Say It Strong (Say You Love Me Book 2) (29 page)

And act, I would.

*

All I wanted the next morning was a bagel.

I dragged my ass out of bed at 8:30 a.m.—earlier than sin—and ambled downstairs to the hotel meeting room for the mid-tour breakfast buffet we were hosting for all our staff. I’d asked Robbie if I could take a rain check—
ixnay on the uffetbay
—but he’d said, “No fucking way. You need to be there.”

Asshole.

I scraped my feet along the floor, still wearing my robe, beauty mask perched on my forehead, and ran into Nathan, who pointed me in the right direction. I saluted him with my rolled-up copy of
The New York Times,
which I had no intention of reading, but I looked cool holding it.

Everyone was there already, bright and chipper. I wanted to smack every last one of them with the newspaper. No one should be so happy this early in the morning. Wes and Robbie and Corbin were there, but not Tucker. Not yet, anyway. All the roadies, the lighting crew, and the string section, including Abby’s friend Rosemary, were there. Her friend wavered at the end by the fruit bowl, glancing at me every so often. She gave me one of those smiles where you know she’s thinking,
Look at you, you jerk…you despondent sack of shit.
Actually, at a second glance, she looked like maybe she wanted to talk to me but didn’t know what to say. Maybe it was better if I stayed away from her. I couldn’t take another difficult conversation so close to the last one.

Yes, yes, I know I’m the bad guy here
, my eyes told her.
Don’t rub it in.

I finally found the bagels, toasted, and slathered mine with cream cheese. I felt a hard pat on my back. “Nice outfit,” Robbie said. “I see you’re proud of your review.” He pointed his chin at the newspaper under my arm.

“What review? I was only holding this to look well-rounded and intellectual.”

“Stop shitting me, Liam,” he whispered, his eyes falling on the newspaper. “Turn to the Arts section.”

“Huh?” I did as he said, unfolding the paper and delving deeper into the review section. I rarely read the actual newspaper, except for the times my mom used to make me clip the coupons, considering all the stories were all online anyway. I found the article with the headline “Feel the Meh
.
”

“Fuck me.”

“Yeah.” Robbie’s lips turned into a thin line, the kind of quiet scold my dad would’ve done. “Keep reading.”

The reviewer, some dick I remember seeing last night backstage, said I’d given a “lackluster performance.” He said that, for a twenty-two-year-old, I should have had more energy. My moves were all there, and I’d hit all the right notes, but something was missing. He said I sounded like I was suffering from hemorrhoids and that his seven-year-old son could have written better lyrics to
Save Me Tonight. Too bad former cellist Abby Chan, who left the tour for unknown reasons, wasn’t there to save the show
,
I read to myself.

Save the sh
—
What drugs was this assclown on? From now on, we should permit reviewers into the VIP room only if a) they gave us a five-star review, or b) they were willing to blow my cock.

Fucker
.

But the worst part of the review was this line:
As if all this weren’t enough, the band decided to omit a recent addition to their set list, an acoustic ditty by the name of
Abby Shines,
presumably about Collier’s recent love interest and cellist, leading fans in attendance to express their extreme disappointment on social media.

“Shizzle.”

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Robbie said, a hard eye turned on me. “You need to get your shit in order, Liam.”

“Ya think?” I looked up from the offensive paper. Robbie stood, one hand on his hip, one wrapped around a glass of orange juice. It was like I was being scolded by my PE coach in front of the entire team. I refolded the paper. “Don’t need to tell me twice.”

I started off toward the coffee, but he held on to my arm. I yanked it away. “You’re a big dog now. No more holes in the wall, pubs, and bars, my friend. You cannot let people down. This is your career, and every step of the way needs to be on point.”

“I hear you,” I said through clenched teeth. Shaking my head, I sighed. “I…I just got caught up, Rob, but I know what to do.”

It was true. I always had. Despite my reputation, I wasn’t really a wild man. I only pretended to be. Fact was, I’d been a professional from the very beginning. Everything I did—from the song lyrics, to the clothes I wore, to the boys I’d put together as my bandmates, to the album covers and videos—everything was a strategic move designed to move us up the ranks and get noticed. I was as determined to reach my goals as any other entertainer.

“I’m allowed to have one
meh
performance, Robbie. I’m not a fucking robot. But I’ll get back on track. Sheesh.” I shook my head, tossing the paper into the trash.

“Good man.” He slapped my back and offered me some orange juice.

Suddenly, I was accosted in a group hug. It was Corbin and Tucker, smelling like shit. “Dudes, you guys need to shower before you show up to these things,” I said smugly.

“Yes, Mom.” Tucker kissed my cheek as I slapped him away.

“You smell worse than us,” Corbin said, sniffing my hair like my mom used to. “Like sadness. And heartbreak. And rejection.”

“Fuck off.” Grabbing a cup and pouring myself some coffee from the big, silver decanter, I shrugged. “The show must go on!” I lifted a spoon into the air dramatically.

“So it does, my friend.” Tucker handed me two packets of sugar. “Listen, bro, we know you’ve been feeling shitty lately about Asian Persuasion.”

I shot him a look. “Don’t fuck with me, Tucker. I have zero tolerance right now.”

“Dude, I get it. Okay…Abby. Can I say her name? I thought actually hearing it would make things worse.” He drummed out a beat against my shoulder.

It was true that it was difficult for me to hear her name, but it also brought me great memories. I loved the way it sounded, the way our names sounded together, actually—Liam and Abby.

Corbin plucked a spoon from the white linen tabletop and stirred my coffee for me. “But we wanted to say that, though we understand you were in love and got your heart broken, maybe it’s time for you to lie back now and enjoy the single life, the life you’ve built for yourself. All of this.” He gestured to the opulent hotel meeting room all around us. “Because who knows how long our stays at the Ritz are going to last, ol’ buddy? One day we’re here, next day we’re gone. You know?”

I nodded. “Deep, Corbin. Deep, but, uh…it’s not like I’m not trying. I started by taking
Abby Shines
off the set list, and look what happened there.”

A hot, tight hotel waitress strolled by, bending over to check for extra sugar under the table.

Tucker’s eyes widened at Corbin. “Dude, did you see that shit?”

“No, what?” Corbin asked.

“Tell you later. What were you saying?” Tucker turned his attention back to me, eyes bold and sincere.

“Never mind. All I was going to say was that the life I wanted ended up being my undoing.” I scoffed, pounding back my coffee. Where was a fifth of whiskey when you needed one?

“Not your undoing. Your curse maybe, but
c’est la vie
.” Corbin gave me a sympathetic smile. Most of the time, I had no fucking clue what Corbin was saying, but I appreciated his sentiment.

“
They say that the road ain’t no place to start a family…
” Tucker sang the old, familiar lyrics poetically, palm to his chest.

“Can you shut up with that already?” Corbin asked him, then turned to me. “He’s been singing that since yesterday.”

“Dude.” Tucker shook his head. “You can’t shut up Journey.”

Tuning out Tucker and Corbin’s antics, I took out my phone and opened up our fan page on Facebook, which I hadn’t done since that pic of me and Abby emerged. I needed to see the social media commentary that the reviewer had written about. Robbie’s assistant, Yami, had posted a pic of us onstage in the middle of a jump, all high energy, but the comments sucked.

Next time please play Abby Shines pleeeeeeese…

Awesome show! We missed that new song tho. Thought you were gonna play it.

I was there!!!!! Sick set but they took out Abby Shines and my girlfriend was super pissed. Suggest you guys bring it back for tonight’s show before there’s a riot…

I guess he’s over her.

Whoa.
I had no idea people loved that song so much. A huge problem was, we were playing it or not playing it on a whim, whenever I felt like it. And while I may have felt inspired to write the music, once it was out there, it didn’t belong to me anymore. It belonged to them—our fans. And as a front man, it was my responsibility to give them what they wanted.

Another thought occurred to me.
IF
Abby checked up on us, if she read social media comments, if she read reviews and saw that I hadn’t played
Abby Shines
last night, she might think, like the fans, that I was over her.

I had to bring it back. I had to keep playing it as long as it took to bring her home.

To me.

“
I always wanted a good woman
,” I mumbled, a line from the song.

“What?” Tucker tried following my gaze. “You said something?”

I gripped him by the shoulders. “We’re adding
Abby Shines
back to the set list. And when we’re done with the tour, it’s going on the next album.” I hugged him and Corbin, feeling excited for the first time in days. “Tell Wes when you see him.”

*

It was our last night in Philly before one day of rest and then NYC’s Madison Square Garden. I was sure Abby wouldn’t be there, but maybe, if I thought about her hard enough, she’d hear me all the way in Brooklyn. Maybe she’d be at Carnegie Hall or wherever her beloved NY Philharmonic played, and she’d hear me in her soul, press her hand to her heart, and come back to me.

Stupid, I knew, but hey, as long as it helped me sing her song right.

We went through the first eight songs of the night, playing to a crowd buzzing and burning with zeal. They shouted their love to us. They threw flowers, drawings, and all sorts of crazy shit at us. One woman threw her vibrator, and security promptly escorted her out. I kicked it off the stage, way into the audience, though, in retrospect, I should have just let it roll off the stage into the pit.

It was time for
Abby Shines
. I gave the guys a nod as the stage turned dark. Wes came out, sitting on a stool with his acoustic guitar. My heart pounded inside of my rib cage. I knew the crowd was going to roar, so I sang one long note at a time, let them get their cheers and whistles out of the way, then I came in with the first lines.

As I sang, I closed my eyes and thought of nothing but Abby—I remembered her at the party in LA, across the pool holding her purse, looking scared and excited and nervous all at the same time. I imagined her in the garden when she took me by surprise with her kiss. I thought of her in Seattle, caught in the rain, inside the house, playing her cello, full of sweat and desire. I thought of her in her elite New York studio, and I thought of her in a dress in front of a minister holding hands with me on a warm spring day.

I didn’t realize I was crying during the last words until Wes tapped me on the shoulder and cheers brought me back to life after the few minutes I’d disappeared. Because I hadn’t been there on the stage, in the moment like I usually was. I’d been with her again, and if this song was the only way I could ever be with her again, I’d sing it every night.

When the backlights gradually came on, and the first notes of
Save Me Tonight
rang throughout the venue, I saw the ocean of hands swaying back and forth. The fans sang with me, they held my hands, they rocked with me, and they cried with me. I was never alone. Our fans had been following my sadness all along. It’d be hard to hear the instrumental bridge again with Mr. Shitty Cello taking her solo, but suddenly—
The vibrant tenor tones of a different cello rang out, and even without a spotlight on the cellist, I knew right away this wasn’t the same understudy. It wasn’t a new one either. Turning to gaze into the darkness, I spotted her slender frame, swaying body, felt the passion in her deep strokes, saw her wide, gorgeous smile in my mind’s eye without having to look at her at all.

The stadium went wild. Wilder than they would have for me or Corbin or Tuck or Wes or all of us put together. They cheered for Abby Chan. They knew her well, and they welcomed her home. And when the light finally grew and spotlighted her, she was more than herself. She was elevated, a goddess in flowing yellow, gracing our stage. I smiled at her, my tired eyes spilling over, singing the last verse along with her like we had in weeks before, only better.

Abby played the song. She
was
the song.

And together, we rocked it.