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)
He shook his head. “Never mind. I’m being stupid.”
“Tell me. It’s me.”
“What if none of us sell? What if this isn’t only the end of Eleven but the end of our careers?”
“Denny …” I used his real name so he’d know how serious I was. “You have so much talent. Don’t let any labels or industry assholes tell you any differently. We’re all going to succeed. I trust in that.”
“What if you and I get too busy for each other?”
“Will never happen.”
“I’m used to seeing you every day. You’re my rock. You’re … everything to me. What if—”
I gripped his arm. “Stop with the what-ifs and look at the facts. We have millions of fans. Even if we don’t sell half of what we do now, we’re still going to be hitting charts and making names for ourselves. And you are gonna shine. I promise. I also promise I’ll be at the sidelines cheering you on every step of the way.”
“How can you be so positive about this?”
“I can’t help it. I’m naturally Zen.” I smirked.
“You so are not.”
“Namaste and all that other bullshit.” I threw my arm around him and brought him closer. “You and I are solid. Always will be.”
He turned his head to look up at me. “Promise?”
“Only if you promise back.”
“No matter what happens?”
“You could kill a man, and I’d still love you. You’re like my ki—”
Before I could get the words kid brother out of my mouth, Denver pressed his lips to mine.
Shock doesn’t begin to describe what I was going through. It took more than a second to get my bearings and a half second more to push him off me. “Wait, wait, wait, what the fuck is happening?”
Denver pulled out of my arms and stood. “You said you loved me.”
“Like a brother.”
He blinked at me.
“You … you know I’m not into guys, right? I’m not some closet case like Ryder and Harley. It’s cool if you are, but I didn’t think—”
He threw up his hands. “I’m not.”
“Then what—”
He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. “I’m freaking out about Eleven breaking up, about the future, about being alone … I thought … I don’t know what I thought, but whatever it was, it was wrong. I’m sorry.”
I slowly stood. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. It’s really not.”
I tried to touch him, to pull him into my arms so he knew I was there for him no matter what, but he flinched away.
“Don’t.” He sounded pained, and I didn’t know it was possible for one word to be filled with so much regret.
“Denver.” I wanted to reassure him that it was fine. It was a mistake, but it didn’t change anything.
He averted his gaze. “I … I should go.”
“But—”
All I could see was Denver’s retreating form as it disappeared through the door. He vanished so quick I didn’t even have time to point out we were in his hotel room.
I didn’t know it then, but that would be the last I’d see or hear from Denver Smith.
Chapter Three
Denver
I’m known as the nice one. The one with the sweet face and kind heart.
Anyone who believes our perceived personas needs a pat on the head and a condescending “Oh, honey.” But it’s a role I’ve played for years. I need to keep up appearances.
That might go to hell if I’m forced to sit through another terrible audition. I’m this close to stabbing something with my pen. Preferably my ears. I suddenly understand why Simon Cowell is the way that he is.
Finally, after all the red tape and months of delay, Fandom is happening. And this first week has been a complete shitshow.
To save my voice, I should make up a sign that says, “Good try, but no. Sorry.”
And these were the ones who made it through prescreening auditions? Jesus H. Christ.
My fellow judges look as over it as I am. We’ve been on set for close to fourteen hours, and all the faces of the contestants are blurring together.
I take a sip of water which has the makeup artist running over to apply more ChapStick, and while she’s at it, she powders my face for the countless time today. My lips are shiny, and my skin is not.
This is saving my career.
Supposedly.
Am I regretting turning down Harley’s offer to get back together? Maybe. If it weren’t for the fact I haven’t spoken to Mason since Eleven broke up, I would probably take the leap.
But, I just … can’t. I don’t want to face him.
We promised we wouldn’t drift apart, but after I kissed him and ran away, it’s exactly what we did.
When his debut album tanked, I should have reached out, but I was too busy making sure my own career didn’t suffer the same fate.
Also being a good friend after my humiliation didn’t come easy. There’s a reason pride is one of the seven deadly sins, and that’s because it can fuck up entire friendships.