I checked the time and quickly found the one Nashville news channel that ran their broadcast at 9 p.m. and turned it on. My heart slammed against my chest as the anchor read out the evening’s top headlines. About fifteen minutes in, I started to think the commenter had been wrong. Maybe that garbage gossip column wouldn’t catch fire. But then a picture of my face appeared in the right-hand corner of the television.
“In entertainment news tonight, we’re covering a story breaking right here in Nashville. Luca Sterling, the former guitarist of acclaimed rock band, Midnight in Dallas, made headlines recently when he unveiled a new solo project at The Bluebird, telling fans about his struggles with depression. Once known for his drunken and sometimes troublesome antics, interviews conducted since that performance had Sterling claiming he’d turned over a new leaf. But a video leaked by local gossip column,The Party Buzz, paints a different picture.”
The grainy cell phone footage I’d seen moments before appeared on the screen, and I pressed the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, willing the image to go away.
“No. No, no, no, no,” I whispered to absolutely fucking no one. “That’s not how it happened.” But even as I said the words, I started to question my own sense of reality and the chain of events that occurred on that night. I knew I hadn’t been drunk, but maybe Ihadbeen unnecessarily rude to the guy.
I looked back up to find a camera on Tate McCreedy, standing outside the very tavern we’d met in.
“It was completely unprovoked,” he said. “I knew the guy had a troubled past, but I never dreamed he would attack me. It’s just hard because he was the person I looked up to, but now…”
“Do you believe Luca Sterling is using mental health as a means of gaining fans and trying to seem relatable?” someone off camera asked.
Tate’s mouth turned down into an exaggerated frown as he dropped his gaze, running his hand over the back of his neck.
“You hate to make assumptions, you know? But it seems like that,” Tate answered. “All these interviews he’s doing make it sound like he’s this changed guy, that he’s done all this work on himself. But what he did to me…does that sound different to you?”
“Fuck!” I slammed my clenched fists against my knees.
The camera shifted its focus to the clean-cut reporter with close-cropped blond hair.
“It turns out Tate McCreedy isn’t alone in his thoughts about Sterling’s motives,” the man said, his tone serious as though he were reporting about a bomb threat. “Earlier today, we also spoke with Brandi Sewell, a former romantic interest of Sterling’s who said she saw this coming from a mile away.”
“Who the fuck…” I trailed off as Brandi’s vaguely familiar face filled the screen. She was young and pretty with platinum hair and thick lashes. Out of context, I could have easily passed her on the street and not recognized her.
“He took me to a family dinner once,” she said in an almost bird-like voice. “He couldn’t even remember my name. He kept calling me Mandy, Candy, everything but my name. It’s not that hard. It’s Brandi. With ani. But I wanted him to like me, so I didn’t correct him. I just played dumb about it.”
“How did that make you feel?” the reporter asked.
“Like crap,” Brandi answered. “Like I was being used. I mean, he took me into the bathroom at his family’s house and we…you know…” She raised her brows. “I mean, Iwantedto. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t my proudest moment though, but I just wanted him to like me. I don’t know. He didn’t seem to care about anyone. I’m not sure he, like,can.”
The reporter nodded, his eyes filled with concern. “So, you’re saying you don’t think he’s capable of caring about others?”
Brandi shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
“And you don’t believe he’s changed?”
Brandi answered his question with one of her own. “Do people ever really change?”
The evening anchor reappeared on the screen with the same photo of me from the beginning of the segment.
“And according to numerous reports online, Tate McCreedy and Brandi Sewell are not alone. Numerous people are sharing their own encounters with Sterling, and fans and strangers alike are chiming in with their thoughts about the infamous rock star. Many are asking him to take accountability for his actions, while others are calling for the A-lister to be canceled. Luca Sterling’s albumComing Homeis slated for release this spring. Next up, we have Brian Storm with the forecast.”
The walls felt like they were closing in. The sound from the television melted away into a low mumble, and a high-pitched ring pierced my ears. I grabbed my phone, barely able to see through the film that clouded my vision as I opened Google and typed in my name.
I knew it was a mistake before the first article had even loaded, but I had to know. I had to see it for myself.
The entire first page was filled with think pieces about what was wrong with me and blog posts written by people who wished I’d faded into obscurity. TMZ, Page Six, CNN,Rolling Stone, andThe New York Timeshad already picked up the story, which meant by morning, the entire world would know and begin to form their opinions of me. Then there were the social media apps where I was trending. There were a few hashtags bearing my name, but one in particular stood out.
#LucaSterlingIsOver
My hands shook as I dropped the phone to the sofa. It bounced off the cushion and slid to the floor with a loud thud. The bomb had detonated, turning everything I’d worked so hard for into rubble. My life had been shattered into millions of pieces, some so small I’d never be able to find them, let alone glue them back together. There was no search and rescue that could fix this—fixme.Maybe Tate McCreedy’s account of our brief meeting wasn’t entirely accurate, but had there been a kernel of truth? And Brandi Sewell, whose name would now be etched in my memory forever…everything she’d said was correct. It had been years since it happened, but I’d done everything she said and more. I was exactly who she’d said I was.
Do people ever really change?Her words reverberated through my brain, causing the debris to settle a little more. I never should have left Kentucky. I should’ve allowed the darkness to swallow me whole while I had the chance. What had I been thinking, coming to Nashville and starting a solo career like I was somehow reformed? I paraded myself around like I was a beacon of hope and perseverance instead of what I actually was—a cautionary tale.
The dam holding back my tears broke, and I buried my head in my hands, my entire body shuddering beneath the weight of my emotions. I was a fuckup.
Useless.
