Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Of course he is.
“I … can’t. I’m really sorry, but I can’t go into it.” Because it would involve outing someone I used to care about. Still care about. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m still too angry to work out my emotions when it comes to Denver Smith.
And out here, in the middle of nowhere, I don’t have to deal with it at all. That’s how I like it, and that’s the way it’ll stay.
But talking to Cameron about it does make me flash back to that night, the last night Eleven was on tour, just hours before the announcement that we were breaking up.
The screams were deafening, and the crowd was going insane for us like they always did, but it was as if they all knew that it was our last show ever. Or maybe I knew that it was the last show we’d ever play together, so I was focusing on it more.
The last few years had felt a little lackluster when it came to performing. We were all burned out. We were ready for a break, and we wanted to do our own things.
It was our last encore. The last song.
All five of us on stage breathed heavily as the song finished and we stared out at our adoring fans.
Denver purposefully stepped in front of me when it was time to take our bow, and I laughed as I shoved him out the way. His shaggy light brown hair was dripping with sweat, his aqua eyes were shining, and he’d never looked happier than when he was onstage performing. The guy had gone through some serious shit in his life, but you wouldn’t have known it looking at him in that moment. With the lights shining down on him, he had an ethereal glow about him.
He threw his arm around my shoulders while the crowd took photos of us all lined up next to each other. Those were the types of shots that got posted all over social media, but this particular one would go down in history as the last time Eleven ever played onstage together. Not that the crowd knew that yet.
Eleven breaking up was massive news, and hearts were about to break all over the world. Telling rambunctious fans their favorite band was dead was a good way to get someone trampled if they did it at the wrong time. The label had prepared statements to release into the world after the stadium had cleared out.
The fandom was manic, but there was no doubt we did something special.
I thought the only sucky thing would be saying goodbye to them all, particularly Denver. He was like my kid brother, and we hadn’t spent more than a few days away from each other since we were first signed to the label. Even on breaks, if we weren’t with my family, he’d drag me on some tropical island vacation somewhere. We were tight, and I didn’t want to lose that, but we both needed to spread our wings.
I knew it would be hard, but I had no doubt we would support each other through this next venture. He would still be in my life.
Boy, was I fucking wrong.
I had no idea my life was about to implode. I was too excited about moving on and becoming a grown-up for once. Signing a major record deal when I was nineteen years old was a lot to process, and I hadn’t slowed down in seven years.
With everyone wanting me, a very full bank account, and endless accessibility to everything one could ever dream of, being in a boy band froze time for me.
I still felt like I was that nineteen-year-old, but I was ready for more responsibility and more artistic freedom.
Denver leaned in and said in my ear, “We did it.”
I didn’t hesitate to turn and pull him into a hug. That too was photographed and posted all over the internet, but it was okay with us. The media was too obsessed with #Ryley4Ever to even contemplate something going on between Denver and me. Then again, there were too many incriminating photos of Denver and me partying with girls over the years.
Blake was on the end of the line, quietly looking like he was going to have a panic attack. Out of the five of us, his voice wasn’t the strongest. He was usually reduced to harmonizing and backup vocals.
It was nostalgic leaving the stage as a group for the last time. The same sadness that hit me must’ve been getting to Denver too because his eyes became glassy as we went backstage.
We were ushered to our dressing room where Diva Harley got first dibs on the shower. He’d been a real pain in the ass toward the end there—more so than usual. He had been through a nasty breakup and had plans to marry a woman for publicity. It was messy.