She blows a final kiss to the camera before the screen goes black.
Chapter Forty-One
Slater
Melanie wasn’t joking when she said an elaborate, all-expenses-paid party. Her wake is being held at a local nightclub, and she even hired a DJ. She knew she was dying, and she wanted her friends to send her off in style.
An hour into the wake, I head to the bathroom. After doing my business, I exit the stall, spotting Marcus standing in the middle of the lemon-scented space. His eyes track me as I make my way to the sink to wash my hands, but he remains quiet.
Once I’ve dried my hands with a paper towel, he hands me a USB stick. “This is part of the promise I made with Melanie.” His voice is scratchy—somewhat hesitant. “She doesn’t want Kylie to watch it until she’s over her grief process. She believes you’re the best person to know when that will be.”
Nodding, I place the USB stick into my pocket. It will be a good few weeks before Kylie will be ready to see whatever is on there.
“This is the other half of my promise.”
He hands me his phone. It’s playing a video of one of Melanie’s parties. Kylie appears in several scenes, replenishing the snacks and restacking the beer in the fridge. Occasionally the screen turns to Melanie, who sticks her finger down her throat, appalled by Kylie’s “attempt” at partying.
“Every party she does the same thing.” Melanie twists her phone to a guy I’d guess to be in his mid-twenties. “This is Trent. He’s been eye-fucking Kylie all night long—”
“I totally have,” Trent interrupts, smirking like a smug fuck.
His smile doesn’t linger for long when Melanie confesses, “But Kylie shoots downeverymove he makes.” After twanging Trent’s lower hanging lip, she walks through a massive group of partygoers, stopping at a gent who’s around the size of Jacob. “This is Paul. He’s tried numerous times to get into Kylie’s panties.” On closer inspection, I realize Paul is more a white version of Marcus. “But, nope, no action for Paul either.”
My jaw ticks when Melanie adds on, “I’ve lost count of the number of guys I’ve tried to hook her up with the past year, but she hasn’t touched a single one, so I’ve made it my mission to find out why.”
A ghost of a smile cracks onto my lips when the video jumps to Kylie sitting in a small, poorly furnished living room. She’s holding a large glass of pink-colored liquid—you know those oversized wine glasses they pour cocktails into—and slurring so badly, I can hardly understand her.
“What about Tyler?” questions a voice behind the camera I recognize as Melanie.
“Nope,” Kylie replies, shaking her head.
“Paul? He wanted to kiss you last week.”
“No.” Kylie dramatically draws out the short word. “Not Tyler, not Paul, not Jarrod, not anyone.” She places her drink on the coffee table before stumbling to Melanie. “There’s nobody else but him. I willnottouch a man who isn’t him.”
“Who?” Melanie’s tone is spiked with eagerness.
The screen goes blurry when Melanie aids Kylie back onto her feet since she tripped over the ottoman. Once their giggles die down, Kylie peers straight down the camera before murmuring, “Slater Scott. I love him more than I love myself.”
As Melanie’s loud squeal bellows out of the speakers, my heart clutches. Even thinking she broke my heart didn’t stop me from loving her, so I’m glad to discover she felt the same.
The camera shifts, then Melanie’s grinning face takes up the screen. Her hair is in the original bob she had when I met her after our concert in San Diego. “I’ve been trying to get a name out of her for months, and I finally got it. Prepare yourself, Slater, because we’re coming to get you,” she warns a mere second before the video freezes.
I hesitantly hand Marcus’s phone back to him before dragging my hand over my head, feeling its tremor as it runs over my clipped hair. Two years Kylie waited for me—two whole goddamn motherfucking years. Now I know without a doubt I am the world’s biggest asshole. She sacrificed everything for me, and I thanked her by being an idiot who ended up in rehab and fucked anyone with two legs. Although confident she deserves someone much better than me, I can’t give her up. I love her too much.
Marcus squeezes my shoulder before handing me a white piece of paper. Some of the weight on my chest eases when I read the handwritten letter.
Hey, Drummer Boy,
I didn’t show you my video to make you feel bad. I showed you it to prove how much Kylie loves you. You're probably feeling like the biggest ass in the world. Rightfully so. You should. I read every article about you I could get my hands on when Kylie spilled your name, and I have to say, your list of accomplishments is impressive.
You rightfully earned the title of Rise Up’s Bad Boy, but do you know what? Even if Kylie unearths everything you did the two years you were separated, she'll still love you until her very last breath. She’ll love you even when you're no longer famous; she’ll love you even when you're old and gray, and she’ll love you even when you piss her off, and she refuses to talk to you for a week.
She loves you, Slater, warts and all, so my final wish is for you to love her back the same way. Fulfill her every wish and desire; make sure she finishes her bucket list, and love her as much as she loves you.
Until we meet again.
Melanie xx
