Lost in Wonderland

Lost in Wonderland

By Monica Alexander

Copyright 2015 by Monica Alexander

ISBN: 978-1-3108-1708-3

Cover Image: (c) Dmitrij Skorobogoatov / www.shutterstock.com Stock Photography

Smashwords Edition

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or personals, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

About the Author

Playlist

Chapter One

Andi

Slamming the front door behind me, I threw my bag down on the couch just inside our minuscule apartment, causing my best friend Hannah to look over at me like I was nuts. She was sitting on the opposite end of the couch reading a magazine with the TV on mute.

What the hell happened to you? she asked, taking in the snarl on my no doubt red face.

I didn’t respond exactly. I just sort of let out a groan/growl and stomped toward the refrigerator, my boots clomping on the worn hardwood floors. I yanked the door open, pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and took a long drink, all the while feeling Hannah’s eyes on me.

And I repeat. What the hell happened to you?

David is an asshole, I said, not looking at her.

My gaze was fixed on the doodle/note the aforementioned asshole had left next to my pillow a few days earlier when he’d left for work. I’d been sleeping over at his apartment, and it had made me smile when I woke up and saw it, so I stuck it on the fridge when I got home. I was an idiot.

Without thinking twice, I reached forward and closed my fingers around the piece of paper, scrunching it up into a ball, as my mind imagined it to be David’s head. Then I tossed it into the nearby trashcan.

What did he do? Hannah asked, but I didn’t answer her.

I walked over to my bag, fished out my phone, sat down, and proceeded to delete every picture we’d taken over the last two months while he’d cheesily but sweetly shown me everything amazing about New York in the fall – drinking hot chocolate in Central Park with leaves falling around us, apple picking upstate, stupid pumpkin carving for stupid Halloween, and trying every fall dish possible to ‘really get into the spirit of the season’. It was all bullshit. The past two months were a goddamn montage of a perfect lie.

Hannah was still watching me as I wiped my phone clean of any evidence that David had ever existed, leaving his contact information for last. My finger hovered over the button to delete it, to erase him completely, hesitating because I knew he’d call.

He’d said we weren’t finished talking, that he could explain, that he wanted me to understand things. Well I understood them alright. I understood that he had a wife and a son that he’d never told me about – and those weren’t exactly things I could ‘understand’ about a guy I was dating.

When I’d first seen them standing in line at William Sonoma, where ironically I’d been buying a birthday gift for David since he loved to cook, I’d done a double-take. Then I’d watched with dread in my stomach as he’d ruffled the boy’s hair and smiled at the woman. My eyes had narrowed as I realized what I was seeing, but in truth I hoped there was a rational explanation for who those people were – his sister and his nephew, his lesbian best friend and her son, hell, even his ex-wife and their son would have been preferable to the truth.

Then the woman kissed him, took the boy by the hand, and they left the store, leaving David in line to pay for their new pots and pans that I had no doubt were for the sprawling mansion they probably owned in Westchester County, because I knew he lived alone in his Tribeca loft. There was absolutely no evidence of a child or a woman there. It was a complete bachelor pad, which meant he was apparently leading a double life.

Since he was alone, I decided to confront him, but I did it as subtly as possible, sliding into line behind him, now having no plans to buy the potato ricer I held in my hand.

Hello David, I said coolly, my voice not sounding like my own.

He turned with a surprised look on his face, but he quickly covered it up with a smile. Andrea, he said, stepping toward me. I stepped back. Sweetheart, how are you?

I glared at him. He was the only person who called me by my full name. Everyone, including my family, had called me Andi my whole life. When I met David, he’d asked me what Andi was short for, and after I told him, he’d insisted on calling me Andrea. I’d let him, since hearing it roll off his tongue had been sensual and addicting, just like him. Now I felt like telling him to stop.

Who is she? I asked him, figuring it was probably better to get right to the point.

Who’s who? he questioned.

My eyes were practically slits at that point. The woman you just kissed, I said in a hushed whisper.

I’m not sure what you’re talking about, he said around a chuckle. I didn’t kiss anyone.

Are you fucking kidding me?! I hissed, so badly wanting to lash out at him but also very aware that we were in public. I saw you kiss her thirty seconds ago.

Well now that’s not factual, he said smoothly. Thirty seconds ago I was looking into your beautiful brown eyes.

Ten minutes earlier that line would have had me going all gooey inside and forgetting my own name. Now it just seemed forced and insincere, dirty even. He was mocking me. Condescending dick.

"Fine. Two minutes ago you kissed her, and I saw you. Who is she?" I growled in anger.

Andrea, you’re making a scene, he chastised me.

My name’s Andi, I snapped.

Excuse me? Are you two in line? a woman behind us asked.

We both turned to look at her. Please go ahead, David said with a smile.

He said it in that smooth, sexy way of his that made the woman smile and her cheeks flush. I wanted to roll my eyes and tell her not to believe his bullshit. He was a master flirter. Even mundane words could be twisted into something sensual with his mouth, but what I was slowly and painfully realizing was that his smooth words I’d so gullibly believed meant so much less than I ever thought they did.

David turned back to me. Come over here with me, Andrea, he said, taking my elbow in his hand as he stepped out of line and ignored my request to call me by nickname.

I yanked my arm out of his grip. Don’t touch me.

Don’t be a child, he said firmly, his tone suddenly changing.

I glared at him. I’d wondered if our age difference might become an issue at some point, and it seemed it had. Of course, if he was married, the fifteen years that separated us weren’t exactly going to be relevant. We had much bigger issues.

Are you married? I asked him once we’d stepped behind a display of cookbooks.

Yes, I am, he said, not beating around the bush.

I felt my eyebrows rise. Just like that? You’re admitting it?

Well, I can’t exactly deny it, now can I? But I’m also asking you to hear me out.

Here you out? What’s there to hear?

Things are complicated. I love my wife, and I love my son, but I have strong feelings for you, Andrea, he said, his hand sliding over my forearm. I’m falling in love with you.

I should have shaken his hand off, but he was looking at me in a way that had sucked me in from the time I’d met him. And he’d just told me he was falling for me. Dammit.

How is that possible? I asked him.

He shrugged. How is anything possible? It just is.

Alright. That was the snap back to reality I needed. He was using his philosophical double-talk that had worked on me too many times to count, but now was not the time to do that, and he should have realized it. I was looking for something concrete and real that would give me a glimmer of hope that we might still have a future – he loved his wife, but he wasn’t in love with her, he was hesitant to leave his son, he wanted to be with only me, but he had to figure out how to tell his family, etcetera. What I wasn’t looking for was a bullshit reason for him wanting his cake and eating it too. I wasn’t doing that. I wasn’t that naïve.

Screw you, I told him, yanking my hand away.

Andrea, don’t do this, he pleaded, but there was a hurried tone to his words as his gaze darted over my shoulder. I could guess who he was looking for and wondered if they’d returned.

I shook my head, fighting the tears that were brimming behind my eyes. Fortunately I was too angry to cry. "Get away from me, David. Go back to your family."

He sighed. I want to talk about this. Can I call you later?

No, I snapped. You’re married. Don’t call me again. In fact, lose my number.

It broke my heart to say those words to him after everything I’d been feeling toward him just twenty minutes earlier when I’d been planning how to surprise him for his birthday. I’d been happy, floating a little, as I thought of how perfect things had been. I thought after years of dating the wrong guys that I’d finally found the right one. I’d been wrong again.

I’ll call you later, David insisted, his eyes shifting over my shoulder.

No, I said, shaking my head. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I can’t.

With that I turned and left, dropping the potato ricer on a display of Thanksgiving hostess gifts before I left the store. I shifted my gaze to the ground as I walked through the open door that was being held by none other than David’s wife. Tears sprang to my eyes as I caught a whiff of her perfume - Chanel No. 5. I recognized the scent. He’d given me the same bottle of perfume on a whim a few weeks earlier. I’d loved it at the time, but I was throwing it away as soon as I got home, knowing it would be a smell I would forever associate with betrayal.

Pulling my scarf tighter around my neck, I had one destination in mind and that was home. All my other shopping was forgotten, my day ruined, my mind a cluttered wreck littered with feelings of betrayal, hurt, anger, and bewilderment. I was almost in a daze as I walked across the city, pulling my coat tighter around me to ward off the cold November wind. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something.

I was hurt. That was at the heart of everything I was feeling. It wasn’t that I was in love with David. We’d only known each other a short time, but I liked everything about him – except the part where he was a cheating asshole. I’d invested in him. I’d invested in us, believing there was something there, that we had a future together. But we didn’t, and I felt like I’d been duped.

My anger had taken over again when I’d burst into my apartment, and it had built as Hannah had watched me with concern as I’d furiously deleted David from my life. I knew it was the only thing I could do. No way was I going to stay with him, no matter how much I liked him. I didn’t date cheaters. And with that thought in mind, I pressed my finger against my phone screen and deleted him completely.

Andi, what happened? Hannah asked again.

I looked up at her and sighed, forcing some of the anger I was feeling to leave. I knew at some point I would cry, but now wasn’t the time. Anger was winning the war of emotions I was feeling, and tears just weren’t a part of that.

I looked up at my best friend and decided to tell her everything. David’s married, I said, starting out with a bang.

* * *

A knock on my bedroom door woke me up from the nap I’d been enjoying, because in sleep I could forget that I’d broken up with David because he was a lying, cheating jerk. Fully awake, everything came back to me in a rush, and I felt empty all over again.

Andi, can I come in? Hannah asked.

Sure, I called back to her as I wiped the sleep from my eyes.

They felt puffy. I’d been crying before I’d fallen asleep. After downloading on Hannah for an hour, I’d finally broken down and cried, the weight of the day taking its toll. I hated that I was crying over David, but I couldn’t help it. I’d finally closed my eyes and lost myself to sleep that was more than welcome.

How are you doing? Hannah asked as she slipped into my tiny bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed.

David had never been to my apartment. We’d always hung out at his loft since it was so much bigger. He told me he’d done the post-collegiate apartment fifteen years earlier, and he wasn’t interested in reliving the experience. He told me I deserved more than six hundred square feet in an ugly pre-war building. I only wished my employer felt the same way as him, but I worked in PR, so I didn’t make much money in my semi-entry level role. In time – many, many years from now – I’d make more, but for now I was basically a peon.

Hannah was in the same boat working as an assistant in publishing. She and I would have loved to move to a bigger place, but it just wasn’t an option. We could barely afford the shoebox we had in Murray Hill as it was and had stayed there for the past three years since the landlord had only moderately raised the rent. We were hoping that would continue, or we’d both be out of luck.

I’m doing okay, I told Hannah who was looking at me with the same concern she’d expressed after every other break-up we’d cried through.

They were always my break-ups, though, since Hannah didn’t date like I did. She had boyfriends, and she always seemed to have the upper hand. She’d never been dumped, and since we’d met freshman year of college, she’d been with three guys. She’d broken up with two of them and had been dating her current boyfriend, Henry, for a year. He was in law school at Rutgers, so they had a pseudo long distance relationship, which was beneficial for me. I had Hannah all to myself outside of every other weekend when they saw each other.

They were going to get married. I knew it, and Hannah knew it, but we also knew they were a long way off. Henry was only in his first year of law school, having gone back after working for a few years, so he probably wasn’t going to be making any life changes for a while.

You sure you’re okay?

I shrugged as I sat up in bed, running my fingers through my long brown hair. This sucks. I thought he was the one.

Hannah gave me a sympathetic smile, but I could tell there was something behind it – something she wasn’t telling me. We’d been friends for too long for me not to know her looks.

What is it?

What’s what? she asked innocently.

I narrowed my eyes. Han, come on. I know you better than that. You’re giving me the same look you gave me when I told you I wanted to cut my hair and dye it red last year, and it’s also the same look you gave me when I told you I wanted to change my major to philosophy sophomore year. What major life lesson am I not seeing here?

I forced a smile despite my complete lack of feeling any joy.

Well, Hannah started, it’s just, you fall in love a lot, Andi. And not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you sort of think every guy’s ‘the one’.

What’s wrong with that? I snapped, angry at her self-righteous take on my love life.

She had no idea how hard it was to date. It was ridiculously hard to meet decent guys – even in a place like New York City. And she’d never had to deal with any of that. She’d broken up with her boyfriend Max after he asked her to move in with him, and she’d gone through a month of mild mourning before she met Henry and started dating him. She never had to work at dating, deal with online dating and dating apps and the horrible realization that even in a city with a million eligible guys, there wasn’t one who was halfway decent. No, Hannah had no idea what that was like, and on the day I found myself to be single yet again, I was a little resentful of her outlook.

I just told you there’s nothing wrong with that, Hannah said. But it worries me a little that you put so much faith in a guy before you even know him. I feel like these sorts of things happen to you a lot.

Really? I asked in disbelief. Guys I date often have wives and kids they never told me about? Because I can tell you that has most definitely never happened before.

That’s not what I’m saying, sweetie, she said gently in that mothering way that came so naturally to her and made me not hate her for what she was saying.

She’d always been the caretaker in our group of friends, and I’d apparently always been the train wreck. But she’d always been there for me, picking up my wrecked pieces, and I couldn’t deny that. I honestly owed her for all the times she’d lifted me off the floor and set me right again. I figured this would be another of those times.

Fine, then what are you saying? I asked her, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice.

That maybe you shouldn’t try so hard to meet ‘the one’. Just date casually for a while, test out different guys, play the field. You’ve always liked to settle down, but so often you end up getting your heart broken when the guy turns out to be not who you expected. Maybe you should try to take some of the pressure off yourself.

I sighed. You think?

She shrugged. Dating sucks, Andi. I know that, but it might not be so bad if you don’t turn it into a means to an end. You’re only twenty-five, and you’re in no hurry to have kids. Have a little fun, and if it works out with a guy, great, but don’t try to force something with someone who’s not right for you.

She was right. I knew that, but I also couldn’t deny the little voice in my head, aka, my mother, that hadn’t been so silent lately, reminding me of my age and the necessity for me to get married and have babies. She didn’t appreciate that I was focused on my career and that kids weren’t really going to be in the cards for the next few years, but that was because she was from the south were women my age were already married with one or two kids. The path I’d taken in moving to New York was unconventional, and she didn’t understand it. Neither did my father.

They supported it, though, because I’d rationally explained my reasons for wanting to live in the city, but I might have also promised I’d only be in New York for a few years. When I’d first moved, I figured I’d grow tired of the city and would want to eventually return home to Atlanta. My parents interpreted that as me taking some time to sow my wild oats before coming home and settling down with a nice southern guy – preferably my college boyfriend, Reid.

But after four years, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to leave. I loved Atlanta, but I also loved New York. I was happy there. I could honestly see myself living there permanently, especially if I met the right guy. My parents wouldn’t be happy about that decision, but I figured they’d come around to it when and if I made it. Or at least I hoped they would.

So, you thought something was wrong with David? I asked Hannah, going back to what had started this conversation in the first place.

I only met David once, she reminded me.

I eyed her pointedly. And what was wrong with him?

She bit her lip, and I knew she’d been holding something back that she hadn’t shared with me in the month and a half since she’d met David. But that wasn’t Hannah. She didn’t openly offer her opinions when she knew they’d hurt someone. She was a good friend in that way, but sometimes I needed her to be honest with me. She’d seen fault in every guy I’d ever dated, but she never told me about it until after we’d broken up. By then the clarity was obvious to me too.

I didn’t trust him, she said softly. He had this way about him that made me think he was hiding something.

Well, he was.

You didn’t know that, Hannah said gently.

I know.

But it was more than that. The age difference between you guys concerned me.

I’ve always dated older guys, I reminded her. They’ve always been more attractive to me.

I know, but it wasn’t just that. You seemed different when you were dating him. His interests became yours, you dressed the way you thought he wanted you to dress, and you let him call you Andrea. No one’s ever called you that before.

I sighed as I let her words wash over me and looked up to see the dress I’d bought for David’s birthday that was hanging on my closet door. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I’d spent way more than I ever should have when I’d stepped into Barnies with the specific intent of finding something that would wow him. And I’d been doing that from the start.

The thought made me cold, so I hugged myself around the middle as I remembered my first date with David. I’d opened the door to see him wearing a suit, and I was in jeans and heels. I’d told him to give me a minute, and then I’d changed into a dress and never looked back.

From then on I’d slowly added things to my wardrobe that I knew he would like. I was honestly afraid to look at my credit card statement because I had a vague idea of how much I’d spent over the past few months, but I didn’t completely know. I also knew I wasn’t going to be able to pay it off for a long time, which just made me feel worse.

I knew it was because of our age difference and because he was so mature and worldly that I’d felt like I had to constantly prove that I was enough for him. Hannah was right. I had changed, but what was worse is that I was slowly realizing that I did that with every guy I dated.

I think I want to be alone, I said softly to Hannah who was watching me with concern.

She nodded as she rose from my bed. Of course. I’ll be in my room if you need me.

What time’s Henry coming to pick you up?

She shook her head. He’s not. I told him I wanted to stay in with you tonight.

But it’s your weekend with him. Han, don’t change your plans on my account.

She smiled. You’re my best friend. You need me. He’s just a boy.

I smiled as I shook my head. He’s not just a boy. He’s your boyfriend, and you love him.

He is, and he loves me. Because of that, he understood that tonight I need to be with you.

That was the difference between us. Hannah chose me over a guy without thinking twice. I’d never done that. I’d always felt like I’d been grasping so hard to the guys I’d dated that I was afraid to cancel on them or choose a friend over them, and I hadn’t ever realized I was guilty of doing that. I suddenly felt like a very shitty person.

Hannah, I’m so sorry, I told her.

For what? she asked, not understanding the moment of clarity I’d just had.

For being a bad friend all these years.

What are you talking about, Andi? You’re a great friend. I love that you’re my bestie.

I smiled. And I love you for that, but you’re right. I changed when I started dating David, and I’m realizing it’s kind of my pattern. I conform to who I think a guy wants me to be. I change for them, and I sacrifice everything else in my life for them. That’s not right.

Andi, you’re not a bad person, Hannah told me, seeing where my clarity was suddenly taking me. I was headed to a dark place that we both knew was going to end in more tears.

I know, but I’m not sure I even know who I am anymore.

That might have been a touch dramatic, but it had been a dramatic day. I was wallowing, and I was swimming in depression. Drama came with the territory.

Hannah stood, leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. You’re my very best friend in the whole world, she told me. That’s who you are.

I sighed. I think I just need some time to figure things out.

She nodded. Then I’ll make you some tea. We’ll watch all those cheesy rom-coms we both hate to admit we love so much, we’ll order pizza, and you can figure things out.

I’m not sure it’ll be that simple.

She shrugged. But it’s a start.

I looked up at her bright blue eyes that held so much confidence and assuredness. Hannah knew who she was. It was time I figured out who I was.

You’re right. It is.

Chapter Two

Cam

I sighed as I leaned back against the couch in our hotel suite, idly strumming a few chords on my guitar and wondering how much I’d miss this when it was over.

What are you thinking? Dillon asked from where he sat next to me playing Xbox.

He wasn’t looking at me, but he knew that the melancholic tune I was strumming meant that something wasn’t right. I knew I played some version of that tune whenever something was bothering me, when I was just screwing around on my guitar, not really focused on a particular melody. It always came back to that haunting tune that didn’t really mean anything.

The tour’s over, I told him while I continued to strum aimlessly. Two more shows, and we’re done. I should be glad, right? I’ll get to sleep in my own bed. I won’t have to live out of a suitcase. I won’t have to eat fast food if I don’t want to.

You’re sad that it’s over? Dillon asked in disbelief. Really?

I shrugged. Maybe.

Dillon grinned as he deftly maneuvered his race car around a turn and pulled ahead of the pack of cars he was racing. "It has been a good year. But it’s also been a long year."

Seven months, I said, echoing what he was thinking.

It was our longest tour to date, the third one we’d done since becoming a band, and our second headlining tour. The crowds had been insane, the fans as loyal as always, and we’d sold out every show. We’d been to four continents, too many cities to count, and for as exhausted as I was, for as zapped as my vocal chords felt, I still got a high from the energy of the crowd each night we played. That was what I’d miss – the feeling of truly being alive that only came from being on stage, from commanding the crowd, from performing.

But even when we weren’t doing that, when we were on tour, I was with my boys. My bandmates were my best friends, and I’d gotten used to living with them. We’d been practically inseparable since March. When the tour was over, everyone was going to scatter. Dillon would go back to Michigan, because that’s where his girlfriend Meredith was going to school, Van would head home to Reno where he’d spend the winter snowboarding, and Phillip would stay in New York, since the apartment he’d bought and the Victoria’s Secret model he’d been sleeping with for the past four months were both there.

I was the only one who didn’t really have anywhere to be. I was flying home to Detroit for Thanksgiving, and then I figured I’d go home again for a few days at Christmas, but being there any longer than that didn’t really appeal to me. Sure, my whole family was there, and I’d barely seen them over the past few years, but I wasn’t spending our entire break in a place I didn’t really like.

My options were either staying with my dad, who lived a bachelor lifestyle in between working at the auto body shop he managed, staying with my brother, his girlfriend and their four month old son, Parker, who I had yet to meet, or staying with my mom, her husband Ted and my two step-siblings, who were eight and six. None of that sounded very appealing to me.

Dillon and I had a house in L.A. that we’d bought the year before, so I figured I’d land there. We’d barely lived in the house, but it was ours, and it was secluded and right on the beach. I could surf, go out with friends, and find some mindless girls to bring home if I felt like company. It would all pass the time.

I’d still have to travel occasionally when we started promoting the album we were releasing in January, and there were a handful of award shows and other events I’d have to attend, so I wouldn’t be entirely bored, but the idea of having three months off with no concrete plans wasn’t as appealing to me as I knew it was to the other guys. I was actually looking forward to tour rehearsals starting in February, and I think I was the only one.

It was just that the band had become my life. Westside had taken over my every thought, because when we were on tour, our days were jammed packed with all things related to maintaining our success as a band. And we all had our parts. I smiled a lot, charmed the audience with my witty commentary, bantered during interviews, entertained the fans, sang, played my guitar, and generally had the time of my life being a goofy idiot. And I loved every single second of it.

This has been a long-ass tour, Dillon said around a sigh. I’m glad to be going home.

That’s because you’re going to get laid when you get home, I told him.

Damn straight. Shit, man, this hasn’t been easy. Not only do I get to watch you jackholes parade women past me each night, but I get to hear about it the next day while I sit there silently, because I have literally nothing to contribute to the conversation. I mean, what am I supposed to say, ‘Man, my hand really came through for me last night. It was an epic jerk-off’.

I laughed. Dude, you’re pathetic.

I know! Fuck. I can’t wait to see Mere. I’m seriously not letting her out of her bedroom for several days.

I turned to him. Is it really worth it?

He looked over at me. What? Meredith?

I nodded.

Yeah. Of course. I love her, he said, as if it was that simple.

I know, but we have this life, this opportunity to do what we do, we’re rich as shit, and we have girls literally throwing themselves at us, because they all think we’ll fall in love with them and they can say they’re dating a guy from Westside. How can you turn your back on that?

Dillon gave me a look that said he thought I was bullshitting him. When was the last time you slept with a fan?

I never have, but that’s not the point. If I wanted to sleep with one, they’re readily available. And there are also tons of other legitimate girls who I actually do sleep with, and you know I’d never have gotten those opportunities if I wasn’t famous. It’s just the way the world works. Why not take advantage of it?

I knew I sounded like a dick, but I really wasn’t. I was just a realist, and there were a few things I’d come to know as the truth since I’d become a member of one of the hottest boy bands in the world. And a plethora of women wanting to sleep with me was just one of those truths.

But aside from that, one of the other things I’d learned was that having a girlfriend and doing what we did wasn’t easy. Given our schedule and all the things I’d just outlined for Dillon, a girlfriend was the last thing I wanted. My life was good, and I was free to do what I wanted when I wanted. Why complicate things with what would have to be a long distance relationship that would likely fail anyway? It just wasn’t worth it in my opinion.

I can turn my back on it all, because I love my girlfriend, Dillon said, telling me what I already knew. We’d had this conversation before, but every now and then I asked again just to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind. Meredith was there for me when I decided to audition, and she’s been there for me ever since. It’s not easy dating long distance, and it’s ten times worse, because people drag our relationship through the mud every other day. She puts up with a hell of a lot, but that’s one of the things I love most about her.

I guess a part of me had to agree with him. Dillon and Meredith had been through a lot as a couple, including hiding their relationship for the first year we were a band. We were just starting to make it big, and our management company didn’t want any of us to be tied down, so they told Dillon he had to appear single. Mere and Dillon had been okay with that until management had brought up the idea of him ‘dating’ Sydney Chase, a pop star whose career was on fire. That kind of blew up after a few months, and then Dillon had laid down an ultimatum. He and Meredith were able to be a real couple after that.

But if they thought that would be the end of the drama, they were wrong. The rumors that flew about me and my bandmates on any given day were sometimes out of control. We were constantly linked to people we hugged or stood too close to at events. Speculation about who we were dating and who we’d slept with ran rampant, and it was the fans who made it worse, using social media to get information – false or otherwise – out in mass. It was exhausting trying to keep up with all the rumors, so after a while we just tried to ignore them.

Of course there was one consistent rumor that had followed us around since the beginning, and that was that Dillon and I were in a secret relationship. We weren’t. We’d never kissed. We’d never experimented with each other to see what it might be like. We’d never even given each other a look that could be considered to be ‘laced with want’, but too many people seemed to feel like we did that on a regular basis.

Our fans were constantly examining our interactions, things we said, gestures we made. There were extensive YouTube videos looking back at interviews we’d done, interactions we’d had on stage and on red carpets, anything really that could be twisted and interpreted as proof that we were together. And some of our fans truly believed we were a couple.

The truth was, we’d been best friends since practically birth, so we knew each other better than we knew ourselves sometimes. Anything that was exchanged between us probably did have an undertone of love, but it was bro love and nothing more. I was closer to Dillon than I was to my real brother. We’d been inseparable for too many years for there not to be a closeness between us, and we were silly and playful and pretty much dumbasses whenever the mood struck. Sometimes that was in public and the camera caught it. It didn’t mean we came back to the bus at night, crawled into the same bunk and fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

Even the fact that Dillon had a girlfriend didn’t dispel the rumors. Meredith was accused of being a beard, of being paid by our management team to ‘date’ Dillon, and the fans lashed out at her for corroborating the ruse of their relationship. They thought Dillon and I were devastated that we couldn’t be together. They hated our management team for being so close-minded, which wasn’t true at all. And the rumors never seemed to go away no matter what we did.

I’d pretty much learned to let the garbage roll off my back, but I knew it still affected Dillon. More so lately, since I’d heard him on the phone with Mere a few times over the past few months assuring her that things between them were good and no, he and I hadn’t been whispering inappropriate things to each other at the back of the stage.

We’d been accused of that recently, but the truth was that Phillip had farted on stage, and neither Dillon nor I could keep our shit together. We’d moved to the back of the stage to laugh, and someone had caught us giggling and me whispering something to him. It was all really stupid, immature guy stuff, but it was things like that that got blown out of proportion all the time.

"Mere is kind of a saint," I told Dillon.

Amen, he agreed.

We heard movement on the other side of the suite, and a few minutes later a half-asleep Van emerged from one of the bedrooms, rubbing his eyes and squinting at us.

Why is it so bright in here? he grumbled.

Because it’s daytime, I said, being a smartass as usual.

He glared at me. Close the damn curtains, Cam.