I’m half expecting her to kick me out, like she usually does after Easton goes to bed on Friday nights. But she nods, and I don’t stop to question it, hightailing it out of there before she changes her mind.
The kitchen is empty, because Friday night is Charlotte’s night off, so I rummage around, grabbing crisps and chocolate from the overhead press because I’m feeling peckish and Viv can easily handle the calorific treats. She’s thinner than ever from a combination of stress and a lack of appetite. I pour her a chilled glass of wine and grab a bottle of beer before heading back to the living room with our drinks and treats.
Viv is staring off into space, looking deep in thought, and I wish I could read minds because I would give anything to know what she’s thinking. I dump the goodies on the coffee table and hand her the glass of wine. Although I want to cozy up to her, I stay down my end of the sofa, giving her space.
“I used to drink far too much,” I start telling her as I pop the cap on my beer. “But it was a conscious decision to blot out all the crap in my head. I wasn’t addicted in the sense I physically couldn’t stop myself from drinking although I know using it as a crutch is almost as bad. It’s why I purposely don’t drink as much now. That and I’m trying to be healthier.” I have a son who needs me now. A son who has already lost one father, and I am determined to be there for him in every sense of the word.
“What crap is in your head?” She tucks her knees into her chest while sipping her wine.
“I wasn’t in a good place after you left. Things happened pretty fast when the A&R scout came to see us in Dublin. I used the money I got from the NDA to relocate us to L.A. After we signed with the label, they booked us into Capitol Studios to work on our first album. I’d been writing furiously all year, and we had enough songs for two or three albums.”
“Were they about me?” she blurts, and my heart melts when a familiar red stain blooms on both her cheeks. “‘Hollywood Ho’ and ‘Fuck Love,’” she clarifies.
I nod. “I went through a lot of stages after I lost you. The first year I was heartbroken and drowning in pain and guilt and remorse, and that’s when I wrote ‘You are my Only Reason,’ ‘Queen of my Heart,’ ‘Broken Love,’ and a whole load of other songs which went on to become bestsellers. By year two, I entered the next stage, and I was fucking pissed.” I knock back a large mouthful of beer. “It started when I discovered you had gotten married and had a kid.”
“Did you suspect he might be yours?”
“I was suspicious enough to google Easton’s date of birth. I read a bunch of articles which all said his birthday was in June, so that was that.” I stare off into space, remembering one of the hardest times of my life. “You and Reeve were plastered all over social media, and it seemed like he was in every fucking bestselling movie that year. I couldn’t get away from either of you and it was killing me. I wrote ‘Hollywood Ho’ and ‘Fuck Love’ at the height of my rage and my depression when I hated you for what you did to me.”
“I cried the first time I heard ‘Hollywood Ho.’ I knew it was about me, and I couldn’t understand how you could hate me that much.”
“There’s a fine line between love and hate, Viv. I’ve heard that bandied about a lot, but it wasn’t until I was in that situation that I could truly understand what it means.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I shake my head to stall her. I’m not finished, and I need to get this all out. I lean forward, straining toward her. She drinks her wine, giving me her undivided attention, and while this stuff is tough to wade through, I wouldn’t swap this moment for anything.
I have always loved just existing with her.
Vivien brings a sense of inner peace to my soul whenever I am around her, in a way no one else does.
26
Dillon
“I need you to understand everything is about you,” I explain. “Every lyric I have written from the moment I met you is all you. And there are far more love songs than hate songs, because even when I wanted to hate you, I couldn’t. Writing songs was a way of bleeding my emotions, of venting my anger, but I never hated you. Not in the true sense of the word.” I take another swig of my beer before I stare her straight in the eyes. “It was impossible when I was so completely in love with you. I didn’t want to be, because you were with him, but my heart refused to be swayed.”
“Why didn’t you fight for me?” She pins me with glassy eyes. “I paced the terminal at Dublin Airport for hours, silently begging you to come and claim me. I waited until the very last minute to get on the plane, and you didn’t come. You just let me go.”
I shake my head, moving closer despite my earlier self-promise. I need to be closer to her when I admit this truth. “But I didn’t, Viv. I came after you. I flew to L.A. to beg you to come back to Dublin with me.”
Shock splays across her face, and her eyes pop wide. “What?” she splutters.
“I was going to get on my hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. I was going to lay it all out on the line. I was prepared to quit the band and stay with you in Dublin. I would have agreed to anything as long as you agreed to be mine.”
Her brow creases in confusion. “I don’t understand. How didn’t I know this?”
I drink more beer, briefly squeezing my eyes shut. Even now, it hurts to relive this memory. “I arrived at my hotel in L.A. around two. You’d gotten in a few hours earlier. Ash gave me your US mobile number, and I tried it repeatedly, but it was either switched off or it had powered off.”
“I’d forgotten to charge it,” she explains. “I was too heartbroken on the plane to remember to do it. It died sometime after Reeve picked me up.”
“I didn’t want to leave a voice mail which might be misconstrued.”
Confusion crosses her face. “It’s so weird I never saw any missed calls.”
I don’t think it takes much to figure out what happened. “I’m guessing Reeve deleted them from the call log.” He was determined to keep me away from her and obviously willing to do whatever it took to ensure she didn’t come back to me.
“I can’t believe he’d do that, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense.” She rubs at her temples. “If I had seen those calls, it might’ve changed everything.”
I nod because there are so many things that could’ve ended up differently if we had all reacted differently. But there’s no point dwelling on it now.
“What happened after that?” she asks.
“When I couldn’t reach you, I turned on the TV to waste some time, and that’s when I saw the coverage of you with him. I saw you together on the balcony. I knew you were naked. I knew what that meant. And I knew he was sending a message to me. It wasn’t just the statement he gave to reporters. It was the way he used his arm to cover your tits, just like I’d done in the photo we sent him the day of your birthday. I know he was shielding you too, and maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I got the message loud and clear anyway.”
Setting my bottle on the table, I bury my head in my hands. Pain slices across my chest, like it does every time I recall that image. It’s forever imprinted on my brain, and I have wished so many times I could scrub it out. “How could you run straight back to him?” I lift my head, staring at her through stinging eyes. “You told me you didn’t know where he was. Was that a lie?”