The next day …
“YOU HAVE TO come with me, Miss Williams,” Devon, my bodyguard, said, pressing his finger against the small speaker in his ear.
“No. I really don’t.” I glanced back at the line of young girls. Lifting a finger in their direction, I signaled for a second. Dropping my voice to an angry whisper, I snapped, “I don’t care what Stewart told you. I’m not leaving.” I flashed the girls another smile before watching him repeat my words into the microphone on the sleeve of his suit coat.
Devon extended a ringing phone in my direction, but I quickly pressed end, knowing that my manager, Stewart, was on the other end.
“Tell him to get his ass down here if he wants me to cut this short.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Devon replied.
I turned my attention back to the line of girls freaking out and furiously snapping pictures of me with their cell phones.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I cooed, walking in the direction of a little girl no older than eight. Tears were streaming down her face as I took in her bald head, which was wrapped in a Levee Williams bandana, and a slew of wires and tubes dangling from her frail body.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” a woman, who I assumed was her mother, said with red-rimmed eyes while snapping pictures.
“No. Thank you.” I hugged the woman before squatting down to the little girl for a huge embrace I wasn’t nearly prepared for.
As her tiny body slammed into mine, I was rocked off my heels, falling backwards with her still in my arms. Security, doctors, and parents all tried to catch me, but my ass found the tile floor first.
“Oh my God!” the little girl gasped, tears of embarrassment welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She frantically scrambled to her feet, continuously apologizing.
My expression mirrored hers. “Oh my God. Are you okay?” I patted down her small shoulders and straightened the oxygen cannula in her nose. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head and rushed to her mother.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized, feeling like a clumsy-ass for having made such a sick little girl cry.
Her mother shook her head, dismissing my apology, and mouthed to me, “She’s just embarrassed.”
“I’m embarrassed,” I mouthed back.
Stewart suddenly appeared at my side. “Levee, what the—”
I snapped twice and lifted a finger over his mouth, silencing him midsentence. “What’s her name?” I asked.
“Morgan,” the woman replied with a kind smile.
“Hey, Morgan.” I approached her, dropping to my knees. “I’m really sorry about that. I’m such a klutz sometimes.” I lifted the edge of my maxi dress, revealing one of my legs. “Look.” I pointed to the bruises and scrapes on my legs. “I even fell down the stairs at a rehearsal the other night.” I rubbed her back, and she peeked over her shoulder, flashing me a smile that relieved the tension in my shoulders.
“I know. I saw it on YouTube.”
I returned her grin. “Ah, yes. My dear friend YouTube. Always there when I need it,” I teased.
She began giggling at my joke.
“So, what do you say? Can we maybe try that hug again?” I reached down and made a show of pulling my heels off and dropping them one by one to the ground beside me. Squatting down like a baseball catcher, I motioned for her to come at me. I braced myself as she rushed in my direction then slammed into my arms a second time. I took a deep breath, holding her tight as she giggled.
Stewart’s loafers moved into my periphery. “Levee, we need to go,” he ordered.
Morgan began to release me at his words, but I squeezed her even tighter. “Nope. Not done yet.”
She was amused by my joke, but I was pissed the hell off that Stewart had had the audacity to interrupt that moment.
“Guess what? I think I have some special surprises in the back.”
Her eyes lit up.
“Can you give me, like, one minute? I’ll see if I can find them.” I gently guided her away while I pushed myself upright.
She nodded excitedly, backing to her mother.
I followed Stewart toward the room the hospital had set up for us. Loud groans of disappointment started to rumble through the crowd as I left.
“I’ll be right back. I promise,” I announced, which earned me a loud cheer from the group.
“You won’t be right back! You’re already three hours late,” Stewart grumbled.
“Well, I’m going to be a hell of a lot later than that too, because I’m not leaving here until I’ve seen everyone,” I whispered out of the side of my mouth. I gave the group one more wave as Devon ushered me into the room, closing the door behind us.
“Come on, Levee. Don’t make me the bad guy. In less than an hour, you have a VIP meet-and-greet. I understand your dedication to being here, and it’s great. Good for your heart, good publicity. Win. Win.”
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t there because of publicity. I had plenty of that.
I was there because it was what I did.
Where I felt comfortable.
Where I was happy.
Where I had once been crushed.
But, ultimately, the only place I felt like I needed to be.
“Levee, you have hundreds of fans who paid for the VIP treatment. If you aren’t there, it’s not exactly VIP, now is it?”
“You know I can’t leave,” I snarled.
I hated Stewart, but it wasn’t because he was an asshole. He was just doing his job. I paid him thousands of dollars to make sure my life ran smoothly. And for all intents and purposes, he was good at what he did.
But that didn’t mean I liked having absolutely zero control over my life, including something as simple as time.
“Levee, what about all the people who waited in line for hours to meet you? What about the parents who’ve scrounged and saved in order to buy the four-hundred-and-fifty-dollar tickets? That’s not exactly pocket change. What about the guy who’s planning to propose? All of that has been set up way in advance. I get it. I swear to Christ I do. I let you stay an extra three hours, but if someone doesn’t show up at that venue in the next hour, it’s going to be a mess.”
I nervously chewed on my bottom lip. He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know. I’d signed the contracts for three concerts and three meet-and-greets. It had been heavily promoted as my big homecoming since I hadn’t been back to perform in San Francisco in over three years. It was my last stop before closing out my tour with a live television event in Los Angeles the following week.
I’d known ahead of time that a man had paid a large chunk of money in order to surprise his (hopefully) soon-to-be bride by proposing beside her favorite singer. And then there was the little girl with leukemia waiting there as well. I had personally sent her tickets the month before. There was also the Olympic gold medal swim team that had recently suffered the loss of one of their teammates. They’d used my song “The Belief” as her dedication on social media. I’d mailed those tickets as well.
They were all there.
Waiting.
Guilt overwhelmed me. Regardless of how hard I tried, I couldn’t be everywhere.
And, God, did I try.
“Okay, how many are left out there?” I asked, trying to get my head on straight.
“At least a dozen more kids. Then their siblings, and parents…as well as a handful of doctors and their families, nurses—”
“Okay, okay. I got it.” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Levee,” Stewart breathed, walking up behind me and squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll tell them. Maybe I can set up something for next month. You can come back, specifically for those you missed. We’ll block out an entire day.”
A month.
Lizzy hadn’t lasted a month.
How many won’t be here when I get back?
I shook his hand off. “I can’t leave. I’m sorry.”
He groaned behind me as I started to open the door. I froze when an idea hit me.
“Hey! What about Henry?” I twisted to face him.
“What about him?”
“He’s in town. If I can get him to go over to the venue first, it will buy me some extra time here, and it will be like a double treat for the VIPs. Everyone loves Henry!”
Stewart didn’t. So he rolled his eyes. “It’s not a good idea, Levee.”
I rushed to my bag in the corner and pulled my cell phone out. “Bullshit. It’s a fantastic idea.”
Another groan came from Stewart’s direction, but I was too busy dialing Henry’s number to pay it any attention.
He answered on the first ring. “There she is! What’s up, beautiful?”
“I need a favor.” There was no reason to bother with pleasantries. Not with Henry.
“Mmmm, I like the sound of this. What kind of favor?”
I could envision his flirty smile as he patted his purposely messy blond hair. “I have a meet-and-greet for my VIPs in an hour.”
“Okaaay?” he drawled.
“You’re in town, right?” I chewed at my freshly manicured nails.
“Levee,” he warned.
This wouldn’t be the first time I’d asked Henry for a favor. He wasn’t exactly shy about asking me for them, either. And he always had the same answer I had for him.
I lowered my voice and said softly, “I’m at the children’s hospital.”
“Jesus, babe,” he breathed.
I love him.
“There’s still a line. I can’t leave. But I’m supposed to be at the arena in an hour.”
“I’ll go,” he said, quickly answering the unspoken question.
And he loves me.
Henry Alexander was the biggest name in music. Well…besides mine. He’d started off songwriting, the same way I had, which was how we’d initially met. We’d become fast friends. He helped me with the music, and I helped him with the lyrics. We brainstormed, jammed, and eventually moved in together. We sold more songs than any two twenty-one-year-old kids could have fathomed. But it wasn’t enough. Selling songs was one thing. Selling yourself as the singer was something totally different.
But we both had dreams.
Huge ones.
Thanks to YouTube, we had accrued a massive following. We wanted to be individual artists but realized quickly that cross promotion and appearing in each other’s videos every few weeks earned us the most views. People loved Levee and Henry together, but his gruff, sultry R&B voice didn’t mesh well with my soulful-pop feel. A duo was out, but our fans began to expect us as a team. So we did what we always did: We got creative.
At twenty-three years old, we released our dual debut album. Fans went nuts. We threw our hearts and souls into that project, spending day and night in the studio to make it cohesive but different enough that people saw us as solo artists. Dichotomy ended up being six of his songs, six of mine, and two together. But, oddly enough, those weren’t what people fell in love with.
My first single, “Isolation,” hit number one on the charts almost immediately, while Henry sat at number two with “Belonging.” Three months later, his single “That Night” took the top spot, while mine, “Another Day,” sat right beneath it.
Less than a year later, Henry held me on his arm as we swept nearly every category we had been nominated for at the Grammys. It was the same night we made the announcement that, from that point on, we were strictly solo artists. We expected backlash, but if there was any, we didn’t feel it. Both of our sophomore albums were certified diamond, securing our spot not just in the music industry, but at the forefront of it all.
Henry was my best friend for a ton of reasons, only one of them being his agreeing to go to the VIP meet-and-greet without even needing an explanation.
“Do you have Carter with you? Or do you need me to send Devon for security?” I asked.
“I’m good. Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he replied warmly.
With a huge smile, I gave Stewart a thumbs-up. His reply was a string of expletives.
“I owe you. You want to go out tonight after the concert?”
“Nah. But you can pay me back in other ways,” he murmured suggestively.
“How’s that?” I whispered, playing along.
He cleared his throat dramatically. “Don't play games. You know what I want.”
“No. I'm honestly clueless.” I walked over to the mirror, scrunching my long, brown curls back into shape then adding more makeup to cover the dark circles under my eyes.
“Levee,” he scoffed before blurting out, “Let me fuck your bass player.”
I burst out laughing. “Henry! He’s straight.”
“So? I thought I was straight once too.”
“You are such a liar. You were never straight.”
“This is probably true, but come on, Levee. Just tell me I can try,” he pleaded.
There was no point in telling him no.
“Sure. By all means…go for it. Make sure you say hello to his fiancée first though,” I teased.
Henry didn’t find it humorous. “Damn it. Why is heterosexuality such a cock block?”
“It really is.”
And it really was for Henry. He was tall, with a lean, muscular body that even I couldn't help but notice on occasion. Women adored him even though he was openly gay. However, Henry's biggest problem in the love department was his obsession with straight men. I couldn’t even count the number of times Henry’s heart had been broken by a guy who he’d convinced to give him a chance but ultimately went right back to women.
“All right, babe. I need to get dressed. Tell Stewy I’ll meet him at the venue in an hour. Ask him if he wants a little action during the show tonight.”
I smiled before calling over my shoulder, “Hey, Stewart. Henry wants to know if you want some man-loving?”
It was supposed to be a joke, but Stewart took an angry step forward, his eyes boiling with rage. “I swear to God! I’m a married man. He starts spreading that shit around…” He paused to run a hand through his thinning hair.
Still holding my phone to my ear, I gasped. “Oh God, please tell me you didn’t really hook up with Stewart.”
Henry burst into laughter. “Fuck no! But he hates me already, so I figure why not pretend? Drives him fucking nuts.”
It was my turn to laugh. Stewart continued to fume.
“Okay, go get dressed. I’ll see you in a few hours,” I told him while straightening my long dress and preparing to go back out.
Henry’s gentle voice caught me before I hung up. “Hey, Levee. Do me a favor. Take it easy, okay? You’ve got a show tonight. I know you want to be there…but don’t get lost in the past. They aren’t Lizzy.”
He was wrong.
They were.
Every single one of them.
I didn’t tell him that though. Instead, I replied, “Thank you.”
He sighed at my non-answer. “See you tonight, babe.”
“Yeah. Tonight.” I dropped my phone into my bag and began rummaging through the boxes of CDs and T-shirts we’d brought to give away. “Are we out of the copies of Dichotomy that Henry signed?” I asked.
“Yep. We’re out of damn near everything, Levee. Yet another reason you should come back another day.”
“Oh, shove off!” I called as I headed to the door. With the VIPs sorted, I had a little girl named Morgan to properly apologize to.