me in? If you have questions, reservations, anything, I’m here, okay? You did the hard part already.”
“What was the hard part?”
“You showed your face in a town that was an asshole to you. After that, the rest should be easy.”
“Hmm, maybe.”
Until Hollywood turns its back on me again.
“I’m happy you found your way back and you’re enjoying your time there,” Mom says into the phone.
“Me too.”
After lunch with Cameron, I realized he wasn’t the only one I haven’t updated about what’s going on, and I called her as soon as I got home.
I haven’t gone into details about what’s been happening with Denver, just that we’re working on rebuilding what was lost, and it’s going well.
Really well. I don’t emphasize that, though.
I doubt Mom would have an issue with me being with a man—especially not Denver because she loves him—but I do know she will worry about us in the same way she worried about the label shaping us into manufactured pod people for seven years.
There will be hate comments. There will be the same ignorant comments there have been when rumors of Ryder and Harley were going around like I so hope they’re not gay! What a waste!
Every single reason Ryder and Harley have chosen to stay closeted now applies to us, which is hard to comprehend. They have had to worry about this their whole careers, and maybe that’s why they’re so strong in remaining silent, but for me, absolutely nothing has changed between me and Denver except for the sex. The mind-blowing, amazing sex. And even Hollywood doesn’t ask for specifics on that kind of thing. The world is fascinated by who celebrities sleep with for whatever fucked-up reason, but no interviewer anywhere is going to ask, “So who’s the hot dog and who’s the bun, so to speak.”
Our personal lives have been splashed over the covers of tabloids for years—some of the stories true, most fake, but if this got out, it would be ten times worse.
I can see why Harley and Ryder keep quiet.
“Do you have any plans to get back with the band?” Mom asks. “The news is saying—”
“The news picked up on a story where Denver, Blake, and I were messing with Harley. They think it’s a big PR stunt and we’ll announce the reunion soon, but we haven’t really discussed it as a group yet.”
“Where do you go from here? Are you staying in LA for a while? Everything has died down here now they know you’re back in California.”
That’s good. I hate that they think they have the right to harass my family. My sister has young kids, and it’s not fair to scare them like that.
“I think I’ll stay. At least for a few months. Denver’s doing this reality TV show, and I’ve been writing some songs while he’s at work. I’m not sure about Eleven yet, but the plan is to see if we can all be in the same room without wanting to kill each other first.”
“And can you? Or is this phone call about to take a dark turn? Oh God, you didn’t kill poor Denver, did you?”
“Did I ever tell you you’re not funny?”
“My child would never do such a mean thing.”
“I don’t know if I want to go back to Eleven,” I say.
After the other night, we’ve agreed to at least give it a try and meet with Harley, but there’s a part of me that thinks going back to Eleven is almost selling out. Or admitting failure. Then again, when you have hardly any money and moved home to be with Mommy, I guess I can’t really say I’ve been even remotely successful on my own.
“As long as you’re happy,” Mom says. “Follow your heart.”
My heart is only leaning in one direction, and that’s toward Denver. If any of the songs I’ve been writing are anything to go by anyway.
When Eleven was together, Harley and Ryder wrote most of the songs because the label wanted poppy and light. They wanted happy songs. A lot of what I’d try to write back then would be too angsty with an angry tone to it. There are breakup songs that make you sad, payback breakup songs that are empowering, but mine were … a little dark. Too depressing.
The lyrics I’m coming out with now make heartache feel like love, and Denver is my muse.
I hear the front door open, and Denver walks into his living room looking happy. “Mom, I have to go, but talk soon?”
“Love you!”
No