Chapter 3

"The worst birthday ever. And this time, I’m not even being dramatic. I’ll admit, I still hope my ex-best friend in the entire world will swallow her pride and decide to apologize to me. Because it’s definitely her fault.

I didn’t say anything to offend her. If Delilah felt even the slightest bit uncomfortable about something, she should have the decency to reach out so we can work it out. Otherwise, I’ll happily keep being the jerk she accuses me of being.

With all the blows life throws at you, being an asshole is one of the smallest problems. This boring night needs to get better.

I pick up my phone again. I’ve memorized her number, and until I hear her whiny voice on the other end of the line, I won’t give up.

The call goes to voicemail, but I keep trying, and this time, when Effy picks up, her sleepy voice is almost music to my ears.

‘It’s still my birthday!’ I don’t bother hiding my excitement.

‘Yay, happy birthday,’ she mutters with fake enthusiasm, a yawn filling the line. ‘Ashton, what are you doing?’ As if jolted awake by the pounding beats of Rumors playing in the background, her sleepy voice shifts to concern.

‘I’m getting wasted in Las Vegas.’ I grab the whiskey glass from the table and take short sips. ‘Why don’t you get ready and let me fly you down to Humperville in my private jet?’

‘You just love to show off.’ I hear the rustling of sheets as Effy, probably, gets out of bed. ‘Why are you calling me? You know I have work early tomorrow.’

‘Tell me, why did we never hook up? Not even once?’

‘You must be completely drunk to ask me such a stupid question.’

‘We used to be best friends, and admit it—you’ve always thought I was hot.’

‘I have eyes, so yeah, I’ve thought you were hot, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for your lines. Isn’t your name in gossip sites and magazines every week? Even Angel knows a post about you gets more engagement than any other topic.’

A sigh of frustration escapes my throat.

‘My friends are all a bunch of traitorous jerks. It’s my birthday. They should be here with me.’

‘Seriously, am I your only option for a late-night call to bother someone?’

‘Seriously, would you rather sleep than talk to me? On my birthday?’

‘What do you want?’ She lets out a nasal laugh. ‘For me to get ready and fly to Las Vegas?’

‘Would you do that for me?’

‘Of course.’ She pauses dramatically. ‘Not! It’s Sunday, and I have work tomorrow!’ She nearly shouts, reminding me that Effy, like everyone else, has a life that doesn’t match mine in the slightest.

Then it feels like a hand is wrapping around my throat, and damn, the burning builds in my eyes faster than I can hold back. I open my mouth to reply but stop the moment I feel my voice quiver. If I say anything, I’ll give away the tears welling up.

Fame is a part of life that’s little understood. Not so much by those around us—they know the scale of what we’ve achieved—but by ourselves.

Especially me.

I know I can’t live the way I used to. I know it so well that it’s terrifying to think I’ll never again go out with someone without it becoming tabloid news, gossip fodder for Twitter, or a reason for people to label me a ‘womanizer.’ Not that they’re wrong, because I know they’re not, and I mess up. I’m explosive most of the time, and I have zero patience for people hovering over me like vultures, trying to grab any piece of me. But it’s extremely frightening to see the impact you can have on the media.

What they can say about you without knowing 1% of who you really are. Everything that appears on sites and magazines is just a tiny fragment, almost nothing, of who we are.

To many, we’re just a means to an end. These days, anything with The Reckless’s name on it explodes and, in no time, is everywhere. It’s maddening. Surreal. But above all, terrifying.

‘Hey, are you there? Ashton?’ Effy brings me back, and I straighten my shoulders, putting my dignity back in place.

‘Listen, I know it’s complicated. You were used to a completely different life, but this is the reality you’ve always fought for. Not everything turns out how we expect. Some good things come with bad things. They go hand in hand. You can’t have just the best parts; you need the bad ones to grow and mature.’ She sighs, and even miles away, I can almost feel her hand touching mine in a comforting gesture. ‘I love you, and it’s not with all my heart; it’s with all my soul. I love you because you’re Ash, not Ashton Baker, bassist of The Reckless. You’re an impulsive, angry kid. I love you because you dry my tears every single time. I love you because, despite your stubbornness, you have a giant heart. Nothing can change how I feel about you. No stupid news story. I wish I could celebrate your birthday with you, but you guys were on tour until two weeks ago.’

‘I know…’ I mumble. I try to hide the lump in my throat, but Effy chuckles softly, letting me know I wasn’t subtle at all.

‘You’ll be okay, right?’

‘You know I will. It’ll take more than this to knock me down, Effylin.’

Knowing her as I do, I’m sure she’s smiling, this time not even bothered that I call her that, even though the nickname is tied to bad memories.

‘Why don’t you come here instead of heading back to New York?’

‘I want to, but I can’t. I’m not on the best terms with Jared, for obvious reasons…’

‘So, will we see each other at some point this year?’

‘We’ll take a break from the tour in December, so maybe.’ I finish my whiskey, and although Effy is being understanding, I can hear the disappointment in her voice.

‘We promised to see each other at least once a year, but the last time I saw you was on your birthday last year.’

‘Everything that’s happened in the past few years has been insane.’ I rub my head, knowing things will never go back to how they were in Humperville. ‘We’ll still see each other this year, Effylin, I promise. But you could come here now…’

‘Not even if I could teleport.’

‘I’m sorry for waking you up. I just got a little melancholic.’

Effy pauses, and I can bet she’s planning something in that sharp mind of hers.

‘Has living with Gravity been difficult?’

I clench my jaw, and a ball of sand lodges in my throat. Gravity. My sensitive topic.

Gravity moved into Tess’s apartment last year, two weeks after we wrapped up the Chaotic tour. Our relationship is passive-aggressive. I know she hates me, and I hate her back. My pride is the only thing I have left, and I don’t plan to lose it because we had a relationship that didn’t work out."