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she asked in a little mouse voice. She sounded like an eight-year-old girl, and a shy one at that.
“No, he didn’t say anything.”
Another long silence. Then…
“Do YOU think he’s going to quit the band?”
“It’s too early to tell.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We’ll get through it, okay? No matter what, we’re going to get through it.”
“…I got… I got Megan’s medical school to pay for…”
“You’ll be fine, Riley. We’re all going to be fine. We’ll make it through together, okay?”
There was some more chit-chat, but Riley was subdued throughout. Entirely drained of emotion. When she finally hung up, she didn’t even say ‘Goodbye.’
Besides being shocked at how un-Riley-like she had been the entire time, I was also annoyed.
Ryan could sense it. “What’s the matter?”
Again, I was emotionally and physically exhausted, and super-cranky. Just remember that.
“It pisses me off that all this crap is going on, and she was worried about money,” I griped. “She’s a millionaire, but she’s bitching about paying for Megan’s medical degree.”
“Mm,” he mumbled noncommittally.
“What?” I asked, now annoyed with
him.
Ryan shook his head as he got up from the table. “That’s not what’s upsetting her. You want some breakfast?”
Probably because I was irritated and cranky, I decided I didn’t give a shit what was upsetting Riley. Not enough to pursue Ryan’s comment, anyway. I figured
I
had a lot to be upset about, too.
She
wasn’t the one who had had her heart impaled repeatedly in the last 24 hours.
But, as I found out later, Ryan was right.
That wasn’t what she was upset about at all.
38
This time the texts and voicemails stopped for real.
Not only that, but I found out what a liar I am. To myself, primarily.
That whole thing about
‘I’m not in love with him anymore’?
Yeah. It was all bullshit.
I
thought
it was real when I said it. Then I slowly figured out I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.
How do I know?
Because for the next two weeks, I got my heart ripped out on the daily, courtesy of TMZ.com and one Mr. Derek Kane.
39
The first indication was roughly 24 hours later when I got a text from Shanna. I’d never called her back, so she didn’t know anything about my drama with Derek.
Sweetie, I’m so sorry… call me.
‘Sweetie’?
Since when had Shanna ever called me ‘Sweetie’?
It was 8AM and I was drinking my morning coffee. I didn’t want to deal with explaining the whole thing right now – I didn’t have the strength – so I just texted back,
What are you talking about?
Immediately I received,
You should call me.
I was still upset and irritated and cranky about Derek, so I typed back,
Can’t talk right now. Just tell me.
Derek’s all over TMZ.
I frowned and opened the browser on my phone.
It was like all my jealousies from the last six weeks had been immortalized in color pictures and splashed on the internet.
Derek had apparently flown back to LA after South Dakota. Better hunting grounds, I guess, because there was grainy photo after photo of him with women at a club. Women hanging all over him, women grinding him on the dance floor, women sucking face with him.
Then there were the better quality photos of him exiting the club with a supermodel in tow. Out of the low light of the club and under the harsh light of the paparazzi flashes, his skin looked sallow. His eyes were ringed with dark circles. He looked sweaty and vacant-eyed as he and the woman piled into a limo and took off.
I sat there in shock and disbelief and disgust… and pain. Utter, wrenching pain.
And it didn’t stop there.
Every morning there were more pictures. Different clubs, different women, a different companion – sometimes two – getting into a vehicle with him at the end. First it was limos, then on the third night it was his powder-blue Mercedes convertible.
