CHAPTER TEN
VERONICA

The water streams out of my hotel bathroom’s faucet, swirling and circling the drain. I catch myself wishing it would take me with it so I could just disappear. I let out a slow steady breath, hoping to recenter and ground myself back into the moment, but when I look up, I realize that’s not going to happen. The woman staring back through the mirror is mocking me. Her eyes used to be full of possibilities and hope, but now they’re just dull and weighed down by the life I’ve made for myself. Maybe Alan was right, and I just care too damn much.

My phone dings from its spot on the bed. It’s in the same place it landed when I threw it across the room right after walking through the door. My fingers massage my temples as I try to block out the noise. It isn’t working.

I grab the phone just as it goes from dings to a full-blown ring. The group chat profile image with Alyssa and JT’s faces in it pops up onto the screen. “What?” I grumble, throwing a pillow over my face so I don’t have to look at them.

Alyssa lets out a low-pitched growl as soon as the buffering stops. “We tried texting you.”

“I’m aware of that.” They’ve been texting since before the show started. I kept up for as long as I could, then all the chaos happened backstage after the concert ended.

“Why didn’t you answer?” JT demands with every bit of pissed-off energy I’d expect from him.

“I was… busy.”

“You scared us half to death. What the he—” he screeches.

Alyssa interrupts him. “He’s right, you know! What the hell was up with that dramatic message ‘Jenkins is here!’ and then you ghost us?”

“Not cool,” JT adds.

“I know,” I admit. “I’m sorry. A lot happened right after I sent that. I was going to call you after I got back to the room.”

“You’re in the room. You didn’t call,” JT deadpans.

“I need to calm back down, first.” I peek out from underneath the white down pillow covering my head.

Alyssa is scowling at me through the phone with her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

JT leans over and whispers something under his breath to Alyssa. She responds with a knowing look and a long, dramatic nod of her head. “Are you, though?” he asks, when he finally looks back at me.

“Yes.”

“Right,” Alyssa drawls. “And that’s why you have a pillow over your head and are already in your penguin pajamas?”

I throw the pillow off my face and sit up, staring at them through the screen. “What’s wrong with my penguins?” I ask, letting my gaze drift to the penguin patterned pink flannel pajama pants I’m wearing. “I love these things.”

“Nothing,” JT groans.

“Nothing. Except you only wear those when you’re about to have a nervous breakdown,” Alyssa reminds me.

“You weren’t there tonight, okay?” A nervous breakdown might not be that far off.

Alyssa pokes JT in the arm so he’ll back her up. “She’s right,” he says. “Fill us in on what sparked the meltdown.”

How do I fill them in on something I don’t even fully understand? I can’t, so I just sit here with a blank stare, looking at my friends on the other side of the screen with no way of telling them what’s happening inside of me because the truth is, I don’t know what’s happening.

“Did you find a headline?” Alyssa asks, prodding me along.

I nod.

“Was it from Travis?” JT asks, helping Alyssa coax me out of my shell. I know this tag-team thing they’re doing. They do it all the time with story subjects. It would piss me off, if I didn’t need the help to find my words right now.

I nod again.

“And this headline… is it something you want to cover?”

Kind of.

Maybe.

No.

Yes.

“I… I don’t know,” I finally stammer out.

JT claps his hands together and groans as Alyssa throws her head back in exasperation. “So, all we know is that Mister Rockstar wants you to cover a headline for him and you don’t want to do it,” he says.

“Of course, I want to do it.”

Alyssa flings her arms wide open and leans in toward the screen. “You just said you don’t know if you want to do it or not.”

“If you want to cover it, then what’s the problem?” JT asks with genuine concern flashing in his eyes.

“I want to cover the story for him, but I don’t want to cover that story,” I explain as I fall backwards, letting the pillow flop on top of my face again.

“Why is this one such a big deal?” Alyssa asks, suddenly less annoyed and more confused. She’s probably wondering when her levelheaded friend became such a case study for emotional trainwreck.

“The story is… complicated.” Even I flinch at that pathetic attempt to blow off the subject.

“Why does this sound like a love story, already?” JT groans, rubbing his eyebrow with one finger like he’s trying to coax a migraine away before it starts.

“Just tell us.” Alyssa’s face is now filling the screen because she’s sitting so close. Her hair is blocking all of JT’s face and all I can see is his brightly colored faux hawk sticking up in the background.

My heart is pounding in my chest, it feels like each beat hits my ribcage harder than the last. With my nerves boiling just beneath the surface, every sensation is more intense than it would otherwise be. I take a deep breath and remind myself this is a story, even if it’s my own story. I’m an investigative reporter. This is what I do. I can do this. “Okay,” I finally concede. “I’ll tell you guys, but you have to promise to keep it between us.”

“Deal,” they both say in unison.

“It goes back to when he found the perfect wedding gift for his brother.”

“Okay,” JT says putting his face beside Alyssa’s in the camera view. “That doesn’t sound like front page news.”

“It’s not,” I admit. “But the gift was a sketch of Griffin’s soulmate.”

“What?” Alyssa asks with her eyes squinting and nose wrinkling in confusion.

I hold up my hands. “I know. Just stay with me for a second. He saw a street performer who claimed he could draw anyone’s soulmate after meeting them.”

“Oh!” JT screeches and claps his hands together. “Like the dude that runs those ads on YouTube?”

“Huh?”

“His ads are all over my YouTube feed. Haven’t you seen them?” he asks.

Alyssa stares at him with a blank expression on her face. “No. Search queries and links drive ad placements,” she reminds him. “You must’ve been looking for some of those healing crystals you love so much.”

He bobs his head back and forth. “Probably.”

“I haven’t seen them either,” I admit.

“If you’re not seeing them, that just means you need to get in touch with your inner romantic.” He sticks his tongue out at both of us.

“I love you guys,” I laugh. A few minutes ago, I wasn’t sure if I could laugh about anything for a very long time. They always help me pull myself out of whatever funk I find myself in.

Alyssa throws her hands up. “Back on track, please. What does any of this have to do with the story?”

JT rolls his eyes and lets out a dramatic sigh. “Obviously, he had one made for himself too. Right?” he asks, letting his eyes dart back over to me through the screen.

I nod. “He’s been searching for his quote-unquote soulmate for over two years.”

“And he wants you to put her sketch out there to help him find her faster?” Alyssa catches on.

“Bingo.”

“The readers will love that heartwarming shit,” JT squeals. “I’m already excited.”

“Why is that a problem?” Alyssa asks, with her eyebrows pulling together.

“Because…”

JT grabs his mouth and gasps. “You’ve fallen for the rock star!”

“No.” My stomach flips in response. Why did that just happen? I flick my laptop on and pull up the saved images from inside one of my folders. I scroll until I find the one, I’m looking for. There it is. “This is the girl.” I share the image to the chat. “It’s the same image he showed me tonight.”

“Oh, shit.” Alyssa’s face goes pale as her mouth hangs open.

JT is studying the image, but his expression hasn’t changed. “Honey…”

I know.

JT’s face finally flips to an expression of shock. “You have to help him find Mischa?”

I nod.

“But didn’t the guy draw her?” Alyssa asks skeptically. “Wouldn’t there be a sketch of her face?”

One would think so… “Except Master Wang only drew this exact image. It’s not the easiest thing in the world to recognize someone from the back of their head unless you know them… personally.”

She nods. “Right… that does complicate things. Doesn’t it?”

I pinch my fingers together. “Just a bit.”

“What are you going to do?” JT asks.

“Run the story.”

“Wait. What?” Alyssa screeches. “You’ve worked your ass off to hide your pseudonym and rebuild your career. You can’t just throw all of that away for some random guy you barely know, just because he needs your help tracking her down.”

“I’m not,” I reassure her. “I’m tired of hiding. Sick of lying. And I am fed up with having to write for Alan-Effing-Richards.”

“That’s fair,” JT says with a snarl.

“This could be something that hits or misses, but at least it’ll be my story and Travis will get the answers he needs…” And hopefully, he’ll move on.

Alyssa’s face falls as she grabs her chest with one hand. “Even if those answers send him running in the opposite direction of you?”

“Sometimes, you win and sometimes you lose.”

“She’s right.” JT nods emphatically. “You just have to keep moving.”

Ugh!

“Okay,” she says. “If you’re sure you’re going to do this, then I’m behind you one-hundred percent.”

“Me too. But I swear to god if you get hurt doing this for him…” JT punches his hand with the opposite fist.

“I’m not worried about me. It’ll be fine.” I have to do this.

“Okay, what’s the first step?” She pulls out her device and starts taking notes.

An idea hits me square in the chest. “I think we start with putting out a call for the mystery woman and letting him see who shows up.”

JT raises an eyebrow. “Who will sort through all the entries?”

“He will,” I say matter-of-factly.

“You’re going to make him figure it out on his own, aren’t you?” Alyssa says, tapping her stylus against her device’s cover.

I make an iffy face and shrug. “I might guide him along.”

“I get it,” JT says with a smirk. “He has to figure it out himself so he can’t blame you when he gets his answers.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, so…” Alyssa grimaces. “Have you put together an outline and submitted it to Alan yet?”

“No,” I groan. “I’m not sure I want to.”

JT holds up one finger. “There is an upside to submitting it. If you outline it and he rejects it, then you’re free to submit anywhere else.”

Alyssa scowls. “And he could give to Jenkins, who would steal it and run it under his own byline.”

“What if I submit outlines to him just to keep him off my back?”

“Like bogus story concepts?” JT asks with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

I nod, feeling the smirk creep across my face. “It would send Jenkins on a wild goose chase and keep him out of my hair.”

“Oh, I like it,” he says, rubbing his hands together.

“And then you put together the real story to break on your own?” Alyssa asks.

“On our own.” I can’t do this, not the way I want to do it, without their help. “Can you guys set up an open call for tomorrow with the local media outlets?”

“You know I can,” JT says, picking up his phone swiping at his screen. “You’ll have them lined up tomorrow morning.”

This could go terribly wrong, or it could save my ass.

---

After hanging up from Alyssa and JT, a burst of creative energy shot through me, and I put together an article I’m proud to put my name on. It paints a picture of a band, and a family, thriving despite intense bullying in the industry to build a thriving community where individuality is valued instead of punished. I scroll through my messages until I find the group chat with Alyssa and JT.

Me: I just sent you my first finished piece. I need you guys to find a home for it. 

JT: I’m already on it, honey.

Me: The publisher needs to be one that will make Alan wet himself.

Alyssa: I sent out the queries right after hanging up earlier. Get me the next round of your notes tomorrow and I’ll keep going so we have them lined up for your next one too.

Me: You guys are amazing. *heart emoji* I’m putting the finishing touches on both outlines now.

Alyssa: *palms up emoji*

One of these two outlines will go to Amaryllis. Actually, I’m only sending it to Travis for his approval, and the second one is my bogus outline. That one is for my editor and has nothing to do with the story series I’m working on. A loud beep comes from my phone, which is sitting on the bed next to me. The notification is from the Amaryllis social media account. They’re going live, so I tap to join. The background is dark, making it hard to see anything, but I can tell someone’s there. I check the thread and it’s tagged by Travis’s personal account. Speak of the devil. Is that… his nose filling the screen?

A loud snore comes through the speakers, and the comments section immediately light up with women swooning over #InBedwithTravisMiller.

Gag me. I stick my finger down my throat, forgetting for a split-second that no one else can see me.

What the hell is wrong with me? I have no reason to be jealous over these women in the comments.

I’m not with him.

I’m working with him.

There’s a difference.

A.

Big.

Difference.

Travis stirs on the other side of the screen just enough to make me think he might be waking up. I cannot wait to see his reaction when he looks up and sees the light flashing on his phone telling him he’s on live. I guess I was wrong, he’s not waking up; because he just snored even louder. I remember him telling me that Carly’s company oversees all their social media marketing, so I pull up her phone number, which she gave me tonight before Amaryllis took the stage. I can’t help laughing as I watch the show unfolding on my screen. His grunts and groans are coming more frequent now. I hope he starts talking in his sleep. He’s a wildcard when he’s awake, I can’t even imagine how weird the things he says while sleeping must be.

I chuckle to myself at the thought of a sleep talking Travis. That might be something I need to hear for my life to be complete.

“Hey,” Carly answers as I put it on speakerphone, so I can keep watching the Travis shit-show. He’s rolled over just enough for us all to see the bit of drool rolling down his cheek.

“Are you monitoring the band’s socials?” I ask with a snicker.

“Yeah…” she drawls out.

“Did you happen to see Travis went live tonight?”

“Uh…” she stammers. “No. He’s not supposed to go live without an actual adult present.”

Ha! “So, I’m guessing you’re unaware of the fact that he is still on the camera and snoring at all the Amaryllis fans? Loudly, I might add.”

“I’m going to kill him,” she groan-screeches into the phone. “Adair!”

I hear him grumbling in the background.

“He’s asleep, too,” she explains. I hear a loud Whack! come through the phone’s speaker.

“What?” he growls.

“Go wake Travis up.”

“What? Why?” he asks, clearly still half-asleep since the words are slurring together.

I couldn’t have asked for a better pick-me-up tonight. I’m dying on the inside, trying not to let my laughter bubble out through the phone. She doesn’t seem to think it’s half as hilarious as I do.

“Because he’s making an ass of himself on socials right now.”

He grumbles some more. “That’s what he always does.”

“I swear to god… Thank you for letting me know,” Carly says to me before ending the call.

“No problem.” The line goes dead, and I prop the phone against my laptop’s screen, scooting back so I can watch this show unfold just as Adair busts into Travis’s bus, causing him to sit straight up and smack his head on the top bunk.

“What the hell, man?” he grumbles, as he’s wiping away the drool left on his chin.

Adair’s hand covers the camera lens as he grabs Travis’s phone. “You tell me, dude. You went live while snoring and drooling on—” the feed goes dead just as the laugh emojis flood the screen from all the viewers.

That was the best show I’ve seen in a long time. I’m still laughing when I see an email notification pop up from my editor that makes my laughter fade real fracking quick.

Victoria,

I told you, we are not running some puff piece. No one wants to read this feel-good shit. 

People want to feel better about where they’re at and they can’t do that when they’re reading about celebrities with perfect lives.

They want messy.

They want sloppy.

That means, we’re going to run these guys into the ground and make our investors happy.

Got it?

Have it on my desk in five days.

P.S.

If you can’t do it, then Jenkins will.

“My name is Veronica. Not Victoria,” I growl to my phone’s screen. Sigh. I guess that means I need to get this outline to Travis for review sooner than tomorrow morning, so I can put the piece together and prove Alan wrong once and for all. Travis’s face is smirking at me from his profile picture in the chat just underneath Alyssa and JT’s. Hmm… Since I know he’s up after Adair stormed into his bus and rolled him off the bed, I decide to test the temperature on this plan of mine.

Me: Nice drool.

Travis: You caught that, huh?

Me: I think the entire fandom caught it.

Travis: Did you just include yourself in our fandom?

Me: Notifications are on because I’m covering your asses for the story.

Travis: Keep telling yourself that.

Me: How did this get turned around on me?

Travis: *shrug emoji*

Me: Anyway… before we took that weird detour, I was going to ask you a question.

Travis: ‘Sup?

Me: This story you want me to cover…

Travis: Helping me find the girl in the picture?

Me: Yep.

Travis: I’m thinking maybe it’s not such a great idea.

Me: No, it’s a fantastic idea.

Travis: I’m not sure…

Me: We’re doing it. I just sent you the outline for you to approve.

Travis: It was a momentary lapse in judgment. Let’s not do that story.

Me: I’m running an open call for a “music video extra” in the paper tomorrow morning for women with long blonde hair and asking them to wear yellow dresses.

Travis: Just like in the sketch?

Me: And the picture.

Travis: This is a good idea, because?

Me: You’re going to sort through every single one of them and I will document the entire thing. It’s brilliant.

Travis: What could go wrong?

Me: *angel emoji*

Travis: You’re hoping for a fan freak-out you can write up, aren’t you?

Me: Nope.

Travis: …

And with that, I decide to leave him guessing for the rest of the night. He’ll figure it out when he’s ready.

Knock. Knock.

The sound of a fist thumping against the door makes me jump. Hotel employees announce who they are when they knock. No one else knows I’m here, so I peek through the little hole in the middle of the door to see who is on the other side. I’m greeted by a fishbowl reflection of Jenkins staring back at me.

What the hell does he want? I try to pretend I’m not here, but he must have already heard me.

“Roni, I know you’re there.”

Only my friends call me that. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ve never heard of anyone who goes by that name.” My attempt to use an accent to disguise my voice fails miserably. I just sound like I’m doing a terrible impression of Oliver Twist.

His condescending snort-chuckle on the other side of the door confirms just how badly I suck at this. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t you remember what a good team we made when we worked together?” he asks through the peephole.

I sure as hell don’t remember that. “You mean when you plagiarized other journalists, while I worked my ass off to do the research because I thought you were writing your own brilliant and groundbreaking work?”

“Don’t be like that, Roni.”

“And then you had the audacity to add my name to the byline without my consent? Yeah, I remember that. It didn’t go as well as you seem to think it did.”

“Why do you have to be such a bitch? You know we could do amazing things if we just worked together.”

You mean I could do amazing things for you while you steal other people’s hard work? “It’s hard to take you serious when you look like a Tik-Tok filter through this peephole.”

“Fine,” he sighs, and hits the door with his fist so hard it makes me stumble backwards. “You want to do this the hard way. Don’t forget that.”Was that a threat?