pride was taking a beating.
Maybe that’s just what I bloody needed, though. Every fuckin’ morning I woke up and vowed not to be an asshole that day and every fuckin’ day I managed to break it.
When I finally made my way down to the waiting crowd, I was a little surprised to see everyone there. Including Rocket. Including Catherine.
Even so, it was just as I’d expected.
Stony glares and icy silence. Rocket wouldn’t look my way at all, and I winced when I saw his swollen black eye. Catherine was the only one who would look at me. Her eyes met mine, and she smiled, but it didn’t make me feel any better. She looked at me with fuckin’ pity, and that was the last thing I wanted to see when she was looking at me.
Why had I fucked everything up so much?
“Alright, let’s go,” Ian said, and we all piled into the limo. For the first time, I wished we were in the buses today instead of flying. At least then I wouldn’t have to face their anger. Luckily, traffic was light, and the ride to the airport went quickly.