The reporter went on with more information and speculation about Sean, his stay, and what this meant for his career.
When the clip ended, I leaned back and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.
This was the first time that any significant news piece had focused on me. I’d managed to stay under the radar because of my limited contact with him as well as the ability I’d honed of blending in and not causing a scene. There’d been pictures of me, but I’d always been unnamed and unimportant.
Now that they’d collected so many different photos and realized they were all the same person, I knew it wouldn’t be long before one of our old school friends identified me.
That was fine. It would be a pain for a while, but now that I was out of contact with Sean, they’d lose interest soon enough.
I would need to tell Jonas though. And soon, before people started sending him photos and asking if he knew his girlfriend was friends with Sean Amity.
♪♫♪
Luckily, our plans for the evening consisted of staying in and eating food, so when Jonas came over, I delayed the food making and made him sit on the couch with me.
“How much do you know about Sean Amity?” No use beating around the bush.
“Um,” he said with a confused smile. “He’s a singer. I like a lot of his songs. Why? Did you want to go to a concert?” he asked, as if ready to pull out his phone and book tickets right now if I said yes.
“No, but thank you.” I pulled my feet up onto the couch, trying to hide my nerves behind a casual facade. “He recently got out of rehab.”
“Checking that off of the old rockstar bucket list, huh?”
My heart ached. “Unfortunately.”
He noticed my despondence and turned more fully toward me. “What’s up?”
“You know the friend who was always getting into trouble?” I unlocked my phone and tapped into my photos.
“Yeah…” he dragged the word out, obviously curious.
I pulled up a photo of Sean and me then handed him the phone. “Sean Amity is the friend.”
He reached for the phone slowly, his eyes on me, his brow pressed down, then finally broke his gaze to look down at the photo. His eyes widened. “Wow…how old were you here?”
“Fifteen.” I had deliberately chosen an old photo, one from before he was famous.
“Okay…” He paused, weighing his words. “My automatic reaction would be ‘Wow, that’s so cool!’ But I know how much you’ve struggled over this particular friend.”
I just nodded, wanting to give him a chance to process.
“So…you cut things off with him as he was going into rehab?” he asked.
A wave of guilt almost knocked me over and I swallowed, wondering if he would condemn me for that choice. “Yeah.”
He let out a low whistle. “That’s really rough.”
My voice shook. “I’m sure it was terrible for him and I feel awful; I still feel awful, but—”
“Whoa, whoa,” he said as he stopped my tirade by pulling me into a hug. “I was talking about you. It must have been really hard for you to make that decision. Especially since I can tell how much you care about him.”
My chin dug into his shoulder as I spoke. “But I abandoned him.”
“Hey. We already had this conversation. You had to take care of yourself. My opinion on that doesn’t change now that I know he’s a celebrity. In fact, if anything, I think it was even more important for you to get some space.”
“Okay.” I wanted to express so much more, but I couldn’t.
“Can I ask why you’re telling me now? Are you thinking of reaching out to him?”
“No!” I insisted as I pulled back, wiping at my eyes. “No. I can’t—I need the space still and I can’t—”
“I know.” He put his hands up—whether in surrender or an attempt to calm me, I wasn’t sure. “I know and I agree. I’m glad you’re not changing your mind. So then…why tell me?”
“The media finally put the pieces together. They’ve got photos of me with him in a bunch of different drinking establishments, and I’m sure they’ll know exactly who I am soon. I didn’t want you to be blindsided.” I pulled a pillow into my lap and wrapped my arms around it. “I probably should have told you before, but I was trying to respect his privacy and keep my anonymity and—”
“I get it. We’re still getting to know each other and you were protecting your friend.”
I nodded, wondering just how far his understanding would go.
“So,” he started, “does this mean I need to stop liking his music?”
I laughed at the suggestion. “No. We’re both still allowed to like the music.”
He reached out and ran his fingers through my hair, pushing it behind my shoulder. “I’m sorry your famous best friend disappointed you.”
“It’s my fault,” I whispered.
A deep sadness fell across his features. “Why would you say that?”
“I’m the one who pushed him into it.”
“Into what? The drinking?”
“No. The fame.”
He tilted his head. “You’re sad about making him famous?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what pushed him into this. The pressure and the constant need to put on a face. His sister died and no one gave him a minute to breathe. To mourn. It was just—Tour. Record. Write more. Give more. Do more.”
“And he could have said no.”
“But—”
“No.” He cut me off. “You can’t take responsibility for a grown man’s decisions. I have no doubt it was hard for him. But he could have said no. He could have taken time. He could have gone to a cabin and been a hermit while he healed. When people die, those left behind have to decide how to get through it. The fact that he spiraled had nothing to do with you.”
I gave a little shrug, not sure I really believed him and even if I did… “I’m not sure that makes me feel any better, because the result is the same. My friend was stepping out of rehab, vulnerable, embarrassed, hounded by the media, and I wasn’t there.” I dissolved into tears and he wrapped his arms around me. “I’ve always been there before. What if he can’t do it without me?”
“Then he fails.” It was a simple statement.
I cried harder.
“Can I ask you something?” he said after a while.
I nodded.
“If he were to see you right now, do you think he’d be okay with how his life has affected you?”
I thought of what I must look like from the outside. I must look truly pathetic. Had Sean ever seen me this way? Had he been able to see what he was doing to me? He knew I didn’t like it. He’d apologized for it more times than I could count.
I didn’t know. Reading Sean’s mind wasn’t one of my gifts, and it was even more difficult separating drunk Sean from real Sean from famous Sean.
“I think,” I finally said, “that if he could really see what he’s done to me...he would hate himself for it.”
Jonas gave a stiff nod. “Good.”