“But if you’re not dating Alyssa, his story will fall apart. No one will believe it.”
“I wish that was true. But the reason tabloids are still around is because their readers do believe everything they read.” But maybe now Alyssa would finally issue a statement confirming what I’d been saying all this time—she and I weren’t romantically involved and never had been.
“Why do you even put up with it?” Hailey asked.
“There’s not much you can do about it. It’s part of the business. All I can do is ignore it. In a week’s time, someone else’s news will upstage mine, and the lies about me will be forgotten.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“I’ll talk to the record label.” And see what they could do…after they killed me for screwing up.
But that was if the guys didn’t kill me first for fucking things up for them.
Chapter 29
Hailey
I knew things had changed for me the moment the reporter insinuated I was nothing more than a hussy bent on destroying Tyler and Alyssa’s golden relationship. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was blamed for her losing the fictitious baby that was supposedly Nolan’s. What then? Would the world turn on me even though none of the rumors were true? Would fans of their relationship hunt me down like the paparazzi and try to hurt me? Or would Alyssa finally issue a statement and set the record straight about their relationship?
But while I was nervous about what might happen if an upset fan confronted me, I was even more nervous about my future. To get into the physical therapy program, I needed a reference from the therapist I worked with in the playgroup for kids with special needs. Without it, my chances of getting into the education program were much lower. But a scandal like this might hurt me when it came to the reference.
We rode the rest of the way home in silence, both lost in thought over what this could mean for us. And by us, I meant our careers. Nothing had really changed when it came to what Nolan and I had between us. He hadn’t indicated if there could be a him and me if I moved to L.A. Nor had he indicated he wanted me to move there. As far as I could tell, what we had between us was only short-term.
I almost expected to see photographers gathering outside my building when we pulled up. When I didn’t spot any, I let out a relieved breath. The one at the cemetery had been bad enough. I couldn’t imagine having to deal with more than that.
But as much as I didn’t want to imagine it, I wasn’t deluding myself into believing no one else was interested in Nolan’s real past. He already had the bad-boy reputation, so why walk away from the possibility of even juicier secrets in his past? And once his story hit the tabloids, it was guaranteed to be the end of my privacy, at least until the next news story broke about another celebrity.
Nolan was still tense when we walked into the building. He held my hand the way he had in the cemetery. But unlike then, his grip was tighter. I didn’t think he realized just how tense he was. He’d never be able to write lyrics in his current state.
I needed to help him relax and forget everything. If his label didn’t dump him because of all the controversy that would soon suck him into its vortex, it certainly would if he wasn’t ready in time to record the band’s album.
I let us into the apartment. Before I could say anything, he stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door. Less than a minute later, I heard him talking to someone on the phone. The conversation lasted a few seconds and was followed by a long silence.
The muffled sound of him pacing slipped from under his door. He was so tightly wound from what happened at the cemetery, he couldn’t focus on his work. This wasn’t the Nolan I knew.
It was all my fault. I had insisted that Nolan visit his sister’s and mother’s graves so that he could take a step toward healing. As long as he kept away from their final resting place, he’d never move on. He’d never live the life they would’ve wanted him to have.
I knocked on his door but didn’t wait for him to answer. I opened it. As expected, he was pacing back and forth. Not an easy feat in the room’s small confines, even with the lack of furniture.
“Have you told the record label what happened?” I figured that was whom he’d been talking to on the phone.
“I left a message with the band’s PR person. It’s the weekend, so she gets to have a break from me and my stupidity.” His jaw tightened. He really did believe this was all his fault.
I entered the room, my movements slow and cautious. “This isn’t your fault, Nolan. None of it’s your fault. And the people at the record label are idiots if they believe otherwise.”
“But if I’d stayed in L.A. to work on the songs like I was supposed to,” he said, “none of this would’ve happened.”