Hard As Rock (23 page)

He shook his head. “If the band’s going to break up, it won’t matter if you’re in New York or Athens. We’ll break up, regardless.” He reached out and held my hand as he gazed into my eyes. “Come back home with me.”

I took a long while for me to answer. A
long
while.

He started to get a worried look on his face. “I mean… if you want to stay in New York for your writing career, I completely understand.”

“No, that’s not it…”

And it wasn’t. I hadn’t been able to jumpstart my career in almost a year in New York. When I finally did get my big break, it wasn’t because of my writing, but because of Derek. And then I went and torched the entire opportunity by not being able to finish the article. My writing career was pretty much the farthest thing from my mind at the moment.

I just… I felt like I was fighting to keep my head above water.

On one hand, I had been so happy over the last two weeks that I didn’t want it to end.

On the other hand, I felt like I would be horribly selfish if I stayed with him. The band would break up, millions of fans would be distraught –

But Ryan didn’t want to stay in Bigger if it meant he had to give me up. He had made that abundantly clear.

Killian and Riley were already millionaires. They wouldn’t exactly starve to death if the band self-destructed. Not only that, but Killian had flat-out told me he would be happier not being a rock star anymore.

And those millions of fans were just hypothetical people to me – nameless, faceless excuses for not doing something I was afraid of.

No, the biggest reason I didn’t want to go back to Athens was because Derek would be there. And I wasn’t sure how I would handle seeing him again.

Or how he would react to me and Ryan.

I was pretty sure it would be like walking into a minefield.

But… my life had felt like it was over when Derek cheated on me. Now I had a second chance with someone new – someone who was really, really good for me. And that was worth crossing a minefield or two.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“…yeah?” he asked, hesitant but all smiles.

“Yeah,” I nodded, and smiled back.

We kissed, drifted back down onto the bed, and made love again – this time tenderly, slowly, whispering “I love you” throughout.

Another interesting development happened before we left South Dakota.

I knew something was odd when an unfamiliar 212 number came up on my phone. Derek was in rehab, though, so I didn’t think it could be him. I answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Jim O’Malley from Rolling Stone… may I speak to Ms. Reynolds?”

My heart seized up in my chest. I thought about saying,
Wrong number.
Visions of ‘breach of contract’ lawsuits danced in my head…

…until I remembered that Ryan had basically bribed Glen to get off my back. And that if anybody was in trouble, it should be Glen, not me. Only then did I calm down.

Sort of.

“Speaking,” I said with a trembling voice.

“Hi, Ms. Reynolds… um… this is kind of an odd question… but were you ever contacted by a man named Glen Smith?”

My voice caught in my throat as I tried to answer. “I – ahem – uh, yes.”

“Would you mind telling me what he contacted you about?”

Bribery pay-off or no, I started shaking. “Um… to write a cover article on the band Bigger for
Rolling Stone.
”

Jim sighed.
“I see. I realize this is a very… sensitive question… but did he ever use the promise of a cover story to, um… to do anything unprofessional? Any sort of unbecoming conduct?”

“You mean, other than screaming at me for not delivering the article on time?”

Jim chuckled.
“Yes. Anything other than screaming.”

“Why did you laugh?”

“Well… I mean… it’s obvious you weren’t going to deliver a cover story on Bigger.”

Suddenly all my fear went out the window, to be replaced by indignation. “And why is it obvious I wasn’t going to deliver a cover story?”

I thought he was going to make some snarky comment about
I’ve seen what you’ve written – THAT’S why it’s obvious.

But that wasn’t the case.

“Well, the biggest obstacle is that Derek Kane doesn’t give interviews.”

I frowned.

It didn’t sound like this guy knew anything about me.

Furthermore, it sounded like he was investigating something.

“Is Glen in trouble?”

“Um… we don’t comment on internal matters.”

“You want my help, right?”

“Yes, if there was any sort of unprofessional conduct.”

“How about bribery?”

“On whose part?”

I frowned again. “What are you implying?”

There was a pause, followed by,
“What are YOU implying?”

This was turning into a bad comedy sketch.

“I was hired by Glen to interview Derek Kane and the rest of Bigger. He didn’t pay me anything upfront, but he gave me a Rolling Stone corporate card to book my airfare and the first couple nights’ hotel rooms. After that, I started dating Derek Kane, so I didn’t need to use the credit card anymore. But then we broke up. I, uh…”

I didn’t want to talk about my relationship with Ryan, so I decided to skip that part.

“Glen started harassing me about sending him the cover story, but I was too emotionally distraught to finish it. Glen became incredibly angry and verbally abusive, so Bigger’s bassist, Ryan Miller, paid him $12,000 dollars. Which was way,
way
more than my expenses, but Glen was insistent. Oh, and it was a personal check, made out directly to Glen.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Huh…”

“What?”

“Well, your story seems to match details we found in his records.”

“What do you mean, ‘found in his records’? Did something happen to him?”

“I really can’t comment on that.”

“I’ve been pretty forthcoming.”

“Um… yeah…”

“What?!” I asked, exasperated.

“Come on… did you really believe I would think you dated Derek Kane?”

Okay, I have never cared,
ever
, about any fame or notoriety I might have had from dating Derek – but this was beyond annoying. So I decided to play the card I’d promised myself never to play.

“Have you googled me yet? Kaitlyn Reynolds?”

“Yes, and I didn’t see anything about you and Derek Kane.”

“Do an image search on ‘Derek Kane girlfriend.’”

He sighed again.
“Really, I don’t think – ”

“DO IT.”

There was a pause, then the clicking of computer keys.
“Um… actually, I’m seeing a LOT of women…”

I gritted my teeth. “Are you on a cell phone or a landline?”

“Why?”

“Because I need to send you a picture.”

“I’m on a landline.”

“What’s your cell phone number?”

“Ms. Reynolds – ”

“WHAT’S YOUR CELL PHONE NUMBER.”

He gave me a cell with a 212 prefix.

“Hold on.”

I turned the phone around, snapped a picture of myself, and then texted it to his number.

“Did you get it?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“See if you can find any pictures on Google of him with a woman who looks like that,” I said.

A brief pause. Then –

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” I said, probably a little more smug than I should have been. “So – what happened to Glen?”

“He was a new hire. He was only with us for about nine months. We fired him for improper… ‘activities’ with company funds. He’s suing us, so we’re trying to build a counter-case.”

“Well, I think you could use the $12,000 bribe as evidence.”

“Uh… yeah.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t believe that either.”

“Well, it’s kind of… a big accusation…”

“Is that number you gave me an iPhone?”

“Yeah…?”

“I’m going to hang up on you, but I’ll call you back on your cell.”

I stomped out of the study, knocked on Ryan’s door, and poked my head in. “I need to convince a guy at Rolling Stone that I know you. Glen – my asshole editor, remember him? – is suing them, and they need to build a case. Do you mind?”

Ryan looked amused. “Uh… okay… I guess.”

I called the New York number and hit ‘Facetime’ on the phone.

A nice, earnest-looking guy with long sideburns answered.
“Hello?”

“Hi, Jim. Ryan, say hi to Jim.” I hit the icon so the Facetime camera switched directions, then nodded to Ryan. “You’re on.”

Ryan waved. “Hi, Jim.”

A little pause.

Then,
“HOLY SHIT.”

“Hey Ryan,” I said, “how much was that check you cut Glen, my editor?”

“You mean the bribe?” Ryan chuckled. “Twelve thousand dollars.”

“Cool. Thanks, Ryan.”

“No problem.”

I walked out of the studio. “So…?”

Jim was a whole lot more respectful after that. Having evidence of bribery was apparently the smoking gun he needed to bury Glen.

The rest of the chat went very well. The last thing he said was,
“Are you ever planning on finishing that article on Bigger?”

I swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“Well, if you do, Rolling Stone would definitely, DEFINITELY love to take a look at it. I’ll personally make sure it’s up for consideration for the cover.”

“Thanks, Jim… I’ll let you know.”

“Have a good day, Ms. Reynolds.”

All in all, a
thousand
times more pleasant interaction with Rolling Stone than had ever happened with Glen.

I was just anxious now, because the door wasn’t completely closed.

I could have what I originally wanted – a career – if I could only write the article.

Which I wasn’t sure I could.

I talked to Ryan about it afterwards.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

“Other than feeling like I’m not good enough, that I’ll screw it up and never get another chance?”

He smiled. “I felt like that at Derek’s and my first frat gig – the one where we had to pay in beer?”

I nodded. “I remember that story.”

“I felt like if I screwed up, nobody would ever hire us again, and we’d be banned from playing any party in Athens, forever. Then I felt the same way at my first
paying
gig. And then at our first club date. And then on our first tour. And then at our first stadium show.”

I stared at him. “Seriously?”

“The feeling never goes away – not if you keep reaching for bigger and better things. But that’s okay; you
want
that feeling to be there. Because if it’s not there, it means you aren’t reaching very far. Do you worry about getting more small writing gigs?”

“No.”

“But I’ll bet the first one you ever got, you were really nervous.”

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“But you probably did a great job.”

False modesty aside, he was right. I
had
done a great job. “Yeah.”

“Same thing here. You’ll nail this one, too, because I know you’re good, and you won’t let yourself do anything
other
than crush it. But you won’t get rid of the fear until Rolling Stone articles are old hat… at which point I hope you’re reaching for a bigger wave to surf.”

I looked down at my hands, feeling horribly guilty. “There’s just one problem.”

“Derek.”

I peered up at him. He looked sympathetic and understanding rather than irritated or offended.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be,” he said quietly. “I’m not asking you to never feel
anything
about him ever again. Of course you’re going to still have feelings for him. That’s only normal.”

“Yeah,” I said hesitantly. “I guess. But if I write about the band…”

“Then you have to write about him.”

“Yeah. And not only that, I have to listen to the recordings I made.”

He nodded, then thought. “Well… I’d say listen to the recordings first that are just of me and Riley and Killian. Concentrate on that. With time, the pain will fade, and listening to Derek’s stuff will be tolerable, at least. Then you can write the entire article. But for now, just focus on what you can do, and put the rest off till later.”

It was good advice, and I followed it.

At first I began listening to the tapes with just Ryan, Riley, or Killian. I took notes, sometimes wrote a few paragraphs. Then I started listening to recordings of the group as a whole. Sometimes I would hear Derek’s voice and have to shut the tape off. Maybe I would cry, maybe I would just go for a long walk. But it gradually got to the point where I could hear his voice and not have to stop listening. I still couldn’t play his solo interviews with me… especially not the ones after we started sleeping together, where his tone was confidential, sexy, playful, tender. But little by little, I got to the point where it didn’t hurt so badly to hear him… and I could actually write about the band and my experiences.

One evening during dinner, Ryan surprised me.

“Could I ask you a favor?”

I looked up from my dessert. “What?”

“Would you mind if I read what you’re writing?”

Part of me was flattered; Ryan was the first guy I’d ever dated who’d ever shown interest. Derek had never asked. Neither had my second college boyfriend. And with Kevin, it had been a
quid pro quo
kind of thing where we swapped out pieces to get feedback.

But part of me panicked, thinking,
He only wants to read what I’ve written about Derek!

Only thing was, I hadn’t written anything about Derek.

Yet.

“Why do you want to read my stuff?” I asked.

“If you want to get to know me, you can’t really do it without listening to the music I create. It’s a huge part of me. You’ve already listened to everything I’ve done, so you know me pretty well. I want to get to know you better, so I figure the best way to do that is through your writing.”