Brooklyn & Beale

“Of course. Why don’t we move to the couch? My back is killing me.”


Reid agreed and stood from the chair. Chloe walked over to the minifridge and grabbed a beer. “Do you want one?”

“Hell yes,” he exhaled.

Once settled on the sofa, Reid took a long pull from his beer and turned to Chloe. “I’m a recovering addict, and I’m not doing so hot.”

Chloe swallowed her gasp. “What happened?”

Reid’s face twisted with disdain. “I happened. I did this to myself.”

“Reid,” Chloe said gently. “You’re human. We all make mistakes. Some we learn from immediately and others we repeat a million times before we get it right. It’s the determination to eventually get it right that matters.”

“How do you do that?” Reid asked, his expression a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“Do what?”

“Make everything sound so simple. You make it seem like, no matter what, things will eventually get better.”

“Because they will. You just have to believe it’s true.”

Reid dropped his eyes and exhaled. Silence settled around them, but it wasn’t like before. It was comforting, calm. He picked at the label of his beer bottle, his brows drawn together as though he was searching for the right words.

“How much do you know about what happened?”

Chloe didn’t have to ask what he was referring to; the pain on his face was a clear indication of the direction the conversation had taken. “I know what the media said. That a seventeen-year-old girl died from a drug overdose at your home and you were responsible. That you were charged with numerous felonies but used your money to evade prosecution.”

Reid looked at her through glassy eyes, his expression incredulous. “And knowing all that, you chose to come on tour with me anyway. Why?”

“Because one of my oldest friends was villainized by the very same media. They made her out to be a home-wrecking stripper who seduced a taken man. They didn’t care about the truth; they wanted the nastiest angle they could find, because that’s what sells.”

“You’re talking about Josie and Anders, aren’t you?”

Chloe nodded. “Yeah. So many horrible things were said about her that just weren’t true. I know it happens all the time, but it wasn’t until it happened to someone I care about that I realized just how bad it can get. I know there is some truth to what they printed about you, but I don’t care how famous you are—if you committed murder, you wouldn’t be on tour right now.”

Reid swallowed hard. “I was in a bad place back then. It all started when I broke things off with Jess six months after I was signed. We’d been together for over two years; we had plans. And I just walked away. Who the fuck does that?” Reid shook his head. “I broke her heart.

“It only took a couple of weeks to realize I was a fucking idiot, but by then, it was too late. She was done. She wouldn’t speak to me. She wouldn’t forgive me. She wanted nothing to do with me. I didn’t give a fuck about anything after that. I was a motherfucking rock star,” he said with a humorless chuckle. “I moved to LA and dove in headfirst. Cliché parties, groupies, drugs—you name it. I used my sad, pathetic life to make millions. Then, everything stopped. I tried to write, but nothing worked, nothing felt right. So I did more drugs, I partied a little harder, I barreled full speed down a dead-end road.

“The night that girl died, I was feeling sorrier for myself than usual. I decided I should have a few people over, to cheer me up. I called Greer and Drew and told them to come over and bring some friends. It didn’t take long for word to spread, and by three in the morning, there were more than a hundred people at my house. Someone had strung black lights and strobe lights all over the living room and deck area. The music was so fucking loud it rattled my bones. Every drug you could imagine was there: weed, coke, ecstasy, whatever you wanted. I did it all.”

Chloe looked up when Reid fell silent. The color had drained from his face and beads of sweat trickled down his skin. He looked as though he was going to be sick. Chloe clutched her empty bottle, her mouth bone-dry. She felt like she should say something, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out. She was about to stand and grab another beer when the sound of his voice caused her to freeze.

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