Track 05: Lullaby
“I thought I came into this with eyes wide open, nothing left to lose.
But, baby, you’re the lullaby that brings me back to dreams of you.”
Three weeks later
BIG PLANS.
Big stakes.
Big reputation.
“Opening Act Added to Love Struck Tour! Who could it be?”
Tonight was the night—the first show of the US leg of my tour. But even the warmth of Miami at this time of year couldn’t shake the chill of nervous anticipation that ran through my body. I flipped back to the previous page in the latest Patterson novel that I was trying to escape into, realizing that I’d been lost in my thoughts.
Player.
Heartless.
Blake the Heartbreaker.
The words played in my head like a broken record. Heart. Breaks. Her. Hard to focus on anything else when all I heard was the sound of my reputation screaming and crying as it was dragged through the mud.
I was expecting her, but still the knock on the door made me jump.
“Coming!” I yelled over the edge of the couch.
Grumbling underneath my breath, I pulled myself from the huge plush sectional that graced the living room that was probably larger than my parent’s house. I jogged through the penthouse suite that Bruce had reserved for me, passing the full kitchen, full bar, and door to the private freaking sauna, to get to the door. I really didn’t need all this space either. Not that it wasn’t amazing. Or that the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the ocean weren’t gorgeous. But it was just one more reminder how lonely this life was sometimes—me, in my giant room at the top of the tower, looking out on the world while everyone looked in. They could see me but they never really saw me.
I’d trade high-class for home-y any day.
“Hey,” Taylor said a little breathlessly as she came in, dropping her bags on the floor. Due to the last-minute addition to the tour, One Miami was one room short when she’d requested some for the ZPP crew. So, I’d insisted that Tay stay with me and give up her room to whoever needed it.
“You ok?” I asked, watching as she huffed a few breaths, trying to slow herself down.
She was always like this before the show—rushing around to make sure everything was in order even though it wasn’t technically her job. It was even worse today because of ZPP’s arrival. We’d been down here for two days already, but Zach, Bobby, Alex, and Ron just got in this afternoon. I’d been in rehearsal, so she’d gone to the airport to pick them up and bring them back here.
“Are those my yoga pants?” I asked, giving her the look. This happened all the time on tour—her stealing my clothes, me stealing hers.
“Sorry,” she grinned. “I think I forgot mine at your parents’ house.”
Taylor had stayed with me the rest of our break. Her parents had moved to Florida after we graduated and their stringent religious beliefs created a divide in their relationship when she began to work for… with… me. I didn’t know the last time she’d been to visit them, or the last time they’d called to ask.
She wasn’t the type to dwell and I was the type to insist that I’d already adopted her.
“What’s up?” I asked, tugging her luggage through the chic dining room and into the master bedroom. “Is everyone settled ok?”
Is he ok? Did he say anything?
After I’d propositioned him (and told my family), he’d disappeared back to Nashville the day after Christmas. It wasn’t like I didn’t have his phone number or my brother as a means of getting in touch, but I guess I just expected something… more… before this whole charade began.
Expectation is the root of all disappointment.
And these roots ran deep.
“Everyone is settled. Zach was all broody, but I’m sure it’s because of all the travel and everything,” she answered, trying to placate me with a believable story.
“Or because he’s being forced to date me,” I said wryly. “Who knew dating a superstar could be such a drag?” I added with a high, breathy voice, pretending to be offended.
“I think he likes it more than he wants to,” Tay offered with a grin, throwing open her bag and unloading her toiletries.
“Yeah, right.” I rolled my eyes, plopping on the bed. “I can’t believe no one knows. As soon as Bruce made the announcement about the opening act, I expected to be mobbed, literally, by people wondering who it is,” I mused, staring out at the blue ocean, really wanting to go for a swim. “Granted, I haven’t checked Instagram yet so I’m sure there are a thousand messages waiting after that cryptic post I made the other day.”
I’d gone dark. Like a spy in one of the books that I read. After Levi, not only did I not want to see the media fanfare, I didn’t want to be a part of it either so I stopped posting, stopped sharing, and hid. Even from myself.
Hard to look at myself in the mirror without imagining a variety of nicknames scrawled across my forehead. Hard to look at myself and not really start to wonder what was wrong with me.
Three whole weeks and no one had seen anything from me. Which meant that they were waiting, like vultures, for me to step out into the light tonight. They wanted to see if I was any more broken—like it made a difference; there was no winning with them. And that—knowing whatever you do is the wrong thing—is the worst feeling in the world.
If I appeared sad and upset—‘Why the long face, Blake? You’re the one who broke up with them.’
If I was strong—‘Blake strikes again and comes out unscathed, ready for the next.’
Fame was a world built on the sturdy foundations of double standards.
“How would anyone know? You’ve been off social media since you broke up with Licentious Levi and only reappeared two days ago telling your fans to be prepared. When would anyone have time to suspect?”
“True…” People were very resourceful though.
Good at finding truths. Better at finding lies.
“Although, I saw a not inconsequential number of rumors that you’d made up with Levi and that he was going to open your tour.”
“Oh my God, seriously?” I groaned. People were incredible. For once, I wished I could be really honest with my fans about what jerks these guys were.
“Bruce was right, though,” she said, grabbing a pair of jeans, white button-down, and her Sperry’s out of the suitcase before flipping the lid closed. “He thinks he’s going to have to add additional nights to some of the upcoming shows. Everyone is going crazy to know what’s going on.”
Sighing, I fell back on the bed. “Yeah, well, they should join the club…”
Hair and make-up had started an hour ago for me; Tay stopped by to inform me that ZPP was practicing and familiarizing themselves with the venue. My first outfit during the show was a red with gold brocade military jacket and tight white pants that fit well enough to be attractive, but not distasteful.
The best part was the back of the jacket. ‘Love Struck’ was embroidered in gold with large, flourished letters and a Black Mamba weaving through them. Because when love strikes, it does so with speed and agility and deadly determination. And when it kills you, it does it nice and slow. First, asphyxiation—taking your ability to speak. Then, respiratory collapse—taking your ability to breathe. And last, cardiovascular collapse—literally causing your heart to fail you.
My breath caught in an invisible net in my throat. Asphyxiation. It should have been able to get out but it couldn’t because he’d taken my ability to speak.
I stared at Zach talking to Bruce and the stage manager. He didn’t even notice me, like usual, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. Like usual. He was wearing those painted-on, ripped Diesel jeans—the kind that looked like they’d been purchased with the ten-year-distressed look, only they hadn’t.
Like most things that were close to Zach Parker’s body for any appreciable amount of time, the distress came naturally.
I knew because the rip in the knee was from me. Yes, only Zach Parker would be wearing a pair of jeans that were easily ten years old because ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ I’d been riding my bike too fast, trying to catch up to him and Ash in the fields between our houses; they’d stopped on the other side of the woods where a huge tree branch had fallen that they wanted to move—and I’d come tearing around the corner, realizing too late what had happened. I slammed on the breaks, my tires skidding in the dirt. Heading right for the branch, Zach quickly yanked me off the bike before I smashed into it and we both fell, tearing his jeans in the process.
Landing on top of him, flush against him, had solidified my need for him. And it had been the beginning of his coldness towards me—just one of the many mortifying moments that had happened that year.
Seriously. I had a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records to prove it.
Topped off with a navy tee covered with a blue and white plaid shirt, his guitar hanging on his back, Zach embodied the hometown-hottie; he looked every part the Southern charmer and childhood friend who was going to sweep in and steal Blake Tyler’s heart.
No, heart, it’s not really happening. Stop it. We moved on, remember?
“Miss Tyler.” Bruce’s voice pressed pause on my thoughts.
I shivered as Zach’s eyes fell on me. Serene. Unaffected. Utterly blasé and oozing obligation. A flash of something more, but it was gone before I could pick it out.
What was I hoping for? His jaw to drop? Don’t answer that.
“Bruce. Zach,” I greeted them both, turning to Zach to add, “I hope everything in the hotel is ok. You can let Taylor know if you need anything.”
“Miss Tyler,” Bruce said again, clearing his throat. “I was just explaining to Mr. Parker the logistics of what is going to happen tonight.”
“Wonderful,” I replied, trying not to let my sarcasm seep too noticeably into my voice.
Bruce didn’t notice, but I saw Zach’s eyebrow raise slightly at me.
“Blake, you’re going to go out and announce Zach and the band,” he continued blithely. “Now, remember, I don’t want you giving too much away. This needs to be believable—for your sake.”
“What exactly are you looking for?” I asked for clarification, because apparently, I was a master of messing these things up.
“Miss Tyler,” Bruce looked at me sternly, “your songs, they tell stories, do they not?”
I nodded, brushing a stray piece of hair back up underneath my white fedora.
“Well, think of this tour as one giant story—one giant love song. You cannot walk out there and give the crowd the refrain on the first shot. Tonight is the introduction. They need to see Zach,” he motioned to the guitar-wielding god who was standing stock still next to us, “meet him; they need to see what you see and then they need to see how you could fall in love with him.”
I gulped, hoping it wasn’t audible.
How I could fall in love with him? Easily, I thought. Easily is the only way I know of.
Taylor rushed up to us, flushed and flustered; she opened her mouth but quickly shut it again as Bruce continued, “The surprise reveal of an opening act has already gotten their interest peaked, now just give them a small taste. This tour is no longer isolated shows; it is long performance—one that all of those fans out there,” he turned and motioned towards where they’d just begun to start letting the crowd enter, “will be following after tonight.”
“I understand,” I replied softly with a nod, looking to Zach to agree as well. But he didn’t. He just stood there looking at me with a blank intensity that had me shifting back and forth between my feet, trying to detour that intensity from dropping straight to my core.
And with that objective and ominous plan, he nodded to the both of us saying, “Let’s get this show started,” before he walked off yelling for Jenni, his assistant.
“How long?” Zach asked Taylor.
“Fifteen minutes before the show starts. Bruce… wants Blake to go out there first and introduce you, and then the rest of the band will come out.”
“I’ll let the guys know,” he replied and stalked off.
“I…” Tay huffed. “I already told them,” she grumbled, turning back to face me with a soft smile. “You good, B?”
Too bad I didn’t ask Lin, my hair and makeup magician, to paint a brave face on me; guess I was all on my own for that one.
“Yeah. It’ll be fine. Starting slow.” I glanced over my shoulder. Through the heavy black curtains, I could see the full stadium, my ears already drowning out the chatter. “They’re going to know… as soon as I announce him; they’re going to know ‘Blake Tyler’s next boytoy,’” I said with a low mocking voice.
“Well, he is. Just not in the way they think. So, look at it this way, that means you won’t have to do much more than that for tonight.” Taylor was always the best at looking on the bright side. A mass of people began to descend on us, signaling that it was show time. Tay wrapped her arms around me quickly, whispering, “May the odds…” It was our ‘Hunger Games’ half-joke, half-mantra that we muttered before every performance.
“May the odds,” I repeated back.
I jumped as Ash slapped his hand on my back, saying with a grin, “Break a leg, sis.”
The curtains pulled back. Bright lights. Louder screams.
Only, it wasn’t my leg I was worried about breaking out there, it was my heart.
Rep-u-ta-tion.
My steps echoed their reminder as I stepped out into the light.
I couldn’t stop the smile that spread over my face. Every time I walked out on that stage, I felt like I was flying—soaring. I loved this. I loved them.
In spite of everything.
In spite of the fact that this stage had become an arena to see if I would come out on top. And in spite of those who loved me, yet loved being entertained more—whether it was by my flight or my fall. Their love could be deceptive, but at the same time so bright that you couldn’t see the betrayal it was hiding. Like the sun, it could shine all day, but that didn’t mean it would keep me warm.
Rep-u-ta-tion.
The flashing cameras made each step feel like I was walking on a path through thousands of twinkling stars. My smile grew and laughter spilled out of me like soda from a can that had been shaken—bubbling and fizzing overboard because there was too much pressure inside to stop it. It was impossible to see, but I waved anyway. For a few moments, I forgot how they’d deceived me. And I forgot how I was going to deceive them.
“Hello, Miami!” It was always strange, hearing myself in my ear and then the almost-echo filter through the stadium. “How are y’all doing tonight?” The crowd went wild.
Stopping in the center of the stage, I adjusted the brim of my fedora, and patiently waited for the noise to start to die down.
“Thank you, guys,” I said quietly into the mic. “Thanks for having me here.”
The flashing slowed. Everyone was waiting. On the edge of their seats, they wanted my explanation. They wanted to know my surprise. My secret.
“So, I wanted to—” I broke off, laughing as someone I heard someone scream ‘I love you Blake!’ from somewhere in the crowd on my right. “I love you guys, too.” I laughed again. “So, I wanted to introduce you to someone very… important… to me.”
A flick of my eyes over to the side of the stage revealed Zach, ready and waiting. On stage, I was who I wanted to be. And that person also wanted to be Zach’s girl. So, I let her.
“I want to introduce you to someone who has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. He was my neighbor. He is my friend. He helped my brother teach me how to ride a bike—the consequences of which can be seen in the rip on his jeans tonight.” I bit my lip as I grinned.
Too easy. It was too easy to be that girl.
It was so quiet in the audience, I could have heard a pin drop from the nosebleeds. Bruce was right. They were all dying to know who he was and what he meant.
I found Zach’s eyes watching me—looking at me instead of through me. Remembering. And my heart picked up its pace. The crowd could have been roaring—I couldn’t hear anything except the blood pumping in my ears, a familiar melody that only played when he was around.
I knew I was blushing and I prayed Lin’s makeup was doing a good job of hiding it.
“Umm… He also was the one who… inspired me to learn to play guitar,” I continued to confess, my voice a little more breathless as it fought its way out over the lump in my throat.
I nodded to him, motioning for him to come out, as I turned back to my fans, giving them my biggest and brightest smile. “So, if you could give a very warm welcome to one of my oldest friends and someone who is very… special… to me. Zach Parker!”
Now, the crowd went wild. And all I saw was him.
So handsome it hurt.
He walked towards me, his chiseled jawline strong enough to cut through the commotion with the smile that my fifteen-year-old self had hoped to see time and again. It hurt how easily I could believe it knowing it was faked.
ZPP had played a bunch of venues in Nashville, but I knew he’d never played anything like this—tens of thousands of eager and excited eyes on him. The flood of camera flashes lit the sky better than any of the pyrotechnics that I had planned later in show. I saw the way his eyes squinted and smile faltered as he tried to take it all in.
Welcome to my world.
It affected him, but it didn’t shake him. I’d come to believe that nothing could shake this man once he’d set his mind to something.
“He and his band, the Zach Parker Project, will be opening for me for the remainder of the tour,” I added, hearing how my voice broke with emotion as I spoke. “So, I hope you will show him—them—as much love as you do me.”
I watched him soak it all in and shine. His smile grew and mine faltered when he directed it at me.
“Thanks, Blay,” he said with a voice that had the perfect, subtly sexy rasp.
The audience melted right along with my insides—piles of mush held in by tight pants and the tight red jacket. I’d met tons of models and actors over the last few years (and the media will be happy to tell you just how many of them I’d dated), but none of them had this effect. Zach’s casual cool remained unbroken by the pathetic way I crumbled underneath his smile.
In that moment, it hit me exactly what I’d signed myself up for.
“And thank you, Miami, for having us tonight,” he drawled, his accent a little more pronounced as he tore his eyes from me, “and letting us play a little for you.”
Just like everything else he ever did—he stole the show, flawlessly. And they ate him up. Screaming and cheering, his gorgeous smile spreading wider as he waved, his body flexing underneath the lights as he held his guitar steady on his back.
They more than ate him up. He enchanted them.
“And yes, Blay—” I shivered at the nickname again, “—is responsible for the rip in these jeans. She’s responsible for a lot of things,” laughter rippled through the crowd at his wry words. “And I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he continued conspiratorially, holding his hand up so I couldn’t see his delicious mouth move as he spoke, even though he was mic’d and I could hear every word, “I don’t know what she’s told you, but the missing Christmas cookies every year are because of her, too.”
And then that jerk winked at them.
My mouth dropped open in guilty shock. “Zach! You can’t tell them I steal Santa’s cookies,” I smacked his arm. “It’s not my fault, you guys,” I groaned playfully, “If you’ve ever had those peanut butter ones with the Hershey kiss on top, you know exactly why I can’t stop myself.”
He broke into a smile and actually laughed—I think—and then so did I. And it felt as natural as the dawn breaking over the tense darkness that had been perpetually surrounding us for years now.
I couldn’t move my eyes from his. I should say something. I should get off the stage and let him play. I should do something besides stand there in awe of the smile and laugh that was for me—even if it might only be fake. Under the lights, I could believe it was real.
My mouth parted slightly as he stepped closer. He was close, so close. And it was like we were back in my parents’ yard with only the stars and silence as our company, when in fact, the whole world was watching.
“Thank you, Blake,” he said with a low, hoarse voice that I felt echo all around me, “for inviting me to be a part of this with you.”
This? Like this fake relationship? The one that felt completely real right now?
I froze. Body. Heart. Breath. As his head dropped towards mine. He’s going to kiss me, I know it. Right in front of all these people. Right when Bruce told us to take it slow.
I wonder if his kiss be as rough as his voice.
My eyes drifted shut as I tipped into him. I felt his exhale on my skin, harsher than the words and tone he’d just spoken. And then his lips gently pressed down… on my cheek. The touch was soft but the sparks were sharp, shooting like warning flares throughout my body. It took a second to register where he’d kissed me—on that spot that wasn’t really on my cheek, but wasn’t on my lips either. It was on the in-between—not decidedly romantic, but not far enough away for it to be anything else.
It was just on the edge of being something more.
I fought to not turn my face closer to his. So close, yet just out of reach.
And then he was gone.
Story of my life.
As soon as his lips disappeared, the world returned around me—my breathing, the crowd screaming, the lights, the show.
“I-I guess I’ll let these guys get to it then,” I said weakly.
Giving the crowd one more brilliant smile before I walked off stage was one of the hardest things I’d ever done; it was the only time I’d ever faked an emotion for my fans. Everything else out there had been very, very real. Too real. Pitifully real.
And they didn’t even see. They were enamored Zach and the rest of the Parker Project that joined him on stage, their soulful melodies beginning to float through the air.
I knew from the first note played that I’d be breaking all my rules to be with him.
All the rules to keep me safe.
All the rules to keep me whole.
Tay wrapped her arms around me as soon as I made it off the stage. I hadn’t expected it to start this soon. I hadn’t even realized that my footing was uneven when it came to Zach Parker, and now I was afraid it was too late. I was already slipping.