Page 102 of For One Night Only

Valerie

I’ve been hiding out in my apartment.

No media. No contact with the band. I don’t even talk to Wade about his team’s image rehab plan, but I’m following it closely enough. No public appearances, no interviews, not even a trip to a convenience store where I could be spotted by the wrong person. It’s effectively a full blackout, and I follow the advice even if it’s less strategy and more survival.

Or a simple lack of any desire to engage with the world.

So just as Wade and the agency wanted, I haven’t been seen in public since I was on that stage. Without moreEpic Theme Songmoney, I can afford to keep them on for another six months or so, and then I’ll need to book something or fade into obscurity.

Maybe obscurity isn’t so bad. Other than the kind person who discreetly delivers my groceries, no one who knows where I live has stopped by my place. No one’s worrying about me, but that’s fine.

I’ve spent the week poring over my old notebooks. It’s like a switch has flipped in my brain, and the only catharsis I find is inthe music. I’m tweaking old songs and writing new ones, and these aren’t songs I’m writing for public consumption.

They’re spilling out of me just because I need to write.

I forgot about the healing power of my guitar and a blank page. Other than working on “Daydreams Like This” with Caleb this summer, I haven’t written anything original in years. I’ve sung other people’s music. I recorded songs written by strangers for my failed solo career. But I haven’t poured my emotions onto the strings like this since before we became famous, when I started to realize that Caleb was always more than a friend to me. All these years, and I haven’t bled into a melody. Haven’t pulled a new rhythm deep from my bones.

But even though exorcising my emotions is painful, it’s also a release. It reminds me that I never got into this industry for the fame. I got into it for the music, just like Caleb did. Once upon a time, we had the same motives. I just got so distracted by the public attention, my face in the glossy pages of magazines, my name trending online…that I forgot what a joy it is to be making music for music’s sake.

And I took it for granted all over again.

I let myself believe the Glitter Bats were still just a call away. Thought they’d go along with any plans to keep the momentum going, because I assumed they wanted to keep it going. I didn’t think of any of their feelings, much less their own goals and hopes for the future.

The fallout with Caleb feels the worst, and it’s something I’ll never forgive myself for, but I’m racked with guilt about the others too. Keeley’s anger, Jane’s quiet disappointment, Riker’s resignation—they haunt my dreams as much as the betrayal on Caleb’s face does. I broke more than one heart on that stage.

So I write about it all. I write about guilt and shame, about hurting the people I care for, about chasing fame and feeling empty.

And I write love songs.

Every lyric smashes my shattered heart, but I can’t stop. Every morning that I wake up and Caleb isn’t in my bed, I feel lost, and I need some way to process those feelings. So I write about him. About us. About longing and desire and falling for the person who makes your heart beat faster. About being tangled in sheets at three a.m., about holding hands on a beach at sunset, about kisses that taste like sugar and promises.

It’s all catharsis, but none of the songs feel like what I’m looking for.

Until one does.

My heart races as I reach over the guitar in my lap to jot the words and chords into my messy notebook. I chase that feeling ofrightnessfor hours until I’ve captured every detail. With the ink on paper, I revise the lines, move around the chords, play with the melody until it’s perfect.

Glancing over at my soft bed with bleary eyes, I realize that’s not enough. There’s no way I’ll sleep now. I need to do more with this song, even if it hurts, even if it’s all in vain. So I set up my Mac and a microphone, then stay awake past midnight to record a rough sample.

I upload it and send an email to Wade with nothing but “Thank you” in the subject line, and the music file attached:

Wade,

I’m sorry for being radio silent. Please help me figure out how to release this, and then I’m done. With all of it.

Thank you for everything.

Valerie

My eyes are tired, but I have another message to send:

Me:I owe you three an apology, and I’d like to do it in person. Can I make you dinner tomorrow night? Or rather, tonight. 6PM? I hope your phones are all on silent, otherwise I apologize for waking you up too.

When I finally wake up the next afternoon, I have three texts.

Riker:Sure.

Keeley:Fine, but I’m not going to be happy about it.

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